#213: Shopping Spree!
CJ and I have lofty savings goals for this year. We have just (barely) made it to halfway (and it’s October. Late October). We can still make it – but that means anything other than rent, bills, petrol, and food (in that order) is a no-no.
However, we recently discovered a $50 Kmart gift voucher in one of CJ’s drawers-o-stuff. We were also recently given a voucher to the Asian Bookshop in Macquarie.
So today, we grabbed our pretend money and hit the town.
Gift vouchers: Money that you’re not allowed to spend on rent, bills, petrol, or food. What’s not to love?
Several hours later. . .
We bought jeans (CJ) a blue top (me), two books, and M&Ms.
The books were both on our list of “subtly hint to relatives that these might be nice for Christmas” (and by “subtly hint” I mean we’re going to assign them to specific people). CJ especially especially wanted “Time of Trial”, the latest in Michael’s Pryor’s YA funny adventure series (which features at least one zeppelin, as I recall), and I especially especially wanted Sandy Fussell’s exciting, funny, and uplifting “Samurai Kids” series (I bought Book One: White Crane, so I can lend it to my students at once – all the rest are also on that list, because they’re all excellent).
Some of you are probably reading along here thinking, “Who cares about money? Where can I see more baby pictures?”
Here’s a new (and final, I swear) video for you guys.
The rest of you are wondering, “Who cares about babies and/or money? Where’s all the steampunk goods you promised us this month?”
These are for you.
Charles Babbage is a real guy who really invented the first steam-powered computer (and his lady love, Ada Lovelace, was the first to write a computer program). It’s now possible, for the first time in history, to build it. So that’s what the human race is gonna do. Yay us.
http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/technology-11530905
And, Tor.com is having a steampunk month this month.
#212: Visit hospital
Yesterday’s blog left you at 10:00am (after thirty hours of labour, including six hours of pushing) Monday morning.
Today’s blog is pretending to be written on Monday afternoon.
I knew something was wrong, so after trying the birthing centre I called my Mum, hoping she’d tell me I was being silly.
She really didn’t. She was frightened too. It’s never good to have your fears confirmed.
Now is as good a time as any to say that one of my best friends in Canberra had a baby last month. They’re all fine now, but she had preclampsia during labour to the extent that her organs began shutting down and she had to go into surgery.
Incidentally, if I ever want to figure out if someone has treated me badly (which is often difficult due to my messed-up brain chemicals), all I have to do is imagine the person treating my sister that way. On those occasions, imagining my sister in the same situation makes me instantly furious. NO-ONE is allowed to treat my sister badly or cause her pain. (What a shock Megan didn’t ask me to accompany her to the hospital. Apparently crying hysterically isn’t what good birth partners are known for.)
But she was in real pain – and real danger – and there was nothing anyone could do. So I sat at home and cried.
I called the birthing centre again, and begged them to tell me what was wrong.
Mum called me back saying there’d been a minor complication, and that NOW the baby would come any moment. Everything was okay!
The minor complication was that birthing centres are perhaps a little too focused on the mums’ peace and privacy, and had advised Megan to push “when you feel like it.” This resulted in Megan pushing too early (beginning at 4:00am, when she was close but not close enough), which slowed everything down (probably by several hours).
I walked to Helen’s house to get her number in case I needed a lift.
I returned home and cleaned some more, moving as if I was wading through honey, and keeping my phone within sight at all times.
At 11:30am, I received an SMS from my mum. It was a girl, and everyone was fine.
About half an hour later, I received an SMS from Jim saying the same thing. Old news, bro! You snooze, you lose.
A few hours passed, and then yet another Perth friend called to take me for an official visit by invitation. I was still dazed and shaking, and ended up causing her multiple trips, but she was very sweet. She was so respectful that she came to the hospital for me twice (each a round trip of over an hour), and didn’t go in herself.
I held my first niece on my lap and took this video. She’s four hours old here.
Most of the time I held her, she was sleeping deeply, barely stirring. Her head was as squashy as an over-ripe avocado and she flinched away from the slightest light (even with her eyes closed). I was stunned at how perfectly her nose and mouth and eyelashes and hands were formed.
The hair on her head is real, and will stay. It’s a family trait.
Jim told me she also had hair on her back – but that’s the kind a lot of babies have, that just goes away. (Or is it???)
As I write (we’re back in real-time now), the whole family is home and doing fine. Here’s them in hospital:
And this gorgeous photo was taken within the last twenty-four hours:
She was 3.55 kilos (that’s 7.8 pounds), 50cm long, and the circumference of her head was 35cm.
She does have a name, but I won’t be saying it publicly, so if you’re a real-life friend you can SMS me or CJ or my Mum or Dad for that.
Megan went through the entire experience without painkillers of any kind – not even gas. (She had stitches, too.)
She was kind enough to give me these two golden nuggest of advice:
1. Don’t eat corn just before going into labour unless you really want to see it again.
2. Use pain relief.
She also said that she got to a certain point and thought, “That wasn’t so bad” – and then had another eight hours of labour.
Unsurprisingly, it was the hardest thing she’d ever done. But also the most rewarding. To which I say, “Duh! Just look at that gorgeous girl!”
What’s that you say? You want another photo? Okay. This is her on my lap at four hours of age (with my hand for scale).
And now, after a day of travel and two days of hectic catch-up at work, I’m going to go and have a nice lie-down.
#211: Be a labour buddy
This blog is a sham! I’ve been lying to you all week! My sister went into labour on Sunday – while I was still staying in her house.
Since it’s the official due date, and I’ve been given permission to tell the world, here’s how it all went down. I’ll pretend I’m writing this on Monday morning*.
I’ll be calling my sister Megan (since she’s roughly as attractive as Megan Gale) and my brother-in-law Jim (why not?)
It’s Monday morning (*see how smooth and realistic that was?) and my little sister is in labour. Yesterday (Sunday) we washed some second-hand soft toys and hung them out on the line, all damp and multicoloured. Then Megan and Jim and I played a game of Settlers. I was way ahead the entire game, and then Megan drew ahead and won. (I’ve played exactly three games of Settlers since arriving here – a game I’m so good at that some people refuse to play with me – and Megan has won all three. I think her baby-to-be is sneaking under the table and looking at my cards and/or brain.)
She went for a walk to a nearby friend’s house (who I’ll call Helen) and I continued reading a Cadfael book. When she came back she didn’t come into my room, so I just kept reading. Then, at about 12:30pm, she called me.
I went into her room and she and Jim were lying on the bed.
“I’m in labour,” she said. “I’ve been getting regular contractions since 4:00am, and now they’re growing more intense.”
I babbled. Then I flailed. Then I laughed, and babbled, and flailed some more. It was a day and a half until I flew back to Canberra. If all went well, I’d be able to meet him/her before I left.
We arranged an alternate lift to the airport, on the basis that Jim would be otherwise engaged (somewhat). My mum had already been contacted, so now that I knew, Megan called her to talk about it. I took this photo.
She is actually having a contraction at the time, but the weird face is because of the paparazzi, not labour.
Jim and I walked around in a daze, talking too fast, cleaning haphazardly, talking to Megan, fetching her drinks, timing contractions on his iphone, and saying, “Oh, this is so cool!” Megan joined in on the, “Oh, this is so cool!” parts.
I had weetbix sandwiches for lunch, and Megan had a bowl of fresh fruit and yoghurt. The wind blew some dried flowers off her wall and scattered them across the floor, so she hoovered her room.
I took another photo:
I actually took another photo of her, in which she charmingly stuck her finger up her nose, but I’ve decided not to reproduce that here.
They went for a walk, and I have absolutely no idea what I did (but I bet there was some staring into space – and also posting photos to my Mum so she could see for herself that Megan was perfectly fine).
When they came back, the contractions were stronger and closer together. Megan starting leaning on the swiss ball she’d borrowed for the purpose.
At around 5pm her contractions started to come about four minutes apart, and usually lasted around a minute. I cooked her an omelette, which she ate for dinner. She stopped talking during contractions. All our spirits were sky-high. The baby was coming! No more sleeps!
Megan and Jim started slowly heading to the car, timing actions for between contractions.
I really wanted to go and sit in the waiting room, but I knew that I’d probably just end up having panic attacks (and no way to get home) – and, more importantly, I knew Megan didn’t want me there.
The couple left, and so did Megan and Jim.
I paced, and cleaned, and watched the first few episodes of MASH on my laptop. It was the 6pm on the 10th of the 10th 2010, so my brother and I were hoping she’d have a super-short labour and get a cool birth date.
Midnight came and went. “She might still have made it,” I thought. “Because they wouldn’t SMS in the first instant after birth.”
1:00am came and went.
I gave up and went to sleep, expecting to be woken by the birth SMS sometime in the night (having forgotten that my Mum was in hospital labour for 36 hours).
At 4:00am the sharp sound of my SMS rang out again, making me gasp and sit bolt upright before remembering what was happening and grabbing for the phone.
“Any moment now” from Jim.
I didn’t bother going back to sleep, knowing that the pushing stage generally lasts less than an hour.
I ate, and watched MASH, and saw the sun rise. I cleaned the fish water and fed the fish and hens.
Hours passed. No word.
It’s been six hours since Megan began to push. I called the birthing centre but they refused to tell me anything.
It’s 10:00am, Megan’s been in labour for thirty hours, and I know something has gone wrong.
NB: If you’re a family member or friend and can’t stand the suspense, just call me or CJ or my mum or dad. Otherwise, I’ll tell all tomorrow.
#210: Come Home
The best part of leaving is the coming home part. Last night I flew back into Canberra from Perth, and I couldn’t stop exclaiming over how nice my house is. (And also CJ, but I remembered that part pretty well.)
My cats found me extra fascinating for a bit – although not as fascinating as the day I came home smelling of Melbourne, Brisbane, AND Sydney (having not had a shower for the thirty hours spent travelling from Melbourne to a Brisbane conference and then staying that night in Sydney before I could get home to Canberra – four states; one shower at the end!)
Dogs mark their territory with urine. I mark my territory with just as much single-minded devotion, but less ammonia. In consultation with CJ, I rearranged our room so it now looks like this:
I heartily recommend rearranging one’s room as a form of therapy for the mentally ill or anyone feeling out of control. It proves through action that at least you have enough power to control the most important environment of your life. That’s worth a lot. (My apologies to any readers currently in prison and/or traction.)
Also, CJ sorted out some of his stuff. That always makes me happy. By “sorted out” I mean he threw away a whole box full of papers, including an invitation to a wedding for some friends of ours that have since divorced.
Ah, the life strata of a hoarder’s drawer. Luckily for me, CJ’s hoarding tendencies are under control – although he does have his own room, so the potential for chaos remains. . . waiting.
We also found a $50 voucher from our own wedding (in January 2009), that we not only haven’t spent yet, but is still valid.
Kmart, for your two-year expiration date, I love you.
One of the features of the new arrangement is that, for the first time, I have a dressing table (the picture is a mirror, and the drawers are now largely mine – hairbrush and so on in the top so it’s 100% tidy* but easily accessible).
Coming soon: Given that my sister is due to give birth tomorrow (not that such an exact date means much to the kid), there will definitely be some very tiny baby photos sometime this month. I can’t wait!!!!!!!
From brassgoggles.co.uk, here’s how a serious steampunk fan redecorates:
*CJ is a hoarder, and I’m a little OCD (Obsessive Compulsive Disorder, which in my case means that if certain areas aren’t tidy and/or squared to the edge of the table, I have panic attacks). Starting our life together with two bedrooms rather than just one was A Good Plan.
#208: Fish Doctor
I believe I have successfully diagnosed a mortally dangerous flaw in my bro-in-law and sister’s fish tank (the water isn’t changed often enough – they’re already fish serial killers, and have been wondering why).
The tank is, in itself, awesome. My bro-in-law set it up so the off button turns off the light.
I’m pretty confident in my diagnosis, since I researched it online, ran tests with different-coloured water (really; real tests, too) and pronounced my judgement before realising as bro-in-law changed the water that the pic at the back is actually white – not yellow, as it appeared to me. Water shouldn’t be yellow, kids.
Also, the fish that was acting especially sick yesterday is already acting less sick.
So what did you do today? I SAVED A FREAKIN’ LIFE.
Long-term readers will know that my first foray into fish-keeping (which was actually my second, but my first this decade – and by “this” decade I mean since the year 2000) ended horribly.
http://shootingthrough.net/2010/04/01/s78-adopt-a-pet/
http://shootingthrough.net/2010/05/06/132-try-try-again/
It’s been almost six months, and all my new batch of fish are fine (well, except for the one Sherlock killed and ate, but that’s arguably natural causes. Sherlock has a new mummy now, since I decided not to risk the rest).
So this is one of those neat times where life comes out of death. Aww.
Hey look! A steampunk dalek!
This image was taken from nerdcore.de
S#60: Rise and Shine
Today’s awesomeness is all about changing one’s morning routine.
My normal routine is as follows:
1. Turn off alarm clock. Greet consciousness with a moan of existential despair.
2. Remember the existence of chocolate, and get up. Pat 1-2 cats, kiss 1 husband.
3. Have a glass of water while checking email just in case a publisher got up REALLY early to email me with a three-book deal.
4. Sort through up to twenty utterly uninteresting emails. Blink back tears of career-related despair.
5. Remember I’m not allowed chocolate until after breakfast. Get breakfast.
6. Eat breakfast (and six pills including vitamins B through to D) while posting twittertales (unless it’s something that specifically happens later in the day) and trolling through 15 or so blogs.
7. Give last skerrik of breakfast milk to older cat. Kiss husband goodbye as he goes to work.
8. Reach end of blogs. Check some again to see if they’ve posted something new since I last checked. Refresh email a few times, just in case the publisher has JUST walked into work and rushed straight to their desk to send me a contract. Facepalm with mental-illness-related despair.
9. Remember existence of chocolate. Eat chocolate.
10. Begin writing and/or housework.
Since I’m currently visiting my sister, brother-in-law, and almost-born niece/nephew in Perth, things have changed dramatically.
Which is to say, my husband and cats are not here, and I’m eating a different kind of breakfast.
Of course, when I’m away CJ makes it better by sending me photos like this (from yesterday):
Yep, life sure is different when you’re travelling.
From radioactivebodega.net, something most wonderful:
And a postscript to today’s twitter scene: Nitrogen gas is extremely stable – so much so that an American space program sealed a room and filled it with Nitrogen to protect it against fire. When two staff members went in, they experienced mental retardation (otherwise they’d have realised something was wrong and simply left the room), unconsciousness, and death.
WILL JACK AND NIP SURVIVE????????
Further steampunk data (PG: a bit creepy)
Today’s awesomeness is #118: Clean someone else’s house. I’ve planned for several months to pull (slightly) more than my weight while staying here – since, after all, my sister could pop out a child at almost any moment.
And onto today’s more thrilling tales of wonder (and, it must be mentioned by way of warning, a little horror).
Ice (mainly for preserving food, often insulated with sawdust) was a new and thrilling thing (as I’m sure you can imagine if you’ve ever seen spoiled meat or milk) in the 1840s.
Wigs were pre-Victorian, but I can’t not share this snippet:
“The combination of open flames and combustible materials brought an element of alarm and excitement to every aspect of daily life in the pre-electrical world. Samuel Pepys recorded in his diary how he bent over a candle while working at his desk, and soon afterwards became aware of a horrible, pungent smell, as of burning wool; only then did he realize that his new and very expensive wig was impressively aflame.”
From portcities.org.au, Samuel Pepys:
Electricity was invented a while before it actually became useful. One of the first practical applications was used by Giovanni Aldini to make money. He “devised a stage show in which he applied electricity to animate the bodies of recently executed murderers and the heads of guillotine victims, causing their eyes to open and their mouths to make noiseless shapes.”
Sleep well tonight, kids!
#116: Visit sundry relations (and, further steampunk tales)
I am in Perth, which is slightly farther from my home than New Zealand. The up side of Perth is that my sister and her husband live here, and my grandpa, and an aunt and uncle who I very rarely see (with the especial feature that my uncle is Indonesian).
On Wednesday night, having discovered that my 90-year old grandfather had never eaten Indian food, my sister and brother-in-law took him out to “Spicy South” in Subiaco. I was lucky enough to be along for the ride.
MmmmMMMMMMmmm
None of us like our food super spicy, but that wasn’t an issue. We had butter chicken, lamb rogan josh, some kind of spinach-and-potato thing, pappadums, and two serves of naan bread (butter, and garlic).
Every bite was infused with spices and creamy deliciousness. Grandpa loved it. I worked out by a long process of elimination that the ultimate mouthful consisted of butter naan with butter chicken.
During the dinner, Grandpa mentioned he was seeing the aforementioned aunt and uncle for lunch the next day, and I invited myself along. We went to Jetty’s buffet restaurant in Hillary’s. Jetty’s costs rather more than I’m used to – but then, I’m not used to filling up with fresh prawns, either (there were about thirty dishes from lasagna to mussels – not counting sauces or desserts). Hillary’s is a very popular tourist trap with a man-made harbour, a small amusement park, extraordinarily tacky and overpriced shops, and large boats for sale.
Hillary’s also has a cold rock ice cream shop – which, sadly, we were too stuffed to visit on this occasion.
And we arrive neatly back at Bill Bryson’s history book, “At Home.”
“One early type of shower was so ferocious that users had to don protective headgear before stepping in lest they be beaten senseless by their own plumbing.”
Trust the Victorians to make a shower dangerous (baths sometimes blew up, but that’s another story).
1851 was the year of the Great Exhibition, which any Victorian student knows all about. It took place in the astonishing Crystal Palace (the most original and stunning building of the age – designed by a gardener), and was a roaring success. It was all about the rise of amazing new technologies.
“Almost 100,000 objects were on display, spread among some 14,000 exhibits. Among the novelties were a knife with 1,851 blades, furniture carved from furniture-sized blocks of coal (for no reason other than to show it could be done), a four-sided piano for homey quartets, a bed that became a life-raft and another that automatically tipped its startled occupant into a freshly drawn bath, flying contraptions of every type (except working), instruments for bleeding, the world’s largest mirror, an enormous lump of guano from Peru, the famous Hope and Koh-i-Noor diamonds, a model of a proposed suspension bridge linking Britain with France. . .”
You can see why steampunk holds such fascination. The simple question, “But what if it all actually worked?” is enough to launch a thousand novels.
More tomorrow!
A steampunk romance – and, windchimes
I’m reading Bill Bryson’s “At Home” which is all about how history made our homes the way they are (eg germs, telephones and electric lights all started drastically changing homes in the 1880s). Obviously, the Victorian bits are of particular interest. (And I can smugly note that he quotes Liza Picard’s “Victorian London” repeatedly – a book I’ve read from cover to cover.)
Here is, perhaps, my favourite part:
“Jane Webb [wrote] a potboiler in three volumes called The Mummy! A Tale of the Twenty-second Century, which she published anonymously in 1827, when she was just twenty years old. Her description of a steam lawnmower so excited (seriously) the gardening writer John Claudius Loudon that he sought her out for friendship, thinking she was a man. Loudon was even more excited when he discovered she was a woman and rather swiftly proposed marriage, even though he was at that point exactly twice her age.
Jane accepted. . .”
The two became incredibly famous horticulturalists, each in their own right. Jane’s book, Gardening for Ladies, gave women social permission to garden for the first time.
There is a postscript to this tale, which just adds to the wonder of it all.
Lawnmowers were invented several decades later, without much immediate success. At one stage, things got AWESOME:
“One enterprising manufacturer, the Leyland Steam Power Company, took up the idea first suggested by Jane Loudon in 1827 and built a steam-powered mower, but this proved so unwieldy and massive – it weighed over one and a half tons – that it was only ever barely under control and in constant danger of ploughing through fences and hedges.”
*Pause while Louise swoons delicately at the history of a genuine steam-powered mechanical killer monster*
Today’s awesomeness is Steff Metal’s # 37: Windchimes.
CJ and I have an especially awesome set of windchimes with a particularly piercing tone. We use them to call one another from opposite ends of the house.
Rar!
I’ll be sharing more highlights from the Victorian era via Bill Bryson over the next few days.
S#62: Find a Totem
I’ve been thinking about this awesomeness challenge for quite some time, and then I realised – I’m wearing one.
My interpretation of “totem” is a strong symbol in physical form – in this case, one that can be worn.
On the ring finger of my left hand is a white-gold band that symbolises my commitment to devote my life to a certain CJ for as long as we’re both alive. We’ve been married just over 21 months now, longer than two of my friend’s marriages (one of the women told me, “The first month was nice.”)
I still like CJ. He still likes me. We’ve worked through a couple of issues and (more or less) sorted osuyut how we run a house together, and how we relate to the members of our two families. Our house is the most peaceful place I know.
In my (beginning-oriented) experience, marriage really is all it’s cracked up to be – companionship, warmth, laughter, trust, big shared dreams of the future, and some pain.
I love the symbol of the wedding ring. The plain circle encompasses forever and simplicity (even, perhaps, boredom), and half the time I don’t even realise it’s there. But when I’m stark naked – I’m still wearing one thing. As I visit my 8.5-months pregnant sister, I still have a physical reminder of where my life belongs – with CJ.
I miss you CJ. Here’s a present: http://thefedoralounge.com/
And for everyone else, some steampunk pictures for your Wednesday morning (from our friends at geekologie.com again – and yes, it works):
Oh, squee.
Felicity Banks 
