Category: Life

Getting back into the school routine has knocked the entire family around. Gone are the luxurious sleep-ins that Isaac wants and Amy is no longer able to raid the fridge before anyone else is awake.

Now, if I was any sort of new and popular blogger, I’d have a series of tips here, complete with a shiny graphic. I’d be ready to tell you all about how to adjust your routine and make sure that everyone bounds out of bed without swearing at the alarm, or screaming.

But of course, I’m me, and fabulous graphics are not really my thing, nor are tips and advice on how to live your life. Sorry, but you’ll have to buy a magazine for that.

Instead, we’ve been stricken by an end of Summer cold. I use the royal “we” here, but really I mean Isaac and I. Amy, our darling germ carrier was a bit sniffly for a couple of days before improving today (thank god, because it’s photo day) and Nathan has had a sore throat that he’s very kindly shared with me.

However, it’s onwards and upwards, because anything that doesn’t land Isaac in hospital is not really a bug worth whining about (sure, he sounds like a frog croaking, but he’s eating and playing cars).

Pregnancy is going well, you know, all the usual bits and pieces happening. My pelvis falls apart on average twice a day, but I’m much better at putting it back together now. Babe is fluttering occasionally, enough to let me know that it isn’t dead in there and my uterus continues to expand at a normal rate(photos when I warm up enough to upwrap myself from the blankets I’ve wrapped around my shoulders – stupid body temperature).

I had an antenatal appointment last week that consisted of a LOT of waiting, a lot of talking, a slightly panicked midwife (BUT YOU HAVE TO BE HIGH RISK!!!) and a calm, brilliant OB (Sure, you’re not low risk, but I accept that there isn’t going to be much we can do for you, and sure you can have midwife care).

After two pregnancies with doctors and midwives alike panicking about the growth of my uterus and smaller than average babies, I’ve been set up with my very own personalised growth chart for this kid, hopefully averting professional panicking down the track. I’m not sure that 20th percentile babies are even all that much to worry about.

Really, this is about it.

How are you?

Look! Look at what my father did for us today.

Before:

What you can’t see in this photo are the scratches, pockmarks, holes and stains in the laminate surface. You also can’t see that it’s way too short to work at comfortably.

This is what we have now, care of a piece of pine from my uncle and an awful lot of work from my father.

After:

Now we just need to reline the kitchen, paint the godawful purple and replace the cupboard doors.

Eventually.

I just shouted at my daughter for chopping a lemon into pieces with a filleting knife. While I’m proud that she didn’t chop her fingers off, I’m rather unimpressed that she destroyed my next-to-last lemon.

At the same time, Isaac ran away outside, holding a bowl of water and pretending he didn’t hear me asking him to lay down and get changed. Again.

I’ve got no idea what he is doing with the bowl.

For that matter, I’ve got no idea why Amy wanted a lemon.

Considering they’ve decided to converse solely in puppy whines (making me tell Amy more than once “If you continue to sound like a puppy, I’ll put you outside like one”) and squeaks, I’ve probably got no chance of finding out.

This has been my Sunday.

How was your weekend?

Last night, I was lucky enough to watch a once in a lifetime gig – The Dresden Dolls (Amanda Palmer and Brian Viglione), Brian Ritchie, Mick Harvey and John Parish performing The Violent Femmes first album.

It was, amazing.

Things like this make me happy.

And if you’re interested, here are the photos I took of The Dresden Dolls performance.

Sometimes, I forget how beautiful it is where I live.

I’ve had a serious bout of insomnia lately and it’s left me feeling vaguely zombie like. Yes, there are things I want to talk about, but who has the energy?

Instead, I took photos.

You’re welcome.