Daggy mum?

Daggy?

I have a favourite cousin ( I actually have a number of favourite cousins) anyway this one, who I will call Ed, is close to my own age. I don't see a lot of him but we have an odd kind of a bond. When we were kids, Ed lived on the other side of Sydney, I guess an hour or more drive away so we didn't see a lot of each other in those days, either.
Sometimes  Grandpa would ask who wanted to make the trip to Manly to see the cousins and I would inevitably be the one to put my hand up. I remember that at one point in the drive Grandpa would announce that the traffic was heavy and he needed to concentrate so no talking was allowed. He would later announce the end of the tricky bit and we could talk again. This aspect of the journey is pretty much all I can remember of the drive. It was routine and I never thought a lot about it but many years later I mentioned it to my Dad and he said the silence would have been designed to keep Grandma quiet. It's a bit funny because as far as I remember Grandma wasn't that much of a chatterbox! Then again, I am supposedly quite like her so um, yea. Memory is unreliable, right?

Back to my cousin, we were in the same grade at school and for part of each visit my uncle, an interesting man, would send us to separate bedrooms to do maths and later compare our results.
Maybe my relationship with Ed was forged through Saturday afternoon maths exercises and Shredded Wheat dinners......
I haven't heard a lot of Ed lately but yesterday he called me for some baby related information and along with some general catching up, we were talking about my lack of employment. Ed has the ability to speak with total authority, even when he knows little to nothing on the subject, and quickly determined (while showing off his vocabulary) that I should use my "droll, dry, laconic" ability to "turn a phrase" and become the next Mommy blogger sensation. I expressed some concern about my ability to carve a niche in an already full market but Ed was on a roll and he wasn't about to stop. In next to no time he identified my unique selling point as a potential mommy blogger and checked for domain name availability: Daggy Mum of daggymum.com.
Some time ago I posted about my inability (or maybe unwillingness) to develop a specific blogging persona and come to think of it I was the same as a doula, not wanting to brand myself as others do "The Modern Doula", "Birthwise Doula" or "Mamabear Doula".
It might, indeed, be smart to label myself "Daggy Mum", creating a self deprecating, droll and laconic personal brand but what happens on the days I want to be cool, stylish, frugal, thoughtful or perspicacious?

four days of kindness

 ok, well it's actually three days because i wasnt intentionally kind today and now, at 5pm and with no intention to go anywhere i probably wont be (except to my family, who get the benefit of my kindness everyday)
yesterday i babysat my nieces (i do most wednesdays) and i made a point of having marshmallows to put in their bedtime milk.
instead of sending them to bed with their milk in a plastic sippy cup i put it in pretty coloured cups with matching saucers, three soft and fluffy marshmallows on the side to be dipped, dunked, spooned out and plopped back in. i sat with them and tried to chat. more to the point i tried not to get exasperated when they slurped up the marshmallows and didnt want the milk.

it wasnt a big kindness, just a small value add. on the kindness website i ticked the box:

 "Go the extra mile with someone - add sprinkles to a child's dessert, shout your close friend a coffee or a drink. An unexpected gesture is always welcomed."

in other news, i am quite pleased to have had a blog post published by "Nurture" magazine, it wasnt paid, they didnt even tell me they were going to publish but its out there and thats gotta be a good thing.

burns, boats and babies

this past week was unexpectedly and unwantedly interesting when the other half was extensively burned in a work accident. i spent a few hours in sydney's specialist burns hospital, a few hours driving back and forth to said hospital and am now doing a crash course on burn care. as burns go it was not so bad, partial thickness is what they call it and he didnt need hospitalisation but he has lost most of the skin off one side of his back/shoulder and there are all the practical and emotional challenges that always go with injury: how to be a good patient or a sensitive nurse, how to shower around it, how to dress the wound and how to dress the patient and how to sleep.........

in other news, we went for a lunch cruise on the harbour today, in honour of the mother-in-law visiting and while the lunch was pretty average, sydney never fails to captivate me.

i came home to an email from my doula teacher offering a possible opportunity to attend a birth, as required by the course. i compete for that opportunity with a couple of others and i dont know how it will be decided but i'm sure the right opportunity will come at the right time and it's good to feel that i'm a teeny bit closer to doula-dom. in a coincidental twist the hospital where the baby will be born is the one hubby was treated at before his referral to the burns specialist, i haven't been there in twenty years and now it pops up twice in a week.

so many things in life seem to be circular, dont they?

It's nearly One am....In The Morning

and yes, the "in the morning" is redundant, that's why i put it there! i'm relaxed and chatty and thought i would do a post regardless of the hour.

I finished my Christmas food shopping today, spent a minor fortune in my favourite fruit market come deli. I have become so caught up in silliness that i havent been to that shop in a very long time and i wonder why on earth not. It's a fantasia of good, honest stuff: vegetables and cheeses and biscuits and pasta......
we have a box of my favourite mangoes: calypso; we have halloumi and feta and peaches to grill with brown sugar, we have mushrooms and zucchini, potatoes to roast, broccoli and asparagus. we have turkey and camembert and the makings of punch.

we also have my katten, oscar, soon to be mum & dad's cat. she will provide Christmas-day-pouncing-on -wrapping-paper entertainment. i rescued oscar as a two week old kitten, crying and drenched on a rainy day, no mama in sight. she nearly died of flea anaemia and cost me another minor fortune but she is now seven weeks, doubled her weight, behaving like a cat and worth it? you bet!

i have gifts for all but my wee nephew, as a male he is already impossible to buy for, even at the age of three and the local toy store has closed it's doors. there would have been something there for him but now there is a scourge of the earth dollar store.

i seem to have left the grinch behind, which is easy really, when one is blessed as i am. the greatest gift for me in this season of gifts is the knowledge that the universe truly is unfolding as it should. i dont always like it but who likes whats good for them?

i thank you for keeping on reading and commenting, even when i rudely neglect to reply. i cant explain why i do that except to say that life has taken on a different rhythm lately and a girl has to roll with the punches.

thank you, thank you, thank you for your input to my blog and my life. i wish you joy today and enough other days to make the crummy ones worth fighting through.


" The Spirit of the Sovereign LORD is on me, because the LORD has anointed me to preach good news to the poor. He has sent me to bind up the brokenhearted, to proclaim freedom for the captives and release from darkness the prisoners" Isaiah 61:1

pa

i remember my mother's father, pa, as a story teller. i would have been only fourteen when pa died and he lived in new zealand so i had only met him a few times and my impressions have been formed more by mum's remembrances than my own observations but i clearly remember him telling me the story of epaminondas. he told it with a sparkle in his eye, with great accents and facial expressions, humour and suspense. a very quick glance at some websites tells me that the story is regarded as racist and i see why but times were different then and i imagine he just liked the story.

i also remember pa writing a birthday card for somebody and smudging it a bit. he didnt want to give a smudged card so he turned the mark into a picture and though i didnt know it then, in that moment i saw a glimpse of pa's perfectionist side. the turning of a mistake into something acceptable, even attractive would also have been part of his work as an artisan.

pa left school at about the age of fourteen and worked in his father's blacksmith shop and around the age of eighteen he was offered an apprenticeship in some kind of engineering work. pa's father was a binge drinker and knowing that he had a problem he determined to move to a dry area and expected his son to go with him. the plan was that together they would establish a life and the rest of the family would follow. and that, is in fact, what happened. pa never took the apprenticeship. of course we dont know what might have happened if he had taken advantage of that opportunity but i suspect it may have involved great personal cost. i also have fanciful dreams that maybe his sacrifice made a significant difference in the lives of his siblings.

it must have been relatively soon after the big move that pa worked in what i understand to be a mixed business where he learned to make confectionery and ice cream. it would also have been about this time that he met my nanna and these two aspects of his story collide for the period of the great depression, during which time pa made confectionery to sell door to door and waited, a long wait, to marry his sweetheart. without further research the story is hazy but the time from meeting to marrying was seven years for pa & nanna, not so unusual in these days of cohabiting but surely an agonising wait in those days.

la misma luna

Under the Same Moon was a lovely film making commentary on the nature of illegal immigration, family and love. i think it deserves better than it's IMDb rating of 7.4 out of 10.

it is about a mexican woman who has gone to live illegally in the US and her son, left in mexico with his grandmother.

when grandma dies nine year old Carlitos embarks on a mission to be reunited with his mama. in the course of the journey Carlitos attaches himself to the unwilling Enrique who slowly becomes a true partner to the boy, eventually making an heroic sacrifice in support of Carlitos' mission.

it is the relationship between the two that has remained with me. this is filmworld where the impossible becomes possible, i know, but could a stranger become caught up with the plight of a boy to the extent that he would invite his own arrest and deportation? what is it about the boy that inspires such sacrifice? is it Carlitos at all or is it the romantic idolisation of the mother-child bond that inspires Enrique? is it a cultural emphasis on family?

i dont suppose my questions will be answered but as i ponder i will be happy to gaze on Enrique!

my old man

this was the only photo of my dad that i could find just quickly and while it's an odd one in a way it fits pretty well.....

thats dad with the rumpled hair and liam, who he taught to play, on his left (some unidentified bald guy between them)

dad is seventy today (happy birthday!!) and we dont do birthdays in grand style, which is a good and a bad thing but anyway, i thought it was a good time to tell you a bit about the old man.

dad spent his working life as a technician working in telephone exchanges, first for the PMG, staying through corporate identity changes to telecom and telstra. telephone exchanges are those strange big brick buildings with few windows. they seem secretive because they contain relatively few people, being full of equipment. nobody seems to come or go from them too much and nobody knows what happens inside. i'm here to tell you it's lots of technical electrical stuff, lino floors and noticeboards full of jokes and safety bulletins.

i have a vague picture of what dad did all those years but of course his work was his place and i can only imagine what it was really like.

i do know that dad's workmates would have been subjected to his dad jokes, only there they would have been "john jokes". i would think that my own workmates would probably regard my jokes with a kind of pained affection similar to what dad would have been given.

i know, too, that they would have heard him hypothesise and philosophise ( i suppose thats where i got it)

they would have known his measured responses and they would certainly have known his love of music, brass band music, in particular.

dad has played cornet for most of his years, he has taught and he has played with various bands, he has played the calls at anzac services, he has played at funerals where a little music made a lonely end a little warmer.

banding is dads great love and he has given wholeheartedly to the bands he plays with, always present and punctual, uniformed and rehearsed.

oftentimes i was embarassed by dads intense interest in folks' ethnic backgrounds and squeamish about him making generalisations based on heritage but if you can't beat it, you join it and dad's continual interest has rubbed off onto me. my interest extends to food in particular and i am always secretly pleased if i manage to impress somebody with my knowledge of their food and/or culture.

oh yes, dad "blessed" me with eccentricity, with his bone structure, with his humour and with a need to see the english language well used. (actually i got the double whammy on that)

he also taught us to appreciate music and not to feel intimidated by a serious concert at a serious venue, he taught us to be reliable team members and to look for the oddities and ironies in life.

i could go on but i am nearing the end of my cohesive thought (i wont try to examine the origin of a short attention span!)

so, dad

thanks

(but no thanks:)

and

happy birthday!!

the diary ends

ipoh town hall

our last full day in malaysia begins with yum cha in ipoh. as we drive i admire some of the colonial architecture and the kids laugh. shopping is suggested and having enjoyed a thai massage a couple of days back i see my chance for another and request a visit to the same shopping centre. my foot is a little bit troublesome so i try to sit quietly as everyone shops. liam acquires a wallet and a shirt, the girls buy some girly knick knacks and keaghan fancies a tee shirt. i am briefly but seriously tempted by a net book.

we go home to shower and change before a farewell dinner with the family. the seafood menu doesn't impress the girls and all attempts are made to please them. we start with a chinese new year specialty: noodles, coriander, ginger, cucumber, pomelo and a few thin slices of raw fish are placed in little piles on a platter, plum sauce is poured over and everybody stands together and uses their chopsticks to toss the ingredients together. that is followed by some delicious tofu, fried rice, stir fried veggies and a whole steamed chicken.

after dinner the night passes painfully. i have the worst insomnia i have ever experienced. my mind wont stop and i try to slow it but cant. at 3am i nearly jump out of my skin when the phone rings. the bus driver wants to know why we arent on the bus to kuala lumpur. we had planned on taking the 3Pm bus. i toss and turn a couple more hours and drift into delicious sleepy peace at sunrise. a few short hours of sleep are interrupted as family come to report to me on what is happening and a new booking for the bus is organised.

i want my last malaysian restoran beakfast and we go to get it. i am interested to see that as new year celebrations come to their end the customers at breakfast consist less of noisy family groups and the usual routine is returning. one man in dirty work clothes lingers over a pot of tea, there is a young man from the tyre service opposite and a young woman sipping coffee.

my dream for this breakfast was to have watermelon juice but in my state of numb tiredness hot, sweet coffee becomes my choice. for genuine sustenance i order a new discovery, a wonderful bright green soupy concoction called lo char (?)

we head home to some last minute packing, share lunch and go to catch the bus. the trip home is gruelling but uneventful and soon we are back to our normal lives. until next time malaysia will be an other reality mirage.

the diary 8

todays post follows from yesterdays......

i think of my sister-in-law who i accompanied to church this morning and i wonder how she reconciles it all. the celebration is part of her culture but it is also part of a religion she no longer wants.

liam, who is finding it difficult to deal with having no control over, or even prior knowledge of, his schedule, take a look at the party, asks what it's about and makes a hasty exit. i consider talking to him about respect for his heritage but i know that his father's culture is not his and my words would be hollow so i also retreat.

tonights fireworks are all about noise, the party has only just begun and it is well past midnight. it looks like a long night ahead.

the day after the party suckling pig is on the breakfast table along with the gruesome, crispy, brown skinned duck head and i wish for raisin toast or fruit & yoghurt.

after a long, late night nobody can focus on the school work that we brought with us and my temper wears delicately thin so we give in and watch a movie instead.

the diary 7

tonight, a week into the new year, there is a party centred around an abundant offering table. there are two suckling pigs, duck, chicken, buns, pomelo, nectarines, bananas, grapes, sticky rice, jelly, sugar cane and cognac. there are three candles that stand a metre tall and there are incense sticks and pretend money to be burnt.

my husband seems unable to explain the exact meaning of this event except to say it is part of the new year celebrations and that festivities will end on a muted note in another weeks time. compared to our one day holiday for new year a week of public holidays plus another week of celebration seems a lot and i muse that sometime, somewhere somebody was mighty glad to see the back of the old year.

the diary 5

my perception of this society might be distorted by my inability to speak the language but the idea i get is that it's more obscenely materialistic, more self centred, more interested in consumption and display, than my own.

i am still vulnerable to the thrill of purchase but i would like to think that i am growing away from that mindset so conspicuous consumption is hard to watch.

i'm wondering whether the hills surrounding this area have suddenly taken a new significance to me because of the contrast with humanity. i have never paid much attention to the ranges that stand blue in the distance but now i can only describe them as comforting. they are still and quiet and unchanging.

i think, too of their history in my lifetime, as a hideout for communist rebels and i wonder what significance they held for many generations of people in this area.

how were they seen by the chinese migrants? the indians? the british colonial power? and what about the migrant workers who come here from sri lanka, cambodia and bangladesh? do they have time to ponder the landscape?

the diary 4

photos unrelated to text, just an excuse to show you my mug

that buffet under the marquee is the first i have ever partaken of though i have seen many, it is a common way to hold a wake, a birthday party or even a wedding. it is with some surprise that the following night i find myself at another, much larger marquee party, a housewarming.

there are three large marquees covering the front yard and spanning the whole road. the buffet is lavish with a laden table of vegetarian food for the local indians (hindus?) and another full of chinese favourites featuring pork, duck and chicken.

children play as adults watch indulgently, dirty plates are stacked on the gutter and a tailless cat wanders through the crowd.

the next day early rain brings some relief from the heat and a cool breeze blows for a while before the heat becomes oppressive again.

i lend a hand with some schoolwork before the kids go swimming with their older cousins.

i go out for lunch with those who dont want to swim and although i enjoy a fried noodle or two i am relieved to find steamed buns and sticky rice on the menu. the sticky rice is sweet and moist with a morsel of tender chicken and a dried mushroom. there are steamed greens and tofu in an eggy sauce and all eyes are on me as i struggle with chopsticks for the first few moments. my B.I.L offers me a fork but i refuse, wishing to show some competence, at which H agrees "yes, you are half chinese, why should you use a fork?"

malaysia is a land of flip flops and slip ons and i laugh to myself as i notice that crocs, that sartorial crime so often derided in the fashion world, are on many feet in many colours and styles.

i am wearing orthotics every waking moment in hopes of clearing up a pressure wound on my foot so i wear runners everywhere. they are expensive runners in an attractive style but i still feel that my footwear stands out like a beacon and i doubt that my situation has been properly explained. i wonder whether i am regarded as odd, or worse, rude because i even wear shoes in the house.

i bought my house shoes shortly before the trip and kept them new so they wouldnt sully the clean floors but to wear shoes indoors is bizarre in the extreme.

eventually a young niece asks why i choose such hot footwear and i show her the orthotic. i doubt she understands fully but it is clear that i cant put it in a flip flop. i should have told her how much they cost. money talks loud around here and and the price might excuse me almost any faux pas :)

the diary 3

a few days into the new year it is my mother-in-law's turn to provide a buffet dinner for the extended family. it is a tradition to hold this gathering and a few family members take turns to host it.
on the day of the buffet some men arrive with a blue marquee and erect it outside the house, covering half the road. they deliver trestle tables and round ply tops, red plastic chairs and bainmaries.

as the day progresses crates of carlsberg, ice and food arrive. people bring fans and gifts of food. there is a long procession of visitors before the actual dinner and with each new arrival we are summoned from our activities: school work or movies or reading, to be presented to these people. it is an odd feeling, one i am familiar with after numerous visits. we are inspected and physical attributes: height or hair texture or whiteness of skin are noted, sometimes in cantonese and sometimes english. the kids look bored and resent being curiosities and i strain to catch a word i might understand or to read body language.
the time for the buffet arrives. i try to look friendly as people mill about and lucky red envelopes (ang pau) are exchanged. tradition dictates that they be given to anybody younger than ones self.
on this night i see a small act of kindness that cheers my evening. an uncle i have alwys liked based solely on the look of his face approaches the family black sheep and briefly massages his shoulders to be rewarded with a broad grin, the pure pleasure of an affirmed child.
everybody eats and many go home but the inner circle stay late playing cards, talking, watching movies and setting off fireworks.

on coffee, fish & pyjamas

today otin asks "what makes you happy?"

today i finished my work early and got an early mark. i was home from work before two pm. a long tiring week was over, the pressure was off, i could get a head start on tomorrows chores and catch up on yesterdays backlog.

it was a glorious day and i soaked in the spa, enjoying warm water, cerulean sky and iced coffee.

the girls came home with stories of pre-teen-girl-politics and i was here to hear it!

tonight i will join my brood to enjoy a fish and chip dinner, especially the battered fish. we will follow it up with a movie and since i have a jump on tomorrows work i might even see two and take a chance to sleep in. that would be the ultimate decadence.

tomorrow we will be off to my gorgeous twin nieces first birthday party and i get to be pyjama aunty, a privileged position which involves trawling the shops for the most adorable possible jarmies.

what makes me happy? all this and more

thanks #9

These are my boys with their new cousin.

and my girls with his sister

I can't make up my mind which aspect of this I am thankful for, the tenderness of the boys which is heartbreakingly sweet, the joie de vivre of the girls, my fondness for my own cousins.....

I'm Grateful.....

This week I have determined that I should collect all of my awards. When I think I have done that I'll let you know and if I have forgotten any you can let me know.

Bindi graciously bestowed this pretty award on me so I thought I'd make it true by practicing some gratitude.

Today I'm grateful for

• the sound of rain outside
• a job that allows me some flexibility
• a warm bed
• people to laugh with
• enough money for all that we need and much of what we want
• good health
• a beautiful bunch of dahlias on the coffee table
• the Tomboy's relentless joie de vivre
• the Princess's regular gifts to me....little letters & drawings and such like. The Tomboy will be offended if I don't recognise her offerings here, they're also wonderful.
• Dimples' general sweetness and exceptional potential
• No.1 son for our shared humour and his consistent appreciative eating of whatever I put in front of him
• the unwavering love of my "original" family

Turn your face to the sun and the shadows fall behind you.
Maori Proverb

It Never Rains But It Pours

G'day All,
I guess my summary of the week is "It's a funny old world".
I have been surprised by hearing comments on the disgusting-ness of ducks. I never knew they were so yukky but now I've heard it twice in a week. I've heard three different presentations on sleep this week and I've been graciously given two blogging awards on one day (they'll go nicely with the ones I haven't yet collected)
I wouldn't say I had writers block but I didn't have a lot to say and now there are half a dozen things in my head. I hardly know where to start.
Today I took my girls shopping (that might make it into another post) then came home to find my niece here for a visit, I upset her when I put on my sternest voice and told her to keep her nappy on (she had taken it off and it wasn't pretty) I felt bad for a short while then went to a local park for my other nieces second birthday afternoon tea. After all of that I did some tidying up round the house, got some dinner for the mob and sat down to blog.
Now I have to get the ratbags off to bed, wash up and put the clocks back. YAY, an extra hours kip!
I'll see y'all tomorrow.

Tag ...you're it!

Well, Bomber has tagged me, which means I have to tell you five to eight things about myself. Here I was sitting down innocently to work on a post that may take some time and as happens so often in blogland (and utopia) I've been sidelined.

• I'm the oldest of three.....younger brother then a sister.
• I'm a coffee, cheese, chocolate, cheesecake afficianado ( there's something about "C" foods)
• I can trace my heritage back to Australia's First Fleet.
• I studied Biology to Associate Diploma level.
• I have weaknesses for beautiful jewellery, glassware, stationery, European cars and did I mention I love coffee?

Do I have to tag someone? PJ...I know you're busy, but when you can.....

Later:

Giving this tag thing a bit more thought I decided to add a bit and Na's comment just confirmed it. It also sent me off on a new tangent.

• I have a handbag fetish
• and a newishly developing jacket fetish.
• I love bold colour and clean lines.
• In an odd coincidence my brother and I both married Malaysians.
• I follow fashion avidly ( but don't neccessarily wear it)
• Oh, and I have a spectacular weakness for good fabrics.