Here he comes again

I'm prejudiced.

Against.

Mauve.

Mauve has never done anything to me and yet I can't even stand the sound of his name. Mauve. Yuck.

It's a truly visceral affect he has on me. I hide my prejudice. When the Wisterias are in bloom, I naturally ooh and aah with everyone else but inside I'm shuddering...Mauve. Too much Mauve. Yuck.

As with any prejudice, I see him everywhere, I distrust him and am uneasy when he's around. He seems to sneak into so many colours and try to ingratiate himself. The silvery, mother-of-pearly colour that I yearned for in the dining room has him lurking in the darkened corners. And now he's threatening to show up again in the pale grey colour that we have chosen for woodwork at the front of our house.

Dulux Lunette

. . . not to mention the colour we've chosen for the walls.

Dulux Bilby

The Historian keeps saying, "Look, if you're going to stare at the colour long enough, you're going to see it. Relax, and get that look of disgust off your face, it's grey . . . . . . . . . .with a hint of purple".

But I know that wily character Mauve, he lulls you into a false sense of security with his purple-ness or his pink-ness but he's still Mauve under it all.

Maybe I need to accept him. Embrace him. Plant a Wisteria and name the house "Mauve Manor".

Pssst...I've changed the main colour...that should foil Mr Mauve...

Dulux Raku

Cute and Cuddly Boys, Cute and Cuddly

So. Hello again. I've been neglecting you, poor little blog. I have excuses, I guess.

We've been busy. We've had nasty colds, birthdays and school holidays. We've had outings (Zoo, Museum, Art Gallery) and In-ings (cocooned in our new library because it's quite cold and we are unprepared for that) and creating an awful mess again as we scrape, sand, fill and paint the front of the house (with associated paint choice dramas again).

And we have a new member added to our family.

Meet NASA (as in National Aeronautics and Space Administration, named (naturally) by science-mad Linus).

We lost the youngest of our geriatric cats (Scat) a few months ago. As much as you are prepared for the loss of elderly pets, it still hurts an awful lot when they go. We didn't want to "replace" him as we still have two ancient cats and the idea of upsetting their sunset years with an interloper seemed a bit cruel.

But, then Linus has been positively aching for a cat that would be friendly to him (yeah, old cats won't put up with the attentions of 8 year olds very well). So we made the decision to adopt a rescue kitten. He was found in the middle of a busy road at only a couple of weeks old by a kind soul who took him to the local vet. He has settled in amazingly well. Really, amazingly well. The old folks 'round here could care less that he's on the scene and he's taken to sleeping on Linus's bed which makes him and us all kinds of happy!

Watching a new baby come to terms with the world is so much fun...smelling things for the first time, feeling and chewing and generally attacking everything that moves (including knitting wool, sigh).

But man, you got to be careful of those Koi in the pond. They look really scary! Actually, be really careful of the pond in general so that you don't fall head first into it with your jeans and shoes on as it's not a nice experience, ask me how I know.

I've also managed to finish a couple of knitting projects (while fending off NASA). One is Linus's cardigan.

Which he absolutely insists on wearing with the hood up. I tried to tell him that it's "cooler" to wear it down, but what do I know.

Erratum: Astrid informs me she is a rabbit in this photo. Well, of couse she is. None of those at the zoo either.

Oh, these are pictures of Astrid being a deer at the zoo.Because, there ain't no deer at the Perth Zoo (plenty of kangaroos, koalas, zebras, giraffes and an inordinate number of gibbons) but much to Astrid's chagrin, no deer. Luckily she can act so that other visitors to the zoo didn't have to miss out entirely.

Better watch out for that hooded creature though...

Children being childish

Early July means lots of important birthdays. First there's mine, then there's Linus's and then mum's all in a 9 day period. My amazing, sensitive and funny youngest son turned 8 (the ages of mum and I aren't relevant here, or maybe they are...it's all about me getting crotchety...again).

It's incredible how quickly the years go, isn't it?

Linus fools us a little with his way. His brain gears are always ticking over and sometimes we have to stop and remind ourselves that he's just a little kid.

 

But, you know, we do remember he is a little kid and it's important to us that he and Astrid are "allowed" to be little kids.  'Cause, wow, the world really seems to want them to grow up really quickly and become dutiful little consumers (I guess). Why are we in such a hurry to rush them through the wonderful years of childhood? Drinking their baby chinos in cafes, wearing their little high heels and bras, watching Southpark (I mean, have these parents ever watched Southpark, or do they think it's animated, so it must be for kids?)...

We're constantly telling our children, "Oh, we don't do that in our family". Perhaps we're really weird for wanting to preserve their childhood for what seems to us a reasonable amount of time. Fortunately for us the majority of parenting that they come into contact with is in line with our own. But the wider community is a different thing. Things might be easier if we wore aluminium foil hats and mapped star charts from the freckles on our forearms. Then it would be obvious that we're, you know, different.

Just before his birthday Linus was invited to a school-friend's birthday that was held at one of those in the dark laser shooting thingos. Well, I was conflicted. I mean, I think he's too young at 8 to get into faux bloodsport games. I'm not sure if there is an appropriate age for it but I didn't want him to miss out and become a social pariah at school. I told myself that it was just "chasey" in the semi-dark.

We got there and the music and lights and things designed to get your adrenlin pumping made me want to scoop him up and run away...he was shaking, actually shaking...we had already gone in and since I'd left my aluminium foil hat at home and so looked like a "normal" mum,  I hugged him and left him. 

I spent 2 hours (well 1.25 hours, I got back early) in a knot worrying about him because my mothering alarm bells were ting-a-linging.

He was fine, albeit a little testosterone charged for the rest of the day. But my position still stands, too young.

Then I got into a bit of a "to-do" with my brother at my birthday dinner about, "Kids today". It's the argument that goes like this:

Him: "Kids today aren't like they were when we were young, they are far more grown up."

Me: "Bullshit."

Him: "Oh you don't know, you can't contribute. You don't have a 14 year old daughter...yet. When you do, you'll know."

Me: "Bullshit."

Kids aren't different, they're exactly as they have always been. Society is different. It's like that frog in the slow boiling saucepan story. He doesn't jump out and save himself because the water is just getting warmer and warmer, till it's too late.

You see, we do protect our children, we do set boundaries and milestones for them to wait for when they're older. We don't let them watch commercial TV and get assailed with screaming ads telling they must buy, eat, watch. We don't over-schedule them with all sorts of activities, we let them play and make up their own games. We will surround them with an environment that lets them be silly and crazy and free and innocent for as long as childhood should be. Anyone who wants to join us, I can send you a pattern for a really spiffy alfoil hat.

Indoctrinating the offspring

Three generations of the family went to a community rally to say YES to a price on carbon and action on climate change. It was part of simultaneous events held in all capital cities in the country.

Mum and Dad came up from south of Perth by public transport and we walked through our beautiful Hyde park on the way to the Perth Cultural Centre. Thanks to some rain last week the lakes are looking a little less sad at the moment but the week before the ducks were waddling through the water instead of swimming. We need well above average rainfall this winter or our dams (and duck lakes) will be empty by the end of next summer. We will not get even close to average on current trends and so water restrictions are going to be more severe than ever before and we'll be drinking recycled water.

This is why we protested.

Linus with his head full of deep thoughts and concerns for the environment was contemplative and pleased that we were all there.

Astrid was pleased to get her face painted.

 

But then, last year she was incredibly enthusiastic when we went to this rally.

As it turned out she had misheard the chant of:

"What do we want? Justice. When do we want it? Now" 

She thought it was:

 "What do we want?Christmas! When do we want it? Now!"

A social conscience takes time to evolve.

Things I don't understand

There are many, many things that I don't understand in the world.

Last Monday our premier investigative news program Four Corners exposed the unspeakable horrors inflicted on live Australian cattle sent to Indonesian abattoirs.

I didn't watch it. Just reading about it before the show was plenty disturbing enough for me.

I have for a long time been opposed to the live export of cattle, sheep and camels. Stories of incredibly tortuous journeys for terrified animals, only to be dispatched in an incredibly inhumane manner make me very angry.

OK, so I'm a vegetarian that's a personal choice but I doubt there would be many meat eaters who would want their food to be terrified and tortured and die an agonising death before they eat it. And I know that cattle farmers are by and large furious that their livestock has been treated this way.

So the finger pointing has commenced. How did this happen? There are guidelines and inspections, methodologies and payments. Which department is responsible? Who knew what and did nothing?

Australia has temporarily halted shipments to the abattoirs that were the subject of the investigation. Indonesia has responded by saying that while there are laws protecting animals, there is no penalty for transgression and so no reason to adhere to them.

The reason that live animals are sent to Indonesia is so that they can be assured a Halal slaughter. As I understand, Halal killing is much like Kosher killing. The animal must be alive (that is, you cannot eat carrion), the executioner must recite a prayer before slitting the throat and the body must not be touched until after exsanguination. Treating an animal the way that has been exposed here before death would result in the meat being Haraam or forbidden.

Clearly all the checks and balances, forms and departments of doing this and that have failed. If these barbaric atrocities are going on in the11 abattoirs that were filmed by Four Corners, then what comfort can we have that the same thing isn't going on all over the world at the final destinations for our livestock? 

Since animal rights guidelines in the countries are not going to change practices, I think more Muslims worldwide need to come out and publicly condemn this horror as being Haraam (some in Australia have already said this). If the meat is deemed unclean by clerics, just watch how quickly humane practices are introduced.

Unless that happens, we should not send any live animals overseas.

Please sign the petition at Get Up! HERE

ps. sorry for the still of the poor wretched creature in the video at the link. Watch the video if you aren't convinced and have a stronger constitution than I do. Or, if you're like me put your hand over the left-hand side of your screen!

Frenemies

Small girl friendships can be "complicated".

Astrid's BEST friend (I'm going to call her Lucy) is, according to Astrid, a "frenemy". Last year, which was forever ago, they were not friends. Astrid said she was bossy and mean and sang rude songs about snot and farts. Don't get me wrong, Astrid is quite partial to songs about snot and farts, but these particular songs were not to her liking.

This year they are "in LOVE". Last week Astrid received a note, "I love you because you're pretty and have shiny hair"...five year old girls are very superficial.

But it appears there is a decidedly uncomfortable dimension to this friendship, a Single White Female component.

Lucy insists that Astrid play only with her at all times. She must even eat her lunch bite for bite with her, wear her hair the same and woe betide any child who talks to Astrid. Astrid is not a shrinking violet and so when Lucy tries to enforce these rules, a loud disagreement ensues.

Astrid and Lucy are not the only fraught relationship in her class (it's just the girls though, boys are far less complex) and so their teacher is trying to shake things up by forcibly separating the pairs. Time will tell whether this direct action works or backfires...

If I'm to be completely honest, all of this suits me perfectly as it absolves me of any suspicion of social engineering. I was feeling a little squeamish about my meddling in the friendship. "Why don't we have Alice or Amy or Wendy over to play instead of Lucy", I'd say . You see, while Lucy is fine (despite the Jennifer Jason Leigh-ness) her dad kind of gives me the creeps. You know, when the hairs stand up at the back of your neck but you're not really sure why? He is disheveled, sadly not in a Tim Roth/Robert Downey Jr sort of way, but in a park-bench-trench-coat-what's underneath kind of way and he told me my shoes were "pretty" last time I saw him.....creepy.

So, I went jeans shopping...yes, thanks for your sympathy, I've almost gotten over the experience.

The sheer volume of choices that you have to make completely does your head in: skinny bogan legs, wide flower-child legs, low/mid/armpit rise waist, curve, length, colour, weird little faux crease marks etc etc. AND that's even before you go through the soul destroying fitting room experience, where the lights are 2000 Watt and artfully designed to make your pudgy bits look like enormous globs of congealed pure white porridge. Just how that's supposed to sell jeans is beyond me.

I'm not really a big fan of jeans (not solely because of the buying and trying). I appreciate their usefulness but they are so conformist and I have an annoyingly ingrained tendency to try to be "different". It's been with me for as long as I remember.

I hate being part of a crowd.

When everyone around me was getting tatts, wearing and dying their hair black, I wore turquoise and bleached my hair white...and, thankfully, I was dithering on the design of my prospective tattoo for so long, that they became mainstream and I decided it was more alternative to not have one. 

It's probably why I don't Facebook, dislike the latest, big label Avett Brothers' album and I have never seen E.T.!

I know how stupid it is, but it's ingrained, like I said. It's me.

Tara recently mentioned "mum (mom) jeans" and while I now understand, thanks to some helpful advice, what they are (highpants), the mums that I come into daily contact with at Linus and Astrid's school do not wear them. These mums are size 10 and below and get about in a uniform of designer jeans and pony tails.

Due to lack of time and the issues with hairdressers I've discussed before, I currently sport a bloody ponytail and...now, a new pair of jeans......I feel like I'm becoming a new millennium version of a Stepford wife.