March Challenge

There's a challenge on the Flylady site (the Aussie one) for this month regarding all drawers in the house. I'm just about to tackle the ones in the study. Just to prove that I actually did it, I'm going to list a) items I'm keeping b) items I'm chucking c) items I am giving away Check back later to see how I did.

Whole New Language

Oh boy. I am sitting here with 14 pages of typed instructions from movabletype telling me how to install the aforesaid onto my computer so that I can beginning setting up mizbear.com Page one was a no brainer. It contained the index to the whole installation thingy and I had it scanned in like 30 seconds flat. But then questions began knocking on the inside of my skull. It says "If you need to install HTML, read this". How do I know if I need to install HTML? Never matter; read on. Page two started off well. Apparently I need... - an account on a server that allows custom CGI scripts CHECK - Perl installed on the server CHECK (I think) - an FTP program CHECK - a web browser with javascript enabled CHECK So far, so good. Download movable type and unzip -DONE Locate Perl on the server - slight glitch while I log a ticket at the support desk for my web host. Anoosh confirms that it will support Perl and tells me where to find it so DONE Installation Directories.... and this is where I hit strife. Top of page 3 and I'm stuck. I can read what's on the page, but I sure don't understand it. I think that I have to install mt ina directory, but I'm not sure whcih directory it needs to be installed in and there seem to be about a bazillion options. To paraphrase Scriptygoddess "I don't have any idea what I'm doing so I'm not going to do anything" Yet.

Ooh Oooh Oooh

mizbear.com is up and waiting for me to put something on thge site. This is so exciting! Big learning curve coming up.

Mizbear.com

Just to let my regular readers know that I am in the process of setting up Mizbear.com This is mainly a forum to keep all our friends and relations in touch with what is going on when we move north in a few months. I am hoping to move ChickaFinty to the new site...still through Blogger but hosted by my server...where it will most likely be password protected. Don't worry - there will be an email link and no trouble with sharing the password with my regular readers. Oh, and I get to add * teach myself how to blog, write script and stuff to the ever growing list of things that I am doing. Just on an ironical note - I first got interested in learning HTML and creating web pages in 1998. At the time I made enquiries at a local IT college about doing a course in web page design with a view to changing my career. The guy that I spoke to laughed at me when I talked about getting a job in the internet industry. How times have changed, hey.

Feeling better...

and that's all I have to say about that.

Resolutions

1. I will blog every day 2. This will be my last year of "large" 3. I WILL NOT worry about things that I cannot change or personally do anything about 4. I will be a better listener, lover and friend 5. I will speak out - doormats are for doors :-) 6. "Great opportunities to help others seldom come, but small ones come every day 7. We will pay out the Mastercard and be in the black come this time next year (it will probably take that long!)

Santa Claus is Coming to Town

I can't believe how excited I am about Christmas this year. For a few years Christmas has been a bit ho hum for me...lots of reasons for it, but my festive spirit has been thoroughly squashed. Others would talk excitedly about decorating their homes and wrapping gifts and all the other stuff and I'd think - great! Time to get tangled up in those old fairy lights again. But this year is different. Very very different because Chickabid has noticed Christmas. This is his fourth Christmas, and the first one that he has noticed. It began in late November when he spotted the enormous Christmas Tree in the Plaza. He didn't know what it was but after I told him he spotted Christmas trees everywhere! Putting up our own tree was wonderful as Chickabid was so excited. He loved the whole process and then when he turned on the lights his eyes widened in wonder. The tree has been there now for about a month I think, but he still takes us in just to "look see" the tree. He's cottoned onto the idea of Santa pretty quickly too. He knows that Santa is coming in two sleeps and that he's bringng a present for Chickabid and a present for Fintybaby. I can hardly wait for Wednesday night when we'll put out a plate of "bikbys" and milk for Santa, a bag of carrots and a bucket of water for the reindeer before Chicky goes to bed, then wrapping his gifts and loading his Santa sack for the end of his bed. WOW! I'm like a kid in a fever of anticipation and boy does it feel good.

Just How Hard Can It Be

I am not trying to work for world peace, or cure cancer, or move the hole in the ozone layer, I am just trying to cut four pieces of cardboard into precise 3.5cm squares and I CAN'T DO IT! I have been working on this all afternoon and some of this evening and it just won't work and I don't know why. Every time, one square is 1mm out. I have tried scissors, ruling lines, craft knives everything I can think of. My craft table is littered with little pieces of blue and yellow cardboard all measuring somewhere between 3.4 and 3.6cm, but not close enough to 3.5 to make them usable. I am going nuts with frustration. Just how hard can it be? For me, right now, it's impossible. Bah humbug.

Big News

This has been a momentous weekend. For those of you who know me in real time, please keep this information to yourself for the time being. Mr Bear got a promotion this year to Senior Software Test Engineer at his company. This means that he knows belongs to the development team, all of whom work out of the Brisbane office. We were assured that this did not mean that we had to move to Brisbane, however it is becoming obvious that we need to think seriously about that possibility. On the weekend we actually had a chance to discuss the matter without kids interrupting and we have decided to make some positive enquiries vis a vis a move to Brisbane. This is so scary for me to be contemplating as I simply do not cope with change, so keep us in your thoughts.

Some things to be grateful for

- the world is a slightly safer place this morning. - my business is up and running - the house is (relatively) tidy - most of my washing is already on the line

Ten Places Not To Wear Pyjamas

And now for something completely different... - church - doctor's office - best friend's farewell luncheon (See you next Friday, Birdy) - the letter box - Christmas shopping - the work Christmas do - court - scrapbook superstore - job interview, except maybe for a position at a sleep clinic - nudist colony Check here next Tuesday for the list of Ten Things To Avoid Saying In Public

The Work Christmas Do cont

Finty and I left Millers, somewhat disheartened, but as yet undaunted, we entered the realms of the Plaza. Hundreds, well, tens of shops all delightfully arrayed in garments soutable for the festive revilries ahead, but not one article that even looked a little bit nice. Nothing. Not a sausage. Zip, nix, nein. Nothing. I felt tears welling up behind my eyes in a most humiliating fashion. Thirty-three years olds and in blubs because I can't find a dress. Thankfully I had remembered to bring the book vouchers that the pil (parents in law) gave me for my birthday. Finty and I swanned off to Collins for a few minutes restoratative browsing for a birthdya gift. In the end I bought Enigma and the first Inspector Rebus book Knots and Crosses. Feeling somewhat better, Finty and I left the bookstore, gired up our metaphorical loins and headed, once again for Millers. This time a sales assistant spotted us and asked if she could help. "This is the last ditch saloon," I told her ", and if we don't find something here, then I'm going to my husband's work do in an outfit I bought in 1999 before I had kids." (Not a pretty thought). My guidelines - - has to be suitable to wear again - has to go with black or cream accessories...if I'm buying a dress I can't run to shoes and bag as well - has to be under $60. Believe it or not, this miracle worker acturally came up with the goods. A navy skirt - swishy skirt - with navy lace overlay and a matching top. Looks great with cream accessories and I knocked the mil's eyes out of her head when she arrived to babysit. I felt good, you know the way that new clothes make you feel. The Christmas Party was a lot more fun than I expected it to be as most people knew who I was. This was a bit of a puzzle until I remembered that Mr Bear has photos of us plastered all over his workstation and has our family album as his screensaver. Then it all made sense. We got home late, but it was a lovely evening.

Unconscious Mutterings

Scrooge:: McDuck Ribbon:: Breast cancer Physical:: education Income:: outgo Dream:: imagine Notebook:: joy Disney:: land Combo:: meal Booty:: bum tee hee Skin:: rabbit

Friday Five

1. Do you like to shop? Why or why not? It depends. If we are talking scrapbooking supplies, household renovation equipment, appliances or stationery the answer is yes. If we are talking food, clothes, cars then no, especially if it's clothes. 2. What was the last thing you purchased? A new kettle. Our old one began dripping boiling water from a crack in the handle so we bought a new one with money my mum and dad gave us for Christmas. 3. Do you prefer shopping online or at an actual store? Why? I like shopping in person, but if it is a big purchase then I like shopping around on line first 4. Did you get an allowance as a child? How much was it? Yes. Very little. 5. What was the last thing you regret purchasing? If I'm being honest, the car because I don't think we can afford it. But we have it now.

The Works Christmas Do

About five weeks ago an innocuous looking email appeared in the old inbox. From Mr Bear it contained information about his works Christmas do, which incidentally is sort of my works Christmas do too because I kinda, sorta work there on and off. It sounded good so after babysitting arrangement were worked out, we fired off an accpetance. Bad move. Christmas do at fancy restaurant = shopping for a new outfit. Five words guaranteed to strike fear into the figure challenged as well as the budgetary stifled. But we started off, the Fintybaby and I, with high spirits, a spring in the step, a gleam in the eyes at the thought of new clothes. Not new maternity clothes, not new work clothes, but new going out, looking special, feeling elegant clothes. Well, as elegant as possible for a five foot one, size 18, had a caesarian nine months ago, hasn't seen a new outfit in ages thrity something. Shop, the First Millers - not swish, just very ordinary but they have lots of clothes (in my sizes...note the plural) at prices that I can stomach. Filled with joyous anticipation I wandered around the silks, the satins, the lurex - I kid you not -, and other slinky, evening type fabrics. Armed with a goodly selection and this is not easy when pushing a stroller as well, Finty and I entered the modern day torture chamber commonly known as a fitting room. Conditioned by long years of ladies fitting rooms, I keep my eyes averted from the mirrors during the changing process, only daring to look full in the mirror after the new clothes are settled and adjusted. "That looks ok...turn sideways... nope, nope nope nope. Take off. Try the next one, one look...nope definitely not" and so it continues through no less than five different combinations. There was a brief gleam of success upon seeing the cream sleeveless shift conconction with the cream and autumn toned organza overshirt, but that was until I spied my behind. I didn't need to ask "Does my bum look big in this", it just did. I did spot a rather delicious navy two piece. Stretchy jersey like material underneath with a lacy overlay, but as is typical with something really nice, they didn't have any in my size. Finty and I left Millers, somewhat disheartened, but as yet undaunted, we entered the realms of the Plaza. Hundreds, well, tens of shops all delightfully arrayed in garments soutable for the festive revilries ahead, but not one article that even looked a little bit nice. Nothing. Not a sausage. Zip, nix, nein. Nothing. I felt tears welling up behind my eyes in a most humiliating fashion. Thirty-three years olds and in blubs...gotta go, the party begins. Check back later for details

Either You Have or You Haven't

The world seems to be divided into two separate camps. Those who have read Lord of the Rings and those who haven't. I am in the process of switching camps. Mr Bear has been encouraging me for seven years to read the books and I have had a couple of tries, but just couldn't "get into" it. Having watched a fair whack of the extended LoTR on dvd, I decided to give it another go and what do you know, it's all falling into place. Funnily enough, the same thing happened with Star Wars. Why, I wonder.

The End of an Era

Farewell to Australian Test Cricket captain, Steve Waugh, who announced his retirement from the game just a few minutes ago. It is not often that a sportsperson gets a round of applause from the media upon the announcement of his resignation, but such is the esteem of this position it warrants the aforementioned response. The captaincy of the Australian Cricket Team is considered to be the second most important job in the country, next only to that of the Prime Minister. The question is, who can possibly replace him? He joins the likes of Sir Donald Bradman and the great AB - Allan Border.

Humphrey

Humphrey or Humphrey B Bear as he is sometimes known is an Australian institution in children's tv. According to the official website Humphrey began in 1965 and that makes him 5 years older than me. I watched Humphrey avidly as a little person and loved him. Now I suffer a daily torture. Chickabid loves Humphrey too, but it is quite clearly pitched at the 2-3 year old and is pure agony for the parent. The presenters are lack lustre, the songs are pathetic, the sets are dreadful, but Chickabid loves it and comes screaming through from the other end of the house as soon as he hears the signature tune. The joys of parenting.

Forty Years On

I cannot believe that forty years have passed since the assassination of JFK. Being an avid collector of information trivial and seemingly unrelated, I visited the Sixth Floor exhibit/museum in Dallas, Texas ten years ago in search of information. I walked in wonder through the museum and I'll admit to getting the shivers looking through "the window" of the Texas School Book Depository. I wept in the mini cinema when John-John saluted his father's coffin going by. It is one of the lasting memories of that sojourn stateside. I don't now anymore now than I did then, but I think I understand a little more. There is a difference.

Unconscious Mutterings

Concert:: sing Sydney:: Opera House Shower:: rain Patterns:: maths Market:: Salamanca Chair:: table London:: Kath Reception:: wedding Republican:: Richard Nixon Cough:: sneeze

We was robbed...

and that's all I am saying. (waving at Ruthie lol) Mind you, it took the Poms 37 years to get around to winning something!

Again

The abyss is deep bottomless and so frightening yet deeper and deeper into the abyss i sink with only a fingertip touch on reality a gossamer thread the bridge between me and the brink i have to live that's my only choice but i am so scared that the thread will break and i'll spin uncontrollably into the abyss yet again

No blogs...

for a while. Life is just one damn thing after another (Mark Twain) and right now I am not up to dealing with any of them. Be back when the clouds have lifted.

Unconscious Mutterings

Taboo:: verboten Poison:: rockband 1983:: high school Tim:: Fischer Groovy:: Brady Bunch Italy:: spaghetti Think:: constantly Penthouse:: magazine Shelter:: rain Twinkie:: what is it?

Pointform

* I feel really sick - nauseated, uncomfortable, sore throat, aching limbs * Chickabid is very noisy * I am dreading Chickabid's 3rd birthday party on Saturday * I didn't sleep much last night (too sick) and then the baby needed a feed at 4am * I've hit a weight loss plateau and it's very depressing * Hi5 have decided to feature bagpipe playing on this morning's episode. Great, not. * Why can't Chcikabid leave Finty alone?

Anniversary

Congratulations! You are reading this on the first Anniversary of ChickaFinty. I have been keeping a blog for a whole year - wow! I can remember, about a year and a half ago, Mr Bear saying that I should start a blog. I was intrigued by the word but Mr Bear refused to tell me what it was. I hunted out a copy of APC magazine and a whole new world opened up. A few false starts ensued and I metamorphosed into a regular blogger! Thank you for reading. Thank you for being there on the other end of the computer to listen to endless witterings, in short, thank you for being my friends.

Unconscious Mutterings

Roadtrip::Queensland Honey:: Mr Bear Flanders:: Fields Vampire:: Hmm Justice:: Injustice Marine:: Corps Protractor:: School Rubber:: eraser London:: Bridge Jerry:: Lewis

Living With Mike

Mike, aka Chickabid, is both the delight and the terror of our lives. At times he is the most beautiful little angel. He's so helpful and obliging. He's a snuggy little boy who loves giving and receiving cuddles. Right now he is in that uncomfortable place between babyhood and boyhood. On one hand he is a little boy, putting on his shoes and socks, playing independently, chatting and making conversation, exploring and learning about his world. He loves flushing the toilet and has a mini panci attack if we forget and flush before him. He draws - and uses a particular symbol to represent his name - he sings - in tune - he mimics grown up behaviours and shows no fear. On the other hand he is still a baby. He needs the bulky reassurance of his nappy, feeling lost and "loose" when he puts big boy pants on. He cries when he bumps himself and comes straight over to be kissed better. He loves playing baby games, but then wants to take the grown up role in playing baby games with the baby. He still wants to be bathed and dried like a baby, but insists on putting his own clothes on with sometimes disastrous results. It must be so hard negotiating this path between babyhood and boyhood.

Standstill

I am feeling very depressed. Not the clinical kind, just the normal. Mr Bear and I are still trying to lose weight and make changes to our lifestyle and the last three days I have really appplied myself to it. Doing more, sitting around less and certainly eating less, but with no result. It is so depressing. About 10 years or so ago, when I applied myslef I could lose weight at about the rate of a kilo-kilo and a half a week. Now I'm lucky to lose half a kilo a fortnight. The body does indeed change as you get older. I am at a standstill and I am frustrated.

The Blue Screen of Death

In IT parlance this refers to the ability of Windows to just shut down mid-task. Mr Bear emailed me this courtesy of Kath in Brissie and I thought it worth sharing, although the "actual messages" bit may or may not be kosher... In Japan, they have replaced the impersonal and unhelpful Microsoft Error messages with Haiku poetry messages. Haiku poetry has strict Construction rules: Each poem has only 17 syllables 5 syllables in the first line, 7 in the second, 5 in the third. They are used to communicate a timeless message, often achieving a wistful, yearning, and powerful insight through extreme brevity. Here are some actual error messages from Japan. Aren't these better than "your computer has performed an illegal operation?" The Web site you seek Cannot be located, but Countless more exist. Chaos reigns within. Reflect, repent, and reboot. Order shall return. Program aborting Close all that you have worked on. You ask far too much. Windows NT crashed. I am the Blue Screen of Death. No one hears your screams. Yesterday it worked. Today it is not working. Windows is like that. Your file was so big. It might be very useful. But now it is gone. Stay the patient course. Of little worth is your ire. The network is down. A crash reduces Your expensive computer To a simple stone. Three things are certain Death, taxes and lost data. Guess which has occurred. You step in the stream, But the water has moved on. This page is not here. Out of memory. We wish to hold the whole sky, But we never will. Having been erased, The document you're seeking Must now be retyped. Serious error. All shortcuts have disappeared. Screen. Mind. Both are blank. I ate your Web page. Forgive me; it was tasty And tart on my tongue With searching comes loss. The presence of absence. "June Sales.doc" not found. The Tao that is seen Is not the true Tao Until you bring fresh toner. First snow, then silence. This thousand dollar screen dies So beautifully. Printer not ready. Could be a fatal error. Have a pen handy? Login incorrect. Only perfect spellers may Enter this system. Errors have occurred. We won't tell you where or why. Lazy programmers.

Adage

For every problem there is a solution. I think our solution might be ebay.com.au. Well, one of them anyway.

Boy, Can She Fly!

Yesterday was a bad today. Today has been magic. Watch my halo shine as I list my accomplishments for today. (BTW the house is not perfect...do not ask about rooms/areas/jobs not on the list because, well, just because!) 1. Up at 6.45; showered, dressed, even had time for skin care 2. Hung out two loads that I washed last night, washed another two loads 3. Made all the beds; dressed all the kids; emptied all the nappy bins 4. Cleaned off the dining table 5. Checked the accounts and dealt with financial diary 6. Emptied the dishwasher; refilled the dishwasher 7. Cleaned the kitchen 8. Mowed the back lawn and put the lawnmower away 9. Got lunch for both babies 10.Settled both babies to bed 11. Had a toes up 12. Cleaned up mess on kitchen and family room floors 13. Swept and mopped aforesaid 14. Mated about 15 pairs of socks; put remaining socks in the Sox Box for next time 15. Checked emails and blogs; blogged myself 16. Paid the phone bill 17. Checked the snail mail; filed the relevant papers THREW THE EMPTY ENVELOPES IN THE BIN STRAIGHT AWAY 18. Emptied the kitchen bin and RELINED IT IMMEDIATELY 19. Checked the calendar for appointments this week, and 20. Folded and put away all the things that came in from the line yesterday; sorted out the ironing, and 21. Had some time for me It is now 3.17pm and I feel most diligently industrious :-)

New Directions

Firstly, I am feeling heaps better this morning. The bug seems to have dissipated and I am filled once again with energy. Last week I rang Mrs G to talk to her about Crafty Kids as Mr Bear and I are thinking that this might be a good way of earning money without me having to return to teaching. Over the past 8-9 months we've been finding it harder and harder to make ends meet and with all the unexpected expenses we've had it's become necessary for me to have some sort of regular income other than HCN. I don't want to return to teaching unless it is absolutely essential (and at the moment it isn't) and Crafty Kids seems to be the way to go. Mrs G is coming on Friday morning and we will talk in detail about it then. It's a whole new direction and I am beginning to get excited about approaching another "bend in the road". I must not however tell Dr P about this new enterprise as he's already having parti-coloured conniptions at me having two jobs let alone three! Oh well, confession is good for the soul :)

I Am Ill

I've had such a long time of being generally well, apart from the usual of course, that when this bug struck out of the blue yesterday I was so unprepared. It began with a general unease that has progressed to a mild dose of flu. Mild, as I'm able to get by with four hourly Panadol, but nevertheless uncomfortable and nasty. This morning I felt awful and had no choice but to let Chickabid roam free for about an hour. He used this time to feed an entire biscuit barrel full of biscuits to the dog through the hole in the fly wire. I only hit the vertical when the plaintive cry of "Owinge, mummy, mike like owinge, owinge mummy, please mummy, mike owinge" directed in to my little shell pink got too much to ignore. Have to go lie down now...feel yuck!

Big News

Yesterday we had to take the idiot dog to the vet and I drove. The idiot dog is not the world's best passenger so Mr Bear very kindly took charge of her in the car. Then we had a near miss with the fence over the railway line and I owned up to not seeing as well as I might. Long story to short story, I am getting glasses on Thursday. Big roll of drums. I'll post a picture in the gallery when I get them.

Friday Five

1. Name five things in your refrigerator. Deli meat; milk; tomatoes; cheese; bacon 2. Name five things in your freezer. Lots and lots and lots of lamb!; pizza bases; oven fries; frozen veggies (peas, carrots, corn); homemade spaghetti sauce 3. Name five things under your kitchen sink. Kitchen spray; dishwasher tablets; creme cleanser; plugs; floor cleaner 4. Name five things around your computer. Paper; cds; an old coffee cup; camera; 3/4 finished can of Mr Bear's deodorant (don't ask) 5. Name five things in your medicine cabinet. Naprogesic; headache tablets; my happy pills :-) ; band aids; Dexsal

Unconscious Mutterings

Country:: Cowra G:: spot (tee hee) Offer:: Real estate Connection:: modem Quest:: Harry Potter Lighthouse:: the sea Sycamore:: tree and Zaccheus in particular Inhumane:: treatment of animals Sneer:: gibe Weapon:: gun

Stress Relief

Just what you've always wanted...virtual bubblewrap

New Directions

I've just had a chat with Mrs G about starting a business with Crafty Kids and it looks like a really good option. I decided last week to get proactive about my need for a job and this is where the path has lead so far. I am feeling positive for the first time in ages :-)

Thursday

Here's the list for this morning. Oh, what fun! > - tidy lounge room > - dust LR > - vacuum LR > - Chickabid's room Sorted out his wardrobe > - tidy laundry Not a chance. Raining. Humph > - fold clothes DONE > - one basket of ironing > - clean and sterilise baby's bottles DONE Maybe, just maybe, have some scrapbooking time this afternoon. Fingers crossed on this one.

Plus or Minus

Time to explain the "blah" of yesterday. Sometimes, like right now, I really feel like all I am doing is treading water. Not going up and, hopefully, not going down, but not making any headway either. Everyday I wake up with such good intentions, but like the SHE that I am, I get distracted and hardly anything gets done. Add to this the constant money worries, kid worries, job worries and the real biggie - salvation worries - and you have a pretty mixed up thirtysomething. In reading through my Flylady emails this week, I've determined one of three things: either Flylady has - been to my house - become psychic, or - many, many people on her email list exactly like me. Her emails regarding stress could have had Anne written at the top. In thinking about it, it's probably the stressors that Flylady outlined that have me treading water. If I can break the cycle then maybe La Maison Des Ours (trans The Home of the Bears) could fashion order out of chaos. Please explain?? With pleasure. Failing to do the simple things in a day has a cumulative effect on your life which results in stress. For example, failing to get something out of the freezer for dinner means that it is more likely that I'll opt for take away which results in overspending and then not having cash for important things like bills. $20 a week doesn't sound like much but that equates to $80 a month (my mobile bill) or $240 a quarter (the electricity/water/rates bill). Do it more than once a week and you've blown a big hole in the budget. Failing to get a load of washing out of the machine and hang it on the line (my own personal stumbling block) means an extra load of washing (extra electricity, water, detergent and conditioner), no shirts for Mr Bear for work, stress at 3am frantically trying to get a shirt dry and ironed by morning (not my best time of day) which gets the whole day off to a bad start and results in flow on effects like not emptying the dishwasher and having dirty dishes pile up around the sink; no food preparation areas for making dinner; having take out (again) and so on. Not only do I not have time to do the things I enjoy, I am so stressed all the time that I can't get the gumption to do the things I have to do. The final result is posts like blah. I am going to have a not blah afternoon. It's 4.30, Mr Bear will be home at 6, so here's what I plan to do in the next 1 and a half hours: > - remove pile of washing from hallway DONE > - return cleaning supplies to laundry DONE > - tidy family room DONE > - tidy lounge room > - dust LR > - vacuum LR > - make our bed DONE > - Chickabid's room > - tidy laundry > - fold clothes Check back later to see how I did :-) ... or didn't do!

Blah

That says it all - blah. Somebody tell me something positive or happy or encouraging or something. Please.

Oh what a night

I thought that I'd left sleepless nights behind after Finty was born, but no such luck. Last night I took forever to get off to sleep, but then kept waking and when I woke I was AWAKE! Mr Bear is just lucky that we aren't the proud owners of "Youthful Innocence" (dermabrasion system) and an amazing set of knives that'll do anything, even cut through a pineapple in mid air. I can't actually remember the last time I had need to cut a pineapple in midair, but these knives'll do it if the occasion ever arises. Why can't they put something decent on a 3am, like maybe even re-runs of Doc!

Busy Day

Monday is always the busiest, and the lonliest, day of the week. Mr Bear goes back to work after two blissful days at home, Chickabid is always a bit more enthusiastic little man on Mondays - see today's previous entry - and it is my major cleaning day. Put all those factors together and it is easy to see why Mondays get me down. Never mind, Tuesday's a comin' TODAY'S BIG WHINGE School went back today for the commencement of fourth term and predictably, Channel 10 chose to replace my favourite all time show with rubbishy reruns of E Street - a third, maybe even fourth rate, drama from the early 1990's by a producer/writer who should have known better. For a fortnight, come 1.30pm I have been able to curl up in the nearest comfy chair, coffee to hand and watch Doc. This show is IMNSHO the best show ever made. It's warm, it's funny, it's a tear jerker, it's got good, solid, old fashioned values and is enough to make me want to pack up my traps as fast as possible and head for Montana. Ok, the storylines are a bit predictable, the characters are, to a degree, stereotyped, but for some bizarre reason the show works. Even my MIL, the most pragmatic of persons who doesn't really like fiction, enjoys the program. I don't know what possessed Channel 10 to take it off the air, but they may well get a phone call tomorrow. After all, how do they know what is popular if people don't tell them.

Hmmm

Who might have dumped a cup of dirt on the middle of the bathroom floor this morning?

Unconscious Mutterings

Timeshare:: rip off holidays Accounts:: overdrawn Temptation:: sin Hack:: computers Shadow:: boxing Infection:: ringowrm 800:: twice 400 Infidelity:: an incredibly bad idea Springfield:: the simpsons Gardener:: my grandpa

One Year On...

Twelve months ago today, Australia expereinced her own September 11. Two bombs exploded, 15 seconds apart, in the Sari Club and Paddy's Bar, Kuta Beach, Bali. 202 people died, 88 of them Australian. It was chaos, it was bedlam. It was families separated; some family members made it, others didn't. Some of those who survived the initial blasts were later defeated by an old enemy - infection. It was unbelievable carnage in a formerly idyllic holiday location where the worst enemies were stunning hangovers and "Bali Belly". No more. Never again will the word Bali conjure up images of palms on beaches, and Javanese dancers. The name will be forever be associated with fire, burns, evacuations, bravery and extreme courage. Today there were ceremonies in Bali, in Sydney, in Perth, in every city, town and village that suffered loss in the Bali bombings. Like September 11, we cannot afford to forget October 12.

If you give...

Someone from the Kindred list that I belong to emailed us this and it was too good not to share. It so totally describes my life. If you give a mom a muffin, She'll want a cup of coffee to go with it. She'll pour herself some. Her three-year-old will spill the coffee. She'll wipe it up. Wiping the floor, she'll find dirty socks. She'll remember she has to do laundry. When she puts the laundry in the washer, She'll trip over boots and bump into the freezer. Bumping into the freezer will remind her she has to plan for supper. She will get out a pound of hamburger. She'll look for her cookbook ("101 Things To Do With a Pound of Hamburger"). The cookbook is setting under a pile of mail. She will see the phone bill, which is due tomorrow. She will look for her checkbook. The check book is in her purse that is being dumped out by her two-year-old. She'll smell something funny. She'll change the two-year-old's diaper. While she is changing the diaper, the phone will ring. Her five-year-old will answer and hang up. She'll remember she wants to phone a friend for coffee. Thinking of coffee will remind her that she was going to have a cup. And chances are... If she has a cup of coffee, Her kids will have eaten the muffin that went with it

Friday Five

1. Do you watch sports? If so, which ones? I watch swimming, with particular reference to the Olympic Games. I love the diving and if possible we'll be going to the diving events at the Commonwealth Games in Melbourne in 2006. I like cricket and wouldn't miss a one dayer unless I had to. That's about it really. 2. What/who are your favorite sports teams and/or favorite athletes? The Australian Cricket teams; one day and test, Ian Thorpe (The Thorpedo). Greatest cricketer in history D(onald) G(eorge) Bradman. 3. Are there any sports you hate? Rugby, rugby league, AFL(as in Australian Football League), soccer (football), baseball, tennis, golf, lawn bowls, netball, hockey, basically anything that isn't cricket or swimming/diving. I am not especially selective in this department. 4. Have you ever been to a sports event? My word yes! Quite a few one day cricket matches, at least one rugby league and one AFL game. 5. Do/did you play any sports (in school or other)? How long did you play? In years 9 and 10 I played volleyball, but not at a very high level, unlike my Mr Bear who could have been a state champion. Apart from that I didn't play any sports at school other than having to partiicpate in PE and Tuesday sport. I hated every minute of it and always welched whenever I could.

Abhorrence

This is a hard one to write, but write it I must. Last night there was a news story on the tv which sickened, firghtened and saddened me all at the same time and it went like this. Woman sleeps with man and falls pregnant. Man not only doesn't want the child himself, he wants to prevent her having it too. He hires two thugs and instructs them to beat her up, paying particular attention to her belly, in order to ensure that she loses the baby. Thugs do as directed, baby is so badly injured that it bleeds to death in-utero and is stillborn at 24 weeks gestation. Unbelievably, the judge in the case said that the provider of sperm (I cannot call him a father) was not responsible for the baby's death and cannot be tried for murder. This low life bottom dweller admitted to hiring the thugs, was quite open and honest about his intentions of harming the baby and was grateful that his plan succeeded and that she didn't have that baby. I thought we lived in a civilised society. I thought that we were geared towards helping those who cannot help themslves, to protecting the innocent and punishing those who perpetrate crime, but no, apparently we don't. In order to make abortions ok we have to pretend that babies aren't really human beings until they are born. As medical science improves and we get better glimpses into the start of life, we know that babies suck, swallow, smile, wave, somersault and live inside the womb. We know that the heart begins to beat at around the 6 week mark following conception - approximately eight weeks into the pregnancy. We know that by 12 weeks gestation the baby actually looks like a human baby. Of course limbs and skin and so on still have to develop, but it is a baby, not a collection of cells. My obstetrician with Chickabid kept referring to "the foetus" when talking about my precious baby and I hated her for it. He was not a foetus, he was a baby. My arm is made up of a large naumber of bones - the ulna, humerus, radius etc, but if I injure it, I don't go around saying that I injured my humerus, even though that is the correct scientific name, I say that I hurt my arm. In the same way, the technical term for a baby from conception through to about 2-4 weeks is a blastocyst, then it is referred to as an embryo, then a foetus until it is born whereupon the scientific name becomes baby. But how many women do you know who wee on the stick and then whisper into their partner's ear "Darling, we're growing a blastocyst"? We are encouraged to use the scientific terms for babies though, as it makes us feel better when we scrape them out and throw them away with the garbage in hospitals or clinics. "I had an abortion" sounds so much better than "I murdered my baby" even though it amounts to the same thing. As with so many things in our society we're sold a lie on moral issues. And these lies have lead to the abhorrent use of the law that I heard about last night. Who was looking after that innocent baby? I am ashamed to live in a country that cannot see that the actions of that man were wrong and deserving of severe punishment. How do I explain such a society to Chickabid and the Fintybaby?

test

A Declaration of War...

on clutter. With help from -- we interrupt this bulletin to announce that Chickabid has just done his first wee in the toilet. This is a momentous day as it spells the beginning of the end of nappies. By my calculations we have gone through an average of 6390 nappies at an average cost of $0.40 per nappy which comes at a total cost of, on average, $2556 on nappies in two years and eleven months, but, the light at the end of the tunnel has just flickered on. Watch this space for further developments.

Stress - A New Definition

I thought that I knew what stress was. Stress was a class behaving badly with the deputy principal in the next room. Stress was having to present a seminar in front of the staff, or doing playground duty on a windy day, or having three debates to adjudicate and nowhere near enough time allowed to get there. But that is not stress. Not really. It's stressful, certainly, and at the time it's miserable and raises the blood pressure. Eventually however, it goes away. The new brand of stress doesn't go away. I have discovered a whole new definition of stress that would leave you breathless. Two unpaid, and overdue, bills pinned to the corkboard, a Mastercard that's maxed out, a further bill that's been half paid and the rest is due next Wednesday, a service due on the car that cannot be delayed, a big holiday that's already been paid for but needs petrol and dog boarding fees paid on it still, two kids who are forever growing out of their shoes and clothes, a dwindling savings account and no real idea about how we're going to make this week's mortgage payment, never mind about the fares for Mr Bear to get to work next week so that he can earn the money we need to finance the above. Every time I turn around something else in the house needs replacing. The child care fees have to come from somewhere - it's a living nightmare. That's stress. We'll be ok. Of course we'll be ok. We've been to the wall and back before. This is nothing new. It means a few months of belt tightening, a few months of bland and unexciting lives. A few months of doing without the extras and it's no fun. Nothing, however, that I wouldn't do not to have this sickening, twisting, wrenching in my stomach.

One of Those Moments

This is not for the squeamish or easily offended. You have been warned. Don't blame me if you don't like what you read. Got you intrigued? Here goes. Monday afternoon and a public holiday. Both babies in bed and both supposedly asleep. Mr Bear and Mizbear are occupied in the most logical way on a wet October afternoon. The dance is over and both Bears are relaxing in that marvellous afterglow. Just on the point of drifting into a blissful sleep, there is a scratching at the door. Both heads swing instantaneously to the left, the door creaks open and a little blonde head appears at the side of the bed announcing "Mike awake!" Picture a mad scramble for the bedclothes, a sense of overwhelming relief that the head didn't appear five minutes earlier and then two bears dissolving into helpless giggles as the blonde and awake one scrambled in between them and made hisself comfortable. One of those moments indeed.

Friday Five

1. What vehicle do you drive? A car that I never thought I'd have - a Falcon. 2. How long have you had it? About four months. Our old car, a Holden Apollo, had to be replaced in June this year. 3. What is the coolest feature on your vehicle? The DTE reading on the fuel tank giving the Distance To Empty. For a person who habitually runs the fuel down in the car this is a God-send. 4. What is the most annoying thing about your vehicle? The fact that it has no stereo thanks to Chickabid who fried it last month. We are just waiting until the next pay to have the stereo replaced. 5. If money were no object, what vehicle would you be driving right now? Hmm. Not sure. If DH was writing this then a Monaro, no contest. As for me, I think a Corolla Hatch. I like Corollas.

Back in Business

Comments are back up, thank goodness AND it wasn't just my site. What a relief.

Irony

Today is the first day of water restrictions here, and it's raining. We are smack bang in the middle of one of the longest nastiest droughts in the country's history. We've had hardly any rain for about 2 years now, not long, soaking rain which our country so badly needs. Like I said water restrictions begin today and that means: - no sprinklers or sprinkler systems - no hosing of any hard surfaces at all, including windows and cars - hand watering only This afternoon when Chickabid got up after his nap I showed him the rain out the back door. He immediatley looked out the side window and exclaimed "More rain!", then he went running to the front of the house "More rain!". Chickabid is nearly three and seeing rain for what amounts to the first time.

Not So Pleasant

Oh boy. First thing this morning I got an email from Harry who is responsibel for the site that supplies my comment box. I am a little fuzzy on the details at the moment, but it seems that a virus attacked the code for my comments box and may have infected others. blogspeak is now completely disabled until Harry gets rid of the dodgy code. I am in the process of trying to find out exactly what this means and for whom. In the mean time, please, please, please accept my apologies for this and I will get back to you as soon as I can with the implications. I am not sure whether it was just my particular blog and code affected or not. Thanks

Gym Junkie Stats #2

Time: 1 hour Distance: 5km Calories: 294 Cumulative: 10km/588

Gym Junkie Stats #1

Time: 1 hour Distance: 5 kilometres Calories: 294 Yayyy me :-)

Twelve Weeks and counting

I just read back in my blog and discovered that this diet/lifestyle change thingy has been going for 12 weeks, which means I am averaging the loss of one kilogram every two weeks. That's slow by any standard, but slow is good. Nothing good ever happens fast. Today's To Do List - make bed, including change linen DONE - unload dishwasher - pack Fintybaby's bag DONE - pack my bag DONE - head for the gym DONE - 3 loads washing - two baskets ironing - 1 hour's decluttering in the study We'll see after that.

Gym Junkie

The Parental Units have just celebrated their 35th wedding anniversary. As you would expect, we took lots of photos on the occasion and we got them back last week. I was, quite frankly, shocked at how I looked in the photos. Granted, in most of them I am standing side on and carrying a baby, and this is not the most flattering pose for any person, but the amount of "me" in the picture disgusted me and reminded me why I don't like having my photo taken. Ok, I am losing weight. I have lost to date between 5 and five-an-a-half kilograms (12 pounds) and that is nothing to sneeze at. My doctor has indictaed that it could take up to 3 years to lose all the weight that I need to, so five kilos in 10 weeks is not so bad. I have a gym membership, but have hardly used it since I took it out. Oh the excuses are many and varied: kids sick, too hot, too cold, too wet, too dry, house too untidy, legs too achy, me sick and I could go on. The real reason is that it requires effort and organisation to get me and the kids out the door by a certain hour and ready for the gym. Effort and organisation are not my strong suits. Starting tonight however, they are going to be. I have just rung the gym and booked the kids into the crèche every day this week, and for Monday week as well. I am going to the gym and I am going to walk. My average speed on the treadmill is about 5 - 6 km an hour. So in an hour I should be able to walk 5 km. This translates to 20km this week, maybe even 24km if all goes well. I am committing myself to four one-and-a-half-hour sessions at the gym this week. I want to reach my second goal in the foreseeable future. It means packing the kids bags the night before as well as being up in plenty of time tomorrow morning to get out of the house by the prescribed hour, but I'm going to. I want to lose this weight for good and all. Me, a gym junkie - you bet!

Bugger

I am not usually given to swearing. I was brought up in a home where bad language was simply not used. The Mother was even fussy about words like "Bum" which now have become part of our lexicon. I seem to remember going through a phase when I was about 16 or so when I let fly with a few naughty words, but they never felt at home in my mouth and I soon stopped using them at all. In labour I remember swearing like mad inside my head every time I felt a contraction coming on. Seeing as I was under the influence of drugs at the time I feel that they can be excused. Now we get to last night. I still can't believe that I did it, but here goes.... I am a mystery shopper, ergo I go places, assess the level of service that I get, fill in a form, send it off and get paid for it. Well and good. Last night I had to do a shop for a well known chicken outlet. It was about 8.10pm, a dark night, I was tired, I was stressed (please note the number of excuses here) anyway, I order through the drive through as specified on my shpper form, begin to head for the window and crash! "Something weird is going on under the car. I am following the arrow on the driveway but something is drastically wrong. Mr Bear is trying to shout instructions at me, but I am confused and I can't understand what's wrong." Then the car judders to a halt and the mists of confusion lift. We are stranded on the concrete barrier separating the drive thru lane from the not-drive-thru-lane. The car will move neither forwards nor back. Any attempt to use the accelerator results in horrible metalic grinding noises from under the car. Bugger. "What have I done? I am so stupid. Everyone is looking at me. They're pointing and laughing. I am six years old and have wet my pants at afternoon tabloids again. They all pointed and laughed then too and now I am too big to go running to Mummy and let her sort it out. I have to get out of this myself." Mr Bear gets out of the car and pushes from the front while I reverse. The car eventually moves and I return to the original lane, the one I shouldn't have left in the first place. I drive to the window and get the money ready, frantically trying to observe the store...after all, I have a job to complete. Mr Bear holds my hand tightly. He knows instinctively how I feel inside. We leave he drive thru and I park. Mr Bear realises that I'm in no fit state to drive home. All the way home he holds my hand in his and it's so big and warm and comforting. Still, tears course down my cheeks and splash unchecked into my lap. "When am I going to grow up? I'm 33 and I just got confused at the drive thru. What if I had the kids in the car? Can I be trusted behind the wheel? I am too old to get confused, or maybe it should be I'm too young to get confused?" We arrive home and the damage appears to be minimal. The car is due for a service and we can get the man to look underneath as well. We eat. We finish watching the show. We go to bed. As I drift into sleep, Mr Bear is holding me tight and whispering how proud he is that I handled the whole thing so well. I don't feel proud, but a certain warmth makes its way into my heart anyway.

A DAY IN THE LIFE Part the First

4.27am Baby crying, not enthusiastically. She might go back to sleep. A few cranky, grumbly sounds, then silence. Good. Roll over, back to sleep. 5.28am Bladder full. Head for the loo. Beside alarm goes off while I'm there. Back to bed, spoon Mr Bear. 6.45am Can hear Mr Bear getting ready. Took my tablets late last night so now I have to deal with the corresponding jag. Can't actually get eyes open yet. Gentle clink of pottery on wood signals that my Darling Mr Bear has brought me morning coffee. He kisses me goodbye and is gone for the day. Both kids still slumbering. 6.55am Stagger out of bed and turn on Early Morning News. Halfway through coffee I hear "Mike 'wake, Mike 'wake, Mummy, Mike 'wake. No kidding. The day has begun. After 7am Open Mike's door, he's crying. "What's wrong?" "Mike poo pants" "Do you need a new nappy?" "Please mummy" "Ok, hop on the bed" Bother, no wipes. Leave Mike on bed, go to Ladybaby's room. She's awake, playing with her toes and thinking. Collect wipes, back to Mike's room, change nappy, redress him. Grab something to wear out of the laundry. Go to master bedroom. Start tidying, ready to make bed. "Mummy, Mike toast" "Do you want breakfast?" "No Mike toast!" (Breakfast has become a word that specifically means cornflakes) "Mike toast?" "No, Mike Pooh breakfast" The cornflakes box features pictures of Winnie the Pooh. I reach up to get the cornflakes. Mike dissolves into tears. "Noooooo Mike toast!" "Ok. Don't cry about it" Tears stop. I open fridge and get out butter. "what do you want on your toast? Vegemite?" "No, Mike jam" He reaches for the jam. I get out the vegemite too. "No Mike jam, not Mike vegemite, Mike JAM!" He's about to throw a major wobbly. He shouts again "Mike put away, Mike JAM!" I show him the jam. "Mike jam, Mummy vegemite". "Mike jam, Mummy vegemite?" "That's right. Mike jammy toast, Mummy vegemite toast". The wobbly subsides. I get the bread from the freezer. Mike counts the slices as they go in the toaster: 1,2,3,4. I flick on the kettle, grab a knife, get the coffee and milk from the fridge, out away a few items. Toast pops up. I prepare to spread it. "Mike *****" (unintelligible) "Say again" "Hold my hand" little Mr Bossy Boots holds out his hand and grabs mine. He leads me through the house. "Mike *****"...Still can't work it out. He throws open our wardrobe door and points upwards. Finally it dawns "Mike stool" Ahh. What the...? We hid his stool weeks ago as he was using it to do useful things like empty the baby's sterilising unit all over the kitchen floor. How did he know where it was. I relent and get it down. He watches raptly as I spread his toast with butter and jam. Perhaps I should sell tickets. "Mike plate, Mummy plate" "Ok here's Mike's plate, here's Mummy's plate. Take your plate to the table". He holds his plate carefully, two hands, and lifts it on the table. Just for once it lands safely and not butter side down on the floor. I make coffee and join him at the table after switching on ABC Kids. Mike talks and sings incessantly. His main refrain at the moment is "One sleep Kath come" My sister, his favourite aunty, arrives late tonight. Halfway through the first piece of toast he pushes his chair away and chooses to stand on his stool instead. Whatever. "Mummy loo - Mike stay here" Fat chance! He follows me in and keeps up an interrupted, mostly unintelligible monologue. I forget to let him flush and there's another dissolve into tears. He pushes me aside and insists on flushing again. It is going to be a long day.

The Steadfast Love of the Lord Never Ceases

It was a Sunday morning and we'd forgotten to turn the alarm off on the radio by the bed. The news flicked on at 7am. "An Australian missionary and his two sons burned to death in their car in India". Then they said his name - Graham Staines. Immediately my mind flew to the picture of the family on Mum and Dad's fridge: Graham, his wife Gladys and their three children; Esther, Phillip and Timothy, standing and smiling at the camera. Just the standard missionary prayer support photo that would grace many a fridge or church missionary noticeboard in the country and the same photograph that would be shown on the television news, digitally altered so that only the faces of the dead would be shown. Oh God, no. No, it couldn't be them. Graham was working with societal outcasts, lepers. He was there to help, to teach and to befriend. His boys were only little. They couldn't be dead. Yet it was true. Gladys was left a widow. Her two beautiful sons were gone. Esther lost her brothers and her father. How can someone hate so much that they would be prepared to perpetuate such a horrific crime? How can this atrocity further anyone's cause? What is the justification for taking lives in this manner? I could understand it if the family were doing something wrong? But Graham had dedicated his life to serving others. How can this be a crime? Hate is the most devastating of emotions and there is a good reason for it. We were created in the image of God and God is love. Nothing is further from the nature of God than hate. When we hate we deny the instrinsic love with which we were born. To forsake love is to deny our Creator. Why did God send Jesus to earth? Because He loved us. Why did Jesus die on the Cross? Because he loved us. Why does God continue to stay his Hand even though the world is becoming wickeder by the day? Because He loves us. How does Gladys get through each and every day without Graham and her sons? Because God loves her, and his love sustains.

For Chickabid

There's a little man who lives with me Who's full of curisoity He has no fear, he has no doubt Barefoot and grubby he gets about I've just had to rescue his brand new shoe Dropped in the dog's bowl to see what it would do It didn't float, it sank right down His socks are wet, his face afrown But nothing ventured, nothing gained He's gone outside again to play He's wet, he's filthy, he's full of joy He loves to live my precious baby boy.

FROM THE ARCHIVES PART ONE

From time to time I'll publish old pieces from previous sites. July 1st 2002 - 10:55 a.m. I have never done this before, bu the first of the month sounds like a really good time to start. As of tomorrow I am five weeks pregnant with our second child. I am elated but frightened at the same time. After our first angel was born I was very ill and experienced rejection of my beautiful baby...something that no-one ever talks about. I felt no joy at his birth, just that it had all been a terrible mistake. As the weeks wore on and I got gradually better those feelings faded. I am so devastated that I missed out on his early life and I don't want to miss out on this baby too, but I am so scared that it could happen again. I am being monitored very carefully this time so hopefully all will be well. July 3rd 2002 I'm still getting used to the idea that "Finty" is growing. I call the baby Finty because I hate calling the baby "it", cos it is a real little person and deserves something better than just "it". Judi Dench (the English actress) called her daughter Finty and I loved the name as it to me it speaks of something small and delicate and beautiful and precious....ergo, our baby's nickname is Finty! I had a l-o-n-g consultation with my GP yesterday and went over everything that happened with Chickabid, both before and after he was born. I was not terribly unhappy at the tie, but with hindsight I realised that the end part of my pregnancy was mismanaged. I am seeing a new ob/gyn for this baby and I wanted to make sure that all the relevant information was in my referral. The dr. confirmed the pregnancy and I have a raft of pathology tests to undergo. My blood type is O neg and Chickabid was O positive. I had to have that injection thingy 24 hours after delivry and they have to make sure that those nasty antibodies aren't floating around my system. Also, they need to check that iron levels and everything are ok. I had forgotten about this part of being pregnant. August 31st 2002 Here we are 14 weeks along and this is the first chance I have to sit and diarise. All the pathology came back fine and I had my first appoitment with Dr C (ob/gyn) at 9 weeks. He did an u/s straight away and Finty is doing just fine. Baby looked like a jellybean with a heartbeat and we have a photo to prove it. He talked to me about testing the baby for Down Syndrome. DH and I talked about it and decided not to...this baby is here for the duration irrespective of things like that. At the next appt. Dr C didn't give me the opportunity to agree or disagree...just handed me the referral for the testing. The u/s part was ok apart form the full bladder, but the blood test was another issue altogther. I have lousy veins and the dr ended up taking blood from the back of my hand after two abortive attempts. I have the bruises to show for it. Just over a week ago we had a scare with the baby...I spotted and cramped for about 48 hours. We thought we were going to lose our Finty. Every time I thought about our jellybean photo I cried as this might be the only evidence that we ever had a baby. Thankfully after four days straight rest the u/s showed that the placenta...the cause of the problem...had repaired itself. It will still be dodgy at the other end of the pg, just like Chickabid, but so long as we go into hospital with a bump and come out with a baby I will be happy. Our health insurance will pay for up to a 14 day stay for obstetrics and I plan to make full use of this if needed. I came home too soon and too unprepared with Chickabid and I think that may have been a factor in everything falling apart.

Date Night

I have heard of other couples having date nights and tonight it was our turn. Mr Bear wanted to go to the launch of the Corporate Games being held at a big city hotel. I went because it gave me an opportunity to wear my slinky black dress (well, the dress that would be slinky, except that I have more curves than a Grand Prix race track) and look like something other than the mother of two kids. My train was late, it took forever to get to Darling Harbour and my shoes were pinching my feet something chronic so we eschewed the hotel thing in favour of an impromptu date night. Wow. Picture this: balmy spring evening, light breeze wafting, lights dancing magically on the water, walking hand in hand with my best friend, just sharing precious quiet time together. No kids, no stress, nothing but the company of one another. My new definition of bliss. We dropped into the cafe and got heaping plates of fish and chips, then sat outside watching the ferries and the water taxis pass, holding hands, staring into one another's eyes and revelling in the chance to be wonderfully alone together. Magic.

HAPPY ANNIVERSARY

We have just had one of the busiest, but best weekends ever. The Parental Units had their 35th wedding anniversary this weekend and the Sister and I decided to celebrate it in style. We began with a barbeque lunch by the river - just sausages and salads, but the weather was perfect. We went to King Henry's Court for dinner and that was magnificent. Mum and Dad stayed the night at Panthers and then we met them for breakfast at Memories. Church was a bit of a blowout as Chickabid announced midway through a prayer that he'd done a poo in his nappy and the FintyBaby was unsettled so we ended up leaving early. Mum and Dad were thrilled to tears with their anniversary surprise. They had no idea that it was to be a weekend long event. It felt good to do something so special for them after everything that they have done for us.

GARDEN GNOMES DON'T BOUNCE

HI WORLD, I'm new here. I've been around for nearly three years, and I'd like to share a few discoveries that I've made. - garden gnomes don't bounce. - when you scratch the baby, she bleeds and cries and you get to be really unpopular - the supermarket checkout queue is not the best place to throw a tantrum. - new shoes make you feel really good. - helium balloons float to the ceiling when you rip off the string that holds them to your arm. - people in restaurants are really impressed when you eat the broccoli first - when you put money in the slot in the car radio, nothing comes out except smoke and $300 from your savings account to buy a new one. - grandparents have an endless capacity for playing inane games - books with pop up pictures are fantastic - some books never get boring, even after you have heard them every night for a month, or two, or three - you have to say "Love you" at the end of every phonecall, and kiss everyone at the table after you say Grace. - nothing beats planting seeds and watching them grow. - it's really hard to control cornflakes cascading out of the packet. - changing nappies is not as easy as it looks from the outside. We have a wonderful world and I am so glad to just be alive lots of love, Chickabid

FRIDAY FIVE

1. Who is your favorite singer/musician? Why? 2. What one singer/musician can you not stand? Why? 3. If your favorite singer wasn't in the music business, do you think you would still like him/her as a person? 4. Have you been to any concerts? If yes, who put on the best show? 5. What are your thoughts on downloading free music online vs. purchasing albums? Do you feel the RIAA is right in its pursuit to stop people from dowloading free music?

WHY IS IT SO? The sticky tape dispenser has been broken for months. I have been meaning to buy a new one for weeks. When shopping with the sister this morning I bought a small one. This afternoon I discovered how to fix the big one. Now I can't find any big sticky tape. Typical.

THEN THERE WAS ONE I have decided not to separate blogs and now have only one. So this will be it for home, housework, family and God. I am FLYing today so this will be short. I'll try blogging in more depth tomorrow.

I can't believe that Friday has come and gone already. Someone should do something about the speed with which weeks pass. FRIDAY FIVE 1. Is the name you have now the same name that's on your birth certificate? If not, what's changed? My surname changed when I married Mr Bear. This was a concious decision on my part as I wanted to be identified with him. We were beginning a new branch on the tree. I kow some women feel like they will lose their identity if they change their name, but I never felt like that. 2. If you could change your name (first, middle and/or last), what would it be? Not really. I like both my given names. 3. Why were you named what you were? (Is there a story behind it? Who specifically was responsible for naming you?) My parents chose the names together and for no reason other than they liked the name and the meaning. I wasn't named after anyone and deliberately so, then after Iwas born and my parents announced my name they discovered that Dad's maternal and paternal grandmothers each had half my name. Bizarre! 4. Are there any names you really hate or love? What are they and why? As a former teacher there are names which I wouldn't consider for my children under any circumstances as the associations with a child that I taught are extremely negative. Therefore, Nicholas, Luke, Robert, Peter and James are out of the question for boys and Renee, Melissa, Elsie and Brooke are out of the question for girls. If we were to have another child, which we are not, a daughter would be named Rebekah Kathryn Louise and a son would be Toby, Jonathan Patrick. 5. Is the analysis of your name at kabalarians.com / triggur.org / astroexpert accurate? How or how isn't it? Your first name of Anne has given you a rather quiet, reserved, serious, studious nature. You have sensitivity and appreciation for the finer and deeper things of life, the beauties of nature, music, art, and literature. The people who mean the most to you are those who can offer you intellectual companionship. It is only when you are among those who understand your deeper nature that you can really be yourself. The experience of having your remarks taken lightly or belittled, particularly during the early years of your life, has caused you to keep your thoughts and feelings to yourself. You do not express yourself spontaneously when conversing with others; hence other people may often regard you as being aloof, and even unfriendly. Your difficulty in putting your deeper thoughts and feelings into words can lead to problems in more intimate associations. This name has caused you to live much within yourself. You are rather easily hurt or offended. At such times you can withdraw into a mood, and may not even speak to others. Aside from these points, this name contains many fine qualities. You are a thoughtful, analytical person, and you know your own mind, even though you may not speak it. You are very conscientious and competent in all that you do. You take seriously any responsibilities that you have--in the home, in the community, or at the job. Worry and mental depression could be problems in your life. Physically, any weaknesses in your health would centre in the heart, lungs, or bronchial organs. Hmm. Bit hit and miss I thought.

BACK TO BASICS I swore I wouldn't do this again, but here I am. I joined Flylady again. I joined a while ago but decided to leave because the time zones were all wrong; dressing "to the shoes" didn't work for me then, blah, blah, blah...gimme enough time and I could generate a page of excuses. Then, two days ago I looked at my house and there was not a single room in the house that I could have shown to anyone outside Mr Bear and the kids without embarrassment. After telling Lamb about it yesterday I decided to rejoin Flylady and get the house in order. Flylady's Number One rule is Shine Your Sink. And it works. I shined the sink today and it makes the whole kitchen look better, smell better and feel better. The only real drawback is we have to have take away (take out) tonight because I can't bear anything mussing up my beautiful sink. It won't happen Pantene fashion, but give me a few days with Flylady and my Daily/Weekly Cleaning Schedules and we'll all be living in a brand new home. That's the theory anyway.

AND ON AN ENTIRELY DIFFERENT NOTE... On Wednesday our car stereo started playing silly buggers. The antenna was going up and down (while a tape was playing) whenever it felt like it. Hmmm, not good. On Thursday I am driving from the doctors to Lamb's house when the antenna disappears into the car body completely and the stereo completely shuts down. Not good. When I arrive at Lamb's I try to put a tape in and smoke begins to issue forth from the tape deck. Not good and getting worse. I bolted around the other side of the car, grabbed Finty and rushed her inside. Mr Lamb suggested that I call the car dealership and take the car there straightaway, so I did. Upon arriving at the dealership, I decided to check the stereo again and guess what? A $1 and $2 have been inserted into the tape deck. Now, let's see. Who might have done something like that? Mr Bear - I think not Me - Nope Finty - Physically impossible So, that leaves Chickabid. Chickabid strikes again! Leaving the car dealership with an extremely red face, I drove back to Lamb's with a certain sense of panic. If the car radio's fried and it has to be replaced we're going to be in a bit of a sticky situation as the old cash flow problem has reared its ugly head. An awful lot of flow and not very much cash. To cut a long story short, I took the car to Ford today and retrieved the security code for the stereo. It actually worked and we have a fully functioning car radio and tape deck again. Chickabid is one very fortunate little piece of fruit.

TWO YEARS ON A LOOK BACK It was a Tuesday night. Mr Bear had been in Adelaide on business and I was waiting for him at arrive home in the taxi. As I recall, The West Wing was on. Mr Bear arrived home and we were chatting while he put his bags away and made ready for bed. Jim Waley, who used to read the late night news came on apropos of nothing and announced that a plane had flown into one of the twin towers of the WTC in New York. I was upset at hearing this, but not afraid as there was a precedent. A few decades ago a B-52 bomber accidentally flew into the empire State Building on a foggy morning. Then Nightline began with the news that a second plane had flown into the other tower. There were reports of hijackings, stabbings and then smoke from the direction of the White House in Washington. The Pentagon had been hit. I began to panic. This could mean only one thing - a terrorist attack. The United States, hitherto inviolate, had been attacked. This was unthinkable. I sat mesmerised and pertified. Air space across the United States was closed down immediately; a plane crashed into a field in Pennsylvania, presumably headed for Washington. The words "Let's roll" have become immortalised as a symbol of courage. My heart bled and ached for those struck by the events. The mothers, fathers, sisters, brothers, sons and daughters who either lost their lives or lost a loved one found a place in my heart and even now as I write this my eyes are filled with tears. I watched as the top of the tower wobbled. I saw it fall. The television commentators continued to discuss what they could see. They made no mention of the tower's collapse. I must have imagined it. Then the commentator said "It's gone". His tone was neutral, almost uncaring and I knew that he was feeling exactly what I was feeling. This event was so horrendous, so completely unthinkable that the brain failed to register what the eye was seeing. Herb Morrison reported the Hindenburg disaster , his voice broke several times during the broadcast and he was obviously overcome by intense emotion. This was the very opposite of the coverage of 9/11. I think the reason for this lies in the complete incredulity with which the events were viewed. Many people have reported that when they first saw it on TV, they thought it was a movie, because the events of that day were so far out of our sphere of the possible, it simply could not be happening. However, it happened. And the world changed forever. That night I learned for the first time how profound fear can affect the human body. That night I realised that everything I stood for - freedom, security, justice and love - was under threat. The threat has not diminished. We've all managed, for the most part, to push it to the back of our collective minds and get on with life, but it will always be there. It's funny how in a moment of fear like this, throwaway comments from another time can come back. That night I remembered a remark that one of my teachers made in the last year of High School. He said "heaven help the country that picks a fight with the United States. They've got almost unlimited money and unlimited resources". It was an odd thing to remember, but it came back that night. September 11th is not just a date in history. It is a crater on Manhattan Island. It is every squad of fire fighters, and every law enforcement officer. It is a flag, ripped and bloodstained, carried at the opening ceremony of the Winter Olympics. It represents children without mothers, children without fathers. It represents grief and suffering, heroism, bravery and self-sacrifice. No person can carry around forever the loss and grief of that day in history, but we must stop once every year and remember. To forget is dangerous. Only through remembering can we begin to understand, only by remembering can we fortify ourselves for the battles that lie ahead. The war itself is won and was won around 2000 years ago at Calvary. But the battles will continue. And fight we must.

BITS OF THING My life is a constant battle with little bits of thing. I know people who do not have a single bit of thing lying about. I knew, very well, a person in my former life who would not understand what a bit of thing was if it "danced naked in front of him wearing Dobby's teacosy" (Thanks JKR). I want to know where he put the little bits of thing, so they ceased to be such. He's not the only one. There are many, many people within my acquaintance who don't have any LBoT. Ok, ok, ok. I know you're all asking what little bits of thing are. So I'm going to answer. They are the things which don't seem to have any definite place to go in the house. They're not rubbish, so you can't throw them away, but they're not easily classifiable as belonging anywhere in particular. Today I decided to tackle the second of the nightmare spaces in our house; Chickabid's old bedroom. The others are my craft cupboard, the study and the screened room. I have sorted and put away all day and now I am left with a pile of little bits of thing. And it's driving me nuts. I'll catalogue the little bits of thing I am left with and if you have any useful ideas on what to do with them, feel free to email me: bearhug@tpg.com.au So now here is the uncomfortable bit. I just went into the bedroom to make a list of all the LBoT on the bedroom floor and I have made a discovery. There is actually only one LBoT on the floor. It's a maroon and pink fluffy tissue box holder that was given to me in 1981 by an old lady. My sister was in hospital at the time and this lady, Mrs Ticehurst, made Sis a teddy bear, who was instantly christened Honeycutt. Mrs T. didn't want me to feel left out so she made me this tissue box holder. It's actually quite horrendous, matches the decor in no room of the house, and if I'm being honest it's pure kitsch, but Mrs T. gave it to me and it is a bit of my childhood. I could be strong willed and throw it away. I could be charitable and give it to GoodWill, but doing either of those would give me the satisfaction of dealing with a LBoT, and would leave a profound emptiness inside me. Yes, it's horrible. Yes, I'll have to find somewhere to put it for about 5 years just in case the FintyBaby likes/wants it, but it was a gift made with love. Made because someone cared enough to do something completely unsolicited for another human being. In a sense it is a concrete reminder of an abstract concept - love. Now I just have to figure out where this particular LBoT should go. And God bless Mrs T. She may have been called Home, but she's not forgotten.

RELIEVED While cleaning out the craft cupboard I came across the plans for the construction of the garage roof. According to the specifications the roofing material is corrugated fibro and not asbestos as we thought. We're going to have to get a builder in to check, but if the material I found is correct it relieves our minds and our budgets! This means no problem with getting the electrical wiring in the garage fixed, not to mention saving over $6000 is not having to replace the roofing material. Yes, it will have to be replaced in the fullness of time, but the urgency is gone.

FRIDAY FIVE 1. What housekeeping chore(s) do you hate doing the most? This is going to sound very funny, but the thing I hate most is hanging clothes on the line. I don't mind washing and taking clothes off the line is not a both, but the whole process of putting them out bores me to tears. It is so fiddly and pointless. Next to that my other pet hate is ironing. 2. Are there any that you like or don't mind doing? I love cooking and I don't mind cleaning the kitchen, especially now that I have a dishwasher. 3. Do you have a routine throughout the week or just clean as it's needed? I have a weekly cleaning schedule and a daily cleaning schedule. I don't necessarily use them, but I have them. 4. Do you have any odd cleaning/housekeeping quirks or rules? I don't think so. I'll have to ask Mr Bear. 5. What was the last thing you cleaned? The bathroom floor. And now I am just off to clean the kitchen, the bathroom and the loungeroom, followed by dusting and vacuuming all the bedrooms and hallways, taking the clothes off the line and adding another 2-3 loads before dark and finishing off by cleaning the scrud out of the washing machine. My we do live in exciting times.

ONCE UPON A TIME... ...but not very long ago, there was a mama and a daddy who brought home a baby from the hospital. He was very small and scrawny. He was quite sick, too. His mama and daddy looked after him carefully. They talked to him and played with him and loved him very much. Day by day, month by month he grew. Yesterday his mama collected his playschool photos. When she opened up the folder, her baby had gone. In his place there was a happy, confident, enthusiastic little boy who loves life. A little boy with beautiful blue eyes looking straight at the camera with the most beautiful smile. A little boy who can choose his own books, play with his own toys, who is beginning to dress himself. A little boy with cuddles and kisses fit to melt a mohter's heart. A special boy who last night brought his mama a tea bag, a mug and a bottle of milk and then was so proud of himself for doing something special. Thank you my darling Chickabid. You have changed my life in ways that I could never have imagined. Yes, life is harder, more expensive and a thousand times more frustrating than it was, but to see you smile, to see you learn and grow and love - I wouldn't swap it for anything!

I'VE SEEN EVERYTHING NOW I just logged on for a bit as I am supposed to be spring cleaning and got an email from a blogging friend who found this advertisement on the web. No folks, it is not, I repeat, not a joke, but my goodness! I have seen everything now. WARNING It is not for the faint hearted, squeamish or easily offended.

WHO DO THEY THINK THEY ARE? I am referring to the International Rugby Board hitherto known as the IRB, who this week have issued an edict that "Waltzing Matilda" is not to be sung at any of the World Cup rugby matches as it is not "culturally significant" and therefore is out of place at matches. Huh! For those not in the loop, Australia is hosting the Rugby World Cup due to begin in about 40 days or something. This hallowed event occurs periodically, and like in most other sports, Australia is the defending champion. The powers that be of Rugby seem to believe that the singing of our most cultually significant song will give the Australian team an unfair advantage and have deemed it to be not culturally significant for the purposes of the 2003 Rugby World Cup. This has to be the most blatant example of discrimination that I have ever heard of. It is disgusting. I wrote a few days ago about the meaning of Anzac and how we celebrate our biggest ever military failure where most countries would celebrate their victories. Waltzing Matilda is just another expression of this. The song (originally a poem) was penned by one of Australia's most celebrated poets A.B (Banjo) Paterson. Incidentally he is also responsible for The Man From Snowy River, but that's another story. Waltzing Matilda is the tale of a swagman, or in today's PCS (Politically Correct Speech), an itinerant worker frequently unemployed, who wandered the outback carrying all his possessions in a rolled up package, or matilda, on his back. He stopped one day for smoko (cigarette and cup of tea) on the banks of a billabong where he came across a sheep. Being a bloke who was always on the lookout for a free feed, promptly killed the sheep, stuffed it in his tuckerbag with a view to a few decent meals. At that moment up rides the squatter, the landowner, the imperialist astride his horse accompanied by a handful of the local law enforcement. He wants tp prosecute the swagman for sheep stealing. Bear in mind that the squatter's got a few hundred thousand woolies wandering about the top paddock and that he's hardly down his last sheep. The swagman, determined not to be arrested and gaoled, jumps up and throws himself into the billabong and in a moment of self-fulfilling prophesy, declares that they'll never catch him alive, which they don't. It is a strange song to hold dear, but that epitomises the Australian spirit. We won't kow-tow to imperialistic or paternalistic rules and regulations unless there's a bloody good reason for it. We support and celebrate the underdog, the bloke who hasn't got a chance. We cheer him on until of course he gets there and then we cut him down to size! It is an interesting parallel isn't it. If the IRB wanted to ensure the weight of 19 million Australians behind the 15 slogging it out on the rugby field, they've gone about it the right way. We are incensed that this body, who think themsleves so special, have attempted to take away from us something as important as our national song. So incensed in fact that it will be sung, and sung in spades and heaven help any petty minded IRB official who seeks to stop it. No, they haven't taken away our heritage, they given us one more way to cement it into history. Good on 'em!

"MIKE DO!" Mike, aka Chickabid, has entered that period of life where independence has to be fought for. Unfortunately, he has to fight me with me and at the moment he is winning. His constant cry is "Mike do!". I offer to help especially if I can see him struggling, but it is always met with a fierce "Mike do!" And it is hard to hear. I brought him into this world and for so long I was his food source, his comfort, his security. I dressed him and played with him and cared for him. Now, little by little, my influence is being overshadowed by his nearly acquired sense of self. Every day he comes out with a new word or concept that I didn't know he knew. Yesterday he insisted on removing his t-shirt because it was "too hot". I didn't know that he knew what too hot meant or that he could connect it with taking off a layer of clothing. He told Finty the other morning "Not hit Mike, stop baby" which is a pretty complex sentence for a child who only learned to talk in February. He wanders around the house singing little snatches of songs. Listen carefully enough and you can pick out "Twinkle Star" and "Baa Baa Black Sheep" I'll bet you didn't know that the latter ends in "Mama, daddy, baby, Mike". That's another thing. Mike didn't call me anything at all until he was 21 months old. Then he began calling me mama. Not mum or mummy, but mama, and I love it. I don't know where he got it from, but this has been my title. Just occasionally he calls me mum. Logic tells me that as time goes on, mama will be replaced entirely by mum or mummy. He'll learn that no-one else in his class calls their mother, mama, so he'll stop. This makes me really sad. It will be a little bit more of my baby gone. I can't describe the mixed emotions that accompany the realisation that Mike is developing his own little personality. It's a bit of me, a bit of Mr Bear, but a lot of just Mike. It is wonderful and exciting to watch, but at the same time, sad. The first time he put his little trousers on by himself I cried. Likewise his shoes and socks. Whilst it is less work for me if he can dress himself, it is one more area in which he doesn't need me anymore.

MARS IS BRIGHT TONIGHT Or so they keep telling us. Mars, apparently, is the closest to earth that it has been in 60000 years. But this depends on your point of view. If you buy the story that the earth is like 60 billion years old and undergoing a constant process of evolution (which I don't) then the 60000 years bit sounds really impressive. I'm coming out of the closet and owning up, in a manner of speaking. I don't believe for one moment that we are all the result of a cosmic explosion that somehow created life out of nothing and that somehow I am the end product of something that began with primordial slime. What I do believe is that the earth and everything in it, on it and around it was created in six days approximately 6 - 10 thousand years ago, probably closer to six than ten. These days, by the way, were 24 hour units...the same as the days that we have now. The universe came into being because God spoke it into being. Consequently, Mars is the closest to earth that it has ever been, and possibly ever will be. That's impressive. We're seeing something tonight that no-one or nothing has ever seen before. Try and get your mind around that and you'll be boggled. I'll be out there tonight to see it, you can bet your money on it. I wouldn't miss this for the world. Not because Mars has any mystical power or influence, not because of the "Martians", but because this is the opportunity to see something more that God created. People laugh at Creationists. They make fun of them all the time. It's something that we're going to have to get used to because it is not going to go away. It is part of the biggest lie in History which is that even if there is a God, he has nothing to do with us or our behaviour. He's not interested in us, all he wants to do is stop us having fun. Satan tried that line out on Adam and Eve in the Garden of Eden and it worked. His story hasn't changed much in 6000 years. It gets dressed up in different clothing, but it is fundamentally the same story. The cosmic accident theme is one of his biggest tools because it is a handy way of leaving God out altogether. If Creationists can be asisgned to the lunatic fringe, so much the better. No-one will listen to them. History has an unpleasant way of repeating itself. A few thousand years ago there was a guy called Noah who heard about a terrible calamity. There was going to be a flood. A big flood. A flood that would cover the whole earth. The only way of surviving the flood was to build a boat. So Noah started building. They thought he was nuts. But Noah kept on building anyway. It was actually 100 years before the rain began. That's an awfully long time to be laughed at and ridiculed. But Noah kept right on building. When God said that it was time, Noah and his wife, their three sons and their wives boarded the boat. God shut the door. Eight days later the rain began and only the eight people in the ark, and the animals that God sent Noah, survived. Every other living thing on the planet was wiped out. Obliterated. Ceased to exist. Died. God gave the people 100 years to believe, but they didn't. How much more time did they need. How much more evidence was required? This earth has a use by date. I don't know what that date will be. No-one other than God Himself knows. But that date exists. God destroyed the world that He made once, and He has promised that He will do it again. He promised Noah a place of refuge, just as He has promised us a place of refuge. In Noah's case it was a physical entity...a boat. In our case now it is a person, Jesus Christ.

I HATE MONDAY Monday is the longest day of the week. I miss Mr Bear so much on Mondays. He's always there on the wekend, supporting, loving, sharing, the full box and dice. Then Monday comes and he's gone to work. I have a kinda sorta routine now that makes Mondays a little easier, but the hours still tend to crawl. I feel good about today as I have accomplished a lot of housework including five loads of washing. I really need to get going on this as I am having a visitor come on Wednesday. My sil is coming for lunch and bringing some clothes for Chickabid with her. I want to have the house looking tidy. Not perfect, but tody.

A SENSE OF COMMUNITY As a child we frequently moved house. From the time I was born up until I moved out of home myself, the longest I had ever lived anywhere was nine years. It seemed that no sooner had I begun to establish roots in a location we were literally uprooted and moved to a new place. As a result I never really felt part of a community. As a small person this was irrelevant and by the time I was in my late teens I was working. I had no real sense of community and certainly no loyalty to anywhere in particular. Banking was done wherever there happened to be a convenient branch, grocery shopping likewise. At one point I made the mistake of shopping in the same place as I worked. After conducting a parent/teacher interview in the meat section of Woolworths at 5.45 pm after having arrived at school at 7am, I decided that this was for the birds and no matter how tired I was I would shop elsewhere. Then I had Chickabid. Suddenly I was tied to home in a way that I had not experienced before. The immediate community became my lifeline and my sanity. Mr Bear and I have lived in the same area since 1997, but we had no real sense of community until after the babies came. Now I walk through the local shops and it becomes a social occasion. I'd like you to meet them. Hairdresser Jenny (remember The Castle..." Jenny Jenny or Hairdresser Jenny"?) She cuts my hair and like all hairdressers she is a both a fund and recipient of gossip. She foloowed me all through the pregnancy with Finty and even came to visit us in the hospital. The "new" chippie on the corner. There has always been a fish and chip shop on the corner, but it was taken over by new people about 18 months ago. Before it was nearly always empty; now it is packed every night. The people are friendly and make small talk as they take and prepare your order. We wouldn't go anywhere else. The Honey Shop Owned by the Grandma of a former student, they also stock 2nd hand books for a dollar. They wave and I wave back. The Real Estate They sold us our current home. Funnily enough it was the last place we looked. Typical! Mr and Mrs Li at the Chinese Restaurant They know us well...they know our usual order: "two short soup and a fli lice". Last time we dropped in the pick up dinner, Chickabid got a little bag of prawn chips ust for him...free! Vanessa and Christine from the chemist. Probably the most visited shop of them all. Regular tablet prescriptions, tins of formula, infant paracetamol, nappies and just plain old ordinary advice mean that we are there often. They adore Chickabid and the FintyBaby which makes them doubly popular. My only problem is that Vanessa doesn't work on Tuesdays and her replacement "Cow Features" is not a pleasant person at all. She's rude and abrupt and loud...boy, is she loud! I avoid the chemist on Tuesdays. The Local Grocery Friendly service AND they have bags of lollies like we used to get when we were kids. The Bottlo on the end We don't drink so the bottlo is not a lot of use in that department, but they do have an ATM. They're friendly and helpful. They wave as we go by. The Medical Centre They Bulk Bill. Need I say more? Rod (or Ray or something starting with R) at the Post Office Handles everything in a friendly way. He's efficient and helpful and never gets frustrated when I get in a muddle. He also adores the kids and has a special wave for them. I love being a part of this small community. It gives a sense of belonging and I would miss all these people should we have to move away. They fill that middle ground between friend and acquaintance which is so missing in our fast, faster, fastest society where loyalty falls by the wayside of convenience.

ONLY SIX LEFT I come from a family that is accutely historically aware. My mum can still remember WW2 and having to go to school with her gas mask attached to her schoolbag and having her knickers held up with safety pins as all the elastic was channeled to the armed forces. My Grandpa served in WW2 in Borneo, but he never talked about the war and did not partipate in Anzac Day at all. Dad's memories of the war are mostly tied up with his dad (my Grandpa) being away overseas and with his having to move from place to place with Grandma. Both parents are very interested in history; Australian and otherwise, consequently I am also interested in history. I think it is important to know where we have come from as individuals, as a society, as a culture and as a planet. As a small child Anzac Day was a special occasion and we always watched the Sydney March on tv. I remember being so moved by the riderless horse with the empty boots backwards in the stirrups. The horse represented all those who died in the Boer War (about 1901) as all who served in that war had passed on. Today, we heard of another WW1 veteran who died in Tasmania this morning. Now there are only six survivors. Alec Campbell, the last soldier who landed at Gallipoli on 25th April 1915, died last year and now we are down to the final six. They are all old men now...very old and within the next few years they will all answer to the final Reveille. One day I will be telling Chickabid and the FintyBaby what the two riderless horses with the backwards boots mean. That will be a sad day. In 1999 Mr Bear and I travelled by train to the Cenotaph in the city for the Dawn Service. This is a public commemoration held every year to remember the landing at Gallipoli. Considering that WW1 ended 85 years ago you would expect that this service would have limited appeal, but no. The trains were packed at 3am with people of all ages who were travelling to remember a cold April dawn, boatloads of young Australian men; the lifeblood of our fledgling nation, unbelievably hostile terrain and Turkish soldiers hidden in the cliffs, firing on the boys as they scrambled through the water to shore. It is a very moving service, tears flow and throats close over as the the words which have become synonymous with Anzac Day are read out: FOR THE FALLEN They went with songs to the battle, they were young, Straight of limb, true of eye, steady and aglow. They were staunch to the end against odds uncounted, They fell with their faces to the foe. They shall grow not old, as we that are left grow old; Age shall not weary them, nor the years condemn. At the going down of the sun and in the morning We will remember them. Laurence Binyon, poet laureat as the time of the First World War And remember them we do. Most nations celebrate their war victories, but not us. Our most significant day of the year commemorates one of the biggest failures in Australia's military history. Why do we remember it so fiercely? Why does the attendance at the Anzac marches grow? Why do parents take their babies, their toddlers, their children to stand along the city streets and wave the Australian flag at old soldiers? The answer lies deep within the Australian psyche. The British generals who made all the decisions were furious at the lack of discipline in the Aussie Digger. They weren't too good at wearing the uniform right, or taking orders from pompous old generals who had never held a gun or sharpened a bayonet, but backs against the wall, you couldn't find a better, or braver, soldier. The name Australia is still revered in France. Without the Diggers France would have fallen and the war would have been lost . Australia lost more men per capita than any other nation that participated in WW1 and these were the men we could ill afford to lose. But they went willingly. By law men (and women) cannot be conscripted or drafted unless Australia herself is under threat, so these men went of their own volition. They fought for the same reason that we encounter wars today; the right to be free. Gallipoli was a fiasco, but it was in the dust of Gallipoli and the mud of France that our character as a nation was formed. This is what we remember. This is what draws more and more people to the marches and the Dawn services. We are young and free and strong. We are, for the most part, proud of our heritage. We march because we know the cost of freedom and we want to remember those who lost their lives to preserve it. It will be a sad day when two riderless horses lead the march and I fully expect to cry. No doubt my children will make jokes about mum needing the Kleenex again, but we want to instil in them to value of freedom and the cost that it causes. Lest we forget.