Beautiful Belly's Birthday

My Lovely Girl was 21 again yesterday. I am pleased to say that she seemed to enjoy herself with the old folk and Zig of course and today she gets to have a hoot with people more her own age.

Steve out-did himself to get everything done that I wanted done in a time frame that suited me!
We packed up the monster truck with Zig's double bunk bed and Belly's new dining table and mattresses etc on Wednesday evening so that we could make a quick get away on Thursday morning. I reckoned we had a good days' work to get everything set up before Bell got home from work.

We were on the road by 9.30am and the truck was unloaded into the flat and we were at the local coffee shop by about 11.15, then back to the flat to get cracking. We made the table and assembled the bunks, then Steve set about making the drawers for under the bed. I set out sorting the kitchen. We rearranged  Zig's furniture and man handled his old bed out of the way - no easy feat as we had mm to spare in every direction and it weighed a bloody ton. Our arses hit the couch at just after 3 in time to collect Zig from school and take him for a milkshake as Grandies do.




Bell was home early and the parcel madness ensued, with the lunatic singing and wooohooing - yes even Steve got in on the act. Then  quick showering, Steve was the timekeeper!! and off to the pub for a steak dinner. Bell's 600 g Rump looked like about enough to feed 4 blokes, but she polished it off like a woman having a birthday.

Sparklers sparked and more songs were sung in Japanese and English and German and cake was had.





Really what a wonderful day we had. Steve and I were completely buggered and I was pleased to be a passenger on the way home.

Dog went completely spastic when we rolled in cos she had been by herself all day and half the night.

Ah it is indeed wonderful to be loved!

Let's not lose sight of the Drugs.

 

Is it too cynical to think that Schapelle Corby's release is gonna be celebrated here with the release of the tellie movie? I bet that the scheduling will be determined by her release and it would not surprise me to learn that the making of it was decided by a wink wink nudge nudge about her probable parole success.

I have no firm opinion about her guilt or innocence and I will probably record the movie so that I can watch without all the bloody ads, but I will be watching with an acute antennae looking for lies and bias. I rather think that no one is ever going to learn the truth.

A pretty girl on a typical aussie hol to Bali, with a bag full of drugs, caught and thrown into jail, well the story line is just too delicious not to eat up and spit out onto the tellie. And now as I am sitting with my feet up with the tellie playing in the background, there is breaking news about her release.

I hope that all this does not romanticise drug use. With the death of Phillip Seymour Hoffman 'crucified on a needle', and now Corby's early release, drugs are certainly front and centre in the media. Except that the drugs are not really front and centre, it's the celebrity of it all that is making  the big headlines.

Kids make choices about drugs every day and I would hate to think that mainstream coverage minimises the danger.

A change to the legal drinking age to 20 or 21 is being mooted, because of the very real possibility of binge drinking, damaging the unfinished brains of our young people. I am not convinced about the idea or how it might even be enforced, but the discussion can be no bad thing.

The truth is that young people have always and will always push the envelope as they consider themselves invincible.

It'd be wonderful to do a bit of a 'Sleeping Beauty' spell on kids we think might be at most risk so that they might sort of sleep through those years where damage can be brutal and their ability to cognitively choose wisely most impaired.

There are no fairy tales and we all just need to keep an eye out on the ones we love, and talk and chat and ask and discuss and google and email and cut out articles and put 'em on the fridge.

Trash to Treasure.

 
It's Belly's birthday this week and last night we had what I reckon was a bit of a landmark conversation!! Bell promised to throw something OUT!!!

It is time for the 'Kerb-side Collection', which is when everyone stacks up all their crap on the footpath and then on a date published well in advance, the Council come along and take it all away.

The truth is though that the collection takes place well after the stuff has been picked over by all and sundry and the posher the suburb the more pickers there are.

Belly had been out and finally found a handle the right size for her vacuum cleaner, which she has been using while shuffling along on her knees and which could possibly have been found last time there was a 'clean up'. I might have made this up, but it is certainly possible.

I remember when I was packing up my house at Camp Hill to go back to live in London, that the timing was ripe for a collection, so I stacked things neatly on the footpath. Steve was there and thought the whole idea was a bit twee. One morning as I was leaving I noticed that my neat little pile had been well and truly disturbed and that a box of books had been taken. I was unaware at the time that this was usual practice, but was pleased with the idea that someone was going to be able to use the books. But bugger me if the next morning, the bloody box was returned and just thrown higgley piggely back onto the pile. Apparently the picker was a bit of a book buff and the pickings from my place were just not up to scratch. I have never been able to work out why they brought them back, they could have more easily just popped 'em outside their place, so I suppose they wanted me to know that my stuff was such shit that even for free no one wanted it.

So anyway when I suggested that Belly could do with a new dining table for her birthday, she got a bit excited but then we negotiated that she would in fact pop the other poor old neglected piece of pooh outside for the pickers to have a go at. It is more than a little frayed at the edges and I reckon some visitors could well have come to harm from the sharpies and the splinters. She is not keen on throwing out stuff EVER, especially if she can imagine a time when it might become useful even in another form, so this was quite a coup and a damn fine indication of the rootedness of said table.

I am truly hoping that her pickings do not amount to more than the tired old rickety table. We will see on Thursday.

I don't know how I bred such a greenie.

Job Hunting.

I've been looking for a job. Now I don't know what I want to do, only that I am pretty sure that the education system has completely beaten me so I can't see going there, even if there was a Head teacher more interested in educating kids than surrounding themselves with 'yes men' teachers. I miss the kids but I sure as shit do not miss the politics and the irrationality and the 'covering my arse' motivations, and I certainly am not impressed with Christopher Pyne's minions carry on about whether or not homosexuals aught be ALLOWED to teach sex education. This story hit the news today and I just do not understand how any of these fools justify the old fashioned archaic discriminatory idea, and I wonder how do they propose to enforce this. It's the essence of what gives me the shits. These fools dictating to teachers what to teach and how to teach it. It's the old idea that just because they have been to school they think they know all about education.  Oh it is just another part of the system that beggars belief and sends me running towards a job on the phones.

So there are a couple of 'phones jobs' on offer but I have been there and done that and I am not at all sure I want to go there again.

There is not much else on offer, or at least not much else that either I want to do or am able to do. It's hard to believe that 30 years teaching has equipped me to just about nothing else.

In any case, I'll keep looking. There must be something out there that I can do, or learn to do, that I will enjoy and be good at.

Mothers

It's been more than 20 years since I have heard from Mother. We had had an argument and I stopped answering the phone and she stopped calling.

I was relieved that she was no longer rearing her ugly head, asking for help and demanding attention and offering nothing in return. She was a very needy type, who regardless of ability always wanted someone to 'do for her'. She seemed to think that was her entitlement. I presume she was pleased with her decision to cut off all ties as she has never made any attempt to contact me again.

My life has been far less complicated as a result.

However, when I read quotes like this one I found on Facie, I do wonder how she has managed it. I know that I would never let this happen to Belly and me.

We have had some rip roaring arguments and there has been temporary silences, but I would just not put up with it! Arguments are resolved and we move on. Sometimes I suck it up and sometimes she does, but sucking definitely happens.

I reckon that it is part of the Mother job description. For better or worse, in richness etc etc, and there is no divorce or get out of jail free card. Just do it!! Tick. Nike should use mothers in their ads.

I hope this does not sound like a big onerous shitting job, cos being Mum and now Ma, have been my best jobs, the financial reward is rubbish but there are other benefits: Hugs and cuddles and 'I love you' s. as  well as knowing that there is a constant bit of wonderful in my life.

I have very often used Mother as a barometer of exactly what NOT to do and so far that seems to be working out OK.

Love you Belly!! and Zig Too.

Surf boat races

 

So as luck would have it, I decided to take Dog to the beach this morning while Steve went to golf. I went back to the beach we found a while back, but today it was far far busier.

 

There was a big carnival set up on the beach a bit further south, but it still seemed ok to take Dog and have a play. As time ran away, I became the filling in a surfboard riding lesson and the surf boat races sandwich. This was not an unpleasant place to be!

 

For the uninitiated, let me explain how the races work. 5 teams of 5 blokes or girls start on the beach and at the hooter they all jump in and start rowing like maniacs except for the steerer who is responsible for directing the boat into the right part of the wave and towards the buoy about 500 metres out, where they do a Uie and hurry back hoping to be lucky enough to catch a wave.

 

The travel out is seriously hard work, pulling hard on the oars and tugging on the tiller, and the way back in is fraught as the crews try to catch a wave in and hope that the wave is a help not a dumper. The waves today were pretty angry and were thumping in and all too often boats were being pushed in sidewards. Crew went flying and the little rubber inflatables were used to collect these folk. It was all very exciting.

 

I didn't care who was winning. It was a wonderful spectacle. 

 

 

 I reckon you can tell how experienced a crew member is by the fit of their togs. The looser the togs the longer they have been boating. I am not sure why they stick their knickers up their cracks, maybe because their bum cheeks stick better or maybe its because they slip better. I thought it a little rude to ask.

 

Anyway it was a pleasant way to spend the morning. I was there longer than I expected to be so I am a little sunburnt... That is my penance, for perving.

 

Father vs Daddy Ranty Pants

Alright, this is a bit of a rant!!

Any dick, or at least the vast majority of 'em can become a father. A bit of a squirt and some fortuitous or otherwise timing and the deed is set in motion. The father making is the very easy bit.

The Daddy making is far harder.

Some advice to those dick squirts who think that their most impressive act finished at ejaculation:

• If you are not going to be around full time , then at least abide by the Mummy rules, do not be the good-time dick.
• Recognise that it costs MONEY to raise the product of your woopie! and far more than you believe or think it should, so stump up the bloody cash, well before you buy ciggies or booze or drugs or a new guitar, and for the sake of your child DO NOT quit your job just so you don't have to pay any child support.
• For the short time you see your child, make them the ONLY FOCUS in your day. Don't plonk 'em in front of the tellie or the wii so you can zone out, play with 'em, talk to 'em, feed 'em and remember there is a reason why children are not meant to be watching M rated movies, even if you have illegally downloaded them, the movies that is not the kid.
• Do NOT use the child as a weapon against their mother.
• Make decisions based on what is good for the child, not what is easiest for you, or what will be most problematic for Mum.
• Make sure your child has a shower and brushes their teeth, especially if you are dropping them at school. Remember that in this instance YOU are in great measure in charge of how your kid is perceived by their peers, and no one ever wanted to sit next to the stinky kid!
• It's not rocket science is it?  Either be happy that you have donated the sperm and leave it at that, or treat the product of your bits at least as well as you might a puppy, love 'em and respect the efforts of the fulltime mummy.

I really reckon it would all too often be in the kids' best interest if the discharge of the sperm was the end of the story.