Leave Taking

Found this beautiful image on a site offering advice on how not to lose your luggage!

Our bags are packed. Well, I think they are packed. We may well repack them in the morning. 

Times have changed, though. The first time I went travelling, after uni as so many of us do, the only communications tools we had were postcards, aerograms, public phones in telephone booths, and landlines (but we didn't know they were called landlines back then).

Seven years ago, before Miles could walk, we had a single mobile phone without apps, capable of only sending text messages. There were no huge bills to pay, because there was no data roaming to worry about, no updates to constantly download, no GPS navigation to track our every move. We could even give the phone to Miles to distract him in his stroller and the worst that could happen was that he might accidentally call someone back home (and he did).

Today, I am packing so much technology - phones, cameras, a Kindle, a Nintendo DS, a mini-laptop - and all the adaptors and cords that we need to keep them running.

Forget the clothes and the books. No room left.

Christmas Past

Christmas is as good as over for another year. Once again, I cooked Nigella's fantastic turkey. Here it is in the nappy bucket (well cleaned and never actually used for soaking grotty nappies), soaking amongst oranges, onions, cloves, peppercorns, maple syrup, mustard seeds, cinnamon sticks and other fragrant things. Unfortunately, I forgot to photograph it after it had been roasted. You will have to imagine it coming out of the oven, it's skin basted to a gorgeous rich brown courtesy of more maple syrup and butter. I love roasting the turkey this way. I love the process of soaking it in the bucket and adding all the gorgeous spices (and ice, lots of ice - unlike Nigella, I am not preparing for Christmas in a cold climate). And the best part is that it produces a wonderful, moist turkey. Just as she said it would.

We have done all things Santa this Christmas, except sitting on his knee. Mr M has never been willing to do that. But Mr M did write a letter (okay, I wrote it, he dictated it) and received a reply. We went to visit Santa's house in the North Pole (aka Weetangera). We listened to the Wiggles sing Santa's Rockin' every night for a week and we are still listening to it. We left out supper for Santa and the reindeer and they must have really loved it because they left only crumbs. And since Christmas Day, Mr M has asked when Santa will be coming again ... every single day. Sometimes more than once. We only have a year to wait.

Happy Feet

We have been to the coast. Not, I should add, for the last month. Just for the last weekend. We drove down the Clyde on Saturday evening. I had packed hurriedly in the morning before spending the afternoon at work. I was quite proud of how efficiently I had packed, quickly pulling t-shirts and swimmers out of drawers and off shelves. Remembering essentials such as the mobile phone chargers and the medication. Convincing Mr M to pack his own bag of toys, books and essential dvds. Yes, the packing was easy.

But when we arrived at the house at the bay, I kicked off the 'work shoes' and went looking for my black leather thongs. Alas, I had packed two completely different shoes: one a slip-on sandal, the other with a fully enclosed toe. The only good thing about them was that there was a right foot and left foot. Mr M thought it was very funny, Mum having odd shoes to wear.

So on Sunday morning we went to Kmart and I spent the grand sum of $3 on these lovely blue thongs (actually, it was more than $3 because I was convinced that a four-year-old's life wouldn't be complete if he didn't own a pair of Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle shoes).

I can't remember the last time I owned a pair of rubber thongs. I've been thinking about it on and off since Sunday morning. I do recall owning a pair of 'slaps' (I think that's what they were called). They were like thongs but had a cane insole and the straps were made of stuffed velour sausages. I think I thought rubber thongs were a bit uncool, a bit unsophisticated. And 30 years ago, they were available only in pretty ugly colours. So I stopped wearing them and resorted to happy shoes and various flip-flops since.

I have been entranced, though, by my pair of little blue thongs. Looking at my feet with their flash of aqua makes me feel cheerful. They are such a change from my normal black footwear. They are frivolous and summery and lazy. And they look like the sea on a warm November morning.

I Know It's Spring When ...

The washing line is full of white shirts. In winter, I wear black. Lots of black. I have black tops, black cardies, little black jumpers, a black coat, a black dress, black pants, black skirts. And I won't even start on the black shoes. But when the weather warms up, the palette shifts to white. Lots of white. I currently own four white linen shirts and a couple of white cotton ones too. It's not just me. J's wardrobe also shifts, with more white shirts appearing, although there is still a lot of blue.

So it is officially spring when I can wash a full load of white shirts - as I did on Saturday for the first time in months.

This week, I rediscovered an old 'friend'. Claire Robertson has revived her gorgeous blog, Loobylu. Loobylu was the first blog I read. I think it was in 2003 that it was mentioned in a newspaper's IT pages. I decided to find out what this thing called blogging was and, thanks to Loobylu, I was hooked. Before I knew it, Claire and her family felt like old friends and I was lurking compulsively.

I was a little disappointed, then, when Claire decided early last year to have a break from blogging. Although I don't know how she managed to keep Loobylu and her blog of ideas for parents and kids, Kiddley, going with two small children (I'm finding it hard enough keeping one small blog going with one small child nipping at my elbows). But this week I discovered Claire is back and Looblylu is looking fresh and new. Welcome back, Claire.

Fleeting Art

On the last day of winter, it rained. And rained. And rained. And washed away the chalk art decorating our driveway. But before it disappeared, I photographed it with the mobile phone camera. Not great quality but it gives you an idea of what you might have seen 10 days ago.

A fairy by Alice.

My elephant - with additions by Mr M.

Family portrait ... by Alice also.

We have begun to fill the driveway with new chalk art. So far, we have had 10 days without rain. We'll have to see how much ground we can cover this time.

Creativity

In the past couple of months, we have reached that stage in a small boy's life where we have to 'make things'. For many months painting and play-doh satisfied the making urge but, although Mr M is now painting figures (see his first effort above - and, of course, it's a portrait of The Wiggles), we seem to spend our weekends 'making things'. Last weekend I was called on to make a 'Batman helicopter'. We have also made cars and boats for Mr M to sit in, computers so he can play 'Libraries' ('What book would you like today? Let me check ... you're in luck!'), his first book and special beds so he can have 'a rest'.

This phase is a challenge because I have never been 'crafty'. Except for doing a bit of knitting, I don't experience the urge to do craft. I don't make softies or scrapbook or sew. And I haven't yet organised myself a 'really useful box', although I am often inspired to get one after watching an episode of Playschool. But it's amazing what you can create with a few yellow straws and a toilet roll or two. Aluminium foil comes in handy too. And I know I'm going to get better at it, because I have years of making ahead of me. I've been warned by friends - I won't be able to get away with a school project about volcanoes that doesn't include building a model of one.

Sometimes, though, a boy is left to his own devices. This is most likely to be when his mum is just crafted out. And that's when the creativity really begins. Here is Mr M's first 'installation', a creative stacking of toys in the kitchen that took hours to get just right. All those toys have been placed very deliberately in the 'sculpture' simply to create a thing of beauty (in someone's eyes at least). And if you look very carefully, the final object to be placed was a small boy himself.

I Must Be Dreaming

One of my favourite Canberra houses has been listed for sale over the past couple of weeks. Here it is: 2 Macquarie Street, Barton. It's an old house and this photo suggests it's not particularly beautiful. But it is a house I've long had a soft-spot for and often contemplated living in.

Once upon a time, about 20 years ago, friends of mine rented this house. This was in the days before it had been renovated. I remember it being quite a dark house but, even then, it was a dark house with good bones. If you visit the real estate agent's website (which is where the photos come from) you'll see what I mean. Fantastic floorboards. Original doors and windows. A fireplace. A window seat in one of the bedrooms. It was also a great party house - and my friends threw lots of great parties, and gatherings that became great parties. The house seemed to bend graciously to accommodate people squashed into its hallway and sitting rooms. A friendly house.

I hadn't thought much about this house until I noticed the 'for sale' sign when I was walking back to work from a dental appointment in Manuka. I couldn't resist peering through the gate to discover that the old garage has been turned into a glorious studio. The agent was there showing someone through and I had to struggle against knocking on the front door and begging to be allowed to visit. Thank goodness for websites - back at work I was able to take a virtual peek. But by then I had dreamt the house into being my dream house. It is across the road from an excellent public school. A couple of blocks from a great park. A short easy walk to the cafes of both Manuka and Kingston. I could walk to work. Mr M could walk to school. J could walk to the weekend markets. We would save so much money by not having to drive to all the places we now drive to. Whatever the price, the house was, obviously, a bargain and perfect for us.

Of course, there were disadvantages. The house doesn't have a garage. J and I would only argue over possession of the studio (see below), despite the house also having a study that opens onto a courtyard. Oh, and, oops, yes, the price tag was over $1 million.

So we haven't bought 2 Macquarie Street. Someone else has (although I've noticed it is under offer for less than $1 million). And it will, I'm sure, be many years before it is on the market again. But I've had a lovely time recalling what it was like to visit friends and sit in their living room talking and eating and drinking. And dreaming of what might have been if I'd had a spare million.

This Week's Blessings

Our family has grown this week - by two. Not twins but two little boys born on opposite sides of the world, and on the same day Canberra-time.

In 1976, we had two babies born into the family. My brother and his first wife gave birth to their third child, a boy, in March. In November, my eldest sister gave birth to her third child, a girl. These were my third nephew and my third niece. I was nine years old and already had some notoriety for being an aunt at an age when my friends were more likely to be welcoming new brothers or sisters than nieces and nephews. I remember Tony being born in a hospital on the north coast of New South Wales and leaving school early in the day to drive the couple of hours from Sydney to see him. I don't have as clear a memory of Linda's birth eight months later - although it is possible I was also able to leave school early in the day to visit my new niece.

Some 32 years later, Tony is a father for the first time. His wife, Lisa, gave birth to Bailey in Canberra in the early evening of Wednesday. A few hours later, we heard that Linda had given birth to Rowyn in Canada. Rowyn is Linda's third child, her first boy. And although the birth dates are different due to international date lines, the closeness of the births reminded me that I have always thought of Tony and Linda as being linked in some way. Probably this is because, until they were born, my nieces and nephews arrived annually - 1971 Vanessa; 1972 Donna; 1973 Geoffrey; 1974 Gary. Tony and Linda upset the pattern and shared a birth year.

Bailey and Rowyn are continuing another pattern too. Since Jack was born nearly eight years ago, all the babies born on 'my side' of the family have been boys.* And there have now been seven of them. Until Jack's birth, my nieces and nephews were evenly divided, my great-nieces and great-nephews more of a mix.

Happy birthday, Bailey and Rowyn.

* Families being the complicated things they are, this statement may not be correct. Gary has, I think, two children but for reasons known only to him, I haven't had an opportunity to meet them. Nor has anyone else in the extended family. Gary, Garoldo, GET IN TOUCH!

"Every Day is a Blessing"

Jane and Glenn McGrath on ABC's Enough Rope in 2004

I have been deeply saddened by the news of the death of Jane McGrath on Sunday. Surprisingly so. I didn't know Jane. I don't know her family. I only knew of her through her appearance on ABC's Enough Rope and through the many magazine stories I read last year as I went through my own treatment for breast cancer. She was a constant presence in the magazines and, perhaps, a more realistic 'role model' for breast cancer patients than Kylie or Belinda Emmet.

The news of Jane's death has made me think of many things. It has plunged me back into the maelstrom of my own tussle with cancer. Most days, these days, I can almost forget that 12 months ago I was down a breast, hairless, and in the middle of chemo. Most days, despite the breast form and the short hair and the daily tablet, life is 'back to normal'. Jane's death is a reminder that cancer is a serious opponent and that once it has entered your life, you are never quite free of it. Even if you are one of the lucky ones who only have to battle it once.

Jane McGrath used her experience and her "celebrity" for good. The McGrath Foundation aims to fund breast care nurses in hospitals across Australia. In the ACT, we are lucky to have three breast care nurses funded by the ACT Government. I cannot sing their praises enough. My breast care nurse was and continues to be a tremendous resource. It was Bethel who lead J and I through the medical maze that you enter with a diagnosis of cancer. She explained procedures. She gently raised the possibility of a mastectomy, preparing us for the surgeon's recommendations. She showed me photos of mastectomies and breast reconstructions so that I wouldn't be completely horrified by what had happened to my body after surgery. And more than 12 months down the track, she is still only a phone call away, answering my questions, providing referrals, and advice, and an ear. Everyone who is diagnosed with breast cancer should have access to a Bethel ... and the McGrath Foundation is a very practical recognition of this.

Mostly, though, I have been thinking about Glenn McGrath's tribute to his wife. I've been thinking of their children, James and Holly, facing the rest of their lives with only memories of their mother. I've been thinking about Glenn's comment that he never took for granted his life with Jane, that "every day is a blessing". Every day is a blessing ... even when work is frustrating and a small boy is insisting on doing things in his own way, in his own time. Every day is a blessing and we should celebrate each one with a smile, a laugh, and the joy of being alive.

I'm Late, I'm Late ... Again

On Sunday I had all sorts of ideas about what this week's post might be. Can't recall a single one tonight; can't even recall why I didn't post on Sunday. What excuse did I have? Most likely I decided that watching Persuasion on ABC1 was far more important than turning on the computer. (I did try to watch it with an open mind but, really, it wasn't a patch on the Amanda Root/Ciarin Hinds version. Anne spent too much time staring into the lens of the camera and, much as I adore Rupert Penry-Jones in Spooks, he is simply too handsome to be Captain Wentworth.)

At midweek, the household is weary. Mr M appears to have 'slap face'. He did have a cold over the long weekend and this evening came home from playschool with a bright red right cheek. My internet search has found results that lurch from informing me it's terribly contagious and hangs around for months, to the more comforting announcement that by the time the red rash appears, the worst is over. This is why you shouldn't rely too much on the Internet to diagnose illness. For a little while following my diagnosis last year, I tried to research my disease and possible treatments on the web. It seemed to be the thing to do if you wanted to take control of your treatment and be what we called, in the days when I worked in consumer affairs, an 'informed consumer'. It was hellish. Invariably, I found myself hot on the trail of a possible treatment (usually of a 'natural' variety) only to discover an hour later that I was caught up in loony-land and being asked to pay not insignificant dollars for a 'cure'. In the end, I stuck to the most mainstream websites I could find and relied on the medical profession for advice. At times, this felt like a cop-out, as if I was abdicating responsibility for my own recovery. Most of the time, though, I believed that relying on the Internet was the surest way to madness. Now how did I get on to this?

It hasn't been all colds and weariness this week, though. Mr M has a new 'big boy' carseat, which he has taken to with enthusiasm. I did think he was going to cling to his old seat and refuse change but he has adapted to his new booster and H-harness willingly. I have a new mobile phone - with a camera - although I still can't work out how to email photos. A phonecall to the provider's helpline is required. Once I have that sorted, though, I'll be able to add photos more easily to 52 Sundays. And we went on a small bookshop crawl on Sunday on which I found two treasures - this one on the work of Margaret Atwood and this one which I had been thinking about buying on ebay for a much higher price than I paid in Fyshwick!

A Week in Dot Points

• Tuesday: worked.
• Wednesday: worked.
• Thursday: worked a very long day due to corporate function held at 6pm.
• Friday: worked ... with the assistance of a couple of skim cappucinos.
• Saturday: took the little one to watch his cousins play footy. On the north-western edge of Canberra. Not a house in view, just large green playing fields (despite the drought) and scrubby paddocks on the other side of the carpark. The under-8s playing footy were vigorous, enthusiastic scraps of energy - except when they were distracted by their new mouthguards or the play moved too far away from them and they were free to watch the clouds or kick tufts of grass. Made a delicious citrus delicious for dinner - why have I assumed that you can only use lemons? The combination of oranges and lemons was uplifting.
• Sunday: slept through the middle of the day, thanks to the thoughtfulness of the two boys. Even the littlest one kept his attempts at playing Superman to the non-bedroom end of the house. This meant I had the energy to stay awake and watch Emma on ABC1. Hmmm, it wasn't inspired but it was a pleasant enough reminder of why I love the book. Did Mr Knightley have to look so ghastly, though? And why was Emma lit so that she looked like she had a moustache? Obviously, I wasn't fully engaged or I wouldn't have noticed these things.
• Monday: swimming lessons. We have started again this term after having to abort last year's attempt due to my illness. This year, we are trying a company that uses the term 'tots' in its name. This has caused some problems because Mr M insists he is not a baby and doesn't need to learn to swim with babies. He has, however, almost mastered the art of floating and can't stop smiling when he is in the water with his teacher. I can't stop smiling because at this swim school I don't have to be in the water with him. Although the pool is small and other classes are going on in various parts of it, I can have a little swim of my own, on my own.