Okay, starting at the top left hand corner and going in a clockwise direction:

1) Swimming Pool
2) Hannah Montana Bed Covers
3) New Swimmers, Size 7
4) Strawberry (fridge) Magnet*
5) Pink Playdough
6) Picture Frame
7) Laptop**
8 ) Care Bear (purple)
9) Piano Keyboard
10) Hannah Montana Punching Bag
11) Folder for Homework

* I have no idea what this is supposed to mean

** Not one of those kid ‘play’ laptops. Oh, no. “I want a real laptop like yours, mum. I’ll need one for school next year, you know. For homework.”

(Now if she were starting at a private school next year she could possibly be correct! And I’m thanking my stars she’s not. Just buying the uniforms is expensive enough, I’ve discovered!)

I found #10 the funniest. Riley already has a Spiderman punching bag, via the sea of brands that is all boys toys. So Keira wants to even the score. Fine.

“Why don’t you get a regular punching bag and just stick a picture of Hannah Montana on it?” I asked.

That got a ‘no.’

And somehow I think that her idea of a punching bag with Hannah Montana’s face on it, and mine, are two very different things.

For example, mine might have a big red dot in the middle with an arrow that says “Aim Here.”

Hold onto your wallets, it’s getting close to that time of year.

Christmas.

Before I go into why I’m starting to panic about Christmas (and that can wait for another day), first it’s time to open again my Christmas Card Challenge, following on last year’s successful one.

For those of you who don’t know what I’m talking about, I do my Christmas Card greetings via email instead of sending it in the post. This is my small contribution to negating the paper waste that is so prevalent at this time of year. It goes like this:

1) Every family and friend member who has an email address will receive the email. The unused postage fee gets donated to the fundraiser.

2) For every person who has left me a comment on this blog since last Boxing Day, I will donate the unused postage to the fundraiser. I will also send them a copy of the e-card via email.

This is because I highly value and appreciate every comment made here on the blog, even if I don’t get to reply to every single one. This is my thanks.

3) Then on Christmas Eve (Australian Time) I will send out the e-cards with the grand total of money raised on it.

If you decide to start a similar project, please let me know. I would love to hear how you tackle the challenge, and what charity you are donating to.

My Charity: Money raised this year will be added to the total amount that will go to my 2009 Profits Promise: MND Australia (in memory of my father, who this time last year had only just been diagnosed) and Autism Spectrum Australia (ASPECT) to support families touched by Autism. 

Let’s see how much money we can raise – and trees we can save – this year.

Thanks again to Veronica who made the button last year for me.

After a run on the treadmill, I had a lie-down to read while Riley played games on Adam’s iTouch.

I’ve basically given up on NaNoWriMo.

That’s hard for me to admit because essentially it’s another way of saying, “I am a quitter.” This is both true and false: I could bang away on it and am choosing not to, but I am pretty convinced if I did the words just wouldn’t come out right. And I know, I know, your novel is never going to get written if it stays in your head. 

That said, I have my reasons. The NaNoWriMo novel I was planning to write (and will, I promise you) requires some background research that I simply haven’t had enough time to do. So use your imagination, I hear you say. Well, quite. And there you have it, that little sentence almost undoes my entire argument.

******

Later this morning I am going to be interviewed by the local paper as part of the upcoming 25 year anniversary of the Alan Marshall Short Story Awards. As I was the local winner last year I think they want a “Where Are They Now?” kind of update. And so I will talk about Surprise! and the poetry win and the upcoming Australian Blog Writing book.

Perhaps we might discuss this blog. I am usually pretty tight lipped among my local acquaintances about Miscmum, however in the last few weeks I’ve heard knowledge of its existence has travelled to new people, helped by my being highly ranked by Google on the search term ‘Eltham Fun Run.’

I’m not sure how comfortable I’d be if the discussion turned in that direction. For you see, my weekend wasn’t full of stellar parental moments.

******

Keira has made great progress with her swimming since we resumed her lessons this semester. She’s now even putting her head underwater voluntarily, something unheard of before. She and Riley have lessons at the same time, and we arrived for lessons a few minutes they were scheduled to start. She was splashing around, showing off, weaving between the hordes of people also there due to the heat. I clapped and praised her, while I also kept an eye on Riley.

Then at a moment my attention was elsewhere, she jumped on me, headbutting me right on the bone under my eye. I called out in pain and she apologised immediately, without restraint, knowing from the tone in my voice that it hurt.

So as I stood there, holding my hand to the spot, crying (yes, indeed. How embarrassing) I battled to keep my patience. Hot pain travelled across my cheekbone and in a few regrettable seconds I was so angry, I wanted her away, Riley away, so I could just sit and feel sorry for myself. I fought between being the ‘mother’ and being ‘Karen’ – the childlike, selfish Karen – who just wanted to scream, “This fucking stings!”

But, no. I sent her along to her class, for then – as time does – the clock ticked over to the half hour and it was our time to be water educated.

“Keira, go now,” I said.

She looked panicked. “No, mum. Tell me why you’re sending me away.”

Oh, poor love. I was back to being a mum again. “It’s okay, I know it was an accident. I’m just saying it’s time to head over to the other pool now for your lesson.”

She looked relieved and she turned and left, and I took my wriggling son to his class.

******

I’m not proud of my reaction, and yet I wrote it here anyway. Many of you might wonder why, as I do. Perhaps it’s my way of apology. Perhaps you’ve had a similar experience, that flash of anger at your children’s accidental trespasses. I’m not sure I’d talk about it with a stranger, so why here?

Perhaps because the tapping of the keys is my way of therapy, my private time to process these feelings.

And it helps.

This is why I blog.

Originally posted August 28th, 2008

Last toy library day we borrowed a sizeable puppet theatre and ten puppets of differing sexes and occupations. Keira demanded a proper show. I tried, but quickly gave up. She was bored. I was bored. I couldn’t think up of a ‘nice’ story to tell.

Bad news for someone who tries to do this sort of thing for a living, eh?

Until I looked at the puppets in a different way. MY way.

I gave up trying to tell something for a ‘child’, but something I’d like to listen to as well.

This is what came to me:

 The show opened with Farmer Dave going to hospital in a serious condition after being bitten by a Funnel Web Spider. A pretty standard kind of injury, perhaps, for a outdoorsy kind of fellow, but not Dave.

You see, he’s an agoraphobic hydroponic black tomato farmer who hasn’t been seen outside his series of greenhouses in years.

Worse, he arrives at the hospital saying that he’s been the victim of an attempted murder; that the only way a spider – or any creature large or small – could get into his place was if they were deliberately placed there. And Farmer Dave is pointing the finger straight at someone – Ms. Greensbottom, his neighbour, local primary school teacher and, until recently, his mistress. Dave secretly thinks the break up has mentally unhinged his rather flightly former love, who would do anything to jeopardise his potential reconciliation to his wife, Florence, who sells Avon.

Dave whispers into the ear of the local policeman his suspicions and accusations and the policeman – Marv, local yard glass beer drinking champion, once upon a time – promises to do a discrete investigation.

{This is as far as I got before I got very thirsty and begged for a break. My daughter, caught up in the [cleaner version] of the narrative, said, “No! No! More!”}

For the life of me though, I don’t know how to include this character. He calls himself ‘The Doctor’. I call him by his real name: Kevin Rudd, MD.

 I am here to heal you

You can trust me

Just look into my eyes 

 Deeper…

I will help Australian working families.

I haven’t decided whether ‘The Doctor’ will be the hero or the villain yet.

What say you?

Nothing quite screams “GENERATIONAL GAP!” like when you’re in the Manga/graphic novel section of Borders and there is an old-school arcade video game.

So the kids sit down…

And try to get it to work with their fingers, like one of those touch screen “WHERE ARE YOU” maps the shopping centres all seem to have now.

I was part-amused, however the 80s child left inside me wept a little.

Jesus probably did too

Image Source: Alana Elliot

My friend and I arrived at the starting line yesterday on what can only be described as a rather hot morning. So we sat around in nervous anticipation and watched all the other competitors come in and register.

Well, I sat in nervous anticipation. For you see, like I mentioned last week, my training for this run had gone by the wayside. But never mind, the spirit of the day, the energy from everybody else, would drag me along, wouldn’t it?

Yes, it did. Frankly, having lots of people alongside me kept me going. I kept saying to myself, if they can do it, I can do it. Just ignore your dry mouth, my aching left foot which left me suspecting I need a new pair of sneakers, and the fact I chose such wrong songs to listen to along the journey. Yes, I had the usual techno-beats and a lot of pop, but (and here’s a tip) don’t put sad tracks on your playlist, otherwise you’ll want nothing more than to drop by the side of the track and weep.

That’s if you can see through the sweat that’s dripping into your eyes. Which I couldn’t on occasion.

My time? The official numbers hadn’t been put up as of the time I’m writing this, but on my friend’s watch I think I did the 10kms in 1hr 12min.

And I’m happy with that.

The best bit of all?

The kids holding up signs to cheer me on. And everyone else on too, because after I passed they changed the chant to “Go Mums! Go!”

They were so cute other people stopped to take pictures of the signs.

Now, I must move along now. I am stiff and sore and might go take a bath in epsom salts…

Oh, you want a photo of me? Really?

Okay, fine. Here it is:

Believe me, I took advantage of every drinks station.