muppinstuff

and we'll take tony, and my toys, and my big girl bed....

Yesterday was so exciting, as you may have guessed by the title, we bought a house. Or rather wrote out a rather large cheque and signed on the dotted line for an even more frightening one. My dad made the opening bid. When no-one responded to that, the auctioneer made a vendor bid and then the auctioneer asked my dad for another bid, to which he replied, no, why would I? Let's see if anyone else wants to bid (or something to that effect). Then at the last moment another man starting bidding and then I jumped in. At one point the auctioneer said it was with sir (meaning my dad), and I said, no, it's with me now. Everyone laughed. Oh, the theatre of an auction. The bidding crept along in very small increments until the other bidder was reaching for his mobile and then declared himself out. I had the highest bid but it was still under the reserve. As we went inside to negotiate, a couple who hadn't bid tried to come inside too. I remember thinking, who are these people? Anyway, as it turned out we bought the house. The realestate agents shook my hand and kissed me on the cheek (eew!). And then I sat down to sign a whole lot of paperwork and write out said cheque in my chequebook ordered for such an occasion (who writes cheques these days of internet banking?) I was so agitated I could barely hold my pen. Then the vendors came in and shook my hands and kissed me on the cheek (what is with this kissing thing? I know it's exciting but...). The house was swarming with people and Grace was playing outside. Later we all went out the front. I helped the woman from the couple who sold the house to stick the sold sticker on the sign. It was one of those lovely moments of goodwill. Everyone very happy.

After that we decamped to sister Betty's and uncie Camo's for Ruby's first birthday. Very yummy soup (leek and chickpea with saffron threads) and toast for lunch and far too much champagne for someone who takes big purple pills. Followed by carrot cake with lemon icing. Luckily I wasn't driving. I worried that we were overtaking Ruby's birthday celebration, but we all kind of knew that it might be like this and we knew we'd all be together for the day anyway. Unfortunately I didn't take any photos of Ruby blowing out her candles, too in the moment, too scattered.  Or of Grace and Ruby playing together. Although I think this one and this one are quite nice.

So anyway we came home and put Grace to bed, mum pulled out all my knitting and showed me how to knit the scarf without so many mistakes and with a tighter edge. Grace didn't eat any dinner and fell asleep on the chair in her bedroom. She knows what's been going on and today we've been talking about fixing the house, she's suggested sticker tape and a hammer. I'm trying to convey to her that it's going to be a long time, but she's concerned about taking her bed and all her toys, tony in his pink cage in the back of the car, all her books and the playhouse at po-po corner. It worries me a little that there is absolutely no garden there, because Grace is at an age where I think a garden to get lost in is a good thing. Maybe I'll plant a forest of tree dahlias and jerusalem artichokes. Or perhaps the fun will be planting a new garden together,

I woke up this morning with many racing thoughts, including the ohmygod, these are some things I really need to do today and oh crap, what if we've bought a dud, what if the aspects all wrong and it's really dark in winter and glaring in summer and we can't work with it and gulp, there's such a lot of work to do and it's a really big project. In the end, I actually tried not to think too much beyond what I have to do this week, there's a fair while before we take possesion, so lots of time to get organised. I did some knitting. And folded some washing and then let the feelings of good fortune and possibilty just flow. We're lucky, I know and appreciate this. It's going to be good, it's already been good.

three

On Saturday afternoon, after a morning spent baking a luridly coloured cake with Grace and a sticky at an auction in a nearby suburb, I stopped off at the big fruit shop (as opposed to being slack and just getting everything at safeway) where I bumped into a friend from a past life. Her children are a few years older than Grace and I mentioned I was shopping for a lunch to celebrate Grace's third birthday. I bet it's feels like it's gone really quickly, she said.  Yeah, I guess it has, I replied and then went back to running around making last minute changes to the next day's menu and obsessing over whether the grapes were fresh and if the strawberries would taste of anything (yes and double yes). Later that night, as we wrapped presents, G and I talked about when Grace was a baby and how quickly she's growing up. How she comes and says, Mumma (or Daddy), I've got a big idea.... and her increasingly complicated play world. We both became quite sentimental and nostalgic. Although I want her to to grow up and take great joy in the unfolding of her world, there's also part of me that wants to hold onto all that she's been before. To still be able to hold her at my breast as an infant, on my hips as a one year old, to watch her bumshuffle and take her first steps.

Anyway, this is the first year that Grace has had any real sense of birthday consciousness. With anticpation. That it's all about her. She wanted balloons and a cake with ice.

Would you believe safeway ran out of balloons? Never mind, I eventually tracked some down and even if half of them had holes in them, they were a great hit. As was the cake. Especially the decorating of said cake, which we did together in the morning before she had a little nap. It was basically a plain cake with chocolate ripple in the middle for height. Grace hasn't quite got the hang of blowing out the candles, but she had a good go.

It was a lovely lunch, even if I do say myself. Grace really enjoyed the presents, possibbly the biggest hit were some small figurines from Nina and the card with three on it, and raced around afternoon. The happiness and light in her face during the happy birthday song was a joy to behold.  Happy Birthday Grace!

why we go on holidays

At the beginning of our trip away I felt a little like when working full time ... the omigod it's Friday night which means in two more days it'll be Monday again feeling. But as it was, time stretched out in front of me, there were beach trips and outings in the car, various photo sessions with three different cameras. Nights spent chatting, handstitching a little felt horse and a new pincushion. Afternoons devouring books found at the beach house; Irish novels by Marian Keyes, one after the other. I read the one about the lass who goes to rehab (rachel's holiday), the one whose husband leaves her with a newborn (watermelon), one about a girl with an alcoholic dad (lucy sullivan is getting married) and another about a woman finding love at the same time her gay friend is sick (last chance saloon). All page turners, with messages.  While the pile of worthy fiction I'd bought with me sat ignored. Although I did start The Sound of One Hand Clapping by Richard Flanagan on the second last day. And kept reading in spare moments once we got home. Even though it's a heartwrenching read. So my reading mojo is back. Which is good because it's been long gone.

There were lots of moments with family, with Mum and Betty and Ruby. During which Grace almost smothered her little cousin with kindness a couple of times and learnt about sharing. Or not. Watching them play in the shallow water at the inlet and then racing to pack up and drive our cars out before high tide. Lots and lots of aunty cuddles, not really ever enough. Lance and Gerard arriving at the weekend. More visitors, a house full of people, easy dinner and lots of wine and talk (mind you half a glass of red knocks me nearly senseless these days). A visit from Dad and Nina and an unexpectedly good boogie board day at the beach. Followed by a visit to my aunty and (step)uncle who live nearby where Grace stayed up until eleven o'clock and was well behaved! 

What else? Playing with Grace in the water. That girl must have veins of ice. There weren't that many days really hot enough for extended swimming. But every time we went to the beach she insisted. I tried to convince her to paddle in her shorts but learnt quickly the best thing was to put her bathers on, let her run around and splish and splosh, pulling her out and wrapping her in a towel once she started to shiver. Sometimes a biscuit in the back of the car was in order. She also loved going out in the surf with me, jumping up to meet the waves with me holding her hands and being tossed about a bit in the shallows (very well supervised of course). Sand castles were a big hit, as was visiting nearby Magic Beach which was easily recognisable from the book by Alison Lester. I bought this book while Christmas shopping and put it away, sneakily packing it in unseen with the other books and toys at the last moment and gosh, what a thrill. It'd be fair to say, I think, that Grace will inherit my love of the water.  She also seems to have grown half a foot and tripled her vocabulary.

I feel like I could have stayed away another week, cocooned in a precious little web of holiday. Not that it was perfect, because we're not, but it's nice to be cooking dinner and looking at ti-tree and going for walks along big open beaches with a changing vista every day. It's good for your head, good for your soul. We're starting to slide back into everyday life again. Although I'm going away for a craft retreat this weekend which I feel absolutely and absurdly excited about. You mean I get to sit around with other women, sew without feeling rude, chat, drink and talk about blogging and craft and heaps of other things?!? And eat yummy food. Oh yes, very excited.

Meanwhile my computer is still having surgery. And G deleted the photo editor I like to use from his which means I feel all at sea photowise. Still, I'm very lucky to be able to go online at all (yes, but you know this time I din't really miss it after the first couple of days, not like last time, but I wanted it as soon as I got home, hmm). And I have just discovered that the flickr editor is pretty easy to use. Still I haven't downloaded or organised most of my photos. Which means that when I get back from the aforesaid weekend of excitement, not only will I have to rouse myself and get back to work but there'll be three weeks of photos to do. Blogging may therefore be a little thin on the ground for a while.  Or not. We'll see.

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.

Christmas '07: the good, the bad, the ugly and the good again

the good: Watching Grace place an ornament on the Christmas tree as though she'd been doing it all her life. Going to Dad's place and having a bang up Christmas lunch with roast chicken, ham and all the trimmings. Some really great and thoughtful gifts (and not so many that we're having to re-arrange the house) including a new telly (I so love the new telly, in a completely shallow way). Making calenders from my photos (nervewracking but I'm so glad I did it, it's reallly nice to see my photos printed on posh paper). Christmas morning with Grace, Beach boys Christmas songs and old cartoons, Grace calling the reindeer donkeys. She totally gets the concept of presents now - the big hits were the tool box G made her, the easel from Nana, the kiddy camera from Papa, the fairy skirt from G's folks in Tasmania and the Grover t-shirt from me (meaning she'll wear something other than a singlet, a major victory for sun protection). Grace going to sleep at Papa and Nina's in the big bed in the spare room and not being a Christmas monster. Plum pudding the way my nan used to make it (gosh I guess I'll have to learn one day). Hanging out with the family. Taking photos of my step sister Vivian, And a big dance to Boney M in the loungeroom at the end, with Grace wanting to do hold hands dancing with mummy and shrieking in delight. Yep, all that was really ace.

the bad: Being prescribed an anti-psychotic that was supposed to make me sleep the Thursday before Christmas. My re-action was atypical and I was awake all night and really groggy the next day, actually not just groggy but almost unable to function and having a child to look after, and lacking the judgement to ask for help. Wanting my mania back because then I could do stuff and at least with the sleepers, I got six hours sleep a night. Making a fairy skirt for Grace and receiving one from G's family in Tasmania that Grace opened first (on Christmas Eve) and liked better. Over-reacting. Probably a misunderstanding from when we talked about gifts. It's not like I can remember what I say half the time at the moment. Having to lock myself in the study on Christmas morning to cry because everything was just all too intense. Christmas is not a good time to have a manic episode, my friends. Not being able to drink on Christmas day eventhough I'm still not driving. My Dad had seriously nice drinks, so that sucked. I love getting a bit wobbly at Christmas.

the ugly: Yesterday was the first day I haven't felt like crap in a bag. Boxing Day I felt like I'd been hit over the head several times and there was a pain across the back of the neck that radiated into my right arm. Sewing, computering and much tension held in my neck, is my guess. And I couldn't get the new telly to play dvds in colour. On Thursday, Mum took Grace while G was at work and I bumbled around by myself at home. The morning was fine but in the afternoon I collapsed into a pitiful crying heap. Again. For two hours. Thought I was doomed. At least it all came out.

the good again: Finally figured out dvd  in colour. Watching said telly (did I say before how much I lurve the telly?). Friday, Mum came over and we went to the material shop (to touch fabric and get more of some lovely cotton knit I made my Christmas cardy from). I made chicken soup (with the stock from the Christmas roast carcasses) and then while Grace napped, we sat and chatted while I did some mending and light sewing. Maybe I am going to be OK. We talked about planning Christmas so that there's still time for making and doing (even if I'm working). It's going to be much more mellow at this end next year. But lunch at Dad's was great. Like I said in my last post, I am so grateful and love it that my family can do that. I really do.

Today is pretty good too. We've picked a whole heap of apricots and I'm off to jam in the heat. As it should be. Hope your Christmases were all excellent and that the recovery is well under way.

always another place at our table

The last present has been wrapped, the potatoes are cooked and in the fridge waiting to be made into salad tomorrow morning. There's a big box of cherries, my favourite Christmas treat, and I'm sipping very gently at a glass of lambrusco. My cooking mojo has well and truly deserted me. Even the white Christmas failed. In my chocolate chips in everything mode, I tipped quarter of a pack in at the last minute. Brown Christmas anyone? Tastes OK but it's light brown. I made another batch, this time doubling the coconut by mistake. Then adding more copha because the texture was wrong. It was so revolting that it's now on the compost heap, wrecking the soil. I was absolutely mortified that I mucked up white christmas, not once but twice. On the up side, my sewing mojo is fine. The sewing machine has been going full throttle, some new clothes for Grace and for me. And a fairy skirt (although no sewing required there, sort of like macrame), found here, via here. I'm glad it's all done. It's been a big day, a big couple of weeks.

Anyway, as I was sorting through my stuff, I found some old rolls of film and with no idea what was on them, had them developed. This one's pictures from Christmas 2002. A tough year if ever there was one. The year Frank was born and died, the year Nina was really sick. We had Christmas lunch at our place, in the loungeroom. We roasted free-range chickens in our tiny oven and served up in our funny kitchen. It was a great meal.

There was Gerard's ex, Jennifer and her housemate Michael, my sister Betty and Camo, my parents and their respective partners, Lance's ex partner Helen and their daughter Vivian and Rachel his daughter from his previous marriage. Sounds confusing? Well, the best part was, everyone played really nice. Everyone was welcome. It probably wasn't perfect, but it was pretty darn good.

I love it that my family can come together like this. I probably said it last year, but we've come a long way. Doing this is no small thing. It's the best thing. Tomorrow we're all going to my Dad's place. I've been talking to Grace about what will happen and she's been reciting who will be there and telling me, go papa's, have game, lunch, presents, afternoon sleep in big bed, then we come home, dinner, read story, etc.    He and Nina will have done most of the hard work this year. And Mum's making the pudding(s). Yum, yum.

Merry Christmas everyone!

May your day be full of peace and good cheer.

stressmas, or 'tis the season of the list

So this might be a little grinchy. I love Christmas. Once the presents are wrapped and the salads are made. But.

It's the season where all the issues in your family come to the surface. The good, the bad and the ugly. Our family, my family, his family. It wouldn't do to go into detail, but I wonder if more is passed from one generation to the next than one might imagine. Of course, I'm oversensitive at the moment. So every little nuance, every unkind word or less than generous action has me wincing. And agonising. Biting my tongue because I don't know whether it's me or the crazy about to speak. Damn that hall of mirrors.

I saw my doctor today and we talked about whether or not I'd be a whole lot better after Christmas. She thinks I might, a confluence of the medication kicking in and some relaxation, but reminded me that this has been building for months. Christmas hasn't caused this. It's just that the stress of the season isn't really helping. Quite the opposite (like der, I have so been in denial about this, just because manic and Christmas and mothers go together anyway). So maybe, in the post Chistmas lull, I will find some calm. The doctor's not leaving it to fate though, and has extended my medical certificate and I'm going to see one of her colleagues before I go back to work(she'll be on leave). And there's now a low dose of another new medication. To help me sleep. As I wake up and can't re-settle after exactly six hours at the moment, no matter what time I go to bed and no matter whether I take one or two sleepers. The new pill's also an anti-psychotic which I'm less than thrilled about. Hopefully I'll still be able to use the sewing machine in the morning because there's still a big list.

So, I 've been thinking about how to make my life less stressful (and counter some of the effects of the medication that I'm likely to be on for the next few months) and how I might make Christmas better next year (and forever, ha). Like organising gifts, activites and festivites in October and November perhaps. So that December is all about putting up the tree and making thing little things. And celebrating. And being together. It also occurs to me that I also need to try and feel less responsible for how everyone else is feeling. For how the schedule is going. To not take on all the motherguilt that comes with the season.

Right off to do a spot of sewing. Before my early bedtime.

the tale of how we bought horsey and I redicovered the joy of sewing

I went opshopping three times last week! How delightful. First there was after the beach on the Tuesday. An opshop I remember from visiting my grandmother by train and bus maybe twenty years ago. And it's still pretty much the same. I do enjoy an old fashioned opshop. We bought quite a few books, my favourite being a Rudyard Kipling tale of elephants with beautiful illustrations. And a funny top for Grace which she loves because it's pretty and cute, and insists on wearing over her singlet. Which amuses me a little because it's hard to get her to wear anything other than dackies and just singlet. I also found the crochet bedpread there, for eight dollars! It's handmade from beautiful soft cotton and I have visions of it being Grace's summer bedspread in our new house (when and if). And a lovely piece of silk (pretty sure, although have yet to do burn test). I worried that the design might be a bit busy or too nana for me, but it's such gorgeous soft, light fabric. And just wouldn't leave my hands.

It's now in my sewing pile. For after I finish this binge of work clothes sewing. Two skirts and a slightly dodgy refashioned top this weekend. Considering that we also went and looked at houses, did shopping and other weekend hoohah, I'm pretty pleased with that. No photos because I was too busy cutting, faffing and sewing. Unfortunately when I washed the other skirt I made, it lost so much colour and sheen that it now looks very worn in. Not in a totally bad way and I still really like it, but I think it's a weekend and going to the beach kind of skirt.

Anyway, mid week we dropped a load off at the brotherhood. And came home with more yet more stuff, but still less overall. Which is good. Nothing too exciting there, just some old magazines. The real haul was on Friday after I went for my (should be more) regular thyroid function blood test. Grace was very good at the doctors, played with the toys in the waiting room and then sat on the little stool next to me while the nurse slapped my arms around and tried to remember which vein she used last time. Afterwards at Savers, I took Grace into the changerooms with some summer clothes we selected together and she told me they were all too big or too small, give to bubby-lee. Even dresses or tops that fit well. Sigh. I think she's still too young to help select her clothes, which is a pain because if she really doesn't like something, it involves no end of drama to get her to wear it. I try to pick things that are practical, that she will like and offer limited choices and pick my battles but, as far as I can see, there's no reasonably reliable laws as to what she does and doesn't like. Even the aforementioned dackies and singlets can be tricky.

After hanging the rejected items on the return rack we found some books and I did a deal that if she came up the back with me to look at tea towells and fabric, then on the way back she could play with the toys. Which we did. She started playing with a slightly older girl and it was all going well until the older girl got down a plastic dolls pram. That Grace instantly decided she wanted. I said no, because she already has a dolls stroller. There was howling and the other little girl was kind of egging her on. I looked away and noticed a felt horse. I pulled it from the shelf and realised it was a homemade hobby horse. Not great felt, but kind of kooky and charming. I gave it to the girls to play with. Grace liked it, but the other girl raced away with it, riding all around the shop. In the end, I told Grace that we had to go home now, or we'd be late for lunch and that as the other girl was playing with horse we weren't going to buy it today. More howling and some kicking and screaming. After the storm abated, I sat her up on the bench and she looked all woebegone, horsey come home with Grace? The Savers lady looked at me, did you want the horse? She didn't think the other woman would buy it and went to see. Now, tantrums don't as a rule get results around here, but I would have bought the horse anyway, if the other girl hadn't run off with it.

Grace rode horsey all the way back to the car (except for crossing the road) and has been telling me all about girl play horsey, lady in shop get horsey, thank you lady, horsey come home. On Sunday, horsey had lunch (salad) and then had a afternoon sleep on the sunroom floor with blanket over her. While I sewed and Grace played with my buttons. The buttons are no longer sorted according to kind in little plastic dealer bags but a big joyful muddle. Which gives me a precious thrill. Especially since when I came home from work (aargh) tonight, Grace asked, mummy do sewing and play with mummy's buttons? I see so much more sewing in the future.

Thinking about another houses post. There was a fabulous one, which even though it probably won't be ours, was great to visit, but haven't processed either the pictures or my thoughts yet. One thing at a time.

Julie

Our friend Julie died in her sleep on Sunday morning. No-one had any warning or premonition that this might happen, so it's been deeply shocking. And heartbreakingly sad. Her husband Kim woke up to find his wife and love gone from this world. If I even try to imagine how this might feel, tears well up in my eyes. And the background fear I feel of losing those nearest returns as a feeling of panic and anxiety. Love always carries such a potential for loss and grief and Julie's passing has bought this back to me in a big way.  Kim and all of Julie's family and friends have been uppermost in our thoughts this week. You wish there was something that you could do, but there isn't.

Julie didn't really like having her picture taken and I sneaked this one last April, when she and some other Mooks were in Melbourne for the Wilco concert. It's blurry and a bit dark, but in it I can hear her distinct voice talking about this and that. Enjoying the ambience of the Palais, rattling on, having a good natter. It was a rather good weekend that one. Anyway, as you can see, she's still young and full of life. Just a couple of years older than me. As well as being rather stylish (which I admired more than I ever said), Julie had a really kind heart. She also loved a party, being out and about with friends. Their home was more often than not the centre for gatherings and parties; full of warmth and hospitailty. And she loved her cats.

We'll be going to Hobart for the funeral this Friday. Sigh.

Steve

Our friend Steve passed away on Tuesday night. We knew he was sick, but we thought he'd be around for a while longer. Long enough for a few more conversations about art and music and life, long enough for a few more afternoon parties with kids romping around, with food and wine; all the important things.

Steve, your departure feels quite sudden and shocking, a reminder that death is absolute, no matter how forewarned you are. People might say, and with kindness in their hearts, that with an illness like cancer, it's a blessing that you didn't linger at the end. But I know that you would have liked to have been around for a bit longer. You still had plans. And a wicked sense of humour.

You and Gerard go way, way back, to a life in Tasmania I only know about from stories. Even so, we had our own conversations. Something to be cherished with a friend of your partners. I'm doing my best with the tasks we talked about, although I worry that the bakery won't get the shade of pink you asked for on your cake: the palest of pink, you said, a lustre rather than a colour.

I hope it's a drummer's heaven on the other side, full of interesting people to talk to. And music. Lots of music, especially the weird stuff.