A Birthday and tarts from the afterlife

My little Nugget turned 11 last week.  He's not so little anymore but he's still damn cute (coming from a biased Mum, I confess). In fact I have no idea how Mr Moneymaker and I produced such beautiful specimens as our children (we’re not bad, but we're no oil paintings).

I turned 11 this morning!

Nugget had a four day celebration - dinner at his favourite restaurant on his birthday, Friday night he had three mates over to go see Thor 2, more pizza and back for a sleepover (which went until 3.30am!!). Saturday night he went to see Sydney FC play with his Dad and Sunday morning he got to go horse riding with his Mum for two hours out at Campbelltown (just as enjoyable for me as for him – I even remembered how to trot!). Then it was lunch at Mt Annan Hotel with the family.

I don't know who was more exhausted, us or him. At least Nugget got to sleep all Saturday afternoon and in every car trip over the weekend.  We're still trying to catch up!

While we were out at Mt Annan, the sister-in-law, mother-in-law and I sneaked off to visit the Camden Psychic Fair, which was actually a dozen tables and chairs in the Community Centre with some crystal and reiki stalls thrown in.

My MIL was keen to go see if her recently departed Mum had any message for her but unfortunately, she couldn't afford to book the 20 minutes for herself.  So I thought I might wangle one of the mediums to see all three of us at once and see what turned up.  The selected psychic wasn't up for that as she said that it would be too hard to concentrate on all the incoming messages.  So I ended up sitting with her on my own, as I had paid the fee.  But I promised I would ask after Nan for her.

The session turned out to be quite interesting.  I didn't give anything away (I don't think) but she wanted to tell me that they (the spirits around her) knew that I had a good marriage and should feel content there, but she was hearing that I still felt like I hadn't achieved what I needed to.  That I should go and start studying, that I had talked about it for ages, that it may have something to do with counselling teens, probably those with drug addiction.  Well, I won't say I hadn't considered a similar career choice in the last few years, but she virtually told me to pull my finger out and get on with it - the time is now!  We’ll see if it fits in with career plans next year.

She then started to get a cough and gagged a little as she said an elderly woman was trying to get her attention, that wasn’t my Mum or Grandmother, who had some trouble breathing or eating before she passed. The old woman kept saying the name Maria, who seemed to be very close to her. I said it might be my husband’s Nan, that I wasn’t sure about the throat problems, but she was cared for by her granddaughter, Marie. She wanted Marie to know that she was fine now. When I told my MIL this, she let me know that yes, Nan had a lot of trouble swallowing during the last weeks of her life.  I’m not sure how much this was speculation on the psychic’s part, but the news made my MIL happy.

Before my time was up, I asked the psychic if there was anything from my parents.  After she told someone off to her right who was pulling her hair to get her attention (Mum, is that you?), she was getting a word image of Dancing Man. Someone who loved dancing, rhythms, rock and roll. She said he was swinging someone round and twirling them. I guess this was Dad as did love to dance and he and Mum used to perform Rock n Roll dancing when they were young (and well into their sixties too).  He told her that I needed to play music and dance more, which I love to do and just don’t always get the chance to. She made me promise I would at least put music on in the house at every opportunity. 

Her last message from him was very obtuse.  She asked me if his or Mum’s favourite food was pies and custard tarts. Well, they liked them but I don’t remember them saying it was the best meal of their lives.  After I told my sister about it, she wondered if it was anything to do with both her daughters having worked in bakeries. Maybe, but I just hope it was Mum and Dad telling me I need to go down to the pie shop and pig out.  

If I start doing that, I’ll be joining them in the afterlife sooner than I expected!

I didn’t expect too much, nothing shocking or enlightening, the experience left me a little satisfied and also a little perplexed. Wouldn’t you think all those circling, dancing, tugging spirits might have some earth shattering advice or insight? Custard tarts? Someone give me a clue!

Yum! These will send me to my grave.

*Joiningwith Essentially Jess for IBOT*

Time to get moving

Maintaining yourself can be really hard work.  Its almost a full time job.  I hear some women even spend all of their time, time that most of us spend working inside and outside the home, on keeping up their beauty, fitness and style.  Imagine that, imagine that your only responsibility was looking after yourself.

Boring.

I spend, on average, 10 minutes on self grooming in the morning, maybe 30 minutes if I'm going out.  Occasionally I go to a hairdresser, maybe once every six months and I go to a friend for a trim about every six weeks.

I'm no good at buying clothes and avoid it as much as possible.

Facials are wonderful but its a luxury that probably only happens once a year.

Manicures and pedicures are not something I have or want. Ever.

But the need to get (and stay) fit has suddenly become a luxury I can't avoid any longer.  I'm three years off the half century and though I'm in reasonably good shape (all because of genetics and not because of any effort on my part), I realise if I don't get strong and fit NOW I will be a stiff and bent over old woman before my time.

I can hear my knees creak and click everytime I climb the stairs. My scoliosis stabs me in the lower back every time I sit on the ground for more than ten minutes. If I attempt to run, my knee gives out.  My ankle can turn like a key after a long walk and my shoulders stiffen up from 30 years of slouch typing.

I need some work.

So I joined a gym (again) but this time I employed a personal trainer for a couple of sessions to make sure I was doing the right exercises and not operating the equipment backwards.  I don't mind giving her a plug, because Kim from Fit Mums was very helpful and got me moving without actually whipping me to do it.

[No kidding, this was just on TV while I typed that last paragraph!]

OK focus Becci.  So I've been a total of three times and I haven't given up!  I know I've started this before and have given up when time and life got in the way.  I had all the excuses but this time I'm more motivated.

I have new Lorna Jane gym clothes.  So yeah, I have to.

Not to mention there's probably not that many years left to save my body so it lives (and moves) for many many more years.  And I really want to learn to run, apparently that's what can help you get fit.



(This will be me after getting fit - and getting a boob job)
Have you kept fit most of your life or have you left it late?

**Joining with Essentially Jess for IBOT**

p.s. Has anyone seen that new Vodaphone ad and got freaked out with the giant baby heads?

A fortunate life, now don't blow it!

I live a fortunate life.  But I have many fears and worries that can seem unreasonable and superstitious.  Even writing this feels like I'm inviting all the jinx fairies into my life to disperse chaos and bad luck (touch wood), so like some other cultures, I have regular whinges and complain about small things like disobeying children, sore knees and bad drivers. This somehow balances the equilibrium of good and bad kharma - well I hope so anyway, otherwise I've been annoying my family with unnecessary whining all this time.

So using this logic, instead of just listing all the lovely things that are happening at the moment and tempting fate, I will balance it with a negative 'BUT':

• This week I started a brand new job BUT I had to leave my lovely old place and some wonderful friends.
• In the new job I have my very own office for the first time BUT it can get a bit lonely, I've almost always had someone sitting next to me to chat to.
• My office also has the luxury of its very own toilet BUT some female staff come in to use it and I feel a bit awkward sitting right there while they go through (should I leave the office while they go in? The toilet has two doors so totally soundproof).
• It takes me approximately five minutes to drive from my house to work BUT I need to go about 40 minutes earlier to get a parking spot and start before 8am and I don't get to buy a coffee from the best coffee maker in all of Sydney.

OK, I'm even making me annoyed at myself.  I have nothing to complain of.  So I am thanking the universe for:

• Having the opportunity to go to swish product launches/lunches with added cocktails thanks to organisations like Digital Parents and Samsung (review of the Samsung Sparkling Refrigerator with added cocktail kit giveaway coming soon!) in really amazing locations that looked out to the best city in the world:

• Having the chance to spend a weekend with my sisters whenever we can get together.  We discovered last Friday night that if we were ever to write a TV show script, it would just be a recording of our nights out and the stupid arse stuff we do and say (see picture below which is part of a series called Sunnies Girls we do with our cousin on every weekend away, this time amongst the daffodils at The Carrington, Katoomba). After all, Seinfield made a fortune with a show about nothing!

• Coming home to warm house and a family that puts up with my whinging over nothing.

There's a whole lot more I'm thankful for but I don't want to jinx it anymore. You can't be too careful, can you?

**Joining up with Essentially Jess for IBOT**

I can run!

Last Sunday I took part in the Bay Run.  Now I walk the Bay Run at least once a week with Sydney the Schnoodle so it wasn't a groundbreaking event.  But being part of a 'fun run' is.  For me.  Firstly, what's so fun about running? Every time I pass someone running they never look happy or even close to having fun, in fact they look miserable and in pain.  Secondly, I can walk forever (and I walk really fast) but every time I try to run, either my knee gives out or my ankles protest.

But because I wanted to be part of the event that passes by my front door every year, I registered myself and Sydney as 'Walker and Dog' (he even had a new hoodie to wear).

(Yes that says adidog on his back)

Nugget also wanted to register in the 2km Primary Student race as he is the most competitive kid I know.  He did really well, coming 18th amongst 433 other kids running.  And it was all in a good cause, raising money for CanTeen, to help young people living with cancer.

At the starting line I kept to the back of the pack, and I mean pack, there was a whole lot of dogs there, mostly friendly but its always best not to get in the middle of a bunch of very excited dogs, particularly the big ones.

Even though it was a chilly morning, it turned into a glorious day and as in every one of the walks I do around the bay, I was very thankful I lived in a really pretty area.

(A lovely lady runner asked if I'd like my picture taken as I was taking the previous picture)

I did my best time that day, its amazing what a little competition does!  Not that I made a mark but as I was coming up to the finish and the official told us it was only 200m to go, there was definitely a bit left in me.  A lady with a big brown dog in front of me started running so I thought, bugger this, I should at least try running through the finish line.  If nothing else it will give my husband a shock. He even got it on film! And no, I will not post that.  So here's me and Sydney at the start.

Next year Nugget wants to take Sydney in the running race and even though that dog is the fastest little ball of fluff I've every seen (and I had a whippet that wasn't as fast), I don't think Nugget's legs will be able to beat the fit guy and kelpie that won this year.

If you'd like to donate to my fundraising page for CanTeen, go here - and thankyou!

*Joining up with Essentially Jess for IBOT*

Coffee and Vodka in Melbourne

Last Wednesday we flew off to Melbourne for a little holiday (well Mr Moneymaker did some work while there) and a visit to my bestie (Ms D).  Father and son were lucky enough to have tickets to the Liverpool game.  There was an absolutely electric atmosphere on the streets leading to the MCG and we timed it perfectly dropping them off for the march as it was just as the Liverpool team were on the bus leaving the hotel. The boys jumped out of the car into the middle of a red shirted throng and suddenly we saw Nugget's bright green jumper hoisted up on his dad's shoulders to take pictures of the players through the bus windows.

The Chicken and I then spent a very tense half hour trying to find our way to Ms D's house in Elsternwick. I'm sure the GPS conspired against us as it would only tell us to turn left when we were four lanes over to the right.  It probably didn't help that I flipped the headlights off with all the indicating I was doing.  Rest assured I took public transport for the rest of our stay.

I love Melbourne.  It feels like a city should.  There's enough culture, history and style to keep me happy with the odd busker thrown in.  St Kilda and Acland Street could keep me happy for weeks - shopping, trams, music, bars and the best cake shops! And all right near the bay (well, what I call a bay and what St Kilda calls a beach - I did grow up in Cronulla after all).  The graffiti art is a photographer's dream.

There wasn't just shopping (though the only clothing I did buy was that begged for, overpriced coat for Chicken shown above).  Ms D took us to one of the best play centres I've seen called Bounce Inc.  Any kid, of any age, can bounce off trampolines and walls to their heart's content for an hour for only $15.  I would have had a go myself except I hadn't packed the Depends.

We even had a close up look at The Block Sky High (even though we missed seeing two of the contestants leaving the property by about 10 minutes as I was dragging the kids around the streets via Google Lost while Mr Moneymaker was comfortably parked outside).

There were many coffees had (and a heavenly Chilli Hot Chocolate) and even a little Star Wars shopping for Nugget.

On our last night there, Ms D took me to the promised land, the Vodka Bar, After the Tears in Elsternwick. We didn't have dinner there but we did partake in a tasting tray of exotic vodkas and a few Chicken Meatballs. Couldn't tell you exactly what all the types of vodka were called but my favourite was the Bielska Miodowa "the purest honey vodka, very honeyey".  Once we had finished these we decided to stick to the familiar vodka-tonic-lime that we can handle so well.  I will have to go back one day and delve into the dinner menu (even if I can't pronounce most of the dishes). Unfortunately it was a relatively early night as we had an early flight in the morning.

I'm determined to go back soon (hopefully when the weather is something above freezing!) and until I do I will remember sitting in a sidewalk cafe, sipping a perfect coffee and hearing the Jamaican busker down the road above the 'Ding Ding' of a St Kilda tram.

*This is not a sponsored post, all expenses paid by me and Mr Moneymaker*

**Joining with Essentially Jess for IBOT**

Memoirs and Blogging - IBOT

I've been getting out lately - it helps to force myself to get out there when the black mood descends. Last night I was invited to a talk at Officeworks by Stuart Bocking and Jason Morrison from 2UE and from BRW on running a business.  They had lots of useful advice on tax, depreciation, legislation, promotion on social media and websites and how to apply for a government grant, things that every business needed to know but weren't aware that the so much information and assistance was freely available to them.  You'd think I would nod off with all that exciting banter, but surprisingly I didn't have to feign interest.  It actually made me want to start my own business.  One day.  Not for a while.  Too scary.

They put on a great free event for local businesses with nibblies (wish I hadn't eaten dinner beforehand!) and a goodie bag which made my kids very happy - who doesn't love stationery!  To top it all off they gave away some great door prizes to most of the attendees.  I was a lucky recipient of a HKC Multi-Touch Tablet!  It was really heartening to see a successful company like Officeworks wanting to help the small business owner.

Tonight was an event more up my alley.  A couple of well respected bloggers (and ones I've been lucky to meet before), Zoey Martin and Eden Riley, spoke with Jo Case about Memoirs and Blogging at the NSW Writers Centre in Rozelle.

It was a nice and intimate affair with Eden and Zoey sharing their stories on how and why they started blogging and how different it is to writing a memoir.  Jo Case had published a book on the story of her life and about her son with Aspergers.  She also blogged for awhile and also had a lot of input on the differences between blogging and writing a memoir.

Now to be truthful my initial motivation to go tonight was just to hear Eden and Zoey talk about blogging, I had even forgotten that the ad in the SMH Spectrum had said it was also about writing memoirs.  I've had it in the back of my mind that I would one day write a memoir as I haven't been able to take writing fiction seriously for a long time.  Not that my life has been stranger than fiction (some people may beg to differ), but the more I think about people's real lives, their relationships and family history, the more I believe that the truth is so much more entertaining and enthralling.

Does this mean that I'm about to take on the great personal story?  Can I hold the interest in myself for the amount of time and dedication it takes to actually produce a book?  Do I have the ego big enough?  Probably not, but maybe I could use it as a stepping stone to learn about my parents' stories in more depth and present that as a great read.

This brings in a whole lot of bumps in the road that I've been grappling with for awhile.  To tell the whole truth I will have to bring up some painful stuff that not everyone involved will be happy with and it also brings up the problem of do I KNOW the whole truth?  Probably not and because there were so many skeletons in the family closet I don't think I'll ever know the truth so it brings me to the decision of making a fictional memoir.  Writing some truth and embellishing other truths.  That way everyone will be happy, right?  mmmm.....

p.s. To those siblings reading this, let me know what you think would be the right way to write this story right!

**Joining with Essentially Jess for IBOT.**

Unschooling - Why I think its a ridiculous idea (IBOT)

(One of the unschooled on The Project)

Last night one of my favourite programs screened a story on Unschooling (not to be confused with home schooling which is entirely different).  If you missed it you can read about it here.

Now I know people all have their own opinions, but when it comes to things like vaccinations and education, I stick to the facts.  When you’re playing around with children’s health and access to opportunities, its best to educate yourself with research.

There’s been a lot of of hooha (you don’t hear that word very much these days) about the movement to scare parents into adopting the practice (or non practice as it seems) of not vaccinating their children.  Not only is this dangerous to their and other children, it is not backed up by any scientific research (but I’m not going into that huge debate here, there’s been enough already).  So when this story on unschooling appeared on The Project last night, a little bit of the hippy in me died.  Diehard principles can go jump when they don’t make any sense.

Why would anyone keep their little blank canvas they created in the dark and not open them up to all that the world can offer.  One of the mothers interviewd said she wouldn’t care if her daughter didn’t find history interesting as she didn’t like it either.  Yeah, that’s intelligent.  Make sure your child doesn’t get interested in things you aren’t into because of course they are not their own little individuals, they’re an exact replica of their parent!   Aaarrrgh!  What stupidity and narrow mindedness.  

Another parent of a six year old girl said that her older son had problems at school and all he wanted to do was computer programming.  So she pulled him out to do what he wanted at home.  He’s now studying computers at university and apparently getting top marks.  All well and good if he has learnt that when things get difficult you don’t solve it by just running away to do whatever you want.  For all I know they were unsolvable problems but it is still no excuse to assume that her daughter will benefit from the same unschooling her son enjoyed.

As Carrie said after the story, some things you found dead boring to learn at school can come back to you later in life and you realise you were really glad you were there to discover it. Even my children started to tsk and hmmph at the idea. They love going to school (Year 5 and Year 9) and know that the world will still value the merit of conventional schooling in regards to finding their place.

When I was in high school (uhoh, here we go, I hear), personal computers had just started to go into the workplace (no sign of them in school of course) and I was dead against them.  I believed they were going to put everyone out of work and ruin my imagined career as a journalist.  I left at age 15 after deciding two weeks before the end of 4th Form (or Year 10 as it’s called now) that nothing interested me at school in the next two years.  I started working in an office the following March in 1982 and discovered I had a knack to operate the enemy.  I developed a bit of an obsession with the PC. First a Wang, then a Decmate where I first learnt that it felt I was creating art when I developed my first database at the CSR Library.

But I didn’t go back and get my HSC and go on to University to explore what else was open to me and I deeply regret that.  I closed my mind and have virtually never risen above a secretary in most jobs I’ve been employed in for the last 32 years.  I can’t blame my parents because they were poor and didn’t push me to go further and I can’t blame my first partner for keeping me from finding independence.  It’s my fault. Fear is still stopping me.

(from here)

But I’m trying to show my children all that the world is offering and telling them everyday they can do anything they set their mind to and I will back them all the way. Part of that is offered at home and a huge part is offered by schooling.  By the number and by the diversity of teachers and students they will come into contact with over the many years. By being away from the protective wing of their parents and learning how to interact with other personalities.  By discovering that there is more mysteries in the world yet to discover beyond what they find on the internet.

To think for themselves.

Hopefully the mothers in the story come to realise that their little sponges need more than what’s offered by their parent.  No one person is an island.

Rant over.  Your turn!

**Joining Essentially Jess for IBOT!**

Message from your past

Don't you wish you had a video tape of yourself at different ages where you had a little conversation about what you were doing and thinking, what you wanted to do with your life, your ambitions and what you thought you might be like when you were older?

These days more people are recording themselves privately than ever before in history. Its the days of vlogs and podcasts and YouTube and Instagram.  We seem to have a visual record of every little thing we do (do I really need to take a photo of the pretty pattern on my latte and show 650 acquaintances?)

It makes me wonder how many people are actually taping themselves saying things that could be worth keeping for the rest of their lives.

(me as a kid - notice Mum's cool crochet vest and paisley top with her pink trousers? 70's fashion was wicked, eh?)

For example, what would I have had said to my older self when I was 8, 10, 12 or 14?  Imagine seeing your teenage self, full of that youthful arrogance and confidence (yeah, right), letting the 47 year old me know that no matter what, I would not be working with computers as I believed they would put too many people out of work.  And that while I was completing my Journalism Degree I would be travelling around the world, having mad affairs everywhere so that eventually I would be able to write the best selling novel of the 21st century!

Then when I was in my 20's I would have recorded a short message where I hoped I eventually escaped from the non-career of being a secretary, that hoped I was either now a blissful earth mother or a very happy divorcee with an exciting career who travelled to places like Africa and Nepal and wrote a best selling novel.

Now that I think about it, maybe it was better I didn't make those tapes throughout my life.  Who's to say it would have changed the course of my life, or whether it was all supposed to fall this way.  I don't think it would have been a good idea to take advice from a dreamy, unrealistic hormonal teenager or from a young woman who spent her youth with the wrong man, binge drinking and dancing by herself.

And of course how on earth would I have played a floppy disk or video tape nowadays?

What kind of video tape would your younger self made?

*Joining up with Essentially Jess and IBOT*

**Don't forget to grab a chance at 12 months free private health insurance through registering with 1stAvailable.com.au**

Rhythms and Blues

(Remember Biorhythms? They were big in the '70s')

I think I've worked out my rhythms.  No, not those bodily functions, way past that.  I've realised that my moods have a kind of pattern.  Sometimes they are influenced by events and what's happening around me and sometimes they build up over a static period in my life and I feel like I might sink into a really big, black hole.  And until I experience a bit of the 'Black Dog', I can't feel the euphoric rush of creative inspiration afterwards.

This has happened recently where for some time after my trip to Christchurch I became more and more moody, OK let's say depressed, for no particular reason.  It could have been the effects of seeing that beautiful city in ruins, it could have been the experience of feeling the tragedy through my body when I entered a vacant lot which housed one of the buildings where many died.  It could just simply be the effort of daily life of working and being a mum when I returned home.  No big problems in my life, I live a very fortunate life (these days!) in a very fortunate country.  I'm very, very lucky.  So when that crappy mood hits me I also carry the guilt of having no good reason to feel like shit.

That's when something has to happen to break the blah's.  And it usually comes in the form of a night out with fun people, good music and a bit of drunken dancing (unfortunately its immediately followed in the morning by what my Mum used to call "a sick headache", otherwise known as a screaming hangover).  It was a last minute offer from Mr Moneymaker's little sister, Aunty Moo, last Thursday for a night out and I jumped at the chance.  I'd just had two weeks of spending my school holidays being a taxi driver for Nugget's and Chicken's activities, the first week with no backup as Mr Moneymaker was in China.

I was also getting very frustrated with my lack of sewing skills during my 'Mess Makeover', turning our garage into a kids' paradise.  Somewhere in the last 32 years I have lost all of my sewing skills - I can't even put a straight hem on a curtain!

So along with quite a few days of domestic bickering (which always seem to happen after Mr M returns from an overseas trip), I was VERY ready to let loose.  There was a bit of logistics to work out (daughter had to be dropped off at work and picked up and taken to a sleepover while her brother was going to be left alone at home while we were at dinner) and unfortunately Mr Moneymaker would miss out on the after dinner fun at the pub.  Though his sister Moo couldn't wait - she almost jumped out of her skin when I told her it was Live Band Karaoke Night!

Great night, singing, dancing and yes some amount of vodka was consumed (with the inevitable 'sick headache' the next morning).  Aunty Moo outdid herself (she's a very talented singer) with the last song of the night, "These boots were made for walking".

It took me a couple of days to notice the change in rhythm in my mood but it did change.  After a fairly relaxing weekend and some interesting Twitter conversations, I found myself suddenly full of inspiration and creativity - ideas for my blog, a business concept and a way where I could use my administration skills to put together a network for back-to-work mums.

For now I've got my groove back and as long as I keep the momentum up, I can keep the Black Dog at bay.

How do you keep yourself on the up?

*Joining up with Essentially Jess and IBOT*

The Yellow Car© Story

Once upon a time there was a tiny little girl called Chicken who loved to go on expeditions with her Daddy.  These expeditions would take them all over the land of Sydney to pick up and deliver mysterious cardboard boxes which would contain tiny, shiny yellow and green digging machines that her Daddy would sell to excited collectors.

One day they were on a long expedition to the Far West when a very shiny, yellow sports car sped past them and Chicken yelled out "yellow car!" and because it was in the time when they was hardly any yellow cars around, they wanted to follow it.  Now as sports cars are very fast and blue station wagons are not, they tried to drive very fast on a lonely freeway to catch up to it.  

They never caught it.

And ever since then the legend of the Yellow Car began a tradition of the best car game in history, Yellow Car© .

For about 13 years we have been playing this game which is simply points given for every yellow car spotted. If you spot a yellow van, it's double points; a yellow truck or bus, triple points; a yellow helicopter (yes I have actually scored that one), 10 points.

This game has given our family hours of lively competition on long and short car trips.  Admittedly some are more competitive than others and this has developed into a list of rules mainly set by the main driver, Mr Moneymaker.  The rules have been contested fiercely as they seem to change with every spotted yellow car.  For example, cannot award points: if there are an odd number of people in the car; or if somebody is asleep unless it's Nugget; or if the car engine is not running; or if the yellow cars spotted are lined up in a row, say in a car yard.

They go on and have kept growing to the point where Chicken decided that a Yellow Car© Rule Book was needed.  So she created one with all the rules that were already set and extra pages for those that were yet to be created (and we knew there would be more!).

I know that we've never kept a record of our scores (even though that yellow helicopter spotting should have been the winner of all time), but this one I spotted in Akaroa, New Zealand last week should have been the all time classy winner:

(it's even got my species on it!)

This game created by our family has now been passed on to other families and friends so it can grow and spread throughout the land, perhaps one day to become more popular than I Spy (and don't tell me everybody's not getting totally sick of that game!).

So if you're hard up for a simple game to play in the car (it can even be played by yourself, not that I have, ever, no no no), please feel free to go right ahead.  And if you get a little bored of Yellow Car© you can try our offshoot game, Mattress©.  That's where you spot mattresses dumped on the side of the road, if you didn't guess it already.

*Don't forget to check out my fundraising page for Care Australia to motivate me doing 10,000 steps a day with the Digital Parents Conference team.

**This true fairytale is part of Essentially Jess's IBOT.

All Shook Up

At our last visit at our family namesake's street

This Thursday I will be flying off to Christchurch with my three sisters to take Mum's remaining ashes back to her birthplace.  In fact we were all born there but Mum was brought up on a dairy farm which is now the local golf course.  There are some massive pine trees at the outskirts of the grounds which, if we are discrete enough, is where we may be 'planting' her (I really hope no NZ golfing officials are reading this and decide to do a stakeout this weekend!).

Jess with her Grandad and Nanna

Now most people that know me well are aware of my (probably) unrealistic fear of flying.  Yes, yes, I know there's more chance of me dying in a car crash than falling out of the sky (and don't think I'm not a little jumpy in a passenger seat on a freeway!).  On top of unexpected turbulence (and expected by me of course), there is a real fear of disaster that is just a bit more real in Christchurch.

Earthquakes.

I avoided the airing of that documentary about the Christchurch earthquake 2 years ago accidentally on purpose.  I didn't need the reminder in graphic detail shown on hand held cameras. I did however catch the end of the program afterwards showing the volunteers clearing rubble for the five days after the disaster.  Sobering stuff.

I know its probably going to be an unsettling experience (particularly when I see the site where the TV station's building collapsed, killing many including the brother of a friend of mine), but I'm kind of looking forward to being there.

Just not looking forward to being in the air for three hours to get there.

And though we are doing something supposedly seriously sentimental (love a bit of alliteration), I'm looking forward to the four of us traipsing around our birthplace and having Mum come along for the ride.

Three sisters at lunch in Akaroa on last visit

The house that Dad built where I was born....

which is next to the cemetery (which happens to welcome Birds!)

Any Kiwi's out there need me to bring back some chocolate fish?

*Joining up with Essentially Jess for IBOT*

My Christmas Wish List

I've been tagged! Not in the ugly graffiti on the railway station wall kind of tagged, but blog-tagged in the My Christmas Wish List kind of way by Rachel of The Kids Are All Right fame.

This means I get to ask Santa for my heart's desire. So pretending that reality has been suspended for a moment and its a given that there is already world peace and people have stopped hurting each other, this is what I wish for:

• Me and my family to live forever.  And I mean All my family.  It sucks watching people grow old or get sick and then everybody dies.  There's too many stories that haven't yet been told!
• A spell that that turns back time in my face and body and so when I get up on Christmas morning  I suddenly spring up out of bed without any protest from my knees and back.  My eyes are fully open and focussed without scrabbling blindly around for glasses and when I look in the mirror there aren't ten more creases or five more age spots on my face.  I look 20 again.  Now that would be a mighty fine present.
• Enough spare time to work, exercise, write, cook, read, shop, play and sleep! Without sacrificing anything.
• To eat anything I damn well please without thinking how it will either make me fat or give me heartburn or stomach cramps or high cholesterol and heart disease.
• A hot, red Vespa.  Now that is actually possible except for the fact my husband thinks I will probably kill myself within the first year of dodging crazy four wheel driving maniacs. (And before you jump on top of me, I've been one of those crazy four wheel driving maniacs.)

Just like this

That's all I can think of for now but later tonight I'm sure I will think of at least another dozen surreal wishes.

Now to hand it on ...

Mumstrosity

Mummy Issues

Where's My Glow

Chromama

Let me know what your ultimate Christmas Wish List is. 

[Joining up with the last Essentially Jess for IBOT for 2012.]

It started with a little duck

 (my photo of a Leunig cartoon)

There's one thing in our house that is traditional as Christmas.  Every year (well as long as they've been available) we make sure we receive the Sydney Morning Herald's free Michael Leunig calendar.  And before they were around, I used to rip out the little cartoons from the paper/magazines and stick them up on the fridge or at my desk or wherever I wanted to be reminded of the simpler way of looking at things.  There have been a few of Leunig's books hanging around the house for as long as I can remember as well.

So when an opportunity to listen to him speak about his lovely, big, new book I did not hesitate to buy a ticket.  He appeared at Palace Cinemas thanks to Penguin and to Shearers Bookshop in Leichhardt on Monday night and spoke to a cinema full of loving admirers (well I guess they were admirers, why else would they be there?).

(my photo of Leunig book)

Michael Leunig is a lovely man.  

He is in 70's (I only found this out by looking up his biography as I thought he might be in his 50's!), and was wonderfully bumbling in his humbleness and had an endearing way of expressing his innocence and at the same time his disappointment in the world around him.  He thought he might be starting to "sprout wings which are slowly helping him float and back away from the craziness of the world" - or something like that.  He also said that even though we have so much more information these days we are losing our wisdom.  Can't argue with that.  

Michael Leunig is a wise man.

You might not agree with all his views in his cartoons but you can't argue with his honesty and authenticity.  And every time I've opened this bedside book, I've had a chuckle.  Michael (yes we are on first name basis now of course) explained how the little duck came about when he started out working for a daily newspaper who put the pressure on him to produce a political cartoon every day.  He struggled to find anything to put in this space at first and that's when the duck appeared to show him the way.  And it has helped him ever since.  Apparently its an ancient symbol of guidance which can appear unexpectantly. 

(he drew me my own little duck!)

He tells a story of a mural he was asked to add his duck to in a famous gallery in Australia. His name was added to the plaque next to the painting. When it was on show he happened to be there when an elderly visitor from New York was visiting.  The man saw his name there and told him his name was also Leunig.  It turned out that he was a relative that Michael was totally unaware of as he had never investigated his family history before.  This led him to finding about his heritage and the legend of the duck in European folklore.  Apparently it appears in Hansel and Gretel to carry them across a lake when they were escaping from the old witch.

You gotta love a duck.

*This was not a sponsored post, I just like to support our local bookshop and am an admirer of Michael Leunig.  I paid for my ticket and bought his new book myself. 

P.S. A much more professional review of this night has been written by Jane at Shearers here.

**I'm joining Essentially Jess for IBOT.