Canberra in Autumn
It’s not hard to see why Autumn is my mum’s favourite Canberra season:
What’s your favourite season where you are?
PS Hello to my Ukraine readers: I have no idea where you came from, but you’re welcome here.
Gorgeous Mini Steam Train with Sea Creatures
The title pretty much tells you all you could possibly need to know 🙂
http://www.4largescale.com/chris/c10.htm
Grab them fast
This article is all about your first paragraph. You really should read it all – it’s brilliant, and the lady is speaking from the harrowing experience of having just read over 1500 first paragraphs – most of which were rubbish (she said so, but more politely).
Here’s a sentence I particularly liked:
If you do start with the “typical”, you have about three sentences to introduce something unique/unexpected that’ll keep a reader reading.
And here is something really special – the opening scenes that happen far, far too often. I know I personally have used two and a half of these in my novels alone. That is not a good sign.
People waking up
“Who Goes Here?” by Bob Shaw
This book makes me laugh. Also giggle, chuckle, and guffaw.
The rest of this review is at Comfy Chair, where I get paid for it.
First Water Play Time
Way back when I was using all my powers of manipulation to acquire the baby gear I wanted without actually buying any of it, I convinced a friend (it wasn’t hard!) to buy a set of plastic shells designed to be both a sandpit and a paddle pool for very young children. At the time I thought it would only be useful when Louisette was well and truly walking, and starting to get restless for an outside play area.
More recently, I went to a Kidsafe talk and one of the main things they recommended was swimming lessons – “As soon as possible. Definitely before one year. They won’t learn to swim, but they’ll learn water awareness.” Drowning is the leading cause of death in children under five. . . so not only am I meant to get Louisette playing in the water ASAP, it may save her life.
Louisette has only recently gotten over a screaming hatred of baths, so I was careful to make the experience as gentle and as non-bath-like as possible. All went well, and Louisette didn’t show a single sign of distress at any time:
I’ll be bringing the shell inside regularly for more play time – probably today for starters!
One quarter of her life in daily photos
Here is Louisette (not her real name, because this is the internet) from the first, second, third and now fourth month of her life. Last month she visited China and Hong Kong. This month she became obsessed with standing, attempting (unsuccessfully) to crawl, and looking at boys. She also had an ultrasound (just to confirm she’s okay, which she is), and her first play in a sandpit and in a paddle pool.
Outside Play Area
CJ and I have a balcony. Awesome! It’s handy for hanging washing, killing plants, and (theoretically) getting sunshine. Now that Louisette is around and all “Gimme gimme Vitamin D” the balcony is more useful than ever. One small problem: it’s concrete, with several layers of paint that are all peeling away in deliciously toxic candy-coloured flakes.
Last weekend I turned any drowning hazards (saucers under pots) upside down, moved climbing hazards (pots again) away from the two-storey drop, braced the glass table against two walls for a teensy bit of stability, swept away as much dirt and peeled paint as possible, laid down comfy foam for lying/crawling/falling on, and organised our sandpit/paddle pool (the pool is usually empty and turned over as a lid).
Voila! An adorable, comfortable baby/toddler area that requires only a sane amount of supervision (rather than having to physically carry her at all times).
She enjoyed the new texture of the foam (my knees enjoyed it too), and had her first play in a sandpit.
It’ll be interesting to see how the foam copes with the outdoors (it’s designed for outdoor use, but probably not the extreme atmosphere of our South-facing balcony). It cost $60 altogether, so it’s worth the experiment of simply observing whether it needs replacing soon/immediately after the first lot of rain/never.
Louisette also played with shadows (cast on the wall) for the first time. We didn’t even bring out any toys, and we had a great time.
Louisette is four months old today, so I’ll be posting a month’s worth of photos tomorrow.
Mothers’ Day Pics
I was kind of busy yesterday, as usual on Mothers’ Day, but Louisette was all cute on her play thingy, and I thought it was a great opportunity for a face-to-face Mothers’ Day photo. Here are the results – I call them:
1. Look Mum! A wall!
2. Spitting up.
3. Faceplant.
Mothers’ Day
For those of you wondering why your female parent is no longer speaking to you, it’s Mothers’ Day today: a scheduled annual day for spontaneous expressions of gratitude. Your mum gave you the gift of life X years ago (and has probably helped to keep you alive*since then). For my first Mothers’ Day CJ bought me a book and Louisette was generous – surprisingly generous – on the chocolate and lolly front. What a good girl.
As a person with a social anxiety disorder, Mothers’ Day was always the second-most stressful day of the year (the worst being Christmas). I felt that I needed to satisfy both my family and CJ’s family with two separate but equally important occasions in which it was vital to be happy, and to come prepped with thoughtful and beautiful presents, and with some kind of reasonably respectable food. At the same time, I’d be aware that one or both families would be in not-so-secret pain due to missing at least one adult child, and that everyone would hate one or more parts of the many iron-clad traditions that they still felt the need to take part in (or, often, to take full responsibility for). So I had at least two large events with people I often didn’t know well, with a lot of expectations that most of us don’t like – and it was ESSENTIAL to be happy about all of it. All day. (Sidebar: I actually like a good tradition, whether it’s pleasant at the time or not. There’s a kind of satisfaction in, “We must get the family together on THIS day every year” that you don’t get any other way.)
Like most things in life, this is a problem that is almost completely solved by money – an expensive gift is a thoughtful gift nine times out of ten, and if you’ve got the money it’s super easy to buy a spectacular dessert and/or take everyone out to a restaurant to eat**. This week CJ and I paid for our annual car registration, so fixing things with money is even less of an option than usual. Also, as you may have heard, we recently had eight months of illness and then acquired a human being.
So instead of breakfast in bed***I got up before Louisette and launched headlong into a recipe I’ve never tried before. The path to dessert never did run smooth, and I’ve destroyed one pie base already at the time of writing.
Stupid freaking Mothers’ Day.
This year it fell to CJ and I to provide a dessert at each gathering. I was smart enough to arrange things so that one family met on Saturday instead of Sunday, and to buy/make desserts that I like. It so happened that the desserts I chose were terrible choices for both my mum (who was allergic to it) and CJ’s Mum (who doesn’t have the raging sweet tooth I do). So I feel guilty about both. How strangely appropriate for a first-time mum (guilt is kind of what we do).
Mothers’ Day is much more painful for most of the world than it is for me. I know at least one woman who has always wanted to have children – lots of children – and is staring down the barrel of her first IVF cycle. She may never conceive a child. I know many other women who want to have children but don’t even have the expensive-and-not-at-all-guaranteed benefit of IVF – they are single, and suddenly every birthday they “celebrate” is cutting away at their dreams. They have a huge pile of love stored inside them and life has not given them the option of bringing it out into the light. Mother Nature is a bi– . . . a mean person.
I know other people who have mums that hurt and belittle them constantly. Those people have a choice to meekly accede to (or attempt to psychically figure out) their mother’s wishes on Mothers’ Day – or to literally or metaphorically hide under their bed in the fetal position and hope the storm passes. I am very lucky to have a mum and mum-in-law who are fundamentally good, but they have enough. . . let’s call it “humanity” rather than “evil”. . . in them that I have seen a tiny glimpse of the burning darkness that some live with every day – a darkness that turns nova on the second Sunday in May. You know who you are, and you have my sympathy.
There are other mums that feel trapped by their children, or resentful that their children have never once said a genuine thank you, or who never wanted children, or who always secretly wanted a girl/boy, or who are just. . . . . . . . so. . . . . . . . .tired. . . . . . My heart goes out to you, too. And if you’ve ever silently wished you’d never had children at all, you’re certainly not alone.
There are as many kinds of Mothers’ Day pain as there are mothers, daughters, and sons. There is the same range of joys too – the joy of making an actual real LIFE****; the fascinating horror show of pregnancy; the uncertainty of that first smile/fart; the reluctant pleasure in toothless and drooly kiss; the thrill of the first words; the endless inane chatter of a child; the sudden independence of the teenage years; the bittersweet joy of seeing a child grow up and move away to make their own life; the cherry on top that is grandchildren (and a new round of nappies). . .
Here’s to my Mum for surviving me and for assisting in my survival (to this day in a surprisingly literal sense*****). And here’s to me for jumping into the motherhood maelstrom and laughing at the thunder, lightning, and hail as it beats down on me.
I EARNED that chocolate.
*do the undead celebrate Mothers’ Day? Hard to say unless Louisette gets bitten in the next twelve months.
**not if you don’t like crowds – because I guarantee everyone who can go out to lunch is going out to lunch on Mothers’ Day. The same doesn’t apply to Fathers’ Day, because on that day the women coordinate and cook and clean and it’s considered okay. It’s only on Mothers’ Day that we suddenly realise the complex arrangement of: 1. thinking of a food contribution, 2. buying the ingredients, 3. cooking it under very specific time pressures, and 4. cleaning up – is too much for a large number of men (due to lack of practice, not innate stupidity) – so it falls on the daughter-in-law. CJ is a great cook  and can negotiate a supermarket better than I can but he’s not good at time pressure or multitasking. So here we are.
***How stressful would that have been?? As if I don’t have enough trouble keeping up with Louisette’s vomit on my clothes, I’d have had to try and deal with a bowl of milk on an unsteady surface. I don’t think so.
****Here’s hoping it ends better than it did for Dr Frankenstein.
*****Yes, I’m talking about money.
Tiny clockpunk
What can I say? This is just beautiful. They’re all made from broken watches.
When you feel like a broken watch, remember that you may secretly be a tiny and intricate motorbike.
Happy Mothers’ Day.
Felicity Banks 