So this is what a normal family is like...

Here is a photo I took in Phuket at the resort. It illustrates how this week has been with only two children here. Ahhhhhhhhh, so calm, peaceful and serene. (No sarcasm here. I actually mean it.) When I took this back in September it was about 10am. The air was sticky and humid. The kids were all back at the room watching pirated dvds we'd bought the night before and I was wandering around the grounds with my brand new camera having some quiet time. All I could hear was the sound of water and birds. The sea was a distant rumble in the distance. The tropical foliage was bright with flowers. Very few people were about. I had a lovely time doing nothing much, just taking a few photos.

Tony (the ex husband) has had the two older boys all this week. He has a fruit shop and he needed some help while a couple of his workers were on holiday. The boys were rapt because they're of an age where the $5 a week pocket money I give them isn't quite keeping them in the champagne lifestyle they aspire to. I was rapt because I want them to study hard, go to uni and get a degree, and nothing will light that fire more than a week of standing on a concrete floor, lifting heavy boxes and dealing with the general public. So since Sunday night I've had just Brennan (13) and Connor (11) here.

This may offend some people with only one or two children.... but you guys have a bloody beautiful existence. What are you all complaining about?? I've never had such a glorious absence of arguments, angst and racing around in my life. We've had a lovely time. Brennan and Connor get along beautifully. They wouldn't say so, but really I guess you'd call them best friends. We've gone a whole week with not a single raised voice or appeal for Mum to adjudicate. (That's because Jack isn't here. He feels that he's the man of the house, even though it's patently obvious that I am. I have the hairdo to prove it. The red toenails, mascara and skirts may detract slightly from this, though.)

This week we go with the flow. If we feel like pancakes for lunch, then we have them. If we want to stay up till 11 playing Tetris (the only game I like), then we do. (I beat the kids. Once. I'm a legend.) We've had takeaway three times this week because there's only three of us so it's cheap! Cheap I tell you! If one of them gets a call to meet mates at the pool or to go to a friend's place, they're old enough to ride their bikes. They're old enough to have their own interests, so the whole week has been a gentle ebb and flow of us sometimes spending time together doing whatever, then drifting off to do our own things before coming back together again. I tell you, you people with only two kids are living the dream. You've died and gone to heaven without actually having to go through all the dying part. You've won Tattslotto, but in a more spiritually uplifting way than having mere filthy lucre. (Though that'd be good too.)

I kid you not, this week has been just as relaxing as having a whole week child-free. It's been that level of pure calm, but with more company. Now before you fill my comments section with abusive missives, let me state that I realise that I'm lucky.

Brennan and Connor are both primary kids. Bren starts secondary in a couple of weeks, and we all know that that's where they start to drift off. This is almost certainly the last summer I'll have where he is still in love with me. (I don't mean in a disturbing, call-Child-Protection way, so calm down.) You know how little kids are born with that need to bond and be with their parents? Seeing as how I've been the only one to bring them up on a consistent day by day way (I've been divorced for 11 years), it means that I've been the main focus of all of this love.

(I in no way mean to imply that they don't love their Dad. They adore him, and he adores them. In 11 years he has never missed an access weekend with them, which is statistically unprecedented. But the way our lives have turned out it means that I'm the rock that they base their lives on. )

Brennan and Connor still have that unquestioning love and affection for me. It's a beautiful thing that I know will soon change and evolve into a different way of interacting as they move into adolescence. Jack (15) was always a little distant. He's as stubborn as I am. And as bossy. It's outrageous. But at least he's communicative. You can't get that kid to shut up. Jordan, on the other hand, was like the younger two kids are now. He's just finished year 7, and the drifting away to establish his own identity has begun.

It's bittersweet. Taking the long view; there's no way I want any of them to be a 'Mummy's Boy'. There's nothing more stomach-turning in a grown man. However, the complicated dance that we have now started will eventuate (I hope) into a mother/son relationship with each of them that is deep, funny and respectful (on both sides.)

Particularly as they will probably all be living here till they're 45, judging by current trends.

So it's been a lovely gift, having the two little ones here. There's no adolescent angst, no backing off and advancing back... just three people who adore each other, hanging out and having a good time. Kids who hug me and tell me they love me for no particular reason, just because they feel like saying it. I've been known to do the same thing too. They get along and they share. They have complimentary senses of humour, so in that regard I'm as lucky as all get out. They entertain each other.

One thing was weird though. Only putting out three plates for dinner each night. It seemed too meagre. FIVE plates is normal.

Tonight I drop the little ones off to Tony's for the weekend, and then they're all back on Sunday night. I'm looking forward to seeing Jack and Jordan today, all grown up and working in the shop. I'm really proud of the way they're developing as people (so far. The proof is in the pudding, as they say, and we're a long way from finished yet.) But this week has been like an oasis. I don't think I'll have a week like this again. And it's been lovely.

OH HAPPY DAY!!!!

This is how I felt when I woke up today. It's the last day!!! Oh hoo-bloody-ray! O love my job, I really do, but I'm exhausted. I'm so glad the holidays are here... I'm planning a few days of sleeping, reading, knitting and sleeping, with a few nanna naps thrown in before the serious business of holidays kicks in. I have to finish 4 quilts for the boys because I told some people at work I would, and I have to do some painting around the place to stop my home looking like a slumlord's pre-renovation project, I have to catch up with people who probably think I've died because I haven't been in touch for so long, and who knows? I might even go on a date or two. I've had 18 months off but maybe I'd better get back on the horse. I've found that I really enjoy my life without the trauma of romance in it, but my dear friend Widget kindly informed me on the weekend that I was turning into a nanna. Just because I preferred to stay at home, watch 'Survivor' and knit on a Saturday night. Personally, I don't see what the resemblance is (my Grandma would rather die than watch 'Survivor'; especially a double episode) but perhaps she might have a point.

The VCE results came out this week. I was happy with how my English class went (5 kids scored over 40, which was nice, though only 1 of my ESLs did, which was disappointing). We're now busy getting class lists for next year. It looks like I'm going to be teaching the daughter of one of my besties, the blogless Sandy. I've known Kate since she was about 3 or 4, so it should be entertaining. Ohhh.... the skeletons I could drag out if she misbehaves in class..... I could bring in the happy snaps of the time it rained and she, her brother and my boys all ran out and danced in the rain in their underwear. Who cares if she was only 4 at the time? Other big school news is that we now know the name of our new principal. We're so fortunate that the current Assistant Principal was chosen by the selection committee. She is absolutely incredible at her job, works harder than anybody and I believe has been hugely instrumental in lifting the school to the current position it has. She really deserved to have the chance to have the top job and show what she can do, and I'm so pleased that she got it. It could've been a vastly unsettling year next year if the wrong person was given the job (I don't have any candidate in mind here, I'm just speaking generally), so I'm very happy that the decision fell how it did.

Here is a photo of Brennan (boy number 3) graduating from primary school last night. I snared front row seats for Connor and I, (Tony, Vivienne and the other two boys got the seats I grabbed for them 3 rows back.... well, that's what you get for being an ex husband...) and we had a lovely night. Brennan spoke really well, said his ambition was to be a guitarist and was one of the most confident actors in his little skit that he was in. I was so proud, though considering his mother is a Drama teacher you'd expect that performance would be tucked away in his genes somewhere. (I said g-e-n-e-s, not jeans. He's far too young for any of that nonsense.) I got slightly teary when a photo flashed up during the slide show of Brennan in prep. He was so gorgeous back then. How they change....

(That was a joke Bren, in case you ever read this. You're still gorgeous. Just taller.)

I'll finish with a photo of the Christmas gifts I made for the year 10 form captains to thank them for putting up with them. (No one thinks form assemblies are the highlight of the job.) Most student managers take the easy way out and buy bottles of wine or something, but I don't think form assemblies are so hideous that I have to spend half my week's grocery budget on people (there's 10 form groups at year 10) and so I made Christmas muffins instead. I invested my time, creativity and love in these gifts. I found these really stylish square china dishes and they were perfect for cradling a big colourful muffin. Who doesn't love a muffin with chocolate on the top at morning recess time?

I had a plan in my mind to make half the muffins with bright green icing and half with red, to make them all Christmassy, but my plan came unstuck when I was icing them at midnight. The school had its Presentation night to celebrate the high achievers, so i didn't get home till 11.30 or so. At that hour of the night, I made an executive decision that one colour only would do. I was also going to sift through the mini M&Ms to just use the Christmas colours, but that didn't happen either. Before school the next morning I was wrapping them with clear cellophane over the top, and that made the colours really zing! They looked fantastic. At midnight the previous night I was cursing my 'hand-made with love' idea, and if Dan Murphy's had've been open at that hour of the night I might've made a quick trip down to the bottle-o's; but once they were wrapped and I could see how bright they looked, I was rapt that I'd done it. Yes, it's true. Cooking can be fun.

Busy busy busy.

What a busy few days! My weekend went pretty much as planned. I didn't see a soul the whole time, though before you think I got too antisocial I talked my my friends widget, Pitsa and Sandy on the phone. I baked so much that I can't fit anything else in the freezer... and I've got a full length freezer... I did a bit of gardening and housework, knitted and sewed. Put me back 100 years and I'd fit right in. Except for the bit where I was knitting in front of a double episode of 'Survivor: China'. Knitting a boring thing like an afghan demands a rollicking two hours of junk tv.

(Incidentally, future Frogdancer owes me a big debt of gratitude. Do you remember a couple of weeks ago I said that I'd put the afghan away for this summer when I'd knitted four out of the eight balls that this mammoth thing demands, and I'd pick it up again next year when it got nippy? Well, I was dying to get started on the two jumpers I've got wool for, but when I got up to the 'put-the-afghan-away' stage, I thought "I'll just get a little bit of next year's knitting done." So far I've knitted six out of the eight balls. Future Frogdancer had better send me some kind thoughts when she's blissfully knitting away on wool that isn't acrylic afghan yarn. I'm so bored with it, but I have to get the stupid thing finished. That girl owes me... big time.)

I went out to the veggie garden and realised that I've left the purple beans for too long. One lot are fine, but the others have started drying on the vine, and the leaves were turning yellow. What an idiot I am. So I frantically picked what I could save, and then brought the really dry ones inside to finish drying on the windowsill. With a bit of luck we'll get perpetual beans out of our one packet of seeds. (Even if the amount of seeds I harvested is a little more than I'd planned.) Ah well, you live and learn. The cucumbers are growing up to near the top of the side fence, and I'm harvesting one a day already, which makes Brennan and Jack happy, as they love to crunch right in to a whole cucumber. The lettuces are threatening to go to seed, so I'll have to pop down to Bentleigh market on Sunday to get some more baby ones. Everything is growing like crazy, and the plants all look happy.

I ended up leaving my quilt cutting and sewing till Sunday. I thought that I'd get all that I had to get done first, and then do the thing I was itching to do. So Sunday afternoon at 1pm I set myself up. The kids don't get dropped off till 6pm, so I had a huge chunk of time. I had so much fun. It's ridiculous when you step back and look at it. All I was doing was cutting out little bits of fabric and sewing them together while singing at the top of my lungs to my shuffling ipod. (By the way... I've got awesome taste in music. My ipod doesn't have one bad track. I never listen to it through headphones; I bought a thingy that lets me plug it into my stereo speakers. I love it, on the childfree occasions that I'm able to listen to it.) I was in heaven. The owl fabric I bought with the chunky, cute yet manly owls was big enough that I could play around with what I was including in the small squares. So I have owls peeping in from the sides, or up from the bottom, or squarely and chunkily in the middle. It looks so good!!!! I got most of the squares done, but then I started to run out of stash. (I can almost hear gasps of dismay coming from the quilting community....) I have about 10 more owl squares to surround with other fabric, and I'll have to go and buy a few more pieces. My rationalisation for this is that I must be doing a terrific job in using up the stash of fabric I already have, because none of the pieces I have left are big enough to use. So my frugality kick is appeased, and sometime soon I'll pop down to Spotlight and have a wander.

Anyway, there I was, singing away, happy in my own little world, when at 4.30 I heard a car door slam. I glanced out of the window, at first casually, and then with increasing shock and horror. Tony had brought the boys home an hour and a half early.!!! That never happens..... Within 30 seconds of them walking in the door my music full of awesomeness was switched off and they were in my face. "Mum, guess what happened yesterday...?" "Mum, where's my footie?" "Mum, I love you what can I eat?" *sigh*

But the extra time I had with them enabled Connor to begin his own blog. Since looking at photo blogs like 3191 , TJ Sky's Photo Journal and the photos on Pleasant View Schoolhouse he's become more and more interested in photography. Since I bought my new camera for Phuket, my old Canon digital has been for family use, and Connor has had his 11 year old self stuck behind the viewfinder, experimenting with different ways to look at the world. His blog is called Swarming With Tadpoles . If you've got a spare couple of minutes please pop over and give him a hello. Keep in mind that he's only 11, so the photos aren't gallery quality. (Yet. He's a Virgo, so he's driven to get better. I don't know who he takes after....) He has full artistic control over what goes onto his site (and it's interesting for me to see the choices he makes about what goes on and what stays off.) Who knows? This could be the baby steps of a future career...

Isn't having kids and watching them grow up the best fun? All of the possibilities they play with.... I love it. With having four kids all close together in age, I guess that this is magnified in my house. They've reached the early to mid adolescent stage where their worlds open up. They're old enough to have developed skills and tastes and young enough not to have boxed themselves off from any opportunities, and now they're exploring everything that grabs their interest. Photography for Connor, and to a lesser extent Brennan; music for Brennan and Jordan, and now Jack has jumped on board with huge enthusiasm too; art for Jordan; knitting for Brennan... who knows what will come next? I think it's fantastic. Life gets busy here but it's rarely boring.

And speaking of rarely boring... yesterday at work I moved desks. I vacated the year 10 office and went back home to staffroom 1... back with my besties. I'd forgotten how nice it is to be with a whole lot of people instead of just one. I'm back to back in the same aisle with Scott , and the rest of the staffroom is dotted with the people I really like here at work. We asked Widget to move from staffroom 3, but apparently she likes her desk because she can put her feet up on the windowsill and correct work in comfort. That sort of indecorous, wild and free behaviour just wouldn't do in our staffroom, so she's staying where she is.

Ho hum! It's seven thirty. Time to wake the primary kids and get them moving.

Second last Christmas concert ever...

One more to go.... one more to go!!!!

Yes, last night was the annual primary school Christmas concert, which in these mad days of political correctness is officially known by the mealy-mouthed title of 'Celebration Concert' instead. (Gee guys, what exactly are we celebrating? What's that you say? Christmas? Then lets just call it a Christmas concert, shall we? I'm pretty sure the other denominations won't mind.)

Rant over. Back to business. The running around before we got there was horrendous. I raced home from work to pick up Jordan for his last piano lesson with his teacher ever. He's been learning with Vicki for 4 years, but she's finishing her music degree this year and her plans are very uncertain next year, so he's had to take up piano at school next year. (He passed the audition a few days ago. I was so relieved.) Seeing as it was their last ever lesson, she brought out some Rachmaninoff and they played one of the concertos from 'Shine' together. They both had so much fun. I'd cancelled Brennan's guitar lesson because of the Christm (sorry) Celebration concert, so I was able to sit there for an hour and fifteen knitting the afghan (will that thing never end?) and enjoying the music. At the end he gave her a card and a present from Phuket, they hugged, she got teary... it was all good.

Then the hell began. There was no time to cook anything for dinner between the arrival home and the concert, and I had no cash in my wallet. That morning Connor had sidled up to me with that cute expression youngest children wear when they know they're going to ask something that will cause panic in their parent. Basically: Grade 6 bomber jackets need to be ordered at $48 a pop. These jackets are individually printed every year with each grade 6ers name on the back, so they're special to the kids. Fair enough. The money was due today. He informs me of this at 8.09am. The kid was born under a lucky star. I had $48.60 in cash. Which leaves precious little to spend at the fish and chip shop. I had to think of a place that takes credit cards and will be quick. The concert starts at 6.30, and I was driving home at 6.03 with no plan for dinner.

$25 later I leave the 'Red Rooster' drive through with 4 quarter chicken and chips packs. That's a lot of money to spend on chips and a few drumsticks. I drive home. We have 10 minutes to eat, scrub up and be out the door. We walk in. Brennan and Connor are blissfully playing the Eyetoy with a sublime indifference to such mundane things as the time. Shoes and socks are off... I commented sweetly and tactfully about how I felt, considering it was their fault we were racing around like crazy.

So now we're eating a very expensive take out meal with no time to savour it.
"Just stuff it in!" I bellow as Connor delicately picks up his hunk of chicken and nibbles at it.
"Can I eat this meal with braces on?" Brennan asks.
"Swallow it whole if you have to," I shriek. "Just hurry up!!"

Connor lost his shoes and was racing around looking for them. Brennan was in the bathroom picking chicken out of his braces. Jordan had given up and was waiting in the car. I shovel them all into the car, drive to the school, which at 6.38 had cars parked all around for about 23 suburbs in every direction, dropped them off at the school gate, then drove streets away until I could find a park. Grabbed my bag with my wallet and patchwork supplies (did I forget to mention that I had a quilting class that starts at 7.30 later that night?) and hot footed it to the school oval. Half way there I realised I'd forgotten to bring the car blanket to sit on, but it was too late.

Went to the oval. The concert had already started and some very short cute looking kids were playing instruments very badly. All the kids were decked out in Santa hats, so it was hard to locate any one child in particular. I went over to the side of the oval where the grade 5s and 6ers were sitting (they were the tall Santa-hatted kids), located Brennan whose glasses made it easier to spot him and waved at him to show him where I was sitting. He showed Connor, Mum turned up with a bottle of Merlot, two plastic wine glasses and a corkscrew, and I could finally relax.

Once the wine glass was in my hand, I quite enjoyed the evening. We happened to be sitting near some parents I knew, so we were all comparing notes on how many more of these we had to endure, and having fun catching up on how everyone was going. Mum made the comment that this one was better than any of the others, and I think she was right. The younger grades still had rows of kids standing up mechanically singing to karaoke Christmas songs, but the older grades actually had a bit of choreography happening. The grade 6ers were really entertaining with their rap singers popping out from behind traditional carol singers. The weather was warm, there were no flies to bother us, the oval wasn't too prickly under the old derriere, we could recognise both boys up on stage when they were performing so we could beam fondly at them and cheer loudly when they'd finished, Mum stalked the kids when they were sitting with their mates so she could take their photos, Jordan found some old friends from when he was there last year and disappeared, so all in all it was a good night.

The current grade 5s are delivering speeches at school so the kids can vote on who will be the next school and house captains. Connor gave his speech yesterday and one of the Mums told me that her son said that Connor's was the best speech and he definitely had his vote. That was really nice to hear. Jordan was school captain last year, and at first Connor was a bit nervous about trying for a position of responsibility because of all the speeches a school captain has to make. He has gradually come around to the idea after I told him that he was just like me... we love being in the limelight and making people laugh, and a good way to be confident is to get used to talking in front of people. (After all, that's what teaching boils down to... all you're doing is performing to your captive audiences day after day after day....)

So it was great to hear that all of his hard work paid off and he delivered it well. He's the sort of kid who would do well in some sort of official role, but I don't know many of the other kids in his year level (I've always worked when he's been at school) so I have no idea if he's in with a chance or not. But at least his maiden speech was a success!

I left the kids and Mum at the end of the concert and zipped off to quilting class. I was an hour late and they'd locked the front of the shop, so I was banging on the door for a while till someone came to let me in. I learned how to put a million safety pins through all of the layers of quilt to hold it together. This lesson wasn't as much fun as last week, because most of the time I was all alone in the front of the shop working over a big table and pins, while everyone else was in the back talking and laughing. One thing I noticed was that everyone else's kids seem to go to private schools. Is quilting a hobby for the elite? I'm beginning to wonder if I'll be inadvertently bringing the tone of the quilting world down by teaching and educating my kids in the government system.....

So now my quilt is sandwiched together. My choice is now to either hand quilt it, or wait till after Christmas and use the walking foot (I thought that was what feet naturally do...) that Dad is buying Mum for Christmas for her sewing machine. I'm thinking I might do the latter. My goal is to finish 4 quilts by the end of the holidays and I'm guessing that hand quilting them would mean I'd be doing nothing else all summer. That'd be boring. But at least the quilt would be progressing. So I'm not sure yet. I'm worried if I have a pile of half-finished quilts stacked up that they'll end up not being done. Those readers who were witness to the Sudoku frenzy of 2005 will know that I focus heavily on new interests until I master them. Then I puddle along happily with them forever after.

oops. Look at the time! Got to go to work. Jordan's last day today. They're taking the year 7s to the zoo. The poor kids are going in full school uniform: black leather school shoes, ties and tucked-in white shirts in all their glory. It's only going to be 32 degrees Celsius. But they'll still have a great time.

Afghan vs patchwork.

It's official. Patchworking is far quicker than knitting an afghan.
Those of you who have been following my posts for a while will know that at the end of October sometime I foolishly began knitting an afghan on very small needles with fairly thin wool. Lots of wool. I'm a quick knitter, especially in this case where it's only basket weave, and it is still taking forever. I'll finish it, but I don't think I'll do another. I'll quilt instead. Look at what I was able to piece together in one short afternoon....

Isn't it amazing? It covers a couch! Anyway, I had such a good time doing this. The pattern is very simple. I've pieced together all of the big squares in big strips, and today's job is to piece together all of the little squares that run in strips in between the big square strips. I hope that makes sense. I didn't have enough material to finish the little squares, so I popped back to amitie in Centre Road Bentleigh to get some more. While I was there I also bought more material for a quilt for Brennan, a rotary cutter, rectangular ruler and mat. So now I'm committed. The rationalisation for all of this is that I've booked in for a lesson next week and I don't have $25 to waste on another night of rotary cutting, because I learned how to do that last time. So I need to have a quilt ready to attach batting and backing on, because then I'll be learning something new. (Sometimes my frugality kick can be fooled by such blatant rationalising. Plus I suppose I could say it's my Christmas present to myself. ) I've chosen another pattern for the next quilt. It has rectangles in it. I drew the line at triangles. They still look a little scary. I'll tackle them in my next one after the current next one.



After doing this I answered the door (I tend to do that when someone rings the doorbell) and there was a parcel being delivered. My book from HarperCollins that I have to review! Listen to the blurb at the back:



"She should have remained at home with her sour aunt, but Liberty Lane was never one to obey instructions. Eager to be reunited with her beloved father, she headed for Dover, only to receive an anonymous note informing her that he has been killed in Calais.

Thomas Jaques Lane - radical, romantic, scholar, republican, gambler and devoted father- had lead an unconventional life. His movements in the days before his death are a mystery, but of one thing Liberty is certain: he would never have taken part in a duel, for it went against everything he believed in. And if the author of this anonymous note expected her to swallow this lie and meekly obey his command to stay put, he's severely underestimated Liberty Lane.

With no resources bar her own wits, she immediately sets off in pursuit of the truth - and her father's killer. And as the nation prepares to celebrate the coronation of young Queen Victoria, Liberty uncovers a treasonable plot which could lead to another vicious civil war..."



Could there be any more cliches? The writing had better be good, because I'm a bit apprehensive at the moment. The first thing that came to mind was that a young girl in Victorian times would be absolutely stuffed if she was left to her own resources. She couldn't pop into Centrelink to get a Youth Allowance to help pay for food and rent. Plus, if she uncovered a treasonable plot, wouldn't she let it be, if she's such a devoted daughter? It said that her Dad was a republican. Unless that bit was a misprint and he's just a publican.



It's called 'Death at Dawn', and I think it's one in an intended series. It has "A Liberty Lane thriller' along the bottom of the cover. I'll let you know what it's like. They want the review done by the end of December, but I want to finish 'Star Man' first. It's the third in a trilogy, and I'm enjoying it. So I think I'll knock over young impetuous Liberty Lane once school has finished. It'll be a day's read, by the looks of it. (Incidentally, did anyone in Victorian England call their kids names like Liberty? It sounds more like a black American name after the civil war to me.)

I spent the afternoon at Deirdre's house with a few of the people from work. She's just completed renovations, so there was a delectable afternoon tea and an inspection of what has been done. It was lovely. I had to leave at about 5.30. Brennan rang me to remind me that he had an extra guitar lesson to practise with the band he's playing with in his end of year concert on Sunday. I'd completely forgotten. Luckily Deirdre's son is a friend of Brennan's, so he knew where to find the phone number. So I put down my champagne glass with the strawberry and left. When I got home I rang her to say how nice it had been.

"We're still here," she said. "Why don't you come back?"

So I left Jordan in charge of dinner. He was making egg pies in the pie maker, and I went back and had another lovely chatty time till about 8.30. I love that the kids are grown up enough that they can be left for a while. I walked back into the lounge room to the blaring sounds of 'Guitar Hero 3'. I don't think they'd even noticed I was gone.

Brennan's abandonment...

Last night I sat down at the sewing machine to figure out how to drive it. Within a very few moments long-buried childhood memories of Mum swearing at her sewing machine in the back room surfaced. Now, many years later, I can feel her pain. The bloody thing wouldn't work. The thread kept snapping, the bobbin tangled up and I had to carefully ease the thread out with a knife, (don't worry Sandy. I was very careful). I'd look at the diagram in the instruction book because I am a female and I don't mind asking for help, but nothing worked. Profanity emerged. I knew there was a reason why I was scared of this whole sewing thing. Wasn't so irrational after all. In the end Jordan asked me to "Put it away until tomorrow." I think the profane language was interfering with his enjoyment of the episode of 'Heroes' we had taped. Sandy happened to ring a few minutes later, so I swore at her machine to her as well. She's coming over between now and Thursday to help me work it out. She's good with diagram thingies. Sadly, I am not.

Brennan has his Orientation Day at school today. I'm so rapt. Only one more kid to go at Primary school, and then they'll all be with me. Yay! And no, this doesn't mean that I'm a control freak who has to keep her kids under her watchful eye at all times. I'm just really over primary school stuff after 12 years of it. The day I wash my last bright yellow school top will be a happy one. Brennan's been put in a form group with his best friend Marcus. I don't think he has any other kids from his friendship group in there, but that's ok. He never has any trouble making friends. He's miserable at the moment, though. Last night we went to the orthodontist and he's got the separaters in between his teeth. Apparently he's in a fair bit of pain. (When we got to the orthodontist's, I asked if Tony had paid the deposit for Brennan's braces. Nothing. I couldn't believe it. I went home intending to ring him, but I was a bit tired so I thought I'd have a nanna nap first. Lucky I did! I was woken by the lady from the orthodontist. Tony had just rung them, and had paid the deposit over the phone. So that was one unpleasant conversation we didn't have to undergo.)

Anyway, he's in the same form group as Jordan is this year (7D), but I'm desolate to discover that Mr Abode, Jordan's form teacher, has managed to weasle his way out of being involved with next year's crop of year 7s. Was being a leader.... nay... a father figure to my second son so awful that sweet helpless Brennan has now been abandoned? Where is the dedication to the young folk that we as teachers are meant to subscribe to? The little baby year 7s are like wriggly puppies. They need someone of high moral stature and great knowledge to gently but firmly lead them along the paths of academia and personal growth and self-worth. They need a form teacher who will guide them, nurture them and instill a sense of aspiration to live up the high ideals of personal behaviour and achievement that Mr Abode embodies. When young Jordan is faced with a moral/career/personal crossroad at any time in his life from now on, I know that the first question he'll ask himself will be, "What would Mr Abode, my idol, my mentor, my ideal of all that is upright and pure do?" So how in good conscience could he deny my little Brennan the same example? I'm shocked, people. Shocked and saddened.

(After writing this, I think I understand why I have never been asked to be a year 7 form teacher. )

Yesterday.

How lovely to wake up to the sound of rain. It's pouring down now, though I can barely hear it over the slurping sound of my parched front garden gulping it down. If I was living in an animation, my garden would turn itself into one big straw or cup, just to make sure it gets every drop it can. I heard on the news a couple of days ago that this is the eleventh straight year of less than average rain fall. Isn't that incredible? And here was silly me, thinking that it was only seven.



Yesterday was a postless day here, which is unlike me, but I was so busy. Not with anything major, but it was my last day before work, and I was uncluttered by all of those oafish kids with their big feet and irrational demands for food at regular intervals. It's annoying. Anyone would think they were growing or something.


So on my own for the last day in a fortnight, I went out and watered the veggie garden, and picked my first zucchini for the year. Still no pumpkin flowers. (Apparently I've got to help the pumpkins have sex by fooling around with their flowers. It's a little intimidating. It's been so long since anyone in this house (namely me) did that activity that I'm worried I'll muck it up for the pumpkins. It'll be their first time. I want to make it special. Maybe I could download Rod Stewart's 'Tonight's the Night' and play it to them. Then at least they'll know my intentions were good.) Then I tied up the tomato plants (sounds a little kinky after all of that pumpkin flower talk, doesn't it?), and picked about 15 leeks to make room for some new tomato plants. It's going to be frozen bolognaise sauce city here in a few months when the tomatoes get into gear! It's the only way to survive a full time job. I need lots of precooked meals in the freezer. After yesterday there's now 3 more leek and potato soups in there. I also pulled out two silver beet plants, and made an impossible pie full of silverbeet for my lunches this week. The dog food also has heaps of it this time.



The rest of the day was filled with pottering. I did heaps of little jobs. I went to Spotlight to get some rudimentary sewing things. I have an old lady's sewing basket that came with the house, so I delved into the depths and came up with some wins. Cabling knitting needles for one. I was going to Spotlight to buy some, so that saved me some money. A stitch ripper. Heaps of old buttons... the list goes on. I went to Spotlight, and I was wandering around with my list of things to buy. That place is so big, and I didn't know where to go. I had a few things, but others were hiding. I paused by the counter, gazing aimlessly about.


"That's a big sigh," said a lady behind the counter. "Is anything wrong?"


How embarrassing. "I'm a bit out of my depth," I said.
I explained why and what I was there for, and she took me under her wing and showed me where everything was. She laughed when I said just how ignorant I was, and how I'll be turning up to the quilting class on Thursday (all different levels of experience) with my bits of material (oops. fabric) held out to them with no real idea of what to do next. I'm worried about cutting into my nice new fabrics. What if I get it wrong?

"They'll be lovely to you," she said. "Those sort of people are so into their quilting that they'll do anything to get you into it too."

It sounds like a cult. A quilting cult. I bought a couple of nice bits of fabric for my 'stash'. I assume I'll be expected to have one of those. All of the crafty bloggers rave on about their stash and what they've added to it. To curb any more cultishness I also bought a pair of rosewood knitting needles for my jumpers I 'll be knitting. The afghan is going to be put away till next year, and I'll make a start of something smaller.

Brennan starts his braces odyssey today. He gets the separaters in today. and after Year 7 Orientation Day tomorrow he'll go back and get the whole kit and caboodle in his face. Poor kid. Both glasses and braces. Hardly seems fair. I haven't heard anything from the orthodontist's office about any lack of payment, so I'm assuming Tony has finally come to the party and paid up. Otherwise I'll have to, so that dream of installing a roller skating rink in the back yard will have to go.....

My day off.

Ha! Didn't I tell you that I was suspicious of Connor's sudden illness? Turns out I was right. (Thank goodness he wasn't deathly ill, because he did all the housework except for some of the folding.) Turns out that he had a "How to..." project due yesterday, and due to circumstances beyond his control he didn't do it. (I'm guessing the urgent need to beat Brennan on some PlayStation game or other was probably to blame.)

But get this.... he had the whole day off to get it done... Does he? My answer to that (non)rhetorical question is NO. We were lounging around in front of the television after dinner, and he pipes up with an "Oh no. I forgot to do my project."

After a few pithy words from me about the pitfalls of lying about being sick (he confessed) and then the stupidity of not doing the task that you took a sickie to do in the first place, he worked on it till 9.15. He'll be woken up in about 20 minutes to keep going on it. Ah well, it's how we learn. The information on the project will be the least of it.

But guess what??? My big news is that I have the day off!!!! Yay! I went into the boss's office and asked for the Correction Day I didn't take due to interviews to be transferred to Friday. Which is today. Why I still woke up at 5.45 is a mystery, though it might be because last night it was warm, so I left the front door open. Those birds sound like they are using megaphones this morning.

So what are my plans? I'm thinking first up I'll do some knitting. I've nearly finished one of next year's balls of wool on the afghan (mmmm yes, that thing), so I'll finish it. The ball, I mean, not the afghan. There's still 3 more 200g balls to go. I was knitting on it yesterday during Brennan's guitar lesson, and it got too hot to have on my knee. This means that summer is just about here. So I'll finish that ball, and then I might start on something else. Something smaller, so my knees remain cool and ladylike. The package from Bendigo Knitting mills arrived yesterday. I was delighted. I tore apart the packaging to reveal this!

I don't know if you can tell from the picture, but these balls of wool are bigger than my head. I was a little disappointed in the colour, as there's a touch more yellow in it than I thought. I was worried it wouldn't suit me, but when I held one up against my face in the mirror it was ok. I looked hideous, but no more than usual, and I've made my peace with that.

But the best thing was the colour charts they included free of charge. (My wool shop charges $17 for one of those, which is why I don't have one.) Connor's already picked out the wool he likes and I can see I'll be making a few more orders. It took 4 days for them to deliver, which is fine by me. Some of the wool shades are lovely. I chose a very plain pattern, as you can probably see. There's a cable detail in the bands and neck, so one of today's jobs is to buy a cable needle. I may have one, but I've only ever tried cabling when I was a wee slip of a girl, so I don't know if one is hiding at the bottom of the box I keep my knitting needles in or not. So maybe over the course of the weekend I might cast on for a new jumper.

But what I'm thinking of doing sometime today is to go and have a look at a quilting shop. I think there's one on Burke road in Malvern, and the yellow pages listed one in Camberwell somewhere. Should I go? I don't know what I'll do in a place like that. (I'm a bit nervous. I'm going to look like a goose as soon as I open my mouth. I'll probably call fabric 'material' and they'll throw me out.) I'm determined to learn how to quilt, so I have to go sometime. I'm a quarter of the way through 'Quilting for Dummies', so I guess that means I'm slightly less stupid than I was a week ago. (I'm not kidding about being nervous. I know next to nothing about sewing. My sister sews for a living, and mum has sewed (sewn? sewered? ooo, maybe not that last one!) ever since I can remember, but I stuck to knitting. The only thing I ever made that I was proud of was a calico doll for year 8 needlework. I embroidered a face on her and everything. But that's a far cry from doing a quilt.)

I've actually got a slight feeling of butterflies. How ridiculous. I can raise four boys on my own, tame a lawn mower and paint a house, teach masses of kids taller than me, take four kids overseas on my own not once but twice; yet I'm scared of going into a place where they'll use words like 'thimble', 'selvage' and 'mercerized'. (I don't know what the last two mean. I pulled them from the back of the 'Quilting for Dummies' book.) I'll let you know if I face my fear or if I chicken out and wait for Mum to come back from Queensland so she can hold my hand while I whimper.

One last thing.

Jordan's piano teacher is finishing her uni course this year, and she's said that she might not be able to teach him next year. She'll be working, and of course she doesn't know what when or where at this stage. Panic stations!! I don't know if the school can fit him in to the piano course next year or not. He'll be doing grade 5. Widget, if you read this before I get a chance to call you, can you ask if Jordan can be fitted in? Otherwise I don't know where we'll go. Why do kids want to do interesting hobbies that enrich their lives? All it does is create panic when their parent least expects it.

Panic notwithstanding, I'm off to enjoy my day off.

Lunchtime with the YMTs.

Connor is home alone today. An upset tummy, so he says. I have my doubts... it just seems funny that every time he says he's thrown up it's always when I'm in the shower or in the loo. I come out into the hallway and he's mopping up a patch on the floor where he says he splattered on the way to the toilet, or I hear the sound of a flush and he totters out to tell me the news. I never actually see the event.

So when I left today I gave him a list of things that he had to have done around the house when I arrive home. Run the dishwasher and then unstack it, do the folding (the clean washing pile is looking horrendously large), hang out the load of washing in the washing machine, etc. If he's there, he can spend a bit of time being useful. He'll need a break from the Playstation anyway. The rules for kids at home is that everything has to be locked. No phone calls and definitely no leaving the house. I'm only two minutes drive away if anything goes wrong, and my work number and mobile number are by the phone.

I was in the staff common room at lunchtime and remembered that he was home, so I picked up the phone in there and gave him a quick call. I was near a group of teachers, most of them young males, who were sitting having their lunch.

Phone rings. Connor picks up, says "Hello?" warily.

"Hi Ugly, it's me! How are you feeling? Have you been sick again?"

"Yes...."

"Yuck! Did you make it to the toilet?"
(Young Male Teachers (YMTs) start laughing. Connor can't hear them.)

Yes, I did."

"Good! Have you eaten anything today?"
(YMT start saying things like "Well, by the looks of it I had carrots, some corn, some curry"... "I had a Big Mac, some cheesecake"... "Do you want to hear about my diarrhoea?" etc. I start laughing, and can't hear what Connor's saying.)

"Look, Connor, just cook yourself some 2 minute noodles without the flavouring. You'll be fine. Now, have you done the housework I asked you to do?"
(YMT's fall about in disbelief. "But he's sick!!" )

Connor says "Ummm... no." It's obvious he's been playing the Playstation and completely forgotten.
(YMTs say things like "Great mother you are..." and "Have you thought of hiring a maid?")

Mainly for their benefit, I say, "OK. Do this bit by bit. Run the dishwasher. Hang out the washing. Make sure shirts and Tshirts are on hangers. Do the folding. Now honey, you know I'm only getting you to do this so you don't get bored."
(YMTs start killing themselves laughing. "Gee, thanks Mum."... "Thanks Mum, cos the Playstation and the telley just weren't cutting it..." Then they crank it up a bit further. "Mum, you're breaking up..." ..."Mum, I'm driving into a tunnel. I can't hear you...."))

Connor, a little mystified as to why I'm laughing so much, says "Ummm, thanks Mum."

We hang up and the whole staffroom is laughing.

"Well, I'm bringing up my kids to be independent," I say defensively to the room at large. I go and sit down at my usual table.

"How can he hang the washing out if he's got to keep the whole house locked up? asked a Maths teacher. (Trust one of them to have a diabolical eye for detail.)

I got a mental picture of Connor at home with this list of things to do, and the rules he has to follow. I started laughing.

"Wouldn't this be funny?" I ask them. "I get home and he's done all the housework, and he's expecting to be told what a good boy he is. Instead I rip into him. "You fell into my trap! You know you're not allowed to leave the house!!! Just how did this washing get hung out???" Can you imagine his face?"

The kinder hearted among them say things like, "You can't do that to him!" while the others who know me better just laugh. They know I'm not going to do it. It'd be funny though. But I couldn't do it.

He'd never do any housework for me again....

Our Books.

Connor took this shot a while back of the books that we have on the dining room bureau. There's one for each person. In them we write nice things about that person, as a record they can keep.

I'd like to take credit for the idea, but it's one I saw when I was teaching at a primary school in Clarinda for the day, before I got the job I have now. They'd been having trouble with bullying, so they called in a team of youth workers, and this was one of the things they did with the kids.

We've been doing it since April '04. (This isn't something I know off by heart. I just had a look at the first entry in my book.) They don't get entries every day.... sometimes a couple of months might go by... but gradually gradually the pages are being filled. Connor is the one who especially loves them. He writes in mine a lot, and gets downcast if his book stays untouched for a while. He wrote in mine last night. All spelling mistakes are his:

"Mum. You are the best mother anyone could wish for, and even if they don't wish for you they will still want you as a mother anyway. But there are some things that are bad about you.

1. You could kill someone by making them laugh and run out of breath.

2. Does their need to be a number two?

3. Same as number 1.

4. I can't say anything bad about you. that's why your really bad I can't put you down.

By the way congradulations on your blog. You should open a bottle of shampagne when you beat

Scott's total viewership.
oxxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxooxoxoxoxo"

Sorry Scott. I laughed my head off when I read it, but now I'm a bit worried that the friendly competition Scott and I have between each other is starting to rub off on the next generation. And any 'shampagne' about bloggishness will be opened in Scott's company. Or maybe we should make that a nice bottle of red instead?

His last entry was much shorter.
"Mum how can I say enough to thank you with all the help and support you have given us. I thank you for that."

How great is that? I don't remember what prompted it. Maybe I cooked something he particularly likes for dinner or something. But there it is for me to read when I'm an old lady and he's left home and forgotten all about me.

The rules of the books are simple, if anyone out there wants to try it. Each person has their own book. Only positive things must be written in another person's book. Things about what that person has achieved, great things about their personality, acknowledgements about funny or nice things they might've done with/for someone else... the list goes on.

When I took the three younger boys away to Mt Buller for a holiday while Jack was at Central Australia with the school, we took the books up with us. The kids read them in the car going up, and they had so much fun. They were laughing at the spellings their younger selves used, remembering things that happened and generally having a real 'warm and fuzzy' family time.

Well worth the effort of the initial set up.

My squandered day off......

A photo from Phuket. It's a lump of an island.



I could have today off. I should have today off. It's report writing day and I've finished my reports already. But I put my hand up and volunteered to come in with the careers teacher to get more year 10 interviews done. I need my head read. Damn these students and their irrational thirst for knowledge and their ridiculous desperation to be placed into their chosen subjects for next year! Except for Jack. His thirst and need are totally understandable.


Just as an aside from my whinge about voluntarily giving up a holiday (I can assure you that this has never ever happened before), on Friday we had Jack's second interview for his subjects for Year 11 next year. He wants to do a year 12 subject next year, and we have guidelines about the study score average (8.5) and behaviour/conscientious/maturity levels that each kid has to reach. He has been a real twit over years 8 and 9, and it's only been this year that he's started to pull his head in and knuckle down. (With some inevitable slips back. He's a boy, after all.) He's improved a lot, but it's hard to reach egghead levels in one year from a standing start, so he was a bit short of where he needed to be.

In his first interview he was told that he had to get a certain level for his exams, to prove himself. He'd already started studying, but after that he was galvanised into study activity. He even gave up going to his Dad's on the weekend before the exams to study. (Like me with today, this has never happened before.)

Anyway, the exam results showed that in 3 subjects, he'd made it, and in 2 subjects he was only 1 mark short. In his second interview we had the other year 10 student manager, the careers teacher, and myself. For this interview (as opposed to his first) I had the Mum hat on. I went and sat on the other side of the table next to Jack, because even though I'm his student manager, in this interview I was going to fight for Jack.

(In his first one, I was on the other side of the table helping the others stick the boot into him. Well, he deserved it. He had to prove to me as well as the others that he was prepared to fight and work to get this subject.)

He really wants to do Year 12 Further Maths and he's more than capable of doing extremely well at it. He's into statistics (it's amazing that this kid has any personality at all considering the subjects he loves!) and this subject apparently has statistics all through it. After a lot of discussion, and Jack putting his case very eloquently (maybe he has inherited something from me after all!!) he ended up getting the course he wanted. He also dropped accounting to take up physics. He's thinking he might become a pilot, so he needs physics more than bean counting.

On the way back to the car he asked ,"Did I only get Further Maths because you work here?"

I was honest. "You showed that you've lifted your game, which was good. I think that they gave you more of a chance to show what you can do because I was here. But I wouldn't have gone in to bat for you if I didn't know you could do it. Now your job next year is not to make us look like idiots."

He's so excited about next year. He can't wait to have a course that's totally chosen by himself. His course is truly revolting. English (well, that's the only good subject. It's compulsory), Year 12 Further Maths, Maths Methods, Physics and Economics.

I know. Hideous, isn't it? If I was enrolled in a course like that, they'd find my body swinging from a tree with a noose around my neck. But he's a strange child. He can't wait for next year.

And as a teacher and as his parent, that's something I'm so very pleased to see.....

Yesterday and Today.

Did my washing yesterday! I've been making the boys use these for their lunches. The theory is that over time we'll save money on Glad wrap by reusing these. Plus we're saving the planet, which is an agreeable bonus.

Every time I hang these out on the line I have a chuckle about a conversation I had with my friend Ian. He was visiting, and I brought him outside to see the veggie garden. He saw the bags on the line, stopped dead and asked in a horrified tone, "My God Frogdancer, what are you doing?"

"They're for the kids' lunches," I said. "I just wash them out and reuse them."

"Thank God for that," he said. "I thought you were selling drugs!!!"

Something I'm SO not into, let me hasten to add.

Yesterday went pretty much according to plan. Brennan waited patiently until I'd finished making the breakfast pancakes (he ate 5) and then asked me if now was a good time for me to teach him to knit. He got the hang of it surprisingly quickly, and he's knitted about 12 rows of his North Melbourne footie scarf. We went through the stages of knitting so tightly that he couldn't get the needle through the loop, to knitting so loosely that the stitches slipped off the end of the needle if you looked at it sideways, dropping stitches and looping extra loops to create unintended extra stitches, but by the end of a couple of hours of work he was garter stitching away as happily as you'd like to see. He'd keep coming back to it and knitting more. Even at this early stage he's discovering knitting's uncanny ability to be addictive.

Until the phone rang at 1.30. It was James, one of Brennan's friends, wanting to know if he was still coming to the party (Luna Park and a sleepover) that started half an hour before. Oops. The knitting gone thrown aside, and he was packed and out the door (though we had to go back for his sleeping bag that he left on the kitchen bench). James' mother works at the same school I do, and she's lovely. She opened the door with the words, "So, English teachers can't read numbers on an invitation?" If she was a Maths teacher that would mean war, ("Them's fightin' words!!!") but she's also English. I had a quick look at the new reno they've done (upper storey, new kitchen and rumpus room.... really gorgeous) and then I was back to keep an eye on young Study Guy, previously known as Jack.

He's done a lot of work this weekend. He started off yesterday with 'Romeo and Juliet'. His teacher told me what she'd told the class to do to prepare, so we talked about the play and I helped him look for short snappy quotes and I showed him how to embed them in his sentences. I was really pleased by his depth of understanding of the play. His teacher has really taught them well (or maybe it's just pure natural ability.... she starts laughing hysterically... the kid loves numbers and only reads a book if its stapled into his hands). He wrote quite a good essay, with me standing over him and reminding him to expand on his points. He doesn't show enough detail, and that's been his downfall in English this year.

His Science cheat sheet was the afternoon's work, and I think he also did some work on History. His English and History exams are tomorrow, and Maths and Science are on Tuesday. Then he's a free man. Until Year 11 Orientation week in December. (I wonder how much housework I can get him to do when he's at home all day? Hmmmm....)

I finally mowed the lawn yesterday. The whipper snippering didn't get done, so some parts of the garden look as if they're growing a fringe around the outskirts, but at least the long wavy grass is a thing of the past. My Roma tomato plant that I put in 2 weeks ago is growing a couple of tiny tomatoes, so that was all very exciting. I went and bought some salad things for dinner, and the cucumber was really spongy. Edible, but nothing like the ones we were eating last year from the garden. I can't wait until we're eating our own again. (I went out and put some extra shower water run off on the cucumber plants, just to give them a bit of encouragement.)

This morning was very pleasant. It was raining, so I didn't have to get up at the crack of dawn to water. I sat up in bed knitting the afghan (mmmm, the afghan) and getting enthused about it again. I'm just a few rows off being half way through. 4 balls down, 4 to go. It's already looking large, so who knows how many tv watching Frogdancers it'll be able to shelter next year when it's finished? Twenty seven or so is my guess.

So far today I've made 4 cakes, hung out 2 loads of washing, picked up Brennan and had a coffee with James' Mum, knitted 13 rows of the afghan and started mixing up a huge batch of biscuit mix. The dogs are NOT smelling deodorised and homogenised, so I'll be hurling them into the laundry trough soon and ruining their day. I want to make some more leek and potato soup, because the leeks are looking thick and yummy, and I'll freeze them. We have one more caulie that needs eating, so tonight will be macaroni cheese and cauliflower cheese night. Come to think of it, I'd better go out and feed the budgies. I'm sure they'll appreciate it. It's been two days since my last visit. (Don't worry, I'm fairly sure they're both still alive. I saw them from the kitchen window this morning. They were on a perch, not lying down on the bottom of the cage with their pathetic little feet stuck imploringly in the air, so I think that's a good sign.)

Molly and Murphy are having a very different morning. I gave them both a bone yesterday, and I think the strain of guarding their bones from both the cats and each other has told. That's Murphy on his back. If I could include the oceanic rumbling of Molly's snoring, I would.

Happy again!

Sorry for my rant yesterday, everyone. Here's a flower for all of you who waded through the venom and invective. I am now all unruffled and ready to go forth and conquer the day. And weekend. I will rise above the petty vexations of day to day life, and glide (ruffledless) serenely through.

Actually, I don't have time to do anything else. The year 10 interviews are sucking the life out of me. Seriously, it's as if the little darlings are psychic vampires who come into the room and one by one extract all the energy and will to live from me, so by the end of the day I stagger home and fall, lifeless but for one small spark, on the bed.

Truth in that last statement? Well, I am having a 15 minute nanna nap when I get home, before I get up and make dinner, etc. These interviews do take a lot of energy. But they're interesting, and it's good to catch up with the little vampires/students and see what they've picked for next year, and whether or not we can help them with better subject choices to get them into the courses they want to do. We`allow 15 minutes per interview. Some (usually the good kids) are over either a little earlier or on time, but some go longer. They're the ones who have chosen subjects that either they shouldn't have if they want to fulfill their stated goal of becoming a doctor/engineer/rocket scientist/whatever; or the ones who want to do the real egghead subjects that they clearly shouldn't attempt because their marks so far have been ... well.... not flash. So we have to design new courses. Ho Hum! There's a couple of weeks yet of this. A sushi train of students every day.

An update. Remember when I was caught on camera 'kicking' a student on the news? I was in the background of a news report while our assistant principal was talking about the VCE exams being the culmination of 13 years of study, etc. Anyway, I was talking to the assistant principal a couple of days later and decided to tell her about it. I'm a big believer in admitting up front when you've mucked up. I'd rather do that than have trouble lurk around and leap on me all unexpected. She laughed like mad and said, "There's the difference between theory and practice!" So that's ok. I live to teach another day.

This weekend is supposed to be child free, but I'll have half the kids with me. Brennan has a sleepover party to go to on Saturday night. Jack, on the other hand, is one of those problematic students I was talking about. Exams are on Monday and Tuesday, and unless he blitzes them he won't get the Year 12 Maths subject he wants to do. He was one of the kids who left the interview very quiet and somewhat shaken. So he's elected to stay at home and study. I'm (cautiously) a very happy mother. I never thought the day would come. Tony's happy for Jack to do it. He and Viv are having the kids for a full week between Christmas and New Year (but not New Year's Eve), so he knows he'll catch up with Jack then. Plus Jack wants to work at the fruit shop over the summer to get $$$$.

(I wonder if Viv is aware of what it's going to be like to have 4 lumpy lolloping teenagers around for a full week? All she'll hear is Playstation, Wii, Evanescence and other assorted music blaring from their rooms all week, and she'll be constantly having to insert food into their mouths. I'm used to it, but she doesn't have kids. Hmmmm.... I wonder if there's a cruise leaving Melbourne for a week on those dates??? I'm looking forward to a few consecutive days of peace and quiet.)

So this weekend I'm looking at yet another sophisticated social whirl of veggie gardening, study buddying, housework, writing, exam marking (year 11 ESL) and knitting. I know, people, I know. Curb that envy you're undoubtedly feeling. Jealousy's a curse.

Ruffled feathers.

http://pages.prodigy.net/hpdevo/quiz/

My friend Widget had this quiz on her blog. She's Hermione (explains a lot) and to my complete surprise (and joy) I'm Harry. No wonder I love the books so much. It's all about MEEEEE!

Something happened yesterday that has me a bit ruffled. I'll preface it by saying that I'm not a sooky-la-la about my kids. I see them pretty clearly, and I have no hesitation in admitting their flaws. (It's easy for me, as I don't have any flaws myself. Naturally.)

I'll be the first to say that Jack was a hideous beast when he was in years 7 and 8. He was very immature, loud and didn't fit in with the other kids in his classes. He had a very lonely two years until he started to grow up a bit towards the end of year 8 and met some mates. He's thriving now. Thankfully, the alchemy that occurs in year 10... the alchemy that instead of turning lead to gold turns revolting adolescent kids with raging out of control hormones into reasonably human-like people by the end of the year has occurred with him. He has turned into a funny, creative kid who is good to be around. (He still has his moments, but he confines them to home, a gift of love to his nearest and dearest.) Other teachers who have known him over the last four years are also very complimentary about how he's turning out (though they'd still like him to do more homework with greater detail), so it's not just me. He's turning out ok.

Unlike some other teachers' kids who also go to the school. Who are in the same year level. Who are female. Whose parents don't have the same degree of clarity when it comes to their offspring. Whose parents have no hesitation while talking to another parent in insulting said parent's child while insinuating that their own female child is vastly superior.

Am I speaking in vast generalities??? Or do you get the impression that this is probably not a very large group of students I'm referring to?

We're doing interviews with the year 10s at the moment, which I've referred to in an earlier post. This particular girl had her interview yesterday. She wanted to do an enhancement subject (a year 12 subject) and after a lot of see-sawing and humming and harring we let her. Her behaviour and attitude (she's a real little 'miss') and her marks were borderline, and during her interview she talked as if she was one of the teachers instead of a student, which got up our noses a bit. She loathes Jack and ignores him totally, so he finds it amusing every so often to greet her with a cheery "Hi Bleep! How are you?", just to watch her turn her face away.

(She's not really called Bleep. That was my subtle way of disguising her identity. I don't care that they're not fond of each other. That's none of my business. As long as they're not being openly nasty to each other, bullying or beating the living daylights out of each other, then I'm keeping out of it. I think they've got a delicate balance and routine worked out, so good on them.)

After school I was tutoring a year 9 girl, and I saw...(lets call him Mr Bleep) walk past the door. I'd heard another teacher say something nice about the daughter he has in a junior level of the school (I'm not giving that kid a pseudonym), so I ducked out into the hallway to tell him. We all like to hear nice things about our kids.

"Yes, my child who doesn't have a pseudonym is very different to Bleep," he said. "Bleep and I are very similar; almost too much alike."

I smiled, because he evidently thought that was a good thing, and then I told him about something that was said in the interview before he got there. Bleep had said something that absolutely sounded like something Jack would say. I knew she'd hate that, (who likes to hear that they're similar to someone they don't like? ) so as a joke I said, "You really shouldn't hate Jack so much, Bleep. In some ways you think alike. He'd say the exact same thing that you just said." She shuddered and laughed, I laughed and we moved on.

I told that to Mr Bleep, expecting that he'd have a chuckle. Instead I get a genuine shudder and a remark that was delivered in a way that implied that I would totally understand where he was coming from.

"Oh dear. That'd be terrible if it was true.... Bleep's nothing like Jack."

Umm... pardon?

Would it have been impolite to say "Thank Goodness, it's such a relief to me. Jack doesn't have teachers handing me written complaints about his attitude and his inability to shut up in class. He doesn't walk around the place with his chin jutted up at a very slight but discernable angle that shows that he thinks he's a cut above the rest. He doesn't go up to you and make bitchy sly comments about what a pain Bleep is. (yes, she does this occasionally. The next time she does it I won't be very polite.) It makes me wonder what Bleep says about Jack to you, because you've never even taught him, unlike me with your daughter. Jack never mentions Bleep. She's not even on his radar. Yes, Mr Bleep, I'm very fortunate that Bleep's nothing like Jack. How glad I am that you can see the difference between the two."

(Don't get me wrong. I actually don't mind Bleep in a lot of ways. She's a nice enough kid when she wants to be, and she has a good sense of humour. But she's certainly not vastly superior to Jack. Or anyone else in year 10, come to think of it. It's just that I'm a bit miffed at Mr Bleep at the moment.)

Fortunately for the sake of good working relations I have manners. I smiled politely and we kept talking, then I ducked back in to my tutoring kid to see if she'd finished her story.

I know it was only an off the cuff comment, and he meant it as a joke..... well, half meant it as a joke...we get along really well and I like him a lot.....

but there was something in the delivery that I really don't like.

I don't think I make comments about other people's kids to them with an undercurrent of criticism and dislike. I've discovered that I really don't appreciate being the recipient of remarks like that. As I said, my feathers are a bit ruffled. I understand that Bleep is probably the president of the "I Hate Jack " club, and that her dad is probably an honorary member. That's fine. I approve of family loyalty. But don't expect me to join in with jokes that cut him down. I'm not a card carrying member of that club. Never will be.

Now I wish I didn't duck out into the hall to make his day brighter with a remark about his other kid, the one with no pseudonym. Next time I think I'll keep it to myself.

Whinge over. And out.

Whinge, and Super hero stuff.

I'm tired. No, scratch that. I'm exhausted. I think I need a man.

No, not for that! Get your minds out of the gutter. (Though, now I come to think about it... it's been a long time .....)

It is an impossibility for one woman to maintain a house, full time job, car, lawn, whipper snipper, garden, veggie patch, kids' extra-curricular activities, novel, afghan and also attend to various motherly/daughterly/friendy/pet-ownery/'selfish' creative-y things and do them all well. As a Virgo this seriously messes with my mind.

I love my job. Seriously love it. Plus it pays the bills, which is very considerate of it. The downside to working full time is that it only gives you the weekend with any serious chunks of time to do everything that needs to be done. I realise that this is BIG NEWS to anyone reading this, because naturally no-one else has to juggle anything.

But it's weekends like this that make me wish that I had another able-bodied adult around. (Not enough to do anything concrete about it, but those of you reading this that know about my massive tally of internet dates will understand. I'm still on a break.)

This weekend I had to do all the housework, mow the lawns, do the edges, harvest the spinach before it went to seed, novelise, knit, bake cakes and biscuits for the kids for next week, go to the butchers and buy cat meat and make the patties for them (I feed my pets the BARF diet... great for them but a shitload of work for me), do all of the laundry/bedding washing/hanging/folding, take Jordan to a sleepover, come home and welcome one of Brennan's mates for a sleepover here, go to Mum's for a birthday party, take possession of Murphy while Mum and Dad go away for a month, finish off my year 11 correction, anything else I've forgotten to list ... etc.

I did some of the edging, until the f%ck*&g whipper snipper ran out of line. I have plenty. Unfortunately the kids cleaned the garage a few weeks ago and now no-one knows where it is. I didn't mow the lawns. Around the sideway the weeds are as big as triffids. I was wondering where all of the dandelions in the veggie patch were coming from. Now I know.

I made 6 cakes. Four are still around to be frozen and used for after school fodder for the hordes. No biscuits.
I knitted yesterday. Star Wars 2 was on tv, so I had a chuckle and a knit. Good times.
Cat food got made. Only because they would've starved next week if I didn't.
Washing got done. It's still on the line at 6.30pm. The kids don't know it yet, but they're about to be my laundry boys when I get off here. They can do the folding too.
Correction? No way.
Novel? You jest.
I harvested the spinach though. To look at it growing, you'd swear there was enough to feed an army. But once I'd cut, washed, blanched, chopped, weighed and bagged the leaves, I only had four 250g bags. For three hours work (plus a possible sunburned scone) (that means scalp for those who aren't Australian) I wasn't happy. Then I looked at the stalks. Green, fibrey and organic. I bet Ma Ingalls, who you all know by now is my personal hero, wouldn't have wasted them. So I chopped, blanched, bagged and froze them too. Four more bags. I've doubled my yield! Good on me.

I haven't stopped all weekend. No housework, no correction, no nothing. How long is it till the summer break?

But I have to tell you something funny that happened yesterday. Brennan's mate Marcus came over, and they went to 7-11 for a slurpie. They were gone for quite a while, and when they came back they said that a couple of teenagers had thrown waterbombs at them, disappeared, and then five minutes later came back riding bikes and chased them all the way to the oval near 7-11. The kids hid near the cricket players until the coast was clear, got their slurpies, and then came back home via a massively roundabout route so they'd avoid the little shits on the way back. They were terrified.

I listened, asked if they knew where they lived, and when they said yes ( Brennan said they were the same kids who tried to drag Jordan off his bike a year ago) I said, "Get in the car."

We drove around. The kids were in the back seat, and I heard Brennan say to Marcus, "We don't normally do this on a Saturday. This isn't a normal day!"

The kids stayed in the car while I knocked on the front door. I wondered if the door was going to open and I'd be confronted by familiar faces from the school I teach at. I wondered if I was going to get the crap beaten out of me. As I was standing there, a car pulled into the driveway and there were Mum and the two boys. Bingo!

For those of you who aren't teachers, I'll let you in on a little secret. Come closer, because I'm going to whisper this. We don't mind telling off other people's kids. We do it every day. We're professional at it. We do it every day, sometimes for entertainment. It was beautiful.

I smiled at the Mum, but spoke directly to the kids. Asked them if they'd been home in the last half to three quarters of an hour. I'll say it again. It was beautiful. Their Mum was there, so they couldn't lie. You should've seen Mum turn purple when I said they'd chased primary aged kids all the way to the oval.

"How old are they?" she asked. It made me wish (briefly) that Brennan was still in prep.

"They're grade sixers", I said, but then to make up ground, I hastily added in a grave tone, "They were very frightened. You boys are so much bigger."

"We were just having fun. We didn't know they were scared," said one foolish boy. He didn't know he was dealing with a fully trained Drama teacher.

"You didn't know they were scared???? Were they running away and laughing? I don't think so." Mum turned even more purple, and glared at them. Any more purple, and she'd be needing those heart starter paddles.

Then I decided to gamble and said, "My kids say that you're the kids that tried to drag my older son off his bike last year."

They turned pale. "No no, that wasn't us!!"

I wasn't prepared to fight that battle, so I took the high moral/teacherly/motherly ground. I practically waved a finger at them.

"See what happens when you do something wrong? You start to get blamed for things you haven't done." Their Mum nodded.

"Do you go to (bleep)?" I asked. (Bleep being where I teach.) They shook their slimy little heads.

I looked at Mum and laughed. "Probably just as well. They wouldn't want to have me as a teacher after this!"

To their credit, they volunteered to go and apologise. They went up to the kids. I followed closely behind, just in case they were going to threaten them with death or worse. But all was well. They apologised, the boys said "That's ok", their Mum said to me, "Little idiots", and we left.

I'm now officially awesome Mum. I'm reasonably happy with that.

IMPORTANT QUESTION:
Does anyone know if we can post an audio thingy from Limewire on our blogs? Jordan played us the funniest thing I've heard in a month of Sundays, and I'd love to post it. However, he seems to think the police will send me to jail. Is this true? Please let me know one way or another....

My son the artiste.

Here's what Connor and I did last night............

we cut each other's hair. He looks so bizarre in this photo. He's got his orthodontic plate in, and he's enjoying the power rush. There's something a little unnerving about handing over your appearance to the tender hands of an 11 year old, but he behaved himself and it turned out fine.

Look at these fine leeks! I put them in the ground in July or August, and they're STILL not huge and fat, but they're getting there. Yesterday I read somewhere that there was a nun who was interviewed on tv who said that she experimented with cutting the leeks off at ground level, and so far she's got 3 crops out of the

same leeks. I got wildly excited. That's my sort of gardening. It's kind of like the gift that keeps on giving.

But I tried this a while ago with some spring onions. My friend Judy told me to plant the root bits and they'll sprout and voila! more spring onions. I did this, and now they've got pompoms on the top of them. They don't look like this in the shops. Maybe I'll harvest the seeds and start again.

Here's one bed of the veggies. The caulie at the front gave its life last night so we could live. It was beautiful.

My friend Sandy came over yesterday for a coffee (Hmmm. Maybe she's in cahoots with Scott too? But it was all to no avail. The novel has lurched itself off again. 15000 words. I want November to end so I can get some sleep.)

Anyway, she said that her 15 year old daughter was talking to her, and said that she wanted to have kids one day, because "after all, that's what we're here for." Sandy was pleased, though she did mention to her that she didn't have to start sprouting them right away!! Her feeling was that if her daughter was wanting to one day be a Mum, then that must mean that she is doing something right as a parent.

I nodded, and said something appropriate. How could I tell her that Jack keeps saying that he NEVER wants to be a parent? What a good job I must be doing........................