rivetkitty

Mothering had a shaky and wrinkled beginning. Pre and post natal depression, an awkward first birth, no localised support/friends etcetc. Also didn’t help that my baby didn’t sleep during the day, fed like a leech and then screamed. As she got older, she still found it hard to communicate her needs, still had sleep problems and could never concentrate/sit calmly/walk calmly.

It took a surprise second pregnancy, some clever medical intervention with anti anxiety tabs, the ABA to make some friends and Willow getting glasses at the age of 4 to help take the edge off.

Recently I’ve started enjoying her company. She has a great sense of humour, loves word play and dances like, well, something amazing to watch. She would stick her whole arm up her nose if she could, she sleep talks and likes to drink the bath water, and still doesn’t ever seem to register the words “wait”, “no” and “not yet”.(I think she gets those traits from me…) This year, her last before primary school starts, she is spending 2 days at her child care, one day a week at home with me (and the baby) and then 2 days with me and all 3 kids (as well as the weekends, of course).

This morning was our first lady-day, we went to our library and read books together while Darby climbed things and fell down. We borrowed some books with the nice automated system, and then went for lunch. She sat, walked and behaved like a kid who can be calm. It was amazing. We came home and read some more, did some drawing together and now we are having some calm time, me paying bills and posting, and her watching KiKi to JiJi on DVD.

There is a very silly part of me urging to book up Wednesdays with lessons or gymnastics or singing or something. But I’m not going to. I’m going to do whatever happens on Wednesdays.

I’m keen to see how things change over the year, if behaviour settles, if we argue even less. We are also doing elimination diet to exclude naturally occurring syllicilates and amines from our diet to see if that helps us all.

Today was an “Ikea day”. You know, the one where you stock the car, wear your most swedish clothes and drive through peak hour traffic on Parramatta Rd to Rhodes (because all rodes….ya gettit?) so you can walk in single file past all the uncomfortable sofas, get lost and then forget why you were there in the first place before buying some cable organiser, a cd rack and a washing up sponge?

Yeah, well, one of those days.

You see, being long term co-sleeping parents, it has come to our attention that our almost 5 year old would like to, ahem, move out. Probably timely, she has started sleep talking, sleep yelling and sleep squabbling with nobody in particular. That will narrow it down to Mr Sideways and Mr Base Jumper. Scraping the infant’s brains off the floor and plucking the toddler’s toes from inside my ears keeps me awake enough.

So we (I) have started working on plans to move her out. I’ve been sniffing round the Ikea website, “to save time”, and settled on some nicer end day beds, which ss it turns out, will be huge and expensive.

So I’m now looking at the low bunk which can be a low bunk, or flipped over to be a floor bed with a four-post kind of feel. She likes nooks, so this one tickles my fancy.
Anyways, today we went and looked at them. I made Nikki and her offspring come so I didn’t buy any fabric/kitchen cabinets/towels. After going past the uncomfortable sofas,  getting lost, forgetting why we were there we then left with an ice cube tray (for Nikki) and some super cheap xmas cards for me.

So now, from the comfort of my puter and lounge, I’m doing the final research. Ikea’s website have an “Ask our online assistant Anna, and she will help you.” An animated chick doing better eyebrow manouvers than Brooke from B&theB, she is pictured wearing a call centre headset. WTF? Ok, so I type in a  vague description of what I’m after, find it, and then decide to see what happens if I type random potential Ikea product names into the search field.

Hoodwunk.

“It’s not always possible for me to fully understand what it is you mean. This is one of those times.”

I’m still laughing.

I’ve had to forgo xmas prep due to a twisted pelvis and some major inflammation of the sacrial joint. It’s like labour pain, only permanent, held at bay with some osteo, some ice and some nurofen plus. Also I’m supposed to lie on the floor with my knees bent, but I’m not doing that till someone else is here, in case I get stuck.

(well, that is my big fat excuse to formally cancel xmas anyways…..)

So, other xmas stuff.

We took the kids to get xmas piccies at DJ’s last Sunday. It’s a family tradition, dating back almost 60 years. I have a copy of my mum’s pic from post war era, with her older brother, both looking contrary, sitting on a Santa who looks like he’s just returned from the trenches, or is still drinking to forget the trenches of WWI. It’s an eerie image.

Anyways, we’ve had all our pics taken as kids, and are now making our kids go. The gift bags are crappy, and thanks to the wonders of modern digital photography, you can view your pics on flat screen monitor and have them printed out straight away.

Also the whole experience has changed. You used to arrive (neatly attired, well combed and shiny shoed) join the cue, which snaked through the decoration sales area (loved the twinkly lights peeking through the faux fir fronds above!), and watch the other kids ahead approaching the santa on a throne. Talking quietly and sitting and FLASH, the picture taken. Being presented with a gift bag, putting in your order, and getting your pics a few weeks later. The gift bag had a great toy every year, a real one, in a nice bag, maybe some lollies (that Aussie for candy, folks.).

*sigh*

If only it was like in my day.

We arrived, the que was long. “45mins wait” the balloon lady told us. Garth raced Zeph off to do toilet and bin related errands. I continued arguing with willow over the irrelevance of anything labelled “Pony”, “Barbie” and “Bratz”. We inched forward towards the mouth of a dark cave, filled with blue lights, loud carousels and a “talking tree”. The talking tree spoke with a nasally driving teenage bogan accent and a constant rising inflection “Hi. How are ya? Oim a hundred. Didja see Sanna yet? Cool! Like wow.” Then onto the video room, for some commercial indoctrination for the “cars” film. Not quite sure they were intending it as a breastfeeding space, but that’s how I used it. Darby started freaking out over all the noise and lights, Garth and I started losing our cool.

After a bit, the line seemed to halt for ages. We had been waiting for well into the second hour. We paid for the picture that hadn’t even been taken yet, and the checkout chick advised us we had arrived in the middle of “changeover”. Garth cackled “Right, so you don’t get a taxi at 3pm, and you don’t come to Santa at 1pm?” “right!” grinned the chick.

Another 10mins and we were escorted past a huge bright blue wall, down a dark tunnel that had lots of blue velvet curtains and parked prams. I could hear jingling bells and cajoling mothers behind the curtains. Oh great, it’s a santa claus peep show.

We entered a curtained off “cave” and set eyes on a glorious old santa. Zephyr (surprisingly) went straight up to talk the heavy stuff, presents, although it was zephyr telling santa he was going to give him presents. Willow freaked out and went limp as a rag doll.

I sat next to santa, with willow on my lap, zeph cheerfully camped out on santa, and garth sat on santa’s feet with Darby standing on his lap. The more pics were taken, the weirder willow got. Finally, after cajoling and bell ringing and toy squeaking we gave up. Then there was a quick discussion of our kid’s names while we viewed the images on a flat screen monitor. We picked one with willow partially obscuring her face with her hand, but the rest had her knickers on display/arms in the air/sliding down my legs, me gritting my teeth, zephyr picking his nose, the noose pulling tighter round willow’s neck.

We exited, breathed deeply, resisted the urge to stuff willow in a santa sack, collected our pics and almost ran back to the car. (Holding our breath through the smoker’s den of Pitt St Mall.)

This morning, as I stuffed copies into envelopes for familials, I noticed the kind santa’s face. He seems to be smiling and looking down. “Oh, he likes the baby!” I thought.

Then I realised.

Nope.

He’s bloody doing rabbit ears behind Garth’s head!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I’m tired.

Dish Pig just got home from 2 weeks States side, and I’m happy to see him (well, you know, until he adds to my mess, and the kids mess. then he’s dead).

He bought me lippy and sunnies, which is fun, and some new fangled gadget for pictures/camera/laptop which will be great WHEN I CAN LOAD STUFF ONTO THE WEBPAGE (hinthint).

I haven’t been sewing so much, too busy washing clothes and watching my baby drag itself around on my filthy floors. I’ll mop them one day. Perhaps by then the baby could do it for me?

I’m going to attempt a rather tricky item for me. Yes me. I’m making something for myself.

this skirt

It is quite tricky, and I reckon I won’t be using the same prints or colours as those on the pattern envelope, going for a more 80s tonal mode.
Also a skirt for Hex and her impending birthday.
I had loony ideas about a handmade xmas (just like the ones we used to know…….lada da.da.da.da……sorry) and have foregone that for the old consumerist style, with grand visions for next year.

I’m drooling over coverstitch machines from babylock, and am very well aware that I have neither the cash, ability, space or dire need for one. Still. It can do scrummy stuff with stretch, and I soooooo want to master the art of stretch. (I could even just poke my toe in the waters before the actual mastery, I suppose.)

New year resolution will be to get blog looking attractive, get mousepocket rolling quicker, and etsy pumping as well.

Anyone got any requests?

I have just recieved my first piece of  interesting election  material. A  letter addressed to me (name spelled correctly,  always a  plus) from the NSW Greens senator Kerry Nettle.

It gives nicely written info, nothing complex or hidden, nothing sneaky. It conlcudes by recommending that in this election it is more worthwhile voting Labor in the house of Reps and Greens in the upper house.

“The Greens will be a positive and progreesive influence on Kevin Rudd’s govt.”

I really like it as a piece of information to the common voter (and lets face it, we all are :D) After watching 4 Corners the other week and seeing just how ill informed many Aussies are, its nice to be sent a piece of information that doesn’t smear the other side etc.

So, if anyone is actually reading this, vote in a tactical manner, think about all aspects of parliament and weigh it up accordingly.

(and, keep an eye out for Annabel Crabbe’s footwear, on Worm Night she had a really delicious pair of red mary janes on)

I am hugely jealous of penni and her recent relocation to paradise.

However.

I doubt she is overhearing such splendidly odd conversations as I am, conducted by neighbours and their “dinner guests” and heard thought the loungeroom window.

In fact, they are getting soooooo intriguing (and regular, as in every friday after work) that I almost wish I could use my Foxtel IQ remote to pause the aeroplanes every 3 minutes so I can actually keep up. Some of it is just bog standard bitching about co-workers and old mates and weddings atc, but occasionaly I get a deeper and darker tid bit.

As far as I can tell, there are 2 ladies and a highly camp male. (if you heard him, you would agree I am highly justified in using such a sweeping generalisation) Only one of the ladies lives in the house, with her boyfriend. They grow beautiful bromiliads which have just finished blooming their fuscianess in a hanging basket.

She has a nice collection of 1960’s retro tablecloths. There is a different one hanging on the clothes line every week, and she has pretty orange floral curtains at her kitchen window. These are like an external wallpaper outside our loungerrom window.

Anyway, tonight is a fairly in depth discussion of his subconscious recollection of being “snipped” as a baby, and the dreams which have tormented him since. Everyone’s ideal birth experience (none yet dreaming of being duffed) including his woes at not being able, as a man, to birth. He has described, at length (and possibly with actual demonstrations) his vast collection of tattoos, complete with names and locations of each artist. He has thrown in bits about his piercings and hairdresser.

I’ve had to shut the window now, their laughter and exclaimations have woken Zeph. Again.

I wonder what the topics next Friday will host?

Day Light Savings.  Changeover. Sleeping shifts for kids. Curtains fading faster (hahahahaha). Summer night walks to get the kids chocolate frogs. Gardening after the kids go to bed. Mozzies. Home made cocktails. A bottle of Stella and a salad with beetroot and croutons. Drowning in sweat under the lights over my sewing machines.

Time.

Where does it go? Suddenly it has been 10 years since high school ended, I’ve been married for half a decade and my eldest baby is on the cusp of primary school.

Worse still. Christmas is coming. AGAIN. Didn’t we just do that one? A long hauling of pregnant belly and children to an island off an island off an island. Taxis, plane, hire car, ferry, white Christmas (snow and hail nearby) and the queerest holiday house ever.

This year there are 3 children, NO pregnant belly (YAHOO!) and no stupid idiotic plans to stick any number of us on planes, trains or boats.

But, we have gifting rules which state this year, gifts will be made from things we already have in the house, or that can be consumed. I made those rules up. They sounded really simple at the time, and gave me one of those calm, cocky feelings.
As a gentle reminder I whacked a countdown application on my facebook profile. That was 40 days ago. How much Christmas prep has gone on? Zilch. Except for the ham-roasted-in-stout recipe.

But I did get some energy efficient LED star lights to hang on the house.  Does that count as Christmas? And I know when the Child Care Santa thing is on. And Nikki and I might have discussed going to the local carols again this year. We might not have discussed it actually.

Shockingly, I’m quite off shopping at the moment. The thought of mucking about buying stuff makes me feel sick. But the thought of the speed at which my 29th Christmas approaches makes me sicker still.

Try and dodge them.

Oh jee. I dunno. I’ve spent a decade (yoik!) avoiding most things to do with computers. I’m brill at most bits of surfing the web. I can almost upload pics direct from the camera (except it keeps bloody breaking). I can buy and sell things and track obscurities down from the comfort of my maternity ward bed, or my sewing table or kitchen bench. I can book holidays, arrange driving tests and self diagnose for any illness.

But I can’t do my own graphics, I’m petrified of word and excel and I was really happy about that. Until I actually needed to start doing it. Its like most of high-school maths when you are an arts stream student like me. I never used to see the point in geometry and algebra. Until I started patchwork quilting.

Several times in the last month or so I have plunged into the deep dark recesses of my brain to try and pluck free ancient  pieces of mathematical usefulness. To be precise, I stopped doing maths at high-school in 1995.

Luckily I have a DishPig UberGeek for these things, but a girl yearns for her spreadsheet freedom.

I’m just not sure how to get it.

Can anyone point me in the direction of an attractive, mostly cotton, not black/red/bad floral frock which is suitable for a lady to wear while feeding her baby as nature intended ???

Thought not. I’ve been hunting all day, and I’m sorry, but wrap arounds just won’t do. Nor will 100% shiny polyester with rouching. /me vomits.

I miss dresses. And being the body shape I am, the flogging of the dead horse that is anything hipster is highly unflattering. Anyway, I have much better things to do with my time than pulling my bloody pants up all day. Yeah, I don’t want you to see my undies/bum crack either, and I am fairly aware that I suffer “muffin top”. Now, if you’d care to provide me with an appropriate alternative, I’ll cheerfully refrain from making such fashion faux pas in the public domain.

Yes. High waisted jeans are the thing. Can I have a pair that aren’t stove pipe? And do you have some in a nice solid blue with no bleach marks/wear marks/holes/slashing/dodgy looking white “splash” stain?

So yeah, frocks. I’ve seen the Glamourmum slips, not my thing. I’m thinking nice stretch cotton jersey, pretty bright summer modern print, capped sleeves, v neck, inbuilt support bra which allows for some discreet baby feeding without acres of chest being on display, and ending the whole garment just below the knees.

If you have the solution, send me email. Soon.

I know rivetkitty is nothing to do with cats, but I can’t pass up a good running gag when I see one. Just like last time, I needed a test image. So, here it is. - Dishpig