The Sweet Sweet Taste of Child-Free Canapes

Tonight I went to a networking function. 

Not to a playgroup or mothers' group function.  But an actual grown-up function, with grown-up conversation, and the youngest person in the room would have been in their late 20s.

There were prawns in chilli and lime dipping sauce, little tarts with goats cheese and onion, pastry cones with salmon and dill.  I was in heaven.

There were no vegemite scrolls or juice boxes.  No neat cubes of fruit and no cupcakes with sprinkles.

I put on a pair of high heels and a fancy necklace.  I took the nappies and baby wipes out of my handbag.

I shook hands rather than shaking my head.

I mingled and chatted with a number of very interesting people.  Sure, we talked about children briefly, but it was not our main focus.  We talked about work!  Granted, for me that was a pretty short conversation considering I have not 'worked' for well over a year, but I had plenty to say about what I wanted to do next year. 

Each new person I spoke with renewed my excitement about my journey.  With each encouraging word I felt more energized about my decision to become a writer. 

And when I came home, I kicked off my heels and put the nappies and wipes back in my handbag, then went to kiss my girls goodnight, both soundly asleep in their beds.

With a Little Help From My Friends

Hello my 11 special friends.  Followers. Supporters.

I wanted to write and acknowledge you all, and the rest of you who may not necessarily have become a 'follower', but still read my blog and make comments or send me supportive emails.

Or perhaps you just read my blog every now and then and think nice thoughts.  Like: 'that really is a pretty background'...

I am so incredibly chuffed when someone sends me a comment, that someone cares enough to read this blog in the first place, and then takes the time to let me know they enjoyed it. 

All comments are emailed to me, as well as appearing on this blog, and I still save each and every email in a special folder because I get so excited to think that perhaps, just perhaps, I can make a go of this writing gig.

I hope that when I have a dozen books in print, syndicated columns in every national paper and magazine and a lecture theatre named after me, I still get excited when someone writes a positive comment.

So to you all out there, thank you.  I hope you continue to enjoy the show...

How I Became the Grinch who Stole Christmas

Yesterday I made a grand sociological observation about the social conditioning of our young. 

Previously I had thought that pre-schoolers behaved badly because it was in their nature, and they were simply learning to push boundaries and determine how they can influence the world around them.

What crap.

Preschoolers, or more specifically my pre-schooler (the three and a half year old blond bombshell), behaves badly because - get this - she learned it from me!

In front of a room full of people (my wonderful in-laws, bless them) I embodied that which I despise - a petulant, whining, argumentative three year old.  I stooped to her level.  I forgot I was an adult, and for a moment, actually believed I would win the war of wits with the following exchange:

Her: 'Be quiet Mummy'.

Me: 'No, you be quiet'.

Ok, writing this I realise that it doesn't look all that unreasonable.  But if you could hear the tone of voice I used, you would have thought you were overhearing a screaming match between a bunch of whiny siblings. 

And then to top it off, as I frogmarched her to her room - I told her that I would call Santa and tell him not to bring any presents this year.  I actually told her that Mummy's have a direct line to Santa.

Where does this stuff come from?

Sometimes I am so ashamed of what I say I find myself cringing in the next room, shaking my head in disbelief. 

And then, a matter of days later I find myself shaking my head in disbelief yet again, as my pre-schooler repeats the same offensive offering to her sister or father or aunty.  I am creating a monster.

I know parents often say that they wish their kids had a mute button, but I think in this household, it is me who needs one.

Everybody Needs Good Neighbours

Because my washing line is currently in a passionate relationship with a two storey scaffolding, and has recently given birth to a family of spiders, I have had to seek drying accommodations elsewhere.

Luckily I have a fabulous neighbour who told me that I could let myself into her back garden any time of day or night and use her fabulously generous washing line.

So the other day, after collecting my towels, and staring over the fence with more than a little concern at the monstrosity that is my new additions upstairs, I let myself through her side gate when I heard a voice from the other side of the fence.

'Who's that then?', asked a friendly but cautious male voice.

'It's Shannon from Number 14', I told him.

There was a bit of a pause, then he said 'Oh, the big house on the corner.  The building site'.

Yep, that's us.

The thing is, although we have lived here for more than 5 years, we have never met the people who live only two doors down.  So we made our introductions over the fence.

While my initial (and very brief) reaction was annoyance at being held up while lugging around a washing basket filled to the brim with towels and pegs and few pilfered tomatoes, my over-riding response was reassurance that people do actually still care about their community. 

This man was making sure that my neighbour wasn't getting broken into, and after being convinced I wasn't a burglar (he hadn't seen the tomatoes) he then wanted to spend time to get to know me.  Afterall, we are neighbours.

I am proud to live in a neighbourhood where people watch out for each other. 
I am not proud that it took me five years to realise this.

Women are from OCD-land, men are just delusional

Will someone explain to me why, when I leave the house with my baby I need to take a huge bag containing nappies, wipes, a spare dummy, tissues, spare clothes, a container of crackers and a toy but when my husband leaves the house with the baby, as he has just done, he just takes the baby?

Why is he so confident that nothing will go wrong?  Why is he so presumptuous to think she won't do one of her 6 daily poos while they are at the shop?  What does he plan on settling her with when she starts screaming in hunger because it has been at least 15 minutes since she last ate?  Will he just use her own sleeve to wipe her nose when it starts to run?  Give her a Mars Bar to chew on when she cries?

I'm not sure what I am more upset about.  The blatant cockiness that he doesn't need any of the accoutrements and doohickeys that I pack religiously in the event of baby melt-down.  Or the fact that absolutely nothing will go wrong for him anyway.

Acceptance Speech

Good evening.  I am here to humbly accept the award for most prolific writer.  When I first started this blogging gig, I sometimes worried I would not have enough to write about.  However, we then started doing some major renovations, and those worries disappeared.

So I would like to thank my builders for continually giving me material to write about.  It's as though they are implicitly supporting my quest to be a writer.

I mean, why else would they disconnect the power to my bore and reticulation so that my garden died in the summer heat.  Why else would they take almost a fortnight to fix it, so that by the time they reconnected the power, the pump had rusted and seized so that it doesn't work anymore anyway.

Unless they were providing their support to my burgeoning writing career, why else would they disconnect the power to my kitchen and laundry in the process of reconnecting the bore and retic.

Surely coming home to no fridge, washing machine, kettle or toaster was simply their way to provide yet another opportunity for me to sit down and hone my writing skills (in this case a letter of complaint - because all writing is good practice). 

So in closing, I would again like to acknowledge my builders for their tireless, behind the scenes support.

Keep up the good work guys.