Preparing to paint

Before I received the email listing all the things I needed to take to my first abstract painting class, I'd assumed that I would already have pretty much everything I'd need for Saturday afternoon. 'Cos, y'know, I used to paint a bit.

Then I remembered that most of my student acrylic paints have ended up as TLM's finger paintings. And on her clothes, hair and skin.

I also recalled that my last two blank canvasses have since been transformed into portraits of Winnie the Pooh and Tigger, respectively, hanging up on TLM's bedroom walls.

And then the list arrived in my inbox and I realised that I'd have to do some concentrated shopping for art supplies.

Like, I'd have to find myself a colour wheel, a colour chart (whatever the heck that is), a new sketchbook (because mine are all full of naked people), new tubes of paint and 3-4 canvasses. It's just as well I still have my colour pencils, erasers, TLM's crayons and the artist's smock which the boy gave me.

Apparently the cost of obtaining all these items is only supposed to cost around thirty bucks. Like hell they are. The canvasses alone would cost more than that, and that's if I were to buy the the cheap-as-dirt made-in-China ones from The Warehouse.

But I've managed to put together most of the stuff I'll need (except for the colour wheel and colour chart) for this weekend. The sack is so big and heavy that there's no way I'll be able to get there without the car.

Oh yes...I'm supposed to arrive with some ideas for paintings as well. Shit.

Extra-curricular activities

I've done it. I've signed up to a short-story writing evening class, and a weekend class on abstract painting.

The latter was my first choice, but I only managed to get on it today because someone else on cancelled out. I've always had a problem with painting that wasn't representational, so I'm hoping this class will help me get in touch with my non-figurative side.

And as for the short story class, I've never actually had a yen to write stories. But I do like writing so it ought to help, right?

A big plus is that it'll get me out of the house and get me baby-free time on Saturday afternoons.

Nicely tenderised

TLM seems much better today, apart from needing an incredibly early nap (9.50am, instead of midday). But we still didn't get out and about because I've been in horrible pain since about Saturday afternoon.

The paracetomol was doing very little to relieve it, and really the only affect it seemed to be having was that I was really drowsy all the time. The Ibuprofen worked much better, but I refused to take if for ages because I'm asthmatic and there's a warning about it on the back of the box.

So anyway, half of my back was feeling really tender; every time I accidentally brushed it against, oh, a puff of air, it hurt like crazy. I've worn a grimace that's lasted for days.

Then the boy decided this "pimple" needed squeezing. I hope you guys aren't eating right now.

But I'm not going into the gory details of what came out of there, mainly because I didn't see anything. But I can tell you that those squeezes hurt like hell. In fact, by the time he'd finished with it, I was blubbering like a baby. I don't remember crying that hard when I gave birth.

And he's going to have to repeat his extractions every evening until it's all gone. So there'll be no cream buns on the snack menu for at least a week.

Like I said in a comment in the previous post, now I understand why Dr House is such a grumpy bastard.

It was just a pimple

It started out as a little whitehead on my shin. A week later practically the whole leg was bright pink like I'd left it under the grill and fallen asleep. It was quite painful to the touch too, and in the end I had to get the doctor to look at it because I didn't want to scare the toddlers at TLM's next swim class.

Fortunately, a course of antibiotics cleared it up nicely and those toddlers at the pool only had to contend with the sight of me in a swimsuit that was decomposing from the effects of pool-cleaning chemicals.

Just three weeks later, the same thing has happened to a spot on my back. The whole right side of my back is now so tender it's keeping me up at nights, so I that can't just blame my sleeplessness on the feverish child down the hall. Who knew a pimple on my back could turn me into a little old lady, hobbling around and wincing every time a breeze brushes over me?

Apparently I'm a little bit run down.

Kenny, the toilet guy

I keep forgetting to post about Kenny, a movie we watched on DVD recently. It's got to be one of the best movies I've seen this year.

It's an Australian mockumentary about a guy whose job is to look after those portable toilets which are so ubiquitous at just about every big outdoor event you've ever been to (you know, the kind that people lose their wedding rings in, the kind that petrolheads set fire to at the car races, the kind that well-dressed snobs throw up into....).

People he meets at parties suddenly spot a distant guest they just have to greet, once they find out what Kenny does for a living. His dad keeps trying to set him up for interviews at other jobs - any job other than the one he's got as an un-glorified toilet-cleaner. His ex-wife rings him at the most inconvenient times with their son's discipline problems.

But Kenny likes his life. And he's not a thicky either - his line "there's a smell in here that'll outlast religion" (while he's cleaning a loo from the inside) is good enough to...um, dine on...for years to come. And he's such a lovely guy too.

The movie is so well made, and the acting so convincing, that I didn't even realise that it's all fiction until the end when I saw the acting credits. Which makes the movie even better than when I thought it was for real.

If I had a rating system for films, I'd give this one a 10/10.

Okay

TLM woke up from her afternoon nap all grizzly, but that's quite normal for her. I just put her in her hammock, which is suspended from a hook in the living room ceiling, and bounce her in it until she's ready to continue with her day.

What wasn't so normal was that she hardly left the hammock all afternoon. She was having one of those moods where nothing will make her happy - not cookies, not watered-down juice, not drawing on her clothes with felt pens, nothing. So I asked whether she wanted to get back into her hammock.

"Okay".

After a while, the grizzling came back. Did she want some dried apricots? "Okay". Some juice? "Okay". Some nashi pear? "Okay". Some BoohBah? "Okay". (Yep, she can watch DVDs from her hammock - that's the beauty of having a plasma TV screen up on the wall.)

TLM was "Okay" with having dinner too, but it turned out to she was only "Okay" with playing with dinner i.e. spooning macaroni cheese into the fruit salad and vice versa.

When I realised how hot she was to the touch, I thought she might want to go to bed early (like, an hour early, 5.30pm early). "Okay".

It was certainly a refreshing change to "No", but I'd rather she didn't have to be sick to be compliant.

Pottery or photography?

Last night I was lying on the couch wondering whether all this television I'm watching, is even more responsible for my brain shrinkage than the stresses and strains of motherhood.

So, I've decided to do an evening class.

I'd actually thought about it in the past but the couch had always waylaid me. But last night, I talked about it with the boy and he thought it was a great idea. It would be less scary than committing to a full-on course of formal study, but better for my mind than watching The Biggest Loser week after week.

There's a slight problem in that it's too late to enrol in most evening classes, and many of them start too early in the evening for the parent-tag to take place. Still, I could always go to life drawing in the meantime.

I'd just have to hide my stick-figure drawings until my ability gets back to a reasonable standard...

Songs for TLM

My singing has gotten so much better since TLM came along. Sometimes I even sing in tune (though I'm never going to be asked to jam with The Eagles).

Ode to Cheeky Monkey (TLM's chimp soft toy, sung to the tune of the Bellybutton Song on our MagIQ DVD)

Cheeky Monkey, Cheeky Monkey,
When you wash him, he's not funky.
He's your favourite so-oft toy...
Oh Boy!

Swing Low, Sweet TLM-mobile
Swing low, sweet TLM-mobile
Comin' for to carry me home.
Swing low, sweet TLM-mobile
Comin' for to carry me home.

I looked over ***town, and what did I see
Comin' for to carry me home.
Lions and tigers and chimpanzees*
Comin' for to carry me home.

(*we live near the zoo. There are 3 more verses but they don't get any better)

It's a long way without a buggy (Sung to It's a long way to Tipperary)
It's a long way without a buggy.
It's a long way to home.
It's a long way without a buggy.
And we don't even live in Rome.
That's why we've got a buggy.
So we can get there.
It's a long long way without a buggy,
Especially from here.


Hey, I never said the songs were any good!

No bargain

It's bad enough that, when I made the effort to go all the way out to DressMart* to look for cheap-but-fasionable clothing, I couldn't find a single thing to buy. Either I didn't like it, or it wasn't discounted much, or it was available in ridiculously small sizes only.

What made it so much worse, was receiving a $170 speeding ticket a month later, because driving home on the 100km/hr motorway I was a bit late slowing down for that 80km/hr stretch of road in the middle of it.

Bah.


* If you don't know, it's a mall where every shop (except the cafe, which is hideously over-priced) sells for up to 70% discount. It's mostly factory seconds and left-overs from previous seasons.

Braininess runs in cycles

Every now and then after dinner, I take the Nintendo DS out of its case and play a few rounds with the brain gym. And I've learned that my intelligence fluctuates even worse than a serial dieter's weight.

Sometimes I'll take the test, and do astonishingly well in the Calculate section but not so well in the Memory section. Other times, my Calculate score is shameful, but my Memory seems to have made a comeback.

In part, this is to do with which sets of tests I get. But I think it's even more influenced by how tired I am, how loud the television is and whether I can hear TLM having a nightmare in the next room.

It makes sense, really, but I'd never realised how much difference it makes. So I suppose the idea of studying in the evenings might not be a very good one eh?

What I'm reading

These days, when I go to the library by myself I tend to look for books about writing professionally, books about finding one's perfect career and cookbooks for people who don't enjoy cooking.

The Lonely Planet Story
But the library book I've been reading lately is Once While Travelling - the Lonely Planet story, by Tony and Maureen Wheeler. Mostly told from Tony's perspective, it starts how he met and married Maureen and takes you through 20-odd years of building what's become a vast travel-publishing empire. It appealed to me because most of my travels were aided by Lonely Planet guidebooks, and I'd always wanted to become a travel writer. Despite the alleged hardships, I can't help feeling that theirs was the perfect life, because even having kids didn't stop them in their unbeaten tracks.

The story isn't all in chronological order, which can be confusing at times, but it's all interesting. Tony talks about the times when Lonely Planet was on the brink of financial collapse, as well as the time when his marriage was too. There is even a chapter on what it's like to be a guide book writer, which I found both enlightening and off-putting. Having read this chapter, I don't think I'd want to be one (I'd rather be like Bill Bryson - sort of a roving personality - than spend all my travelling time rushing around checking facts).

Still, reading about the Wheelers' adventures makes me quite wistful.

The Hero with a Thousand Faces
When a major new bookshop opens in town, I want to go and see whether they stock anything in particular that isn't already available in the exiting shops. So when I went to the new Borders shop, I was expecting to come out of there with some new American book.

What I did buy was a copy of Joseph Campbell's The Hero with a Thousand Faces, which is so old I probably could have found a cheap copy at one of the many second-hand bookshops. Still, I wanted to read it because I'm quite interested in the universality of myths (plus it was mentioned many times in articles about Buffy), so I bought it. I haven't gotten that far into it yet, but at the moment I'm enjoying the the stuff relating particular Greek myths with psychiatric conditions e.g. the infamous Oedipus Complex.

Risk aversion

I'm just not cut out for taking risks. Well okay, I've hitchhiked around Africa on my own, eaten food from street stalls in India and been white-water rafting before I'd learned to swim. But those could probably be attributed to the foolishness of youth. These days, I find myself progressively less inclined to take a flying leap at any venture that doesn't carry at least some certainty of success.

Just a few minutes ago, I called up my fellow fundraising committee member to tell her I had cold feet about our proposed movie night. Not just cold feet, but frozen to Absolute Zero cold. There was a low-ish response rate to our initial call for feedback, and I suspected that the rest of 'em were too polite to just say "no". It was keeping me up at night with dreams about ill-fated raffles and garage sales, and giving me a tension headache that goes all the way down my neck, across my shoulders and down my spine. It doesn't help that there's an up-front booking fee which would be enough to replace my burnt-out computer very nicely. It also doesn't help that in a couple of weeks I might be the only active member of the committee. Extra work, I wasn't looking for.

I'd like to think I'm just being sensible in calling the whole thing off (or at least postponing it until we can get more people to show support). But there's a bug in my head that tells me this is just another example of how boringly risk-averse I've become as I've gotten older.

If I were the entrepeneurial type, the kind of person who founds The Body Shop or decides to film all three Lord of the Ring movies at the same time, would I have been so easily put off? Should I have decided to push on anyway, and let fear of failure be my prime motivator?

What I want for Mothers Day

One day TLM will be old enough to celebrate Mothers Day by bringing me burnt toast in bed and giving me a hand-sewn elephant that looks like a rat, but until then I guess the boy will be responsible for trying to make May 13th a memorable one.

There's a chance that he'll get me something geeky and unnecessary like a new Wii game or another brain gym for the Nintendo DS, but you never know. If I can't have the week off, then I'm going to have to think of a list he can pick from:

• a gym membership, because if I have somewhere to work out I won't be so inclined to use my "free" time shopping for clothes
• The Buffy Season 8 graphic novel, although he told me himself that it's completely sold out all over the planet
• a trip to the UK to visit his both family and a host of clothes shops recommended by Trinny and Susannah
• have framed, some of the better paintings which are hanging around the house
• a session at a day spa would be nice, but he'd have to organise it for me. It's also have to specialise in hypoallergenic treatments.
• his blessing that I can do whatever study I like, whether it be creative writing or how to be a papparazzi, regardless of it's usefulness in bringing home additional bacon

But if none of the above are do-able, then I suppose I could be content with a massive sleep-in.

How addiction altered my daughter's personality

All day today, TLM's mantra was "Boohbah".

This surreal preschooler's show fascinated me when it screened every morning at 6am, with it's blobby dancing creatures who apparently fly on the power of their own farts. The DVDs have been available at the library for ages, but until last week I'd been trying desperately (and unsuccessfully - the boy and I are both TV addicts, so it's genetic) to avoid increasing the amount of TV/DVD time TLM gets.

I think I may have made a serious mistake in renting the Boohbah DVD though, because TLM has become addicted to it. When it's on, she alternates between trying to copy their dance moves, and staring at it like a hedgehog caught in the sudden glare of headlights. And if TLM demands Boohbah and I don't provide it, she goes off her food, throws her sippy cup overboard and loses all interest in her Megablocks.

It's possible that The Wiggles are, temporarily at least, no longer the kings of TLM's Top Ten.

Long time no see

I can just imagine that the rellies in the UK are wondering when the next photos of TLM will be posted. So here's a photo of our Little Madam having oodles of fun at the playground outside the local library. It's her home away from home.








And here is a blurry shot of Madam demonstrating how one wears Mr Potatohead's spectacles.




TLM just got some new boots on the weekend. Good god, I never realised how expensive children's shoes could be. Granted, these are the most gorgeous designer lilac nubuck boots, all the way from Germany, but still.

Going for the lowest common denominator

If you were a member of your child's daycare centre's fundraising committee, and you had to choose a new or yet-to-be-released film to show at a fundraising movie night, which film would you choose?

I would have thought that Pirates of the Caribbean III would have been a good bet, because it's just about the most mainstream movie I can think of. Certainly not Becoming Jane, which sounds like something only Jane Austen addicts would bother with, nor Spiderman III, which sounds like something you'd show at a Geek's Night or something.

You wouldn't want to screen Pan's Labyrinth because it's too dark and weird (while I would go and see it because it's dark and weird), but on the other hand maybe we shouldn't assume that our potential ticketbuyers can't handle anything edgy.

What would you pick?

Grocery revelations

While I wondered around the supermarket with two packets of incontinence pads in my basket (they weren't for me, and anyone who implies otherwise will get one of my withering looks), I wondered what people would assume if they saw me with those items.

Do people still check each other out at supermarkets? 'Cos I bet they'd check out what's in other people's shopping baskets, for indications of desirability.

If I were a single woman looking for love in the aisles, would I be turned off if the handsome man in up ahead picked up a six-pack of pre-made meat pies to go with his ready-made pizzas? Would I have been more willing to smile flirtatiously at him if I'd seen him loading up with gourmet delicacies instead? Or would that mean he's probably gay?

I think I'd feel more confident reading someone's bookshelf.

"Welcome to heck"

The boy has been going on and on about the PG13 trailer to the based-on-a-graphic novel movie, 300. I have no intention of seeing the movie, but I wouldn't be surprised if it ends up in a batch of DVDs from our man in Jakarta.

But anyway, the PG13 trailer. It is in fact every bit as funny as the boy promised (and just as well because he's been telling eeeeverybody about it). And since he's let his blog die a natural death, I feel it's my wifely duty to post it on mine. Have a look, it's a bit of a laugh.

We would like to be what we read

You can tell a lot about a person by their record collection, and no doubt the same thing applies to a person's book collection or the contents of their library bag. I read somewhere that a sizeable proportion of the adult population in Britain admits to buying books they have no intention of reading, purely to enhance their coolness factor in the eyes of their visitors.

(Which is why I think library bags ought to be made of a see-through material - so I can ponce around at the bus stop with Betrand Russell's History of Western Philosophy inside. And hey, the only reason I didn't actually finish the book is because you're only allowed to check it out for 4 weeks)

I like to think of myself as reasonably eclectic, adventurous and intellectual, so I'd be quite happy about people knowing that the following books are on my shelves :

• A large number of "pop culture and philosophy" books, including the ones about Buffy and The Simpsons
• My collection of travel guides, including the Lonely Planet guide to South America
  
• Lionel Shriver's We have to talk about Kevin
• Jung Chang's Wild Swans
  

The books which I wouldn't necessarily want everyone to know about would be:

• The self-help guides for single women in their thirties
• All my Marion Keyes chicklit novels, because really, only the first three were any good
• Dan Brown's The Da Vinci Code would've been included here, but I gave it to a charity shop because I couldn't bear to see it on my shelf. It was a present, by the way.
  

And, of course, I'd be super-quick to point out to visitors that the shelf full of graphic novels (along with the Star Wars DVD boxed set) belongs to the boy.

The forgotten underwear

My sock and underwear drawer is full to the brim, yet every morning I have the hardest time finding suitable items to clothe my various bits. Some of the fault lies in the fact that, these days, it's pretty damned dark at 6.30am. But I'm afraid that most of the responsibility lies with my reluctance to part with sock widows, bras with over-stretched straps, and un-homely knickers.

When I got home this afternoon from a sock-buying mission, I decided to clear the undies drawer once and for all.

Digging into the deeper recesses of that drawer was a bit of an eye-opener. I had completely forgotten just how many pairs of pantyhose had been tucked into the far corner - it's been an awfully long time since I bothered putting those on (it's just easier not to, not least because it means I can go longer without trimming my toenails). There were many, many pairs of g-string undies too. In the old days, when I was single and on the prowl, the g-string was an essential item for wearing under firm-fitting trousers and skirts if you didn't want to be subject to the dreaded VPL. These days, I've learned that jeans with back pockets in the right place hide VPL very, very well.

Removing unwanted stuff from their usual habitat is one thing, actually binning them for good is another. I've probably thrown half of it out, but the rest is still in really good condition so it's in my blanket chest until I get in the mood for minimal underwear again.

By the time I was done with my drawer, it was looking pitifully empty. I think it's telling me to stock up on underwear.

This windy day

20 months
TLM has turned 20 months and 1 day. For the record, I'll tell you that she has another cold - one which will probably keep her home from daycare tomorrow. But at least she had a great time on Tuesday, when the staff bundled up all 12 or so kids into buggies (the kind designed for twins and triplets) and walked them all around the zoo.

She's been enjoying playing with her cousins almost every day, but I hope she doesn't pick up their habit of throwing each other into furniture, for fun.

I dressed TLM in a fluffy orange jumper this morning because it was a freezing cold morning, but she's become so attached to it already, that even when she's not wearing it she's clutching it like some fashion-victim's version of a lovey.

In my eye
It's been so windy lately that I've taken to wearing my sunglasses outdoors even when it's overcast outside. A couple of nights ago, after a particularly gusty day, I complained of having something in my eye. The boy couldn't get it out, so I went to the bathroom and flicked out this thing with black bits and mucous-y bits.

It was an insect.

I remembered being especially annoyed that morning when stuff seemed to be blowing into my eye. Good god, I'd had an insect in my eye for 9 hours, and didn't even know it. I really hoped it wasn't an egg-laden female I'd unknowingly hosted all day.

Infinished movies
We started to watch Apocolypto, but it turned out to be every bit as violent as I'd feared it would be. And that was only in the first half hour or so. So that DVD was ejected and replaced with a Gilmore girls episode.

We also started watching Ong Bak, the Thai boxing movie I'd heard lots about. The boy walked out half way through, in favour of returning to World of Warcraft. I was quite enjoying it, and only stopped watching because it was encroaching on my dishwashing-then-sleep time. Sure, the plot is a bit cheesy and the hero has an off-puttingly high voice, but it's all good fun and reminded me of some of Buffy's better vamp fights.

Vocational guidance

Ever since I realised that I didn't want to be a computer programmer for the rest of my life, I have had problems deciding on what the heck I did want to do for a living. I have some idea of what I don't want to do:

• anything which requires me to be nice to people I don't like e.g. customer service roles
• anything which requires me to wear full-on protective-wear (because I have so many allergies that exposure to anything suspect might cause me to stop breathing)
• anything that gets my hands dirty (because I get enough of that looking after TLM)
• computer programming
• wear a headset for hours on end

I once went to a careers counsellor for some free sessions at Kiwi Careers. After talking to me about my interests, education and past work experience, he told me that my problem was that I was interested in too many things.

In a way, this is true. I'm a bit of a Jill-of-all-trades. Well, more of a Jill-of-several-skills-and-interests, but that doesn't quite roll off the tongue so easily. The full description ought to be, a Jill of several skills and interests and mistress of none, but it's really very unfortunate that the word "mistress" has much sleazier connotations than "master".

It feels as though I've spent many years of my life trying to figure out what I'm good at, only to find that I'm so-so at lots of things and that's about it.

I recently went to Kiwi Career's website and found a little quiz there designed to help users choose a career. But I really don't see myself as an illustrator, wardrobe person, navy hydrographic survey officer (I get seasick) or air traffic controller. And I've already dropped the idea of being a librarian - too much customer service - or artist- too lacking in talent and determination.

So I'm thinking, what if I do some study in journalism? That could lead to journalism work, communications/PR, copywriting, technical writing or a fabulously popular fictionalised memoir.

If only I could do a quiz and be given a shortlist of two or three careers, to which I would say "Why yes, that's what it!".

It's all in the accent

Years ago, when I was in Edinburgh, I remember a potential landlord being quite taken aback when I asked whether his flat had a deck. Not until about a week later did I realise that he thought I'd said something rude.

I've been trying to encourage TLM to use cutlery to eat with (rather than to play with), and this morning I taught her to say "fork". After she'd repeated it several times, I began to worry that people hearing her would think we've been teaching her swear words.

The Prestige

What is it about magicians, that there are two films out about them? The Illusionist is out now, and we've just seen The Prestige on DVD. Has David Copperfield infiltrated Hollywood or something?

Anyway, The Prestige was quite good. The boy got it because Michael Caine, Christian Bale and an aged David Bowie all star in it.

It's set in what looks to me like Victorian times, about two fiercely competitive stage magicians and the extremes they go to in order to one-up each other. It's also a back-stage snoop at what how stage magicians think up their tricks, maybe.

The science-fiction-y twist at the end is a bit out of the blue, but I like wierd stuff so that was fine by me.

Long time no post. Also, a bad date.

I've been busy, see. Now that my mum is recuperating at my brother's place, we seem to be spending most of our time there, just to enable my sister-out-law to get out of the house occasionally. The good thing about it is that TLM has been spending lots more time with her cousins who, at 6 and nearly 3, are great playmates for her.

Anyway, this, and the fact that TLM's sleeps have been a bit disrupted and therefore I spend her naptimes catching up on my own sleep, mean that I've no time to blog.

I never told you what the boy and I got up to last Friday, did I? The ex-nanny arrived at 7pm. I didn't want to get ambitious with the night out, so I suggested we have a nice meal at a local eatery. We ended up at Planet Spice, an Indian restaurant which has had great reviews. I ordered the Goan fish curry, which was yumarama. But it went right through me, and our romantic stroll turned into a white-knuckle hobble-race back home to the toilet. It was just as well it wasn't our first date.

clock-watching

Once again, I'm at home enjoying my TLM-free leisure time.

I think one of the secrets to truly enjoying your child-free time is to somehow avoid counting down the minutes to when you'll have to go back to the daycare centre to pick her up again. And another is to stop pressuring yourself to make the most of the free time, and just exist in the blissful knowledge that you are alone for a change.

The first couple of hours were spent trying to decide whether to go for a swim or walk, then going for a walk and wishing I'd chosen the other option. The rest of the time, I've spent reading and writing emails whilst checking the clock at the bottom right corner of the desktop. Sixteen minutes until yoghurt time, thirty-one minutes until TLM-pickup time. Thirty-two minutes until big-toothy-TLM-grin time.

I've been called to perform my civic duty...

I've received a jury summons.

The last time this happened, I was quite excited really, and had half-hoped to be picked for a murder case or something. As it turned out, all I had to do was sit around for three mornings in a row and not get picked.

This time around, I just want to tell the Justice Department that I don't want to do it. I'm far too busy trying to keep up TLM's routine.

The pamphlet included with the summons, says that I'd get paid about $30 per half day, and can claim on childcare. But, tempting as the money might be, it wouldn't be easy getting temporary all-day childcare for such an uncertain period of time - anything from three days to several weeks. Not to mention the disruption to her daily routine...

Besides, I've also got to do time looking after my mum, who's finally out of hospital is now and recuperating at my brother's place.

The Lady in the Water

Isn't Bryce Dallas Howard's beauty so very spooky? She really does look like she's from a different world, like Tilda Swinton (who played the White Witch in The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe, among other roles). Perhaps it's a "ginger" thing.

Unlike M. Night Shyamalan's other films I've seen, there's no enormous twist at the end of this fairy tale. But that didn't make it any less enjoyable for me.

It's a neat little fairy tale about a water nymph who's been sent to save the world. All she has to do is be seen by the right person, who will then set in motion events which will change the world for the better. But there's a big green warg-like creature whose sole aim is to destroy her, whether she accomplishes her mission or not. Can the quirky inhabitants of the condominium, under whose swimming pool she's been living, save her?

And quirky is really the best word to describe the bunch of misfits who're her designated saviours. Like the young man who is intentionally working out only the right side of his body, the stuttering janitor with a tragic past, the Asian university student who looks like a Thai bar girl and the man whose every digestive embarrassment is fodder for his wife's chit-chat.

Parenting meme

Daddy L, over at The Jasper Chronicles has tagged me and I'm going to be very nice and oblige him with my answers...

1) What was your biggest surprise when you became a parent?
That some of those gooey, chocolate-box moments which made me want to gag when I heard about them as a childless singleton, now make me tear up. Like how utterly sweet it is to see your child give you a big smile at the end of a morning apart. (Or how heart-rippingly ugly it feels to leave her.)

2) Name some things you vowed you'd never do, but find yourself doing now?
Like Daddy L, I never thought I'd be eating TLM's leftovers. But unlike hyim, if it's already been in TLM's mouth then there's no way it's going anywhere but the rubbish bin.

Also, I'd really hoped I wouldn't become a baby bore. Unfortunately, a lifetime's worth of interesting pursuits has boiled down to a blog in which I mostly write about babies.

3) What's the one thing you thought you would do, but actually don't?
Am I the only one who saw herself as a future yummy mummy - made up, beautifully shoed, toned and stylish - only to succumb to the boring old baggy t-shirt + jeans + clumpy boat shoes and no makeup uniform?

A man about the house

The boy has taken the last three days off work, supposedly so he can spend more time with TLM and me.

It's quite possible that he'd envisioned spending some of that time with just me, in the bedroom, catching up on the sort of activity that couples tend to do a lot of, pre-children. So I hope he's not too disappointed that most of the time he's been left to look after TLM while I go galavanting around town looking for red-hot action.

Not really. Mostly I take TLM out to the park (or daycare) for the morning, and in the afternoon the boy gets do some father-daughter bonding while I go for a brisk walk before visiting my mum in hospital ( she's apparently been discharged today) . Yesterday they went to the zoo and shared some unhealthy fries. Perhaps today they will go to the liquor shop for a dozen beers, and share a meat pie.

There could perhaps be a bit of couples excitement tonight though, because we've organised for TLM's ex-nanny to come and babysit for the evening while the two of us do something.

The pressure is on to make the most of this spare time (movie, dinner, dancing, nooky...) but really I just hope I can stay awake well enough to appreciate it.

Heart beats

But just in case you were disappointed not to get a TLM update, I've got one of those for you too...

This morning I was ready to ring in and tell the daycare folks to forget about it, we weren't coming back ever, because if TLM won't let her own beloved daddy bathe her and cries tragically whenever I go to the toilet then there's no chance that she'll allow me to drop her off at daycare with a bunch of relative strangers for the morning.

Then I re-read a section in Robin Barker's The Mighty Toddler about separation anxiety, in which she advises parents not to let this developmental phase stop them from leaving their kids with a trusted caregiver, and my resolved hardened. So before that same resolve melted again like an ice cream on a hot day, we set off to daycare. Along the way I repeated to TLM what we'd be doing. The first time, she said "No no no". The next few times, she quietly clung to Cheeky Monkey and - I imagine - tried not to breathe in the cigarette fumes drifting from the hospital workers having smoko on the footpath.

And you know what? It didn't go that badly after all. TLM screamed hard when I started to leave, so hard it reminded me of that time we accidentally snipped off the tip of her finger while attempting to clip her nails. She screamed while I waved goodbye, got my coat, left the building, closed the gate behind me and walked down the driveway.

The caregiver had promised to call me in ten minutes, but it felt like at least half an hour had passed since I'd left the daycare and walked around the block three times with mobile phone firmly in my grip. She called and told me that TLM had in fact quietened down and was now playing. But my heart rate probably didn't drop to normal for at least another hour. And my neck and shoulders are still as tight as the proverbial coiled spring.

I went back at midday, after TLM had woken up from a not-usual nap in her buggy (that's what happens when separation anxiety strikes at 4am and she refuses to go back to sleep). I was so proud of how well she'd done so I put a little butterfly sticker on her otherwise unadorned lunchbox, and gave her the rest of the packet to play with. She done good.

Flushed Away

At last, a post about something other than a particularly mind-bogglingly cute but terribly demanding toddler...

We recently received a batch of movies and TV shows on DVD recently, from one of the boy's workmates who has been working in one of Asia's hotbeds of movie-pirating. That would be why all of a sudden I've got something else to talk about.

Flushed Away was a film I'd really wanted to watch because I'm a huge Claymation fan - although this film is in fact your common or garden CGI animation. In short, it's about Roddy, a pet rat in a posh Kensington household whose home is invaded by a dodgy, dirty and bad rat from the sewers, while his (Roddy's) owners are away. The invader flushes Roddy down the loo, sending him down the sewers into a veritable rat-London (shades of Neverwhere and the second Matrix movie here). Roddy tries to get back home, meets a Lara Croft-like rat rebel and saves the (rat) world from a toad with a grudge.

It's really funny, and I think I probably only got about half of the jokes. The boy had to fill me in on some of them, because the humour is apparently very very English. Which makes me wonder whether this is the reason it didn't do particularly well in the American box office.

The limpet - with more suction than a super-sucky vacuum cleaner

I've been reading up on separation anxiety in toddlers, on the 'Net, and still can't decide whether we should persist with trying to get her settled into daycare, or whether to pull her out of there until it passes (apparently it usually disappears around age 3, which gives me another 17 months to wait through).

On one discussion board, someone suggested that those heartrending (not to mention earsplitting) screams are less likely to happen if the dad drops the little limpet at daycare, because supposedly they are better at hiding their own anxiety about the situation (or maybe they aren't anxious about it in the first place). So, if tomorrow morning goes as badly as last Friday morning did (the daycare rang me less than half an hour later and asked me to come back), the boy has agreed to try the next drop-off.

Tonight, TLM didn't even want to have bathtime with her daddy - she clung to my legs and wailed through most of his singing- and got upset when I put her down in her cot at bedtime and left the room. That can't be good.

Wheels for young and old

I suppose that when you have both an aging parent and a just-walking toddler, the idea of owning a double-buggy starts looking attractive even if you don't have a second child.

But even though her legs tire easily and she needs to rest every 100 metres or so, my mum is far too proud to try a walking frame - she has only accepted the advantages of using a walking stick in the last year or so.

However, her current spell in hospital has made it clear that, at least while she's rendered weak from a combination of an infection and it's affect on her various other ailments, a walking frame is a pretty handy mobility aid.

It also makes for a fab toy. TLM's daily visits to her Poh Poh had stopped being a novelty (especially when I wouldn't let her play with the power points and the monitoring equipment), but since yesterday this grown-ups version of a walking trolley has been her favourite plaything. One time she even grabbed it right off my mum, leaving her standing in the middle of the lift foyer, and pushed it around the waxed floors until it was needed for a trip to the loo.

Limpet, mine

Oh no. The dreaded separation anxiety has struck TLM.

I'd gotten used to telling people that TLM really only gets separation anxiety if she's sick, tired or hungry. But she's mostly over her cold now and lately, even if she's just woken from a 12 hour sleep and been fed and watered, she still gets upset when I leave the room.

We went down to daycare this morning, just as we'd done two times last week. Only this time when I left TLM burst into tears and was still crying after one of the carers tried to engage her in her favourite games. I'd just got home and changed out of my "messy" clothes when the phone rang - it was the other carer, telling me I needed to go back. TLM had been crying so hard and so long that there were little red bumps on her temples (presumably from the stress because they disappeared later on). Even when I was around, she kept looking for me and coming over for a comfort cuddle.

I might be wrong, and TLM is still just affected by her cold. Or I might be right and I can say goodbye to weekday child-free time for the next few months. Or years.

Ah well, it's nice to know she loves me.

That Bond movie

I've always disapproved of Bond movies. Even when I was a kid, the action scenes, for me, were always overshadowed by the womanising behaviour - the way women's clothes just seemed to slide right off them in his presence. It just made me...I don't know...indignant - such arrogance, such cockiness!

Last night I only managed to watch the first half of Casino Royale before heading off the bed, but I did actually enjoy it. Much of it is due to the fact that this Bond is a whole lot tastier than either Connery or Moore. What also helped was the fact that, in the first half at least (I'm sure the glamorous accountant ended up between the sheets with him), the groiny bits between Bond and the skinny-yet-busty married woman are pretty tame, and Bond even shows signs of having formed a emotional attachment to her.

I hope to see the rest of the film tonight, but so far it is to Bond movies what Batman Returns was to the other, camper Batman movies.

Gooey moments

These are the TLM moments that make me go a bit gooey:

• At 19 months old, The Little Madam can read the numbers 1-10.
• When I put together the giant Solar System jigsaw puzzle, TLM can name Earth, Jupiter, Saturn, Venus and Mars. I didn't point to Uranus because I'm totally certain which one it is, and also because the name still makes me chuckle.
• She is greatly amused by the act of hand-feeding me popcorn.
• As long as she doesn't end her bath prematurely by pooing in it (it must be the relaxing effect of the warm water, eh?), TLM loves identifying the colours of the blobs on the shower curtain.
• We can make each other laugh by making sneezing noises.

Between extremes

Maybe it's just another aspect of toddlerdom or maybe it's because she's still labouring under a super-cold, but The Little Madam has been alternating between angelic sweetness and 360-degree neck-swivels whilst speaking in tongues.

She'd happily play by herself at daycare (who were okay with her being there as long as she wasn't too sick to enjoy herself) for a minutes at a time, then burst into tears because she can't pick the last raisin out from the bottom of the box.

Each time we've gone to see my mum in hospital (who's recovering nicely but feeling understandably fragile), TLM would reward complete strangers in the lift with the most gorgeous smiles. Then we'd get to my mum's ward and she would turn into Monster Child, who must be kept harnessed in her buggy or wander about the ward donating her cold viruses to post-surgery patients. No snack, drink, book or toy could keep her amused for more than about 3 seconds, but as soon as we left she'd be flirting with strangers again.

Sigh.

I suppose it could also be a case of familiarity breeding contempt (on her part, that is).

How to have a terrible weekend

(I know that really, I should count my blessings because in general my life is good, but just bear with me while I grumpily recount the events of the weekend..)

1. Pick the weekend that Daylight Savings ends, because you've been trying to reset your toddler's eating and sleeping patterns since last Wednesday.

2. Ask the weather gods to ensure that most of the time it will be cold, wet and windy.

3. Then let your toddler catch the cold virus to end all cold viruses. She's not just snotting, cough-y and grumpy, she's got snot for Africa and the coughs sound like the entire population of France is trying to escape her breathing passages (y'know, frogs). It's so bad that the television is on during most of her waking hours, because Wiggles DVDs distract her from both illness and cabin fever.

4.And just before the weather turns nice on the Sunday afternoon, get a call from a family member who needs to have an embarrassingly located boil lanced at the hospital.

5. When you get to the A & E, you're enraged to find that you'll have to pay for parking. Then you find out that you didn't after all, but not until you've already pushed $4 down the parking meter slot.

6. Because it's an especially busy day at the A & E, there will be long delays. By 8pm that evening, you haven't been home in 8 hours.*

7. You're been advised that the boil removal requires a surgical operation, so now you've got something else to worry about other than the fact that your child at home is too congested to sleep.

8. When you get home, the boy is exhausted from caring for, and worrying about, the sick toddler. He's in no condition to look after you.**


* An icing on the cake would be that the homeless person who used the reception's phone before you, left his characteristic homeless person-smell AND some dodgy beads of moisture on the handset. And you only find out after you've put it to your ear.

**On the plus side, the boy wasn't too exhausted to record Gilmore Girls for me.

It's so quiet

The Little Madam is at daycare this morning, no doubt dousing herself with water and painting her hands, and I'm at home checking out blogs.

Unaccustomed as I am to having "me" time during daylight hours except when TLM is having her nap, when I went to the bathroom I found myself tip-toeing around her bedroom.

Old habits...

Breathability

I ended up having to hem up my new jeans by hand* , but when summer suddenly ended at the beginning of the week (as suddenly as it had began, right after Christmas) I was able to slip into something toasty warm - my new straight-legged, high-waisted jeans.

After a couple of days wear, those jeans are finally feeling mostly comfortable. I say mostly because that high waist is still a bit constricting about my middle. In fact, if I wear those jeans with my new bra which still hasn't "worn in" (i.e. stretched out), I can actually give myself an asthma attack.

The other thing about this particular cut of jeans is that I have to put out of my mind just how similar they are to those jeans we all wore in the 80s. I remember now how some girls had to lie down in order to zip theirs up. I also remember how just being able to sit with my legs crossed, whilst be-denimed, was usually a challenge and often a lie.

Really, the only difference between these and those, is that the new ones are stretchy and shouldn't be teamed with anything shoulder-padded.

*Because my sewing machine is broken, my sister-out-law's is in parts because they're getting ready to move house, and the only other person with a sewing machine who's offered to lend it to me is on the far side of town.

Gore in the kitchen

TLM's first real day at daycare was apparently fun-filled and separation anxiety-free. As expected, she spent about two hours in standing in front of the outdoor water trough, scooping it up and pouring it down her front. In fact, she seemed to have had such a good time that she didn't eat a thing all morning except for a small pot of yoghurt and two gingernuts.

She made up for the lack of appetite at dinner time though. Just in case she's displaying a renewed food pickiness, she's getting cheesy pasta 'n' peas for lunch next time she goes to daycare.

This little domestic tale could have ended here, if I hadn't stepped on a bit of glass just as I was getting TLM out of her highchair.

This tiny bit of glass embedded in my heel was no doubt a missed remnant from a couple of nights ago when the boy broke his second-to-last wineglass. It was surprisingly easy to remove though, and I soon resumed to pottering around the kitchen putting away TLM's leftovers.

I didn't know it at the time, but I'd been spraying foot-blood all over the kitchen floor. TLM was fascinated by the little red puddles and my efforts to wipe it up with paper towels were too slow to stop her from dipping fingers in the stuff.

That's when I remembered a movie I'd seen as a child, in which someone was poisoned when he unknowingly sipped a drink containing a small amount of someone else's blood. Please let that be utter fiction.

And just as I mopped the smudges of blood off the floor, I heard the distinct "chink" sound of yet another glass fragment...

Luke, oh Luke!

Here in New Zealand we're about 4 episodes into the latest season of Gilmore Girls and, although I keep forgetting to set the DVD recorder for 5.30pm every Sunday, I think I've seen enough to know that there's something not quite right about this season.

I'm not absolutely sure whether it's because some of the pop culture references seem a bit forced (like that string of lame references to Gwyneth Paltrow in episode two), or if it's because Lorelei seems a little less witty than I'm used to, or simply because I'm disappointed that she broke up with Luke and has started dating her ex, Christopher.

Or maybe, subconsciously, I've been prejudiced by the unenthusiastic reviews I've read already.

Anyway, I hope that old tension between the two L's doesn't dissipate entirely because their possible romance, plus the baggage that was Lorelei and Christopher, was one of the main things keeping me interested.

Cheaply cheerful, and a bit of skirt

Hmm...it seems that these days all I post about is The Little Madam and shopping. Oh well. Anyway...

Today I went on the hunt for cheap, throwaway clothes that TLM can wear to daycare, stuff that she can get covered in purple paint and glue and it won't matter if it doesn't wash out.

You see, yesterday TLM went through 4 clothing changes, mainly because she couldn't seem to stay away from the big water-play basin just inside the entrance. In fact, her first clothing change of the morning was about ten minutes after our arrival.

"Just buy a load of stuff from the op shops.", the other parents told me, "It doesn't matter what they look like as long as it keeps 'em clothed and protected from colouring themselves pink and green."

So, due to TLM's aqua-philia, I bought some trousers and tops from the Opportunity for Animals thrift shop (only 50 cents per item, and it all goes to animal welfare charity). I have to admit though, that I couldn't bring myself to completely disregard how the items looked. I bypassed all the tapered trousers and the really ugly tops, in favour of the cargo pants and the hot pink shirts with the monogrammed flowers.

I also purchased a cheap vinyl raincoat and some cute but too-large gumboots (which I'll have to return for the smaller ones with the ladybirds on them). If I'd found one of those plastic aprons with sleeves - which I've seen used at the local playgroup - I would've bought one of those too.

After all that sifting through bargin bins, I felt almost when I found myself gorgeous skirt at Red and forked out a relatively large sum of money for it. But then, I really am quite excited about this skirt because it fits perfectly and actually looks good on me. Until this afternoon I thought I'd never wear a skirt in summer again (I am, after all, astoundingly difficult to fit and have always had an aversion to looking too girly). See, here it is. I'm going to wear it forever.

Stepping out

Friends with toddlers have warned me for months, that once TLM started walking I should expect to do a whole heap of chasing around. And now I believe them.

For some reason, TLM is irresistibly drawn to kerbsides. I don't know whether she's just curious to see what those floaty things are in the gutter, or whether she just wants to get a bit closer to those large, fast-moving beasts called cars, but if she's on the footpath that's where she'll head.

TLM also seems to love trying out the automatic doors at banks and other offices. At least when she was limited to bum-shuffling, it was pretty easy to catch up with her before she went out the door and into the path of an oncoming skateboarder. But she gets around much faster on two feet than she did on her bum cheeks, and no amount of hand-holding will deter her from her path of destruction.

My only solution so far has been to stock up on sweet buns or biscuits, so that when I scoopTLM up and forcibly harness her wriggly body back into the buggy I have something to distract her from pulling a tantrum to end all tantrums.

Proof

Just so's you can see for yourself, here is photographic evidence of TLM's recent conversion to bipedalism. Sorry about the lack of focus, but once she got up on her feet she wouldn't stop for the camera!

I noticed today that when she's heading to the washbasin (ostensibly to clean her hands, but we all know that she just wants to play with the tap), she reminds me of a pint-sized, cute zombie.

She's been very smiley and obviously happy about being able to get about on her own like her friends.

Wide legs, skinny legs and boot legs

Because I needed to designate at least one outfit the get-dirty playgroup outfit, and because the jeans I've been wearing all summer (with legs rolled up as a shorts substitute), I've been shopping for jeans.

In the old days - i.e. when I was fitter and flatter of tummy - it was simply a matter of trying on a few pairs of bootcut jeans (recommended for shorties by just about anyone who gets paid to dress women) and finding the pair with the best fit around the hips and the biggest back pockets (because they make your bum look smaller) .

See, all I really want is to look leggy, slim and hip. It's not that much to ask, really.

But now high-waisted, skinny-leg jeans have mostly taken over as the look of the season and I've not been successful at resisting it.

There's a bit of an art to finding the right jeans style, as most females know (which is why advice is always handy - here and here, for instance). And most of the advice I've come across tells me to stay well away from those jeans which cling to your legs like wet seaweed, zip up all the way to your bellybutton and apparently only look good on Kate Moss.

So when I went into Jeans West yesterday and tried on every single style in store, I was astounded to discover that the ones which fit me best were these Silver Star Slim rock-chick pants.

And the added bonus? They were size 10 (which I think might be a 6 or an 8 in American sizing), whereas I'd had to settle for a 12 in all the others styles.

Look Ma, no hands

The Little Madam is now officially a toddler in the fullest sense.

That's right, folks. The wilful, chatty little girl who pokes her index finger at random objects whilst "counting" from three to ten, sings along to the Wiggles (and knows the actions) and throws major tantrums if you don't let her play with your glass of juice, is now walking all on her own.

From the tentative steps between couches exactly one week ago, she is now walking up and down hills and has finally worked out how to make her sit-on car go forwards.

I'll get around to posting a photo soon, I promise.

Re-work

Yesterday it all ended. My contract finished, my replacement (temporary until they find a full-timer) is all set to take over and my nanny has said goodbye (although she came back a few hours later to return the spare house key).

This means that from now, if TLM sleeps in, I don't have to get up at 6.30am anyway to get ready for work. It means that if I want, I can attend Tuesday morning Yoga Babes classes (those are the classes where you can take your little one to class with you).

It also means that, apart from two mornings per week at her childcare, I am once again solely responsible for TLM's education and entertainment.

It's not that playing with TLM isn't fun, fascinating and often quite wondrous, but I'm thinking about getting another job.

Admittedly, there are probably very few jobs out there which are both interesting and require only 7-8 hours of attendance per week. So I'm thinking of perhaps re-training as a technical writer or something similar. My written communication skills are fairly good, but I'd need to learn lots more about web-editing software, MS Word and so on. And of course, I'd have to start showing more interest in software in general, because that's what I'd be expected to write about.

I'd really rather not end up stacking supermarket shelves or shelving library books though.

Excuses, excuses

I've heard it said that women who're up the duff gleefully use their constantly-changing body size as an excuse to go shopping for some cool preggy gear.

And one great side effect of following a wardrobe de-cluttering regime, is that afterwards you'll have lots of space you didn't have before - space for those new clothes you might need now that you've thrown away all those tapered jeans, massively shoulder-padded shirts, platform shoes and tube skirts.

But yesterday I discovered a new excuse for a shopathon.

If you sometimes take your child to the kind of playgroup which has access to a big sandpit, loads of freely-available finger paint but no bibs or washcloths, then you need to own outfits for getting mucky in. And if you don't have any, you'll need to buy some new outfits so you can wear what you have now, as mucky gear.

But I'm sure you have some tried-and-true excuses to share...

Playing away

It was a bit of a busy day today; TLM and I spent most of the morning visiting her childcare centre, and soon after we got home - with barely enough time to change into something less paint-spattered - I had to leave to go to work for the afternoon.

It's funny how TLM can behave quite unexpectedly sometimes. I was expecting her to spend the first hour at the centre clinging to my thighs with her tightly pinching fists, before feeling comfortable enough to explore this den of toddler-iniquity. But on arrival, she took one look at the playdough-covered table and didn't even bother to say "seeya later" (but since it was the first of 4 pre-enrolment visits, I was obliged to hang around and try to look useful).

My kid had such a ball; after the playdough was the jigsaw puzzles, the sticky transparent finger paint i.e. glue, the actual finger paint, the books, the steps (or the "beestup" as TLM refers to them) and the sandpit. The ease with which she mixed in with the other kids makes me confident that, when the day comes to actually leave her there for 3-4 hours so I can get my hair cut, swim, shop or nap, I won't have to worry that I'm doing a bad thing.

In the afternoon, the nanny came by and took her out to play with a couple of adoring young girls. So all in all, a great day for TLM.

I, though, am absolutely knackered. I got about four hours of sleep last night (though thankfully TLM slept in till 7am so it could have been three hours of sleep), didn't get a midday rest because I had to rush from childcare centre to work, and my trainee had to put up with hearing me talk with my mouth full because of course I didn't get a lunch break.

Which super villain are you?

Yep, still awake.

I haven't done one of these quizes for ages. This one was sent by my mate Desiree, a visit to whom is way overdue:

Your results:
You are Hulk

Hulk 65% Spider-Man 60% The Flash 60% Superman 55% Robin 50% Catwoman 45% Supergirl 43% Iron Man 40% Green Lantern 40% Batman 40% Wonder Woman 23%

You are a wanderer with amazing strength.

Click here to take the "Which Superhero are you?" quiz...

Head explosion leading to sleepless nights

I'm having terrible trouble sleeping tonight (which is why I'm blogging at midnight), and I think it's because there's so much going on in my head right now.

There's the mere-est of possibilities that it's due to a Brain Gym overload - perhaps spending half an hour desperately trying to beat last night's score wasn't the most relaxing way to end my evening.

Or it might be because today The Little Madam took five - five! - unaided steps. We were in my mum's living room, encouraging her (TLM, not my mum, although she could do with some exercise too) to walk to and fro between us. First couple of rounds, I thought I saw her take one or two unaided steps, then three or four, before culminating in a massive five completely hands-free pitter-patters. TLM was pretty excited about it too; she giggled gleefully in a way that reminded me of that first time she let me hold her torso upright while she pumped her little legs up in down. I was really stoked of course; normally it's the boy who sees her milestones.

But that's not all. This being my last week, I've been training the lad who's been hired to replace me for the next couple of months and I keep thinking of things that I'd better not forget to tell him.

And that's not all either. TLM and I have our first visit to the childcare centre tomorrow. While I'll be with her for this visit (and probably the next two or three), it's still a reminder that her scheduled abandonment there is soon to start.

But wait, there's still more. My brother and sister-out-law are probably selling their house soon, and the boy and I have expressed interest in taking over as the new owners and inhabitants. Buying your first house is stressful enough. Thinking about trying to buy a new house and sell your old one at the same time is a nightmare.

It's all too much.

My brain in lycra

The boy must have started worrying about my brain's atrophy as much as I have. Last week, he asked whether, if he bought a Brain Gym game for his Nintendo DS console, I would play it. Normally, when given the opportunity to try out a new computer game, I would answer with something witheringly negative like "Only if the alternative is to handwash your Y-Fronts for eternity" (Wii tennis excepted).

But he particularly emphasised the Brain Gym's reputation for re-building wasted grey matter, and - because I'd quite like to have an intellect again - I said I would.

True, I did do poorly in one of the games because I didn't understand the question (third time lucky though). But I was hooked for that brief time between dinner and my bedtime, and I could almost feel myself getting smarter. Although part of that might have been wishful thinking.

poohs

I suppose it's really quite appropriate that The Little Madam's disposable nappies all have pictures of Winnie the Pooh on them, considering the amount of "pooh" that goes in them.

You're probably not that interested in TLM's bowel habits, but it's my blog and I'll write what I want to. Anyway...

Poo wouldn't normally be a topic I'd want to blog about, unless it were an unusual colour or came out looking like a cactus. But just twenty minutes ago, I made an unprecedented 4 nappy-changes in less than five minutes. Literally, no sooner had I fastened the tabs on the new nappy, when I'd notice the characteristic grunts that signalled another brown blob had made its escape into the outside world.

Only a couple of nights ago I'd watched a TV show about waste and recycling, in which the resident expert gave a big thumbs down to disposable nappies. It made me feel so guilt-ridden that I contemplated having another baby just so that we could buy reusable nappies and have a reason to feel virtuous.

Sieve-like

For two months, I carried around in my head the date and time of The Little Madam's next appointment with the pediatrician. During that time, I rang the out-patient's desk repeatedly in hope of getting the time changed to a more nap-friendly one, finally succeeding after about a dozen calls. During that time, I decided to forgo a visit to a live Bill Bryson reading because it was on the same day as TLM's appointment.

So how the heck did I manage to forget all about the appointment when the time came?

Verbosity

This morning we interviewed two candidates for the role I'm vacating. The fact that I was going to be taking part in the interview was a complete surprise to me; I'd thought I was only going to join in on brainstorming interview questions, then make my exit before the arrival of the first hopeful.

Because, if I'd known, I would have tried to rehearse.

I've been told (okay, mostly by people who are too polite to tell me my writing sucks) that my writing is fine. My public speaking, however, is in dire need of polishing. Apart from the spoonerisms and the tripping over of words, I just couldn't avoid babbling on and on and going off into tangents, instead of focusing on what my job actually entails.

I was much better when the second interviewee showed up. That's when I realised how much difference it can make, whether those on the panel are any good at asking questions.

I'm not certain, but it appears that the job might go to the bronzed, hazel-eyed young man who wouldn't look out of place on an American soapie.

An a-ha moment

There's a great walking track at the end of my street, which leads to a well-touristed lookout point. I usually walk this track on my own, and in the summer I've often set out quite late in the day so that it's getting dark by the time I've turned around for the return journey. And I would often come across lone males loitering about off-track.

Being a woman, encountering lone male loiterers tends to detract from the pleasure in my hour of fresh air and exercise. But I was probably just being paranoid.

Perhaps that guy was jogging (because they always seem to be wearing skimpy shorts, even in winter) along and had paused to admire the abundant scenery. Perhaps, after the first one stopped, another guy running behind him glanced over, briefly agreed on the loveliness of the view over the town below, then ducked into the bushes for a wee. We all know how much men like to wee outdoors. The the first guy sees him out the corner of his eye and remembers, "Yeah, my bladder's kinda bursting full. I could do with a wee too." And he ducks into the bushes, forgetting that perhaps it might be a little more polite to find a different spot. And then, embarrassed, they see each other and leave.

Or maybe this hill is gay pick-up spot and I, resident of this street for almost longer than Keira Knightley has been alive, just didn't realise until my neighbour mentioned it.

The latest visuals of Baddha-kona-asana Baby *

(Baddha-kona-asana Baby - it sounds like a Hindu pick-up line, doesn't it? It's what the yoga teacher called The Little Madam because of her favourite pose.)

I know the rellies over in the UK are probably itching for some new photos of The Little Madam, so here they are.

The top one is TLM gettin' cosy with an unidentified male companion (the boy is already on the alert in case his shotgun is required), and the lower one is of TLM at a beachside park, wearing her Thomas the Tank Engine cap and engrossed in filling her nappy with sand (don't ask).

Lost plot

I've figured out why I find the show Lost so frustrating. It's because even though stuff keeps happening, nothing is ever resolved. The writers should take a leaf out of the Joss Whedon Book of Good TV Writing, and build in story arcs that begin and end with each season.

I don't know if it's a woman's thing or what, but I think closure is good.

Valentine's Day via the stomach

I had the problem I always have when it's time to get the boy a gift - I don't want to spend up large because I'm not bringing in a heck of a lot of bacon, and anyway he's probably only going to want computer peripherals anyway.

So I did what I always do. I put it off until it was too late to do anything really cool, like organise a geek-o-gram or surround his workstation with embarrassingly cute photos of me 'n' him 'n' The Little Madam.

This afternoon TLM and I went out for a walk to the shops and bought the boy a nice litte card. It's got a picture of a fluffy middle-aged couple and the words "Soul Mates" on the front, with the word "Forever" on the inside. That's probably the most touchy-feely I've ever gotten in my choice of Valentine's Day cards. Then I bought him a bottle of Chardonnay just to be sure.

The boy's Valentine's Day prezzies to me were actually presented yesterday - a sweet bunch of blog-pink roses, adorably too short for the one vase I possess, and a heart-shaped, berry-topped chocolate cake that looks solid enough to substitute for Elven bread during a long march to Mordor.

But, as the boy said, it's good for you because there's fruit on it.

Survival

During my frequent ruminations about the pros and cons of adding to the Short and Sweet family, I started to ponder about the meaning of the phrase, "surviving the first year". When The Little Madam turned one, I had technically "survived the first year".

But let's think about that one.

Sure, I survived in the literal sense; otherwise this would be a blog from hell (that's assuming only Christians go to heaven).

But how much of me survived? Of my brain cells, not many.

So what can I do to slow my mind's downward slide into moron-ity? How can I ensure the survival of what's left of my brain?

• crossword puzzles - never been any good at 'em, unless they were the ones in the children's pages.
• computer games - these and me have never mixed, and are even less likely to now that the grey matter is not as agile as it used to be.
• blogging - in theory, writing is good for the brain because it gets both hemispheres working. But it's easily to blog mindlessly.
• evening classes, in anything - that's in competition with sleeping, eating and telly-watching.
• eating fish - if it involves food, there's a good chance I'll take it on. But I don't like tuna and eating fish and chips every night might just turn me into a pimplier and fatter smart person.

What do other people do to prevent their intellect's extinction?

Thank God

For days now I've been trying to work out how to migrate all my links and Bloglines blogroll to the new template, and every time I've ended up restoring to the old template because I couldn't make it happen.

You are now looking at, finally, the new look Short and Sweet Like Me, and you can thank this theology blogger.

I like this pink. I like it very much.

Playing away from home

It'll only be about three weeks, before my work contract finishes and our wonderful nanny moves on to full time study. She's so good at filling in a whole morning for The Little Madam, that TLM is sure to notice that suddenly her days are not as chockful of finger puppets as they used to be.

And this is why I've decided to enrol TLM into two mornings per week at a local childcare co-op. This way, she'll continue to get some of the stimulation of learning and playing with other adults and children, and I'll continue to have some guaranteed child-free time. The boy would prefer I got another part-time job, but really it wouldn't be easy finding a job and childcare for the same time, would it?

Although there is a slight niggle in the back of my mind that tells me it's slightly indulgent to pay someone to look after my daughter when I'm not even going to be working...

road hogs

The last Inside New Zealand show was quite interesting. It was about 4-wheel-drives, or SUVs as North Americans refer to them (and what I'll refer to them as, because it's easier to type), and how they are a menace to society, their owners and to the environment.

I'm sure I 'm not the only one who hates SUVs. They take up road space and parking space, and their drivers have a reputation for driving dangerously and irresponsibly. But one of the interesting things shown up in the TV show was how easy it was to become corrupted by the feeling of greater power, ease of use and the ability to literally look down on other drivers.

They gave two non-SUV drivers each the chance to drive one for a day or two, kept an eye on their driving and asked them for feedback throughout. By the end of their time as SUV users, the single working mum was a total convert, though the guy had gone from thoroughly enjoying his exalted position to feeling a bit silly for having such a large vehicle for no good reason. Both drivers had started to display deplorable driving habits.

But knowing that you're more likely to kill another driver or pedestrian (or trike-riding family member) whilst driving an SUV than a normal vehicle, doesn't seem to be enough to put people off buying them, because for the most part they themselves are generally safer in an SUV than in a car.

So I reckon any strategy aimed at reducing SUV-caused road carnage has got to focus on the desire for self-protection rather than the relatively altruistic notion of wishing to do no harm to others.

Whaddya reckon?

The Change

After many weeks of inviting me to change over to the new Blogger, then telling me it wasn't possible after all, Blogger has finally allowed me to take the big step. It may mean that leaving comments will suddenly become more troublesome, but I hope that won't put you off leaving your mark on my posts.

Hell, I might even change the blog template to celebrate...

Love in a hot climate

I've gone back to using my desktop computer lately, because then the boy and I get to at least be in the same room together when we retire to our respective online pastimes.

But tonight my hard drive started beeping ominously at me. I know it wasn't anything I did, because the beeps started right after I'd downloaded the latest photos of The Little Madam - and that's all.

Once I was sure that the noise wasn't coming from a truck backing up outside the house, I quickly did what any IT Help Desk will tell you when you ring up with a computer problem. I turned the computer on and off again. It didn't work though, because the beeping came back.

So I went running to the boy, who is my own personal IT Help Desk. He reckoned it was overheating, maybe because its 27 degrees in here, maybe because it's an old hard drive and the fan isn't working any more.

It's at times like these that you're grateful for possessing a networked laptop, eh? Unfortunately, the photos are all on the beeping computer so I can't post the cute pictures of The Little Madam surrounded by a dozen soft toys in the big leather recliner; the Little Madam practising her Mexican wave; and The Little Madam sitting in her toybox, having tossed all the actual toys onto the floor.

The Little Madam, by the way, is still hot. I've been trying to get a urine sample to take to the lab, but it's not easy sticking a plastic bag onto a wriggly, toilet-untrained child who has an inconvenient tendency to poo when she's got a plastic bag stuck to her privates.

Friendly reminders

Despite all the advice to do pelvic floor exercises, from pregnancy books and antenatal classes, I find that the only time I do them is when I'm reading a magazine and come across an ad for incontinence pads.

The month was sultry...

At the risk of sounding like one of those annoying people who always find something to complain about, I'm going to...complain. About the weather.

December was such a total disappointment in terms of weather, because even though it was supposed to be high summer by then the actual conditions were depressingly similar to those of mid-winter.

But January couldn't have been more different. Going from December to January was akin to leaving mid-winter Wellington on a jet plane (temperatures in the single digits and a bracing galeforce southerly for extra chill) and landing in the Aussie outback (30-something degrees C in the shade) a few hours later. It's been a shock to the system and I still haven't gotten over it.

As I did a lazy shuffle down to the pharmacy (for some Nurofen for The Little Madam), this afternoon, be-hatted, sun-glassed and a little sweaty, I wondered whether the hot days are hotter that they used to be or whether I'm just getting too old to tolerate the temperature extremes.

I suppose the answer, really, is less clothing and more swims.

Hot and cold

On the verge of starting her first swim classes for 2007, The Little Madam is sick again.

It started yesterday afternoon, after refusing to eat lunch, waking really early from her nap and displaying a surprising disinterest in the fluffy fauna at the Picnic with the Animals day.

First she was subdued, then she was irritated. Then she was hot and dry with a body temperature of over 40 degrees Celsius. Numerous cool sponge baths and a dose of Pamol later, she was cool enough to put to bed for the night. The boy, poor soul, was up most of it checking on her and resettling her, even holding a cold can of beer against her body while she sat on his lap watching World of Warcraft characters hunt each other down.

TLM seemed to make a miraculous recovery today, but by evening she was one hot potato.

It's possible that this is a side effect of the MMR (Measles, mumps and rubella) vaccination she received just over a week ago - the nurse did say that a proportion of kids will get a rash or fever within seven days of the jab. Or, TLM might have something else. I hope it isn't ursinia again because, apart from the horribleness of the infection itself, what kind of parents must we be to allow TLM to succumb to the same bacteria twice in less than two months?

The unthinkable

I didn't think it would be possible, and I really didn't want it to be true, but I have at last found a Buffy book which is mostly boring.

I recently ordered Michael Adams' Slayer Slang off Amazon, after literally years of humming and ha-ing over whether I wanted to get it, because I read a good review of it somewhere. Plus, I'm quite interested in linguistics on a layperson's level (Bill Bryson - really! - has written some great linguistics books).

Unfortunately, this book is as dry as a really effective nappy worn on a hot day.

Big balls

As you know, I'm on a mission to get back into shape, a mission which took on a new intensity after I saw a photo of myself in a swim suit.

So far I'm still doing a 35-minute fast walk home from work four days a week, which has done good things for my thigh muscles but less-than-impressive things for my office look (I wear my powder-blue walking sneakers with everything). If The Little Madam is still napping when I get home, I do my sit-ups, half push-ups and leg lifts before I even let myself near the fridge door (although today was a complete bust, because TLM decided to have a 40-min catnap and was already waiting for me to entertain her when I got home.)

And now I have an exercise ball. (Up until now, I've always known these giant rubber beach balls as Swiss balls. However, a Swiss friend of mine - who actually owns one of these things too - doesn't understand why everyone here refers to them as Swiss balls, whereas everyone in Switzerland just calls them exercise balls. So in deference to someone who ought to know, I've stopped calling them Swiss.)

Actually, I've had my exercise ball for about three weeks now, bought on TradeMe. Unfortunately for me, I didn't notice that it would be in a deflated state at time of sale, and I didn't have anything to pump it up with. It was just as well that my Swiss ball-owner (not Swiss-ball owner, mind!) had a little air-pump thingy that accompanied her ball. Yay..an excuse to go visiting...

Did you know that, once an exercise ball is fully deflated there is a very good chance you won't be able to get it into your car (unless you drive a van, an SUV or a truck)?

When I carried my now fully inflated orb to my Toyota Echo I realised there was a real chance that I'd be carrying it back into my friend's house and pulling out the pin. There was an audible sigh of relief (as opposed to an audible sigh of a giant balloon leaking air) when, with only a small amount of grunting and pushing, I manoeuvred my object of hope into the back seat, next to my very curious toddler in her carseat.

By the way, I still haven't gotten around to using the darned thing. I think I bought too big a ball.

In our own image

I do my best not to let The Little Madam watch too much TV. I give her half an hour of kiddies shows in the morning while I shower and half an hour of Baby Einstein or The Wiggles in the evening before her bath, and that's it.

But TLM is probably doomed to grow up a TV addict anyway.

For one thing, both of her parents are avid TV watchers. We're quite discerning though, mind you, so there's a good chance she'll turn her nose up at reality shows too.

Another thing is that TLM just loves sitting on the boy's lap in front of the computer, while he's gaming. His game of choice is World of Warcraft, which means his monitor is always filled with fantastical animal-creatures. TLM watches them pounce around and roars. She sees them hit each other over the head and yells "Boom!". It's probably more fun than watching cartoons.

And then there's the fact that the boy sometimes watches old animated episodes of Dungeons & Dragons on DVD (like me, you probably didn't know it was a TV series either) with TLM on his lap.

Oh, no...she's doomed to become a gaming addict!






(Ahem...the naked look of the picture was purely unintentional.)

Corpses 'n' stuff (another post about television)

Murder mysteries have come a long way since the days of Miss Marple and Ellery Queen, haven't they?

Right after dinner tonight, while the boy did the dishes (a small miracle, but one I won't question in case he takes it the wrong way and never offers again), I kept the TV on and watched Bones.

To be honest, I tend to shy away from shows about murder these days. For one thing, the victims always seem to be female, and I'm not really entertained by constantly exposure to stories about men killing women. The other thing is that most of the shows are called CSI: something. It's like walking into a clothing shop and seeing nothing but black crew-necked t-shirts with stupid quotes on them.

The only reason I decided to watch Bones is because David Boreanz is in it. (And the only reason I watched an episode of Kitchen Confidential was because Nicholas Brendan is in it. It wasn't worth it.)

Yes, there were yucky bits (i.e. close-ups of a partially-decayed female corpse plus foetus) and yes there were forensics geeks aplenty. But the story was quite compelling and the main character is...well, such a character. She's like X-files' Dana Scully crossed with Buffy's Anya, minus the sexual tension of the former and the money-philia of the latter.

Trouble is, I'm not sure I'm going to get any sleep now that I've got murderous foetus-stealing mums on the brain.

The end of the TV silly season

Once upon a time (i.e. shortly after I purchased my first VCR and blank tapes), television was something that simply got in the way of my social life. Now, television is my social life. I suppose that's why we have a telly that's almost bigger than the wall it hangs on.

It's also why I get excited about new television shows. House is back on Tuesday nights, Ugly Betty has already started and What not to Wear will soon be starting on Friday nights.

Although apparently Trinny and Susannah won't be in it, as they've defected to another TV channel. I can't imagine the show without their cruel-to-be-kind bluntness, so I'm intrigued as to how the new presenters are going to do it. I'm also curious how T & S will continue to produce new makeover books if they can't use the What not to Wear title any more.

It's all very thought-provoking really.

And you thought my life was unexciting.

Wasted nights

Theoretically, I could quite possibly start attending life drawing sessions again, because they start at 7pm - not long after The Little Madam has gone to sleep - and finish at 9pm - leaving me an hour to get home, have a snack and go to bed.

Theoretically, I could spend every baby-free portion of my evening doing something highly productive.

In that short but precious two hour period which is free of toy-strewn floor and the little finger that points at what she absolutely must be given to play with, I could be doing all sorts of things. Like catching up on all that literature I haven't gotten around to reading (though Dostoevsky may never get a look in, unless a braincell-rejuvenation treatment is developed in time). Or getting seductive and romantic-like with the boy. Or doing some exercise. Or cleaning the mould off the shower walls. Or laying on the couch in front of the telly, with my dinner in a bowl...

Shoe fetish

The Little Madam's girly pink trainers were getting a bit scruffy and one of the laces had already broken off. So I looked around on the 'Net for some replacements.

Bobux seems to be the king of baby & toddler shoes around these parts, and here are some examples to prove it. Aren't they just good enough to cover with icing sugar and serve on a doily?

But a friend of mine told me where I could find something just as delectable, for a much smaller price tag, and that's where I went.

So when the soft orange leather shoes with navy blue flowers turned up in my mail box, I was pretty keen for TLM to do the proverbial twirl in them.

I had quite of trouble getting her feet into them though, even though I'd ordered a grow-into size. Perhaps it was due to the extremely thick fur-lining, something I hadn't remembered seeing in the photos.

And then I had an A-HA moment. That wasn't fur lining. It was stuffing, purely for the purpose of keeping the shoes' shape whilst in the post.

Naturally, when I told the boy about my moment of daftness, he said I should blog about it to make you lot laugh.