#243: Record the Snore
CJ has many excellent qualities, among them his ability to sleep well. Very, very well. This led to one of those Conversations newlyweds have:
Me: Darling, you know that you snore.
CJ: Oh no, I’m sorry. Did I keep you awake?
Me: Well. . . you kept me entertained.
CJ [looking slightly trapped and not knowing why]: Um. . .
Me: I didn’t mind. It’s just. . .
CJ [increasingly paranoid]: Just?
Me: Well. . . you’re not normal.
CJ [utterly relieved for some reason]: Was I very loud?
Me: Not exactly. Well, sometimes. I think maybe you should see a doctor.
CJ [giving me an, “Aren’t women peculiar?” look]: Riiight.
Me: Really. I’m not annoyed.
CJ [alt/del/wifemustbeannoyed_retreat] I’m sorry.
Me [feeling more insane by the moment]: No – you – I – breathing!
CJ: I’m breathing now.
Me: Yes. Excellent point. Well. . . I guess that means you’re fine.
CJ [cautiously]: Good.
And so it was that CJ put an app on his phone that lets me record him snoring. After a few feeble recordings, I was finally able to prove that he’s. . . well, Not Normal.
WHO’S THE CRAZY ONE NOW, HMMM?
This is the recording, along with pics of the family sleeping – do stick with it to the end (you can hear me desperately trying not to laugh and wake him up):
And this is CJ’s face as he listened to it for the first time:
In other breathing-related news, sadly the zombie walk for 5 February has been re-cancelled. We’re back to the backup plan of myself and a relatively small number doing our thing in January. Details later.
The good news?
I don’t cancel stuff unless I’m dead – an excuse which won’t work this time, now will it?
“Meg the Egg” story so far
4
Mum walked in on Hugh and I kissing. “Sex ed clearly isn’t enough,” she said, and gave each of us an egg with a drawn-on face to look after.
She said it was the latest technology, and it would teach us about parenthood. Hugh freaked out and went home. My egg began to cry.
Mum made me walk up and down with the egg cupped in my hand until it finally shut up. I named it Meg, and decided never to have kids.
5
Stupid Meg is stupid crying and it won’t shut up. From now on, I’m only kissing Hugh if we’re both wrapped in cling wrap. Just in case.
Hugh tweeted that he didn’t want kids. Perfect. I wonder if sixteen is too young for him to get a vasectomy.
Discussed vasectomy with Hugh. He says he’ll do it if my Mum takes the eggs back. Definitely worth it. Meg makes my hands itch.
6
Miss Bobbit asked us what we were holding under our desks, and when we explained she had a coughing fit and left the room. NOT FUNNY.
Meg is oddly compelling. I feel funny without her neat warmth in my hand. Her little marker-drawn face looks like it’s smiling.
7
My BFF Sasha said that if I have to face parenthood my Mum should let Hugh stay with me so we can experience the pitfalls of married life.
When I asked Mum why she disagreed with Sasha she sent me to my room. Meg was making little gurgling noises. Pretty cute for a robot.
8
Meg was doing so well, and then at 3am she spat out some kind of green goo. Mum sucks! I never woke HER at 3am when I was a baby.
Fell asleep and missed drama class. Why couldn’t I fall asleep in maths? What’s wrong with me? I LIKE drama. Uh-oh, Meg needs a walk again.
9
Hugh pulled me over at lunch to show me something cool. He threw his egg (Sven) up in the air. It made a squealing noise like it was happy.
I wasn’t sure I dared throw Meg anywhere, even if it helped develop her motor skills in later life. Hugh grabbed her and chucked.
Meg flipped over and – yes, she was laughing! Hugh stepped forward to catch her and slipped. I dived facedown and JUST got her. Never again!
10
Rough night. When I woke up, both my hands were dark purple with bruising. Hugh came over and his hands were the same – especially the left.
“It’s Sven,” he said, “because I hold him in my left hand so my right is free for the remote.”
“Should infants be watching TV?”
“Not the point,” said Hugh.
I said, “Fine. We’re – allergic, or something. Should we tell my Mum?”
“What if she makes us give them up?”
11
I walked into Mum’s room without thinking, and saw her getting dressed. Her skin was green and slimy, and she pulled on a human skin suit.
She turned slowly and looked at me with two bulbous eyes on stalks: “We need to talk.”
I stood frozen: “You’re not Mum.”
“No.”
The alien explained that my real Mum was in Barbados and would be back for Christmas: “Call me Xarla.”
“Oh. . . sure. Er. Nice name.”
12
Hugh and Xarla and I sat down with the eggs. “We need human blood to feel our children,” she explained – “so, sorry about your hands.”
“Why don’t I remember Mum saying she was going away?” I asked.
Xarla said, “Short-term memory wipe. Give it another day or two.”
I called Mum in Barbados. “Are you doing your homework?” she trilled.
I said, “Um. Yes. So you’re fine?”
“Time of my life!”
“Okay then.”
13
Meg was crying again, so I walked around with her in my hand for over an hour. Now I knew she was doing it, I could feel tiny pinpricks.
I called Hugh. “Is Xarla implanting me with something? Because I’m finding it cute how Meg drinks my blood.”
Hugh was silent a long time.
“No,” he said at last: “They’re not altering us to like the eggs. Humans are biologically programmed to like small messy helpless things.”
14
Hugh and I sat close together at the back of English and discussed whether or not we were aiding an alien invasion of Earth.
I decided, “I don’t THINK we’re betraying the human race. I think we’re just. . . babysitting.”
Hugh nodded.
“If the aliens do take over, do you think they’ll abolish school?” said Hugh.
I said, “Another excellent point.”
15
For the sake of the children, Hugh and I skipped maths. I know I’D wipe out humanity if that was what I saw of it.
16
Hugh and I had dinner with Xarla – she cooked a great lasagna.
I said, “Er. . . would you mind putting your human skin suit back on?”
“No problem,” said Xarla.
Hugh whispered, “Adults are sooo gross.”
“I know.”
17
We took the eggs to a Lady Gaga concert. They moved around a lot, but I couldn’t tell if they were dancing or trying to escape.
Budget
CJ and I are saving for a house. We put aside a certain amount each year. I just sat down and worked out our budget until the end of 2010. And we can make it. If we can put off getting presents for three close friends (who will be fine with it), we will end the year with $2.
Yay us.
#242: Modern Art
Art should provoke an emotional response. Some modern art is brilliant, and some makes me say, “That’s PATHETIC!” (which is, technically, an emotional response).
I’ve been thinking about my own piece for some time now, and wanted to make some kind of comment on Christmas. Here’s what I finally came up with (there was a flash of late-night inspiration, naturally):
For those who don’t know, Gaviscon is Australia’s leading product for the relief of heartburn and indigestion. What could be more Christmassy than that?
Please file your comments on the worthiness or otherwise of this piece of art* below. Bonus points for any of the following words:
synergy
juxtaposition
visual allegory
hurynoggininity
For those who prefer the kind of art that looks nice, I give you “Ana at Twilight” (when the wall is toasty):
*I DID mention a few days ago that I’m no artist.
#241: Good Santa/Bad Santa
To a Christian (such as myself), Santa is a big fat symbol of capitalistic greed taking over what’s technically our religious holiday. (99% of us get over it on the theological loophole of, “Ooh! Presents!”)
I had a strange and somewhat disturbing moment in Indonesia one Christmas, when I discovered that poor Muslims were refusing charity gifts from Western countries because they contained pictures of Santa – something they considered a Christian religious symbol.
Arg. In this particular instance, volunteers sorted through the presents removing all the Santas, and it was all fine.
Indonesia is also the country that responded to terrorist attacks on churches by beefing up security – and dressing the armed guards as Santa. I like that.
THANK YOU to my parents for always telling me, “Santa Claus is a game we play at Christmas”, and for never forcing me to sit on the scary man’s knee.
And THANK YOU for my church, for happily bringing Santa into the celebrations, letting him give away ACTUAL LOLLIES (good health and OH&S can get stuffed) – and most of all, for having him ride in on this each year:
Coming soon: Modern art. Secret Squirrel. And my review of “Leviathan” and “Behemoth” by Scott Westerfeld, who is infinitely cooler than Santa.
#240: It’s a boy!
Some of you rabble have been around long enough to recall that I bought a bristle-nose catfish many moons ago, and named him Watson. Here’s what he looked like then:
He’s the white-spotted comma shape on the plastic wood. You may notice there’s no bristles on his nose. That’s because he was too young, and of indeterminate gender. Only the male bristlenoses actually have bristles on their noses, and only when they’re above a certain age.
Turns out that “certain age” is now. I noticed a lump on his face and wondered if he was sick. Upon closer examination, the truth became clear: Watson is male. My little catfish is becoming a man.
You can’t actually see the bristles in these photos, but they’re there. Trust me.
#239: Facing the Paint
I’m a familiar face at church (despite my increasingly rare attendance due to dieting making me extra-crazy), so when four face-painters weren’t enough for the tiny crowd, I was asked to help.
I am no artist, but one thing I can do is pretend to be confident. Thus, carefully restraining myself from utterances like, “Whoops! Your face now looks like &@#)$!”, and “Oh dear, I’m so sorry” and, “I’m sure it washes off”, and “Erm. . . can it be an EVIL fairy?” I dived into the fray.
The point at which it became fun (observe the smile of eeeevvvviiiiillll):
“Now just hold still, my little man. This won’t hurt a bit.”
Oh, sorry. Did you guys want to see HIS adorable Christmassy face?
Awww!
Double aww with blood-soaked teeth and a figgy pudding on top.
NB: The child did actually request this face.
The afternoon was made even better by the way the woman painting next to me was saying, “It’s not too late. I can still change you from a skull into a puppy. A nice, fluffy puppy. No? Okay. . .”
Christmas
For those who hadn’t noticed, it’s next week.
Soon the pain will be over.
Oh look! A picture of gratuitous cuteness!
#238: Carols by Candlelight
There’s a lot about Christmas I don’t like, but I do like the eerie mass choir of carols by candlelight. Conveniently, my church (Woden Valley Alliance Church) runs a massive community event for Christmas each year, and it happened today. I’m mentioning the church by name because it’s a seriously well-run and worthwhile event, including a jumping castle*, free BBQ, and face-painting (which I’ll blog about shortly – and a very decent Santa visit, too). This is a church that does family events very well all year round.
Wow. There were a LOT of kids. It was a little like stepping inside “The Vicar of Dibley” in the bizarre over-the-top kitchness of it all. Except much, much more so. Three children, for example, came dressed as angels – including a blonde set of twins. If I didn’t want to procreate before, I would now.
There was a lot of outside fun and food before the carols started, and then everyone gathered inside the church hall and got free child-safe candles (they have a switch on the bottom, and last for months).
But the carols didn’t start. Oh no. Because this is still a church.
The children of the church gathered at the front and sang three of the most blatantly evangelistic songs I’ve ever heard. The first might just have been entitled, “Five Easy Steps to Becoming a Christian”, the second could have been, “Life is Good Because I Pledge Myself to You, Jesus” and the third could have been, “Every single random and/or pagan item vaguely associated with Christmas is actually a handy way to tell my friends about Jesus”.
They were all terrible songs (I can already feel myself repressing the memory), charmingly (but poorly) sung**, but the third one had me in hysterics. It specifically mentioned fairy lights (which are apparently a representation of the star that led the Wise Men to Jesus), and candy canes (red represents redemption through Jesus’ blood, and white represents the joy of forgiveness)***. That song also specifically stated that all one has to do to convert one’s friends is give them a candy cane.
Which begs the question, then why are you subjecting all these people to such freakishly poorly-written songs?
Aaaannnyyyway. . .
(Honestly bids me to admit that my mum told me as a child that candy canes represent the shepherds’ crooks of the shepherds that saw the angels announcing Jesus’ birth, and I always found that completely plausible.)
The carols were fine, although a teensy bit lacking in eeriness since (a) it was still light outside, and (b) I spend the whole time delightedly chasing two little girls whose parents were busy running things.
Coming soon: How Santa should be. Face Painting. Modern art. And more.
*which they wouldn’t let me on. Waaagh!
**but only if you think “Sing louder!” is lacking in finesse of some kind – they are kids, after all.
***presumably the candy canes with an additional green stripe represent EEEEEVVVVVVVIIIIIILLLLL and are not consumed by good children.
S#50: Decide on a Lifelong Dream
Nice and easy one today.
My main lifelong dream is pretty obvious – to be consistently published by a reputable publisher (with good enough distribution that my books actually get bought by the public in high enough numbers that the next book gets published, and the next, and so on).
Today’s lifelong dream won’t come as a shock to anyone who’s either met me or read more than one of this year’s twittertales. Recurring motifs, anyone?
So here’s my new (ish) lifelong dream: I want to have CJ’s babies.
Not yet. . . but before my womb gets excessively dusty with age. At 28, that gives me a few years before the pressure is on.
CJ and I talked about children from about two months into our relationship (definitely in the “not a good idea, but it worked out this time” category of my life). We’ve been married just under 2 years now, and if we want to be able to buy a nice house we need to put off procreation for a bit longer – I’ve heard a rumour kids are, like, expensive. Possibly even inconvenient, at times.
I know how lucky I am to be able to have this dream. Being married to CJ remains a wonderful surprise (and honestly easier than I expected, which shows how much an observant person can learn from those around them).
And here’s some excessively cute pictures of my two-month old niece:
In the meantime, my cats are cute and cuddly and don’t require any major lifestyle changes. And I appreciate that too.
Part of the fun of having a dream is seeing it all shiny and perfect – which requires it to be far away.
I do believe all the wonders (and horrors) of motherhood will eventually be described right here on the blog – at least until my kids are old enough to ask me to stop.
Felicity Banks 