What I Loved

I cannot for the life of me remember where I read this book - there is no copy on my shelves, so perhaps I borrowed it from the library. I loved it. I want to be Siri Hustvedt when I grow up. Imagine being able to write something that The Observer calls 'an intellectual page-turner'. Her latest novel is out now, just not in the Borders I frequent at lunchtime in the city. 'How do you spell that?' said the dippy git on the counter when I asked.

My Life without Me

It's not often Andrew decides he wants to watch a tear-jerker, but he did last night. I cried enough to put me off my knitting, but mostly because I know that if I had two months to live, I wouldn't have both Scott Speedman and Mark Ruffalo as consolation ...

Back to My Life with Me.

After my whinge on Tuesday, I got a call from school at 6.55am on Wednesday to ask if I could help out. Bearing in mind that I have several pressing (crushing?) deadlines for writing work, naturally I said yes. A few hours of kid-wrangling was exactly what I needed - I got back to my desk at lunchtime and finished one of the writing jobs that had been hanging over me.

Last night Phoebe and I had to pick Andrew up from UTS, where he's tutoring one evening a week, so we decided to have dinner at the sushi train nearby. Phoebe carefully removed everything from her sushi and ate the rice. This is why we miss Holden - usually they are a perfect sushi-sharing team - he eats the fish, she eats the rice.

Hol will be back from camp this afternoon. I hope the weather hasn't made it a misery.

Misery

It's one of those days when I really, really hate my job.

Writing stuff that is rubbish to start with (unavoidable, given that it combines the twin glories of banking and marketing), then having it changed by semi-literate tossers into even worse dross, wears me down after a while.

It's a bit like a cold virus, I guess - most of the time I can fight it off without even noticing, but sometimes my resistance is low and I succumb to a really bad bout.

Let's hope it's a 24-hour version.

Five Go off to Camp

How I loved the Famous Five. I always thought I was George. Then I read a couple of the books again as an adult and was completely gobsmacked by how revoltingly sexist, racist and snobbish they are.

So, anyway, the Five going off to camp today are Holden's Fifth Class. They're going to spend four days doing 'bonding' things like abseiling, orienteering, archery, canoeing, etc. I want to go with them. Yesterday I ironed labels onto every item of clothing Hol is taking with him. Andrew laughed at me for labelling socks. Yeah, but what is he most likely to lose? I rest my case.

Wordplay

Update: My clever mother remembered/tracked down the word I was looking for - and here's the article.

On Thursday night we went to see La Boheme at the Opera House. It was great. I love a bit of Italian melodrama ... no wonder I love Puccini.

I was brought down to earth by the sobering experience of teaching (teaching? controlling, cajoling and mollifying?) Year 1 on Friday. I challenge any CEO earning $300K a year to have a go in an infants classroom some time. Actually, it wasn't as bad as I'm pretending, just exhausting.

So imagine my delight this morning when I hauled myself back up to school to help at the cake stall, to find two of the little darlings up there ... I'm being mean, because the two who were up there actually are adorable. Deep down, I quite like children. Even my own.

The Anniversary Party

The best thing about that movie (apart from Jennifer Jason Leigh, who is always amazing) was that it made everybody else's marriage look vaguely functional.

There's nothing like married life to make you realise that 10 years is actually quite a (bloody) long time. According to my friend Sharon's book about marriage, it gets better after 10 years. Is it just me, or is that what you call very, very delayed gratification?

I did get some lovely flowers sent to me at work. By my husband. I suspect they were designed to make me feel embarrassed on the bus home.

AND this evening we are going out somewhere which has been kept a great secret from me. Even Holden knows where we are going, but I am in the dark. Naturally I have nothing to wear.

It occurs to me that I should post some photos from our wedding, when we were young and pretty. Ok, we were young. But it was such a long time ago that I've only got prints and ... negatives. Yes, yes, I will have to use a scanner.

PS I was told to mention on this blog that this person is lovely. She is.

Best In Show

Somewhere or another, I saw a word that describes someone who is obsessed with their own healthiness - not a hypochondriac, but someone who bores everyone else to tears with how WELL they are.

I have, naturally, forgotten the actual word, and can't even find it at www.wordsmith.org. Maybe I imagined it. But I have found the person for whom it was coined. I suppose it's unavoidable when one spends time in a marketing department. This person has been proclaiming, largely, about her 'detox' and how FABULOUS she is feeling. This is where I have an issue. It's her choice of words. 'Fabulous' should be reserved for occasions involving champagne. 'Fabulous' and 'brown rice' should not be uttered in the same sentence. 'Fabulous' preceded by 'I haven't eaten bread for a week and I feel ...' makes me feel sad on so many levels.

Have a fabulous day.

The Money Pit

Sometimes on the weekend we look at houses, just to make ourselves feel miserable. It always works. On Saturday we decided to check out a place in Annandale that was only a few hundred thousand dollars out of our price range.

OH.

MY.

GOD.

We expected the house to be falling down. It surpassed all expectations. It wasn't just the broken tiles and leaking toilets. I think it had been lived in by five generations of male students (how could I tell they were male? Well, the sci-fi books on the shelves were a bit of a giveaway.) who had never, in all those generations, cleaned or tidied the house. Piles of junk had been grudgingly pushed aside to allow the 40 couples who turned up to crawl through the house. The grass in the garden was taller than me (yeah yeah, not hard, I know).

And what is amazing is that someone will pay a ridiculous amount of money for it, then spend more ridiculous amounts of money on fixing it. I hate Sydney.

Rehab (I won't go)

Apparently I have not one, not two, but possibly three or even FOUR people who read this blog. The celebrity is going to my head. Before you know it I'll be bashing people with brollies and heading off to rehab. I will not, however, be wandering around London at dawn in jeans and bra. One has to draw the line somewhere.

Married With Children

I was trying to stop posting pictures of the kids, but clearly nothing happens in my own life, so I have to blog about them.

This is the day that Holden went to Orientation (but didn't get out of the car).

This is the day that Phoebe started Year 2 at Orange Grove and Holden DID get out of the car.


And this is my fabulous girl being the ONLY girl in Year 2 to go in the swimming carnival. Phoebe rocks!

Love at First Bite

This is what I made for Phoebe's class for Valentine's Day. First I was inspired by these little boxes here , and then I thought 'well, I'll make some myself'. And then I got bored with the idea of a single colour. Anyway, plenty of therapeutic time with card, ruler, knife, bone folder, glue, etc later, they are done and filled with lollies.

We have people coming for dinner tonight including my favourite baby (since mine no longer are babies).

She won't be eating, but the rest of us will be having an Italian seafood soup, a huge and garlicky salad, some good bread and then coeurs a la creme for dessert (in honour of Valentine's Day tomorrow, of course). I got the molds for Christmas from my mother-in-law, who ran all over Sydney to find them - this is their first outing.

Lord of the Flies

I know, I know, I've been very, very slack. I explained to the one person who reads this blog that nothing had been happening, except work. Her response was 'Nothing ever happens, but that doesn't usually stop you writing'. Well. She's right, of course.

Title of the blog? Much as I think Hol looks gorgeous in his new school uniform, there is something strangely menacing about a swarm of small boys all dressed exactly the same. Especially when they are wearing ties.

Apparently Phoebe managed to swim 50m at her school swimming carnival this morning. Champion. I probably couldn't manage 50m.

Valentine's Day is approaching. Usually I make something for both the kids' classes, but now that Holden is at a boys' school, I think it might be just a bit too embarrassing for him if I turn up with a box of heart shaped fudge. On the one hand, this is a good thing, as it means less work for the sheltered workshop that is my dining table. On the other, it's a bit sad. Hol used to like having the crazy mum who brought things in for Valentine's, Easter, birthday, Halloween and Christmas ... Fortunately Phoebe is still totally supportive of my insanity, so we have been making little boxes to fill with lollies - I will photograph them and post tomorrow.