muppinstuff

quiet weekend

Today I drove around in the sunshine, visited my favourite opshop on the way to the supermarket and bought a pair of beautiful Italian boot/shoes that Grace touched but put away in her shoe drawer, some summer gardening pants for me (I'm starting to think that my wardrobe for the next year will need lots of things that can get covered in dirt or paint) and a big stack of magazines that I'd call house p*rn. Only I'm not allowed to call it that, because as G says, it's not a word we want Grace to be using. Then I went to my second favourite opshop and looked out the top floor window at the clouds scudding across the western horizon and felt happy. By the time I'd finished the fruit shopping and the supermarket, it was three so I didn't spend the afternoon sewing as planned. Just sort of hung out at home with the family. Pottering. Making spanakopita for dinner. Talking about our plans. It's nice to have a quiet weekend once in a while.

Last weekend was consumed with the Pool Together event for the Coburg Olympic Pool and it was the most amazing success. Exhausting in a way but also, crowded, good humoured and fun beyond our wildest dreams. People came that no-one knew even. Although I did run into some people that live where we're moving to where the conversation would start off... you look familiar, or I know you?.. and then we'd work out a connection from some past point in life. In a good way. And it felt really good to be part of the goup that made it happened. It's been a long time since I volunteered in any sense and I think I like it. Gee, the places that blogging will take you... (but that's a story for later I think). Anyway, I'm feeling very positive about the upcoming move. It feels like exactly the right place for us.

Grace and I made crazy lurid gingermen for the cake stall and because, while I was doing last weeks's supermarket shopping (in a rush, as opposed to meandering down the aisles singing love is in the air and dancing queen), I became certain they weren't going to be any good and that furthermore I would be judged badly as a woman (who used to have a cafe) on my baking, I decided to make lemon slice as well. So there's been a bit of a baking frenzy. Neurotic but fun. It was my first cake stall as a mum, so I'm going to let that one through to the keeper. And relax next time.

the tooth fairy will have to come early

*note to the dentally squeamish, there's picture you might want to avoid down the page.
On Tuesday morning as I was having a cup of tea with a friend, I heard these big hurty wails from outside. Looked out the window and saw Grace was being comforted by her dad, all seemed under control, so I went back to my tea and chat. But the wails kept going. Usually it's big cry, followed by a quiet cuddle and then back to zooming around. Not today. It turned out that Grace and Gerard had been riding the scooter around the concrete paths and come a cropper. There was blood coming from her mouth. I took over cuddle duty and we got blanket and something to wipe up the blood. The front tooth looked damaged but it was hard to tell. Later Grace went frighteningly pale and listless and I ended up phoning nurse on call. We ruled out concussion but the nurse recommended getting her checked out by a dentist. I rang the community dental service but the best they could do was a week away, so I rang the dentist I go to and they said we could go up straight away. Grace started crying the minute we got there and wouldn't let the dentist examine her, even sitting in my lap. He suggested we take her to the doctor for a sedative and then come back on Thursday. Grace perked up after lunch (soft food on her back teeth), and insisted she was well enough to go to playgroup where she told Mary I falled off my stooter.

Anyway on Wednesday, the doctor wouldn't prescibe anything stronger than painstop because as he explained to Gerard, he didn't know whether the dentist was going to use an anaesthetic. So Thursday at the dentist wasn't any better.  Grace and I had talked about going and practised showing the dentist our teeth, but when it came to the crunch, I lay in the chair holding her arms and legs with mine as she screamed in terror. He still couldn't get a good enough look to suggest anything other than coming back if the tooth got infected or broke leaving a jagged edge. I went away feeling not only did we not have a plan, but that we didn't even have enough information to justify a wait and see attitude. He didn't charge us for either visit, but from what I'd seen, it was too bad to leave.

So after lunch, while Grace was napping, I rang the Children's Hospital and asked if they had a dental service we could access. I was put straight through and after talking to the nurse for a few minutes she said, I'll find a dentist for you to talk to. About five minutes later I was talking wth the lovely Amy and we went through everything and she said that she'd like us to bring Grace in for an assesment that afternoon and that if we got there before 4.30pm we wouldn't have to go through emergency. I can't tell you enough how different the approach was or just how impressed I've been with the Children's Hospital over the last two days. To examine Grace's teeth, they had her sit straddling my lap, facing me and then lean back onto the dentist's lap holding my hands. When she screamed, as they said she would, they got a really good look and it was all over very quickly. I was impressed with how they worked with the child's behaviour, there was struggle and it was still terrifying, but much less so than the regular dentist's approach.

Amy said that the tooth needed to be removed under general anaesthetic as the nerve was exposed; causing pain, bleeding into the tooth and leaving the area open to infection. Then there was a bit of waiting around with Grace alternating between saying she just wanted to go home, running up the corridors and playing happily with the books and toys. So surgery was booked for today. I didn't sleep well last night, I tried to be calm with it but all I could think of were the risks, the what if's and worry about my baby. And the dreams, I had all sorts of weird dreams in which some woman chastised me for how I bought up Grace, from what she wore, to what she ate, what she got away with and how we acted as role models. In the dream she told me you should be ashamed of yourself. Hideous. I was pretty glad to wake up.

Once the day got going, it had it's own momentum, even if a bit fraught in places. The wait was fairly long as we were last on the list. Grace didn't want to be weighed or have the hospital bracelet put on, she spat out all her pre-op panadol. And she was tired and hungry from fasting and missing her nap. But finally our turn came, the doctors were firm and friendly like before and I held her hand as she went under. Gosh it's quick. And we were there when she woke up. It's heart wrenching seeing your baby out of it on a hospital trolley with a mask on her little face, but she woke up quite quickly and after a big cuddle was walking around, choosing food from the fridge within half an hour. We were all pretty pleased to get home.

I have the tooth in a jar and Grace has been fascinated by it, but she didn't want it left by her bed for the tooth fairy. Insisting that it went back in mummy's room. I pretty sure the tooth fairy can cope with that. And I'm thinking that a gold coin might be the go for a tooth removed this way. Not that I know the going rate, this tooth fairy bizzo has come a bit early here at chez scruffnut.

random bits from a queens birthday weekend

My new Ugg boots are too tight in the toe and very sloppy in the heel, meaning that I can't walk in them but sort of scuffle along. They're not nearly as good as my last pair, which are not being made anymore. Sigh. The new possum/merino stripey socks are pretty damn fine though. Especially with my winter birks. I know, such a trendsetter.

Listening to New Order in the kitchen during a monent of domestic calm. It was the one G gave me for Christmas in 2001 (I think). The Christmas we went to Tasmania and drove along the road to nowhere in the Toyota (which probably killed the car, but I'd do it again in a heartbeat except I wouldn't camp next to blackberry bushes near rivers, too many big black snakes, shudder). I'd forgotten how much I like this CD, how rich it is.

Watching the stick structure come down and various bits of backyard junk being burned in the big burny barrel. I wouldn't let G pull it down until we found a house, just in case we were still here next summer and needed the shade. It's kind of sad and exciting all at the same time. Now our weekends clothes smell of smoke which I quite like. It reminds me of camping and barbques.

Life with Grace can be a battle at the moment. Lots of wilful throwing of things on the floor, shoe refusal, bath issues, hairwashing issues, flailing, gouging. Then there's the shouting. I'm trying to keep in my mind that parental shouting is like smacking inasmuch as it shows children that shouting is an OK way to handle things. Trying to read Buddhism for Mothers but it isn't sticking yet. Need to find a way of discipline that's gentle and not spirit crushing. Also need to get child out of the house in time for work/playgroup/whatever without needing to start an hour and a half before we go and wearing sufficient seasonally appropriate clothing that a) she doesn't catch a cold, b) she can play outside and doesn't become one of those pale inside children and c) no-one calls DHS re neglectful parenting. Clean, attractive clothes would be nice too, but I'm picking my battles. Have also been wondering if this is my karma for being just a little smug when Grace was such a good eater, sleeper etc when other children weren't.

Wondering whether I should start a house blog as a companion to my scrap book. Not that I need another blog, but I've wanted to play with a blog that would suit advertising which this doesn't. Who am I kidding? Like I'm not going to be even more busy when we start doing the house. Still it keeps rolling around in my mind.

My theory of the one good thing a day in the hated shoes and socks seems to be working. We went to a park with big old elm trees that used to have a train in it, but doesn't anymore. There was however, a good playground filled with lots of designery parents and well dressed children, a friendly french traveller with a van cooking his food on the barbque and the skate bowl.  It good until we tried to drag Grace away from the skate bowl, where she was entranced by the teenagers and older children.

Can't stop singing rock-a-bye bear. Love it.

slow days of autumn

Have obviously packed away my summer clothes too soon. It's been glorious, balmy weather, with just the faintest chill at night. Definitely too hot to wear my boots and skirt look to work. It's also apparent that I'm a bit lacking in the transeasonal type apparel that works really well at this time of the year. Some new pants are being made, but oh what a slow process it is, because I've decided that I really can't do any sort of complicated sewing at night. Too much unpicking. Too much black unpicking. Not enough light, leading to a vicious cycle of swearing and frustration. So I'm trying to go slowly and make fewer items, but well.

Last night in the soft night I walked to the council meeting. Brunswick council chamber is 1920s or 30s with wood panelling and a few modern touches from the 60s or 70s. Proceedings started with a buzz of excitment, much shuffling of paper and settling. There were a lot of questions about public toilets, especially the self cleaning ones, which don't seem to be self cleaning well enough. How hard would it be to provide more public toilets and a better regime of cleaning? Anyway, there were lots of pool people there, and many questions were asked. All in preparation for budget time. There was also a big clock right behind me that startled me with the clicking, clunking sound of the hand moving. After questions, there's a little break before the council moves on to all their big agenda items (must stay for that sometime) and we repaired to the beer garden of a nearby pub for conversation and I realised that two beers is one too many. Pfff, cheap drunk. Still it was a rather good night out.  I walked home and it was still warm. I watched Oceans Twelve on telly long after G had gone to bed saying it was rubbish, thinking this is not an action movie, it's a chick flick. Then I stopped feeling pissed and went to bed.

Today was still slow and silky. But I had this moment at work today, after I had worked through a particular situation with a complicated interplay of policy, procedures and how the computer system works, and fixed something when I thought, I think my brain might be returning. Goodness. It's a happy feeling.

ps The photo is of my favourite blue wall on the way to the supermarket (taken last weekend). I wish I knew how to prevent the green shadow with this camera. I'm thinking it might be fun to sit there for half an hour one day and take pictures as people go past. With the big, reliable camera of course. Although nobody takes you seriously with a small orange point and shoot. Which kind of has advantages too.

So young cat, you're off to the lost cats home, know your rights and obligations.....

Earlier this week we discovered three cats living under our front verandah. Nice friendly cats, just a bit skinny and pesky. There was a sensible grey and orange cat with a collar, and two ginger and white cats, like feline teenagers, possibly her offspring. Anyway, we agreed that four cats in the household was really three cats too many and that they would have to go. Then housegeusts from Tasmania arrived and there was chaos (of the fun kind) and barbeques and the cats sort of settled in for a couple of days. The cats became very bold and it was harder and harder to keep them out of the house. Meanwhile G phoned the council, who advised there was a three month waiting list for a cage. Despite G pointing out that by then the cats would have multiplied (and taken over our house) and trying to convey that we weren't actually asking someone to come and get them (oh heaven forbid that the council might actually address the issue of stray cats) but that we just wanted to know what to do.

Finally the Lost Dogs Home said we could take the cats there. Then, last night as I was getting changed I saw the mother cat dash across our bedroom with something grey, squeaking and rat sized in her mouth and dive into G's dirty washing basket. I shrieked pathetically (while thinking that enhanced rodent control might be an upside of all the extra cats) and G came to investigate (he's very good with rodents). And there amongst his smelly socks and underpants was a mother cat and two little, little kittens. At first we thought she was actually giving birth but then on closer investigation, I realised that the kittens were a couple of days old. Still so very tiny. She must have come out of the rain from somewhere to give birth under our house. G moved them out to the shed for the night and as the older cats kept pushing the littlies away for a go at their mothers milk and as they were going the next day, he fed them. In the middle of the night there was more squeaking and mother cat had appeared to claim yet another three day old kitten. G got up and put them both out in the shed. In the morning he said, there were three generations of cats all curled up in the basket together. He told me later, that he'd had a little chat to them about what to expect at the cat home, given them an information sheet about their rights and obligations and told them that none of this was their fault, because they were really good, sweet little cats.

Grace was pretty excited about going to the cat home, we've been saying that's where they were going since Tuesday and I hadn't had the heart to tell her what a tragic place it was. She still thinks that the word home means something good. This morning we borrowed another cat cage and went to the Lost Dogs home. I filled out the paperwork and while we were waiting, read posters saying that feeding strays was wrong; that you either have to take on an animal properly or phone the council (hah!).  A worker came to check the cats out and transfer them into different cages. She handled the cats gently and with a sort of respectful affection but said the kittens had no chance, they were too young and that it looked like the little cats had cat flu. At one point I had a few tears in my eyes, but really we can't take on more cats. Although it was tempting. The last stray we had here, we found a home for him, but there was only one. Not six.

of sheets and houses

Summer seems to have disappeared into grey sky, welcome rain and cool nights. Suddenly I'm thinking about my autumn work wardrobe and buying lentils for soup. It won't last though. There'll be more hot weather. Probably in April, knowing Melbourne.The seeds I threw on the garden between Christmas and New year are starting to come up. Surpises from the bottom of the seed tin, left over packets of this and that. I figured that there wasn't much point in taking out of date seed when we move. Next week I start my long summer holiday (planned and booked a year ago) and after that it'll be back to househunting, thinking about light and floorplans and renovations(or not) and schools and getting to work and trying to mentally move all our stuff, our lives from this house and yard to another, most likely smaller house. I worry about where I'll sew, where I'll put my computer, all G 's music stuff. Actually, I worry a lot about everything, but mostly I worry about moving. It's a long time since I put my belongings in a truck and unpacked boxes. I took over the lease here in the eighties. Almost half a life ago. Oh dear, that's not where I meant to go tonight.

I was going to talk about the family birthday parties we've been to, and going shopping at Highpoint with Grace for sheets for her big girl's bed. G is building a base from beautiful wood given to him by his friend Steve, and it's nearly ready for us to go and get the futon. Grace has been quite involved and has been reporting on the work in progress. I had intended to just go and get sheets myself, but having been back at work most of the week, I felt I'd hardly seen her. Grace said she wanted to come shopping with mummy, but as we all know, a nearly three year old doesn't necessarily translate wanting to go somewhere into getting ready or getting in the car, or even going into the shop to buy the darn sheets. Let alone choosing a colour or obsessing over thread counts.  Especially when her mean mother insists on searching the aisles for cotton sheets (because they'll last and be nice) instead of scratchy polyester princess ones. Nonetheless, despite several screaming meltdowns, her and me both, buy sheets we did. Followed by lunch in the food court, a quick trip back to the car with the trolley and then into Borders to look out the window and go down the escalator to the children's book section. Where, despite all that had gone before, she was an absolute delight. The escalator turned out to be the highlight of the whole Highpoint experience. Not the sheets.

I carried her back into the house asleep and lay down to have a nap myself. Later, because I've missed playing with the camera, I took a few pictures of Grace's play area by the backdoor. It's a constantly evolving scene. The plastic jug set is a big hit, as is the plastic fruit. Flowers in vases and cups are a constant theme at the moment too, but they don't seem to last, being tipped out, shredded into ssomething else and scattered quickly. There's also good use being made of the big cardboard box from Christmas. I would have thought it would be weedmat by now, but yesterday it was the shop.

it's the magic word!

Often sitting at the kitchen table after dinner Grace says, all done, I want a book, I want a book, I want a book... We ask her which one?

Then follows a long process of working out whether it's Hippos Go Berserk, Rupert or Elmo or something else on rotation on the shelf above the table. I want Rupert, she says.

And the the word we use when we want something is...?  I say.
It's the magic word! she says
And it is...

In a sentence, adds Gerard.

I want Rupert, puhleeease!

On a good day one of us passes her the book and she reads and chats until I've finished my dinner and then it's stories and bed. Stories punctuate the day now. Mum reads to her, I read to her, Gerard reads to her and she reads to herself. And now the latest thing is that in the morning, she'll get in bed next to me and read mummy a story. And I thought Grace would never want me to read to her.

At the moment we're reading several varieties of Pooh Bear (and watching the Tigger movie), an excellent book by Mem Fox called Harriet, You'll Drive Me Wild, referred to by Grace as the sorry book because it features a little girl who does naughty things and says she's sorry. Her mother doesn't like to yell but snaps after a long, hard day. Grace finds the whole idea of being naughty and being in trouble just absolutely fascinating at the moment. We're also reading a book about a little boy going to the toilet all by himself. One can hope. Whenever I talk to Grace about doing poos on the potty or toilet she laughs maniacally and says, oh no, no, no, no...

The reading is excellent though. One of the best parts of the day.

the light hits the mirror

Some time around 8.00pm, for a few weeks in midsummer, some of the last of the light streams into the study which faces south west. It hits the rear view mirror on G's desk (for keeping an eye on Grace when she's playing on mummy's computer).

The light then bounces across the room in a big wide circle, like a giant projector. We're often in here at this time because it's just after Grace goes to bed.The effect is quite magical and only lasts for ten minutes or so.

In other news I drove for the fisrst time in several weeks today. Just down to the supermarket and later to the pool with Grace. Starting to feel much better but having one more week off work. Just to make sure I've caught up on all my sleep. Hooray.

It's fecking hot. Will correct spelling mistakes tommorrow after the cool change.

reviewed and resolved; and a bit about jam and the weather

It's been stinkin' hot here. Yesterday it was 43C (that's 109F) and emerging from the comfort of mum's car was like walking into a fan-forced oven (at the temperature for merringue?). Yes, we went shopping, Victoria Gardens. Fewer shops, much less crowded than Highpoint, but with Ikea.  I love Ikea and it's so very seductive. At the end I had to sort through the trolley and decide whether I really needed another cutlery drainer. Spent an appalling (for me) amount of money on baskets, kid room storage, tin bowls and other faffery. Useful faffery, which makes it OK on occasion and last time I was pregnant with Grace. So it's all good.

Last night it only got down to 37C (99F),and as the Bureau of Meterology said, it was an oppressive night. So not much sleep for me. Luckily I made apricot jam the other day, when it was just hot, not ridiculously hot. I used a new method and am absurdly pleased with how it turned out.

There are now twenty jars of jam in the cupboard, which was my freaky jam making goal for this summer. If I make some yellow plum jelly, I'll exceed my own expectations, which would be quite nice at present. So anyway, for the reviewed and resolved, new year type stuff, I'm only going to talk about the good stuff. The other stuff, that's too dour a way to start a new year.

Looking back at 2007, I'm pleased about:

• Learning to use DSLR camera my Dad gave me. There's a life time of learning to be had there, but I've made a good start.
• Putting my photos on Flickr. Eventhough I don't have time to comment and browse much, uploading a couple of times a week has gotten me in the habit of working through all the photos I take as I go. My filing and archiving systems are also better now. The thought of thousands of unedited photos clogging my hardrive gives me the shudders.
• Getting through most of the year at work, some of it nearly full time and mostly being genuine and compassionate with customers. Improving my skills and knowlege, including developing expertise in a particular field. All the time working within the legislative framework. Obviously I can't go into too much detail, but I'm giving myself a rather big pat on the back here.
• Changing our routine at home so we always eat dinner at the table together. This bowls me over, we didn't do this all the time when I was a child. I remember wanting to and my instincts were right. Sometimes it's hard eating with a two (and three quarters) year old but mostly it's great. It forces us to stick to a sensible dinner time and we groove out to music and chat. Our cooking has improved too.
• Blogging. Somewhere to offload, debrief, be shallow, think about things in more detail. I've truly come to love this form of writing. It's bought me back to words and enriched my inner life in a way I never expected. It's also been a great community for me. And I've met lots of lovely ladies in person. Who'd a thunk it? Details; here, here and here. So to everyone who's been a reader, commenter or casual lurker, thank you.

In 2008 I'd like to:

• Do another photography course. One specially aimed at DSLRs, including a photoshoot. If anything, doing a course sets aside dedicated time for learning about my camera. The last one was such a buzz.
• Make another calender for Christmas.
• Buy a house. Not just any house but one that can become our home and not split us asunder in the process.
• Start working towards another form of income for the future. Something more freelance. I'm thinking about writing books (ideas for children's fiction and adult non fiction), small business commercial websites, a way for G to sell his woodwork maybe. Not starting a new business. Realistically, that's going to be too hard alongside working, buying a house and making said house livable, but just sampling some ideas here and there. Trying things on, seeing how they fit.
• More waterplay. Perhaps swimming as excercise for me during summer. Start Grace with swimming lessons (maybe in about six months). Make sure we go to the beach, the pool, the river and maybe a dam. Grace loves the water and so do I. Learn to take pictures underwater, because my new little carry everywhere camera can.
• Try and keep some space in my life for art with Grace, art for me (ideas for wrapping paper and cards) and sewing. Learn to make a quilt. Make some more sewn knitwear, because I really enjoy that.
• Clean the windows. Let the floors, the dusting and the bathroom go, but clean windows, they lift your spirits. Well, they do mine.
• Learn the art of the short blog post. Ha!

Happy 2008 everyone!

And it's now a comfortable 24C (75F). Time for some sleep.

little plum jam

We have a big old plum tree in the centre of our back yard. Possibly grown from weed seeds, probably more than one plant growing in the same hole. The leaves grow lacy from cutleaf moth and parts of the bark are insect infested and crumbling. Parrots squawk overhead, dropping squishy plum missiles and birdshit onto the washing (reaching a crescendo just after Christmas as the plums ferment). G curses the plums on the grass and the path. And inevitably, despite feet wiping and shoes removing, track all through the house. He's much better at sweeping them up than I am.

Yesterday and Sunday I made plum jam (recipe here). These plums aren't great to eat on their own and they're a bugger to prepare but they make the best jam. Especially when made with a precentage of green fruit. The first batch is mouth puckeringly tart. Mum suggested that I could make some with ripe fruit as well, so for the second batch I left out the really green ones. It's still pretty tangy but that's the way I like it. If I get a chance, I'll make another batch when they're fully ripe. I think they're damson plums. If anyone knows for sure, please let me know.

First we pick and wash the fruit.

 

Then we stone it. My hands are not recovered yet. I know, I should wear gloves, but it's too slow.

Put the jars in the oven before boiling the jam. Admire your super large preserving pan found at the opshop sometime in the nineties and mix all the sugar in. Wonder about the childminding arrangements. G agreed to look after Grace while the jam was boiling on Sunday but she wanted to help me. At one stage, I thought I was going to have burnt jam and hours of wasted preparation or much worse, a burnt child. Not that it was close, just that boiling four kilos of fruit and sugar on a low and wonky stove and supervising a toddler is beyond nervewracking (never again). The deal was supposed to involve G supervising Grace while I cooked, whether or not she wanted to be involved. So I could concentrate during the critical part. Mum knows how to do this. G dissappeared into his shed at the first sign thing looked OK. Which varies moment to moment with a two and a half year old. And I am still not the easiest person to deal with.

Anyway, I made the second batch yesterday. While Grace was napping. It was so much easier. I even stood at the stove and did some light mending. Alternating with stirring. Then I poured the jam into jars and listened for the snap of the cellophane covers shrinking.

I saw a stray pip and some froth. Talked on the phone about jam with a friend, neither of us goes for jam making perfection because it always turns out well enough. And always far better than shop jam. In odd parts of the day, I wondered whether I could have skimmed the froth more. I used to skim alot because that's how my nan taught me. I'm less and less inclined to skim now. What causes the froth? Is it sugar boiling or impurities in the fruit? And does it mostly go away by itself?  Looked to the internet for answers and the best I could come up with was this. Which didn't really answer my question.

Next up apricot. And maybe some of the little yellow plums which I've never jammed before. Must plant some damson pips in a pot.