loudly, relentlessly

I wrote this post in the thick of winter, from a boundless marsh of illness, with a clingy baby and a moody not-quite four-year-old who whose daily meltdowns sucked most joy from our waking hours. Things have evolved, somewhat, but much still applies.

There is so much I feel I need to say about life right now. But life speaks for itself. Loudly, relentlessly.

Our days overflow. There is no stopping until we are dizzy with exhaustion. I feel in a state of constant drowning, often swallowed by screaming kids and mess and chaos. Unable to attend to the demands of work, because needy kids. Unable to meet the needs of kids, because work.

We've had weeks and months brimful of moments so calamitous and trying they are best put behind us. The dance between two houses continues to wreak a toll. I cannot fathom how we have been doing this for four years. The equivalent (in travel time, in packing/unpacking, in fullness of itinerary) of an interstate trip every fortnight, with two small humans in tow. It's unsettling to say the least. We have so little downtime. We have aged at warp-speed. I realise it's probably a thing among mothers of (multiple) small humans, but I have lost a lot of my bliss.

This island, these four years have been beautiful and astounding and we are ever grateful to have landed here. We've laid down memories steeped in saltwater and sunsets. Childhoods begun in the sand. Eyes drinking in the exquisite ocean-bound world. And there is all the bliss to be found here in these moments.

I think I am allowed to say, we have reached a place of in-between. We are dreaming up changes, mentally readying ourselves for life beyond the lighthouse. It's impossible to know what will evolve, but we are ready and willing and offering our best selves up to what the future may hold.

* Small point, but hat nappy up there belies the fact that I was cloth nappying until recently because nappy changes have become the penultimate screamfest.

these days

It has been almost a month since I've been at home on my own during the days with these gorgeous boys.* It is difficult because it is motherhood (duh), but is is also difficult because there is no cafe, no library, no playground, no pavement to pound, no neighbours' kids, no mid-week one-hour yoga escape, simply no one else around, except K when he gets home from work.

It has been a month of trying to find my groove. Of trying to rise above the 'haven'ts' (see above) and create a reality for us that is fun and memorable and celebrates our amazing location. Of realising that these are the days! And they are fleeting! It will take more than a month, all of this, of course. Some of it is a daily practice.

The best thing about this new world order has been reconnecting with the big boy. There has been much change for him in the past year, and it shows. There are shining moments where he is pure delight - kind, curious, helpful, funny, loving, playful. But much of the time, he has been moody and cantankerous, master of the epic meltdown. And he saves his very worst for me. So, after a tumultuous first week on our own together, I feel like we are re-establishing our little union. And it has been so lovely, and such a relief, to feel the love again with him. This portrait was his idea: he loves pressing the timer button on our cameras!

And the small boy, well, he just fits in. He needs to be fed often when he is awake, but is the most chilled out little being, who just laughs and gurgles and sleeps. And he sleeps! All the exclamation points in the world cannot emphasise this point enough. I would never have thought it possible after Ellery. I waited two plus years to get some me-time back in my evenings. And after just two months with the little feller, I have my evenings back again. Incredulous!! And well-earned, if I may say so.

Despite my hesitations about daytime flying solo, I'm actually enjoying it. Beyond the bonding stuff, I am quite liking the challenge of trying to get stuff done (and am now known around these parts as Wonder Woman), and reinvigorating our space and our routines.

I am writing this in the early heady days. It may be a different story by October when I'm due back at work. But it's surpassed my expectations. And fluffed out my heart a bit. I call that a win.

*We had an au pair until recently (necessary for my work from our island outpost), who stayed on for the first couple of months after our littlest feller was born.

the newborn daze

It’s amazing how different the newborn days have been this time around.

In the afterglow of his birth, I was surprised to find myself riding a natural love high. With butterflies! I may have even reconsidered putting my foot down at two! Temporarily. Awful to admit, but I never had that high with Ellery. Kind of understandable, I guess.

It's been so wonderful just sitting and enjoying this time. Inhaling his milky goodness. The snuffles and squeaks, the jellybean toes, the poo faces. His lagoon-deep eyes. Dark hair, blonde eyebrows. I'd totally forgotten how even the poo smells sweet!!

Giving myself over to an immense love, such an easy transition from his beautiful birth.

Breastfeeding - which last time went the shape of pears - has so far bettered my experience with E. We were lucky to have a severe tongue and lip tie diagnosed early, at three days old, and corrected on day five. I resolved from the start to commit myself to nothing other than feeding him. Lucky, because that is what he is demanding! It is literally almost non-stop.

Again, I've done all the textbook stuff. Had visits and wonderful hands-on help from a lactation consultant. And so far we've done pretty well, with just very minor formula top ups, which have needed to grow a little in the last week or so. I have read that milk intake levels off at around a month, so my theory is that he is getting almost enough from me, though it is requiring him to feed pretty much all. the. time.

That he is gaining weight practically just from me is nothing short of incredible! To me, anyway.

Also, I have just started using a supplemental nursing system - which didn't work with Ellery - and it is, surprisingly, working really well for us. I'm not sure how practical it will be to continue this non-stop feeding with a busy soon-to-be three-year-old tearing the house apart. I'm sure I'll work out the balance, but it demolished our sanity the first few days of me flying solo while K was at work.

Did I mention incredible? :-)

On the whole, I am faring really well. The nights are becoming more manageable; I can subsist on three or four hours of broken sleep, supplementing myself with caffeine! K has been nothing short of a one-man show, taking care of E and doing the lion's share of the house stuff. Our dance between two homes continues, but it's been a much softer landing than when E was born. And our au pair's return from two weeks' shore leave has eased our days. 

And the time is flying. He is changing before my eyes. As is the big boy, who has proved the greatest challenge to us possibly ever, since his brother's birth. 

And that is five weeks. All too quickly gone.

things i know

It is nothing short of amazing to get to this end-of-pregnancy time. It is the most incredible relief to have a full-term baby inside, and still going strong at 38 weeks! Despite channelling positivity, there was always a small part of me that doubted we'd get this far, my confidence undermined by the constant monitoring and elevated concerns during the earlier part of this pregnancy.

I have also been steeling myself mentally for the weeks and months to come. The sleep deprivation, the endless feeding, the distinct possibility that feeding may again not go as I hope, the possibility of reflux, the possibility of another wired cat-napper, the extreme isolation of island life with two small people.

But the difference is, this time, I know what to expect. Or at least I think I can remember enough to know that it's going to be like running a marathon on zero sleep. Or perhaps a double marathon even.

But this time, I'm prepared for all that.

I've seen a lactation consultant with experience with genuine low supply issues. I've hired a doula, got our birth preferences written up and swotted up on optimal fetal positioning and managing a posterior labour. I'm a little bit more socially connected than I was first-time round, though there is room for improvement here. We've kept our au pair on for an extra set of helping hands around the house, a luxury I didn't think we'd need but am endlessly glad I was talked into as I hobble around after a toddler (back pain // it takes a village, etc). And our city nest means it will be a lot easier for me to decamp to the mainland with babes - or extend our stays there - when needed, for logistical or mental health purposes. In short, I'm following this savvy advice. And this time, I will let the help flow, instead of rushing to cook meals a matter of days after giving birth... *slaps head in retrospect*.

All this means I feel a lot more psychologically prepped this time round. I have also had the chance to buy a few things - a second-hand Moses basket (for portable sleeps), a new sling, some beautiful organic newborn onesies and winter knits (on sale), a sheepskin rug, a maternity bra that actually fits, and all the little newborn essentials. I've stocked up on my vitamins, had a haircut and got a few freezer meals ready to go. I've got gifts wrapped for the big brother ('baby bought you a guitar!') and some new audio books on their way. I'm even part-way through knitting a winter baby blanket that I have a reasonable chance of finishing before the weather cools, and have just started making some high-contrast wall art. Oh and the labour/hospital bag is all packed!

Having said all that, I'm also ready for things to be difficult in unexpected ways. Because every pregnancy/labour/kid is different. 

But you know what? I'm really looking forward to the future. In three days, K will be here, the end of four long months of separation. We'll get to spend some time, just the three of us. We'll enjoy musing about whether it will be a boy or girl (absolutely no inkling this time round), and maybe even agree on a name! 

And we'll get to welcome our newest little person together. And just enjoy these days, with an entire month before K is due back at work - huzzah! 

2012, a small treatise

I used to write unpublished treatises to the year gone, just before it slipped away. Catalogues of major events - real and internal - to ponder over, learn from and laugh at before starting anew. And of course to snap-freeze my memories as the years elapse. I'd spend days trawling through my mental archives. Post-child, I've got about an hour. So the following may not be truly reflective of the year that was, but it's what I can retrieve right now.

So much of my 2012 is about the boy. In this short year, he has gone from a babe in arms to sitting, crawling, walking and now running and talking up a storm. He is now quite the conversationalist. Sits at the window taking in the walking track and commenting 'People? Nooo!'. Has mastered the possessive: 'Daddy's bee-ya' as well as his name: 'Ew-ewy' and home address: 'light---house'. His vocabulary is pretty impressive for a 17-month-old who should be 15 months.

And his personality shines. He is an observer, a sensitive little comedian. Just like his 'Daddy-hahaha' - what he often calls K. He is quite worried lately - about people that hurt, large noises and the three little ducks song (because the ducks go away, presumably). He is spirited and loves a joke. Still loves eating bark and cardboard ('yum--mmeee') and at some point chipped his front tooth (again, presumably) chewing on a rock. He is obsessed with tractors and things that go. He is thoroughly his Daddy's boy. He can blow bubbles in the water. And oh and the messes he can make!

Today there is no hint he was born early. He is done with the follow-up group sessions at the Children's Hospital to check his development, though I think we have one paediatric follow-up left, just so they can officially close their file.

In other realms, my return to work this year has been so much better than I ever imagined. I always thought I'd want to be a stay-at-home mum. (And maybe I would if I had the time, free hands and proximity to do the things I imagined I'd be able to do - creative kid stuff, going places, play dates, etc.) Aside from the financial imperative, I badly needed to reclaim something for myself. Although there has been some flailing in unfamiliar waters as I work alone to remake a piece of legislation, it has mostly been good. I also managed to hang on to my job when thousands of public servants didn't. I have totally appreciated that I have an amazing arrangement and feel continually grateful for this. Without it, there would be no work for me.

The year has not been without qualms. I have battled somewhat to just feel OK. I got over PND. But the endless picking up / carrying / feeding a seriously heavy baby-now-toddler has made my neck and shoulders perpetually sore. I have the upper body of a swimmer and the lower body of a small bowl of trifle (I can hear - yes hear - K rolling his eyes about now -- nevertheless this is how I feel after 17 months of not much exercise). Despite prioritising yoga and walking in any snippets of free time I have, maintaining restoring wellness has been like trying to plug the bathwater with a shred of old clingfilm. I feel like my eating has also deteriorated. Scoff if you will.

I have really not had much social interaction at all this year. I have never been someone who needs a lot of contact with friends, but the little interaction I did have pre-baby has dropped to almost nothing. And I miss it! It has just been too difficult to manage visits during our crazy-hectic mainland trips and my terrible-ness on the phone has deteriorated thanks to virtually no real solo free time. I even managed to make Christmas cards and then lose the stamps in our stuff-everywhere scenario on return from the mainland. Sigh.

Realisations. Life with kid is hard. Or maybe it is just our life, this crazy life remote we lead. Which is HARD, although we have become logistical ninjas. Often can be heard in our house the refrain 'why is it so stressful?' I don't know why we imagined it would be anything other. I hope it gets less so. It has really taken its toll on us. How do other people do this? I guess I also realise that it will continue to be hard. It just is. Contemporary families, life and work make it much more difficult than it ever was meant to be for anyone. I am grateful for these realisations. And the perspective I seem to have gained. It wasn't so easy to see in the baby bubble that we were making a family. Duh. But y'know, massive sleep deprivation and vomit will blind you to the bigger picture. I'm also utterly grateful for the help we have in the form of our au pair. I often wonder what we'd do without her (the answer is probably not a lot of housework, in which case I'd go quietly-at-first-but-then-loudly-screamingly-mad).

So yeah, year. In many ways you kicked our heads. But it was equally mind blowing watching our boy grow. And to live at the beach, despite its challenges!

For next year, I wish for myself to be more laid back about everything generally. And better to him. The less said about that the better.

I also wish to somehow manage to return to writing. Which will take a correction of our fantastically-abysmal-for-the-last-parts-of-2012 internet (now renamed in this house as 'the cobwebs'), and some gentle restructuring. I think I need to tweak our night routines to get some regular decent free time. Of course this is all completely hypothetical, what with some massive sleep refusals and super-clingy-moodiness going on in the past week, with bedtimes around 11pm, and one cracker at 2am. (I'm talking about the boy of course, though naturally it follows that these are our bedtimes (and moodiness!).)

I'll try less to look at other bloggers who are doing ridiculously creative projects - on top of their blogging - whilst toting equally small children, and wonder why the hell I can't even get through breakfast unscathed. I'll still create – I'd really love to do this – but try not to beat myself up if it goes to slush.

I plan to sleep more and relax more. I've frittered away untold hours just bumbling about because I am too tired to do anything purposeful despite my insistence to try.

I'll try to find ways to reconnect with friends. Eat better. Stress less.

And now I'm sounding like a broadcast ad for nicotine gum.

I would like to try to think with a fresh head (see 'sleep more').

And be more positive.

I can do that.

I hope the new year is good to you.

in conversation

Today he is 15 months old. Sometimes I wish he'd stayed smaller longer. (And to those who say it goes too fast, try witnessing your baby put on s-i-x times his weight in the first year!). But gosh I love the older him, and he is visibly older every day. This morning he picked up a block and told me it was 'neen' (green). I asked him if he wanted to play with his beads and he told me 'bzzzz' (bees!). For lunch I asked if he wanted some chicken sandwich. He replied: "buk buk!"

Where did this little colour-recognising comedian come from? 

He makes me laugh and melt and gasp all at once. It astounds me how much he understands. And his mental leaps! He says 'nunny' (honey) when I pour sand! The sink is a 'ba' (bath), the toilet is a 'ba' and an empty bucket is a 'ba'. He parrots our conversations. His vocabulary has grown exponentially since my last post. He is always listening. Usually while he is busy doing something.

Yesterday he put countless hours of hand-held walking practice into motion and got going on his own. It's so lovely to see him finally have the confidence to do this! Though he was wailing worriedly as he went the first day. And then this afternoon, he didn't want my hand...

I didn't get a decent photo or video of his first steps. I wonder, if I could record our time properly, would it all slow down a bit? Or would I at least be more at ease with the quickening?

reading therapy

The upward swing continues. Helped along by the boy's improving reflux - or at least his  becoming somewhat of a 'happy chucker' - and increasing interactive cuteness. I have also started reading two books, which both had me punching the air after about the first 20 pages.

Susan Maushart's The Mask of Motherhood: how becoming a mother changes our lives and why we never talk about it (strangely only available as a US imprint via Amazon).  And The Divided Heart by Rachel Power, a series of musings based on interviews with prominent artists about the wrestle between the incongruous worlds of kids and art (or a creative life, for those less aspirational :).

We know people who are considering babies for the first time. I have had to stop tie myself to a chair to stop from running headlong at them shrieking 'don't do it!'. (And then flail around trying to explain why without sounding frazzled, burnt and totally uncool.) Which is nothing short of awful. But now, thanks in large part to these books, I think I understand why.

Along with the highs, becoming a mum has been an often-bleak 'who moved my cheese?' experience for me, for many reasons - from traumatic birth and breastfeeding experiences to the very large role-adjustment and the demands of a refluxy baby. All with an entirely overworked, under-appreciated support network of one, who has had to deal with my frequent meltdowns whilst starting a new job and moving his wifey, new baby and our worldly possessions (minus a bus) to a windswept outpost. I have also lamented strongly the incredibly limited capacity I have now for creative time.

Thankfully I'm feeling a lot less like this. And more like someone who can see the wondrous journey unfolding. And delighting in my cutest, most edible baby.

Susan Maushart's book in particular had me simultaneously whimpering and cheering (internally of course) in recognition. In that way when someone articulates your own latent but furiously percolating thoughts. Not just one, but layers of understanding only possible through lived experience. I should add a small caveat: I have only read the first chapter, though the introduction alone snagged me good and proper.

I could be wrong, but the recent surges in E's development make me think I will enjoy parenting little kids - and then big kids - more than I've enjoyed (or often not) the new baby phase.

Anyway. This is all a bit of a jumble. But I totally recommend these books to anyone thinking baby thoughts. I wish I'd discovered them earlier - and not just before I dropped a bomb on a counsellor. One of the contentions in Susan Maushart's book is around the silence on the reality of parenthood - that we're caught up in the need to compete and compare ourselves and our babies and therefore gloss it all up and secret away the downs.

I'm not sure if it's kosher, but I'm going to email the prospective baby-ers my reading recommendations.

So there.

retrospective

Early new year,

dinner with K's family.

Eating sushi, drinking wine,

unbeknownst for the last time in a while.

We dream of you, 

yet have not an inkling.

...

 Just for fun, I take a test.

I'm not even sure how they work.

He's wide-eyed when I ask him what he thinks

the faint second line means.

Probably should have mentioned I was taking the test.

Lots of googling ensues, we think yes,

but daren't get too excited.

The doctor confirms!!

4 weeks.

...

 

Fast forward - since this time positively dragged!

At 16 weeks,
starting to feel a little more comfortable and excited.

By now I have a back-catalogue of dreams about blond-haired boys
but we've decided we can wait to find out.

The little nausea I had is gone.

And the grumpy wench who purportedly took up in my skin
has fled, leaving us to our calm and happy bliss. 

In less than a week I will feel your little pulses for the first time.


...

Nearly 21 weeks.

We saw you through the womb and my goodness you are cute!

Tiny hands, fingers, feet and ears,
such an active little babe.
Even Dadda has seen you move now.

Can't wait til you grow some more and show yourself to the world! 


...

By 25 weeks
I work out that my really hard belly
is practice contractions...
already!

Lower back pain has stopped me walking to work
for the remainder it seems
but the physio steers me right.

You've been listening to Mozart, Saint-Saens, the Middle East
and my bathroom rendition of Frank Mills by the Lemonheads, 
the only non-cheesy song I know that sounds like a lullaby.

Big-time exciting news, your Dadda got a job on Moreton Island!
You'll grow up with dolphins, turtles, dugong and whales,
our little beach babe.

Everything we dreamed
seems to be falling in place.

...

Hello baby! 
(That grin? Your Dadda just spoke your maybe-name!)

By 26 weeks life is busier than ever,
especially now K is on the Island.

You are growing daily
and are a constant reminder of things more important
than the work which preoccupies me.

You love to sit in the sun
and by the way you bounce around at dinner
I can tell you're going to love your food!


...

28 weeks... 7 months!

Boy or girl? You've got us stumped.
Your legs were crossed when we saw you at 20 weeks,
so a workmate says you must be a girl, all practicalities observed.

Another had an out-of-the-blue premonition, and says boy.

Either way, I fail to get my head around
the reality of you,
connect you with the empty little clothes we've got you.

Though it finally hits me that we'll be moving house
- across the water, no less -
with a brand new babe.

OMG.


...
  

30 weeks

About a week ago I think you turned head down,
your quick little hiccups now feel really low.

Your movements have changed - lots of rolling, wavelike movements
as limbs push against diminishing space.
Your Dad likes to tickle you and watch you squirm.

Materially, we are not ready for you,
nesting thwarted
as we wait for news of a lease on the Island.

Yoga is all the preparation I need.
And the wisdom of generations
before birthing left the home.

Not long now til I finish work and can concentrate
on our journey together to welcome you into the world.


...


tbc

momentum

It's a slippery sucker... and I've been watching it slip right through my fingertips. 

I've lost a bit of momentum in places. Am now trying to start walking again after a sedentary spell. I got a nasty bug a little while back and didn't walk to/from work for about two weeks. And it has rained, leading to even less walking. Then I had 11 continuous days off work (woohoo!) which translated into very little walking - or actually quite a lot of walking but all squished into one day when we circumnavigated Coochiemudlo Island on foot. 

Anyway, I hate not walking every day. I get stiff and sore and stodgy without it. But once you've stopped a routine, it's very hard to pick up again. But I'm getting there.

The other thing that's been bugging me a lot is my complete lack of writing. I do plenty at work, mostly a complete borefest. But the less writing I do for me, the harder it is to do any at all. And I mean, really hard. It's taken me a good ten days to finish writing this featherlight post. 

I'm not really sure why it's been hard, or getting harder. Maybe there's too much other stuff occupying productive brainspace - a combination of seemingly endless administrivia, and endlessly fascinating pregnancy/birth/baby stuff (and there is SO much to absorb). 

Anyway, I'm hoping that acknowledging these ruts will help me haul myself out of them.

And not to dwell on the losses. While I'm losing momentum in places, other things are gathering pace. The bunyip has been making itself felt for the past three and a half weeks. I was centre stage in a meeting the other day and the little monkey started dancing its heart out! My hand shot to my belly to soothe the robust little pokes. Unbelievable that a tiny 20-week old human can squirm so much! A momentum all of its own... and another post of its own - hello inspiration!

a complete day

Life has been speeding along. Nothing new there. A year since the bushfires, and there are downpours here and floods in New South Wales. Work is plenty busy, and there's news on that front just round the corner. I've also been idling away sunny days at the keyboard trying (seemingly fruitlessly) to bend and shape a couple of web projects into being. Lamenting the feeling of another weekend slipping through my fingers, I wondered if maybe I would feel like I'd achieved more if I could finish the sentence, 'a day would not be complete without...'. So. In an effort to check that I'm spending my time where it matters, a day would not be complete without...

cuddles and aimless lovely time with K
yoga, or at least a very quick stretch
a solid walk
making a little bit of art, whether through photography, words, craft-ivity or meddling in the dirt
reading, be it the papers, policy stuff for work, a cookbook or ... lo and behold, that long neglected beast, the book!
and of course, food dreaming, cooking and eating yummy food - accomplished this morning via pancakes with figs, yoghurt and honey... yum!

Feel free to join in...

postscript: hot and not (#four-and-a-half)

Some further hots and nots which a) were lost in the Wednesday morning brain-haze or b) possibly not going to make it to the page, since next Wednesday I will be ringing out work for 2009 and enjoying K's company before we part for a week and reunite, post-xmas, in Gippsland...

Hot

A hilarious trip with my mate R out to the boondocks (past Ipswich) to see a psychic who, despite being recommended by more than one person, was utterly crap. Apparently I have a spirit guide called Theodosis, a spritely Aegean man, while R's spirit guide Trish was her lesbian lover in a past life. It went downhill from there. Hot though, because we laughed all the way home.

Our first joint furniture heist has furnished the love nest with three sets of old-school wooden drawers from a QUT science lab. Well, maybe it wasn't technically a heist. The University for the Real World is demolishing some buildings (still can't get my head around why), and since I walk through the uni to get to work, I stumbled across the chuck-outs. Replete with dynamo labels, declaring 'buchner funnels', 'clamps', 'qualitative accelerators' and the like. I'm hoping a second swoop tomorrow finds the furniture pile still there.

A most productive op-shop swoop in Paddington, with multiple pairs of jeans and trousers each and a whole rack of shirts for K. Tally, about thirty bucks.

Pre-xmas dinner with K's family at Mondo Organics. Ten words. Callebaut chocolate pudding with bleeding hazelnut heart and cinnamon semi freddo. Yum. Yum. Yum.

A bizarre Christmas dinner at Binna Burra lodge with K's old choir buddies, aka his geriatric harem... I had no idea groups of old ladies charged with cheap red wine could flirt with such gusto. The old ducks worship the ground K walks on, and hadn't seen him for a couple of months, so there were lots of cuddles. And a few wayward gropes of his thighs - eek! The dinner was followed by a sleepless night in my tent, which we added to the list of things I own which K doesn't fit in. (His head nestles my car's roof and his feet get stuck on the wrong pedals, as previously chronicled). The next day, however was more relaxed, with a visit to his mate Tony from choir, who is the son of the founder of Binna Burra Lodge. We had tea with Tony on the most amazing deck I've ever had tea on, with an outlook over Lamington National Park, the Numinbah Valley and the Gold Coast beyond. He showed us right around his place, Alcheringa - the only residence at the top of the mountain, built by his brother in the 70s but still amazingly stylish. He lets it out and lives in the 'granny flat' next door. A decadent yet homely wood-and-slate chalet with high ceilings, an 'infinity' deck, open fireplace, spa bath and outdoor Japanese-styled bathroom. Oh. My. God. I was agog when K said he'd earlier this year turned down an opportunity to house-sit for Tony. Needless to say, we are now firmly back on the short-list for house-sitting in 2010, while Tony will be gadding around Bulgaria, Croatia, Slovenia and half of Europe, guiding for the tour company he established but which is now run by his daughter. What a life.

Not

In a logical segue from some of the above food-fests, I have padded out quite a bit in the latter half of the year. Mainly because I'm not walking as much with ongoing back irks. Cohabitation with the Hollow-Legged Man has also changed eating patterns somewhat. Anyway, trying to get past my ego, get used to the curves and enjoy compliments about being 'womanly'.

hot and not wednesday (#four)

Not (thought I'd start at the ugly end this week and work my way back to nicety)

I am ratty. I walk like an old lady and grumble like one because I can’t shake this back thing (nor the work thing, I'm not sure which is the greater evil at the moment). My wallet is falling apart. Any decision-making capacity I had this year (not a lot to start with, and further diminished by the ethical conundrums wrought by the prospect of a new wallet) has left the building. I badly need a haircut, some new clothes and a hip replacement. Work is driving me nuts, with its frayed personalities and bi-polar pace: busy-one-week, tumbleweed-watching the next. I am so overdue for a very long holiday.

I could kick myself for not sticking to my boycott of the work Kris Kringle. With an 11th-hour peer-invoked reversal, I procured a very satisfactory bejewelled soft elephant from Oxfam, which now taunts me from J's desk across the room. While my crappy ‘hugging’ ceramic salt and pepper shakers remain at home, in a very deep, dark cupboard. Grrr.

Hot

Four working days left of 2009. Yee-ha!

My spunky little cabbage moth. For his own little ‘hot and not’ email to me last Thursday morning, which declared yours truly his ‘hot’ item. And a missed opportunity for, well, morning cuddles, his ‘not’!  

*Swoon* 

And for his stellar ability to put up with my increasing grumblings about work, and encouraging me to see the delight in every day. 

To play... write up your own 'what's hot and what's not Wednesday', link back to loobylu and add your name to the widget.

hot and not wednesday (#three)

hot

An oldie but a goodie… the problem of sound was resolved many moons ago, through a surplus set of Dell speakers K gave me, which do the trick amp-ly (pun intended) for the small space we inhabit.

Also on the problem of sound, I have been expanding my musical horizons via a nifty little doodad (oh, I am so technical) called BitTorrent. Seriously, I have existed in web 1.0 far too long…

Some of the funniest out-takes in ages…

My DVD player carked it (presumably a 'not') as we were about to watch the fabulous Once (a birthday present – thanks S!). Having the bus across the road is proving a winner at crucial moments. K popped over the road and retreived his DVD player, averting the resort to laptop/desktop viewing. And the movie? Brilliant music and a somehow satisfyingly unsatisfactory (weepy) ending… if that makes sense?

Twelve more work days and counting...

not

My best mate R’s date with routine surgery turned very nasty and she wound up seriously sick, with stomach acid in her lungs. The doctors told her she had great karma and was lucky to have made it through. Eek. Which makes the rest of my ‘nots’ seem trifling really...

Burnout. At the very end of my very frayed rope. Putting it down to the continuous slog of more than a year at work without a real break… and ongoing back irks which make me feel a gazillion years old. Upper back and neck now seizing up. We blacklisted mid-week alcohol in an effort to regain energy and be good to ourselves, which admittedly has helped, though the larger struggle to get through the weeks til xmas remains.

Whole-screen pop-up web ads. Grrrr! Also in the media realm, there has been lots of bemoaning at the Hill of the ABC's news programming, which has been sliding, with live crosses to reporters in studios in Adelaide (?) and the holus-bolus feeding on the Tiger derailment.

To play... write up your own what's hot and what's not wednesday, link back to loobylu and add your name to the widget.

hot and not wednesday

It's still Wednesday in Queensland...

Hot.

Five days beachside in central NSW. Throw in a wedding, dancing, swimming... and float away on a daydream of getting out of Brisvegas. 

Using the new Creative Space (aka the spare room) to make a driftwood/riverstone/paua shell mobile which now adorns the entrance. Ta-da!

Cohabitation has brought access to a cordless drill with many-sized drillbits for craft activities (see above). And probably power tools I haven't even dreamed of yet. And don't get me started about having my own web solutions maestro / help-desk in the next room. Oh I could rave...

The third bedroom/storage shed/second pantry (aka Alice the bus). Now parked over the road. Running out of pepper as dinner is served has never been such an easy fix.

K's choir has a CD out!

15 working days until xmas break. And hanging out at Bingi. Think I might create some sort of advent calendar in my Outlook. The count-down will be punctuated by work xmas parties. Which actually promise to be ... fun!

Leave loading. And a core agreement increase, backpaid to August, due any day... woo! Handy, since I've dog-eared some xmas wishes. Oh. And an appointment with the dentist, including multiple x-rays, which cost me $13. $13! Tallying the cost of items in my 'free' care pack, I think I actually walked out ahead! My first ever 'yeah!' for private health insurance! And a clean bill of health, with two remaining wisdom teeth declared fine to stay.

Not

Brain-fry. Courtesy being up to my eyeballs in policy quandries and deadlines on the secret squirrel welfare reform project which Anna is now earmarking as the centrepiece of Queensland's social inclusion agenda. Despite Kevin having virtually gazumped it. Eek!

Missed lunch breaks, emails, life etc (see above).

Federal politics... sheesh! 

Back irks are ongoing. However I have given up my Amish ways and am experiencing the revelation of Nurofen. Sitting at desk with minimal discomfort - the joy! Walking up hills without pain... hallelujah!

Summer hit about two weeks early. Hot. Wind-less. Blah. The first of many cold showers of the season.

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To play... write up your own what's hot and what's not wednesday, link back to loobylu and add your name to the widget.

another list, the resort of the overworked stressed-out deskhound

Getting on the blog theme bandwagon since life moves quickly (or faster than I seem to have capacity to blog) and any creative energy I had is pretty much sapped by day's end. And I do love a good list.


Hot.
Musculoskeletal therapy and cupping. Out of dire desperation after about six weeks of intractable (even with physio) lower back pain I had THE BEST massage last weekend. Cupping? I cocked an eyebrow at the "musculoskeletal therapist" but agreed to give it a go. A three thousand year old Chinese therapy made current by Gwyneth, 15 minutes is supposedly on par with three hours of remedial massage. My back has not felt so normal in a long time. Unfortunately this normalcy lasted about two days. Hmmph. And now Kaja (the "musculoskeletal therapist") is climbing Mt Everest. Of course.



The kind of tax return refund you get for not working a full year. Yeah!


Work is suddenly busy, after months of gouging my eyeballs out for entertainment. Am working on a sexy secret squirrel social inclusion / welfare reform policy project, a mandate straight from Anna's desk. Finally, some actual social policy work! Unfortunately it's been particuarly subject to political whims and now has some pretty squirmy timeframes on it, resulting in missed lunch breaks etc.


Subtropical electrical storms. One of the nicer things about summer in this part of the world. Oh, and the most exquisite local manzanella olives. And a new vintage sundress (without the pricetag which now goes along with vintage garb).



Looking forward to at least ten days off work over xmas and chilling out at Bingi with the relics. 

Not.
Coming up to about six weeks continuous lower back frustrations - see Hot. Hurts to sit. (Even after the heavenly massage, and even on my gymball.) At informal work meetings I stand. Long ago I changed my seat at the desk for a knee stool... unfortunately work is still a... pain in the arse!


My lame double entendres.


Saying no to January sailing on Pelican. Fun work. Paid work. I must be crazy. But this is my trade off for holiday-hoarding in anticipation of the can't-stand-desk-anymore (or at least can't sit at one) leap into the land of no reliable income. Bring. It. On.

And. I'm not sure which part of the list this belongs in, but last week was the one year anniversary of my return to Bris-vegas.

nine months

Mind-boggling, but that’s how long I’ve been back in Bris-vegas. And back at desk. The novelty of home and routine and staying put has dulled. I am so reintegrated (re-educated?) I talk about my former cultural alienation like it belonged to someone else. Winter has stolen daylight from my home. It’s too dark and cold to nurture plantlife mid-week and weekends always disappear under the weight of bare necessities… laundry, coffee, papers, food and a lazy snatch of sunshine. Despite a little busy spell – a couple of writing assignments, theatre engagements, kayaking jaunts and dinners out – the past month has yet managed to dissolve in a blur of yoga-guilt, neglected plants and half-started library books. And I’ve been a carefree squirrel, merrily piffing acorns up the wall. So have been feeling grudgingly distracted from goal. But trying still to take it all in and enjoy the ride. The lazy susan of life has been spinning at a breakneck pace. And it has launched a small parcel of spectacular my way. But given recent efforts at Speaking Too Soon, I'm gonna wait a few more spins before spilling the goods.

lumps, crumbs and irony

So that little lump of sadness is dissolving in a fizz of urgency for life. However am very impatient with current lifestations. Probably because I’ve just returned from ten days jamful of friends, family, Dali, winter food, mushrooming, open fires, wine, wombat chasing and the wild woolly Prom. To desk. Which is currently proving very blah.

I like to think I have a high capacity for work and usually (at least after coffee) contribute something of value and substance – even if the terrain has seemed rather pointless at times. Now I’m on meaningful terrain, but for reasons largely beyond my control, contributing mere crumbs. I found out last week that a return to my communications perch seems likely, since the seat I’m warming will shortly be reclaimed.

My former boss (the one who I love – I think – for keeping me on a yo-yo string and letting me explore it's furthermost limits) asked me to come work with her (again) in a super stealthy strategic area of the new mega-department. Whispers are the Army has too many spin doctors, so the team is being scattered to the winds. Including super stealthy strategic areas of the department.

I need to go back a few years to explain why this is so ironic it makes me want to puke. I was basically minding my own business at the old desk (thrice removed) when I got lured by an agency to go work in a flashy role in the old human services department, ie, the same department which earlier this year sucked up my department along with several others and became one mega human services department, ie the one I work for now. Follow? After working like an absolute dog on high-profile social marketing campaigns under stupid amounts of pressure, I choked on a hairball and took a rather spectacular nosedive (and watched in horror, mid-freefall, as my ‘superiors’ ran away with their safety net). Whereupon I found myself back at my little old desk batting away flies and self-loathing. Grrr. Shortly thereafter, I renounced my field of ‘expertise’ (bah), put a hex on life at desk, packed up the nest and flew the government coop altogether.

In hindsight, one of the best things that ever happened to me.

So. In effect, my old boss (the one who has me on the string), has asked me to join her in roughly the same place I was when I made that spectacular nosedive.

$#@#%%%$ huh…?

Could this be some rude circuitous groundhog plot, designed perhaps to remind me why I left in the first place? HTF could I end up back in the SAME place which cured me of my desk ambition and sent me packing to the northernmost tip of Australia (which btw is not Cape York but Boigu Island, where the crocs have names and you can feast on mudcrab for all of $2).

There is one small ray of hope, in the form of another short-term position in the policy dynamic. Gah. Maybe I need to embrace the buddhist reality and accept that temporary is just the way things are.

material girl and the wealth of nations

Lately I’ve been single-handedly reversing the penny-pinching global trend. My dormant discretionary spending capacity has been unleashed and the industrious squirreling of acorns into a handsome mound has been suspended in the name of cultural participation. It started as a few dinners out, some music, books, wine. A movie here. A haircut there. New jeans. A festival ticket. A 1960s Danish leather chair!

When I moved into the Highgate Hill abode, I found it really difficult to unpack things. The psychological transition from impermanence/mobility to a more predictable, fixed life (with objets de stuff) is unfolding still. I'm still living out of a toiletries bag (old habits) and my pantry which still seems mildly gargantuan is in fact little more than a large shoe box. Now the end of my six-month lease is nigh. I have a new job and am enjoying the company of men-folk (one in particular). I've been coming round to the idea that maybe my view of this moment (the job, the city, the 100-metre dash for cash) being ultra temporary was kind of illusory. That doesn’t mean I have cast aside my self-sufficiency goals. It means that severe shortcuts which demand a reduced/fleeting experience are out. I will unpack the other four glasses in the set! I will get that print framed and I will invest in stereophonics!

Longevity is my new mantra. Temporary is out!

So in aid of making my current stations more comfortable, I spent Saturday trawling the net and visiting Video Pro to talk stereo. iPod speaker docks, in fact. I was completely ready to pounce on the B&W Zeppelin, supreme and lovely beast of speaker docks. Which would have been an immediate fix to my lack-of-decent-sound problem. But at the point of sale that longevity thing reared its persistent little mug. I took a walk and pondered the iPod lifecycle and the scalability of the Zeppelin for future stations in life. It has no tuner. It sounded difficult to hook up to dvd. It has kick-ass speakers, but whose ability to kick ass would probably diminish in larger environs. I pondered the final commitment to adulthood: the purchase of a grown-up stereo. The kind you keep forever.

I stood there on the brink of ideological redefinition, with the sales chump batting his free warranties at me. I hemmed. I hawed. I hedged. And drove away sans Zeppelin, resigning myself to the inevitable protracted trauma of researching amps, tuners and speakers.

When I got home I took out the sales chump's card.

Adam Smith. Indeed. The material girl is back.

stuck in punxsutawney

As I grumblingly accept my lot in the big wheel of the wage economy and bemoan the loss of free time, I’ve noticed a dangerous little feeling brewing. The feeling that this existence – for all its family-sized upside-down fridges and missed lunch breaks – is somehow comforting. Like the progression of a clock: the tick-tock repetition, while illustrating your dwindling years/weeks/hours, is also oddly soothing. Call it a whacked biological need for regime, but this knowing-what-you’re-doing-tomorrow bizzo has definite - albeit mysterious - appeal. Maybe it’s because I’ve been seriously deprived of structure/trivia and the ego-entrapment of office life. Whatever. About the same time I began musing over this little irony, my ping-pong relationship with Bligh’s Army was formally and publicly acknowledged. Last week I took out the Groundhog Day title in our unit’s frivolous awards bestowal. I am so Bill Murray with a microphone in the snow waiting for a furry animal to forecast the weather. Luckily, I've moved through re-integration wobbles and a protracted bout of cultural alienation. Now I'm going to have some fun with the Punxsutawney locals.

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Savouring domestic novelties:

DVD watching – the whole first season of Love My Way. That’s ten episodes in one week... a couch-sitting personal best. I blame it on the cult of Claudia, who I have loved since she celebrated all the good bits about share-housing in St Kilda.

Small talk with the cat.

A proper bed. A big bed. Soft sheets. Totally underrated. I would give it all up for just this… if only the birds and sunshine didn't start at 5am.