Yawn
I have a pretty bad cold, so here’s a picture of Louisette yawning.
She turns ten months old tomorrow, so next week is a picture week.
Monday Morning
Depressed? Scared? All the goodness of your weekend ruined?
Here’s a picture of Louisette and two of her cousins:
Oops!
I forgot which day it was. Here’s a plaintive picture by way of apology for the lack of anything substantial:
Mummy (and Daddy) blogs
Last week, Mediawatch* talked about “mummy bloggers” – women who’ve had children and blog about it. Technically I am one. Unsurprisingly, as I cut down on writing and spend way more time with bodily fluids, my list of blogs that I read is switching from predominantly literary blogs to predominantly parenting blogs. Here are four that I like so far:
blue milk – very much a feminist blog; often M rated for that reason. Australian. It really makes me think about the choices I’m making in my marriage and motherhood.
crappy parenting – illustrated by self-described crappy pictures – all about the hilarious (and often highly disgusting).
How to be a dad – written by two dads (from different families). You know their attitude when you see the blood spatter on the front page. They do mention sex occasionally.
Daddy Doin’ Work – This blog oozes with respect for women.
*This is a fifteen-minute show on the ABC that basically comments on ethical (and often grammatical) issues in Australia’s press.
Learning Curves
One of the great joys of parenthood is all the teaching that you do – babies learn way faster than anyone else (remember when Louisette didn’t even know her arms were attached? And how she can now flip pages and examine small objects and terrorise the cats? That’s all happened this year, as well as so much more). But sometimes you have moments where you think, “Do I really want her to know this?” As she gets more and more mobile (and fast), that question comes up more and more. Sadly, the answer always has to be yes, because she’s going to find out one day….
how to climb stairs
how to open doors
how to open drawers
how to climb down stairs
how to operate zippers
how to push buttons
how to interact with cats
how to sit on chairs all by herself
how to wipe down a table (with something other than her own drool and spew-cloth)
how to climb trees
how to use a boltcutter
. . . . . .
oh dear. . .
Barefoot with Boltcutters
A few days ago I decided to throw away our old, dodgy, rusty clothes horse. It’s easier said than done: the thing is made of heavy duty metal rods so although it’s very light there was no way it was going to fit into a bin. What to do, what to do?
If only there was some kind of device that could cut it into bits. . .
And so it was that CJ and I dropped by CJ’s parents’ place (genuinely without warning, on our way home from swimming) and asked if we could possibly borrow a cup of bolt cutter. Neither of us doubted for a moment that (a) My father in law would own a bolt cutter, and (b) He would know exactly where it was.
As we drove home and I found myself holding what amounts to a limb-length, awesome pair of I-might-just-turn-on-you-and-kill-you scissors, I said to CJ, “Bolt cutters huh? I’m sure they have other uses, but what they’re truly designed for is cutting bolts – chain-link fences and padlocks. When I look at these and ponder their possible versatility, the only image in my head is your dad breaking into some kind of secret government installation.”
“Oh, these are just his MEDIUM bolt cutters.”
“. . . Go on.”
“Well, he has small ones.”
“Like a handbag version? Well, naturally.”
“And then there’s the OTHER end of the scale. . .”
“Your dad has an enormous pair of bolt cutters? Much, much bigger than these?”
“Oh yes.”
I spent the rest of the drive in happy imagination of what a man with my father-in-law’s talents might do with his enormous pair of bolt cutters. Break into REALLY BIG secret government installations, presumably.
Then we were home – showering, cooking dinner, doing washing, etc etc – it was all a bit frantic so I threw the ye olde clothes horse down the stairs (shedding ancient pieces of rusted white rubberised paint every which way), grabbed the rest of the rubbish to take downstairs and then to the curb, and hoped dinner didn’t burn while I hastily chopped up the clothes horse to send it away forever (and good riddance, too). Oh! And I was in my pyjamas. (CJ had his hands full dealing with Louisette’s arsenic hour while also showering himself, her, and helping with dinner.)
I don’t mind telling you, it was AWESOME. My father-in-law keeps his tools in great condition* and it was like cutting through butter with massive scissors. The metal rods fell to bits in seconds, I chucked them in the bin, and the bolt cutters worked exactly like a superpower. I’ve never felt so manly.
Thanks again, CJ’s Dad.
*presumably in case of a last-minute international and/or extraterrestrial issue that needs a size twelve spanner with defibrillation arm and optional rotating flibotnium.
Nine months old
Louisette has now spent more time in the world than in the womb. It seems impossible that she’s only been around the same length of time as I was pregnant – it seems that my life has been full of her grins and giggles and drool forever.
This month was full of adventures – Floriade (twice), swimming (several times), learning to climb stairs, catch a ball, and (almost) stand on her own. You can see all the previous months here.
I snuck in a photo from next month’s lot just because it was so cute (it’s at the end).
Felicity Banks 