I’m with Bec, enough of this soppy shit and

where the hell have I been I hear you all asking. Despite what my recent posts would indicate, I have not been rocking in a corner, wailing and gnashing my teeth in a poor-me chorus to rival the volume and emotion conjured up at Christian City on a Sunday. I have been honing my cranky-mummy parenting style, eating more chocolate than humanly conceivable because hell, if the jeans don’t fit what the hell does it matter?, visiting family who live 2hrs out of Sydney because they hated Sydney traffic so much they moved far enough away we have to endure it 100 times over to visit them, and so on and so forth.
There’s so much to say, so little that I can. That’s right folks, sooo much I want to verbally vomit but it just ain’t worth the repercussions in my real world.
So much air kissing and big hugs to send to you all for your amazing words of support, kindness and you-are-not-aloneness, so many blogs to catch up on!
Amalah has quit her job and is going to freelance. Not only that, but over 250 people felt it warranted commenting on. 2.5.0. I don’t know what part of that makes me spin out more. Anyway, been there, done that. I know she’s way more talented than I, lives in a country that loves – and well recompenses – the enterprising free spirit, and has a bit of fame on her side too boot, but MY GOD I hated the free-falling financial life of being a freelancer – and I did it for 7 years. And that fact you had to take the shitty jobs as well as the fun ones because the fun ones never pay well and come along way too infrequently to allow any real life.
Badger is binge eating donkey burgers – but washing them down with pretty drinks so that makes it a little better
Blackbird is living some cosmopolitan eating out life that I want!
Suse and all those Steiner children are putting the rest of us to shame – did you all see that remarkable Easter basket one of her s.o.n.s. made – as opposed to the crap-arse stencil one my boys brought home that I believe was made from the same stencil as the crap-arse Easter baskets we used to make in primary school. And the gorgeous Easter egg tree type creation thingy. And then the gear she gets around in, that on her looks
stunning but if I wore I’d basically look homeless. Fat and homeless, now there’s an aspiration. Amazing.
– Bec posting more than me!
It’s a crazy crazy world out there folks.

So here is an update of sorts.

Firstly, 6 months is like the 18 of babydom. Why I hear you ask?

Because you get to eat meat.

Behold, the 6 month old who cried when the chop bone (a delicious lamb cutlet) was prised from his pudgy edible fingers.

One more because how utterly adorable is this child???
Out of town. One night away from our home visiting my Dad and stepmother means this:
That’s right – the biggest New Zealand suitcase you can almost find (I have an even bigger one that is fabulous for washing when you are away camping) – that basically had clothes for me and three children thrown into it randomly, a packet of nappies and assorted toiletries. This is for one night. Look! The boot is full. Ridiculous.

But once there, you can suck in fresh air and the view from their front step:
just look at that blue sky. The sky is so big in Australia. It is one of the things that makes my heart absolutely burn for this place. G’ah, it restores my soul just looking at it now.

It gives the boys time to hang out with their grandfather, in fact, they’ve probably hung-out more with him than I have in my entire life. I like that. Here they are with the billycart Dad built:

and even the delight of some home made produce:
But you know, someone else’s house, even if it is family, where there are three dogs to watch with the New Recruit on high-explore mode is pretty draining. Factor in a night of waking up almost on the hour every hour, if not being awake from hour to hour due to dogs barking, dogs farting (or maybe they were ‘talking’ to each other), children waking, children coming into my bed, children grinding teeth louder than really humanly feasible, baby sort of waking but settling, boobs replenishing and it all just gets a bit too hard.
My favourite interpretation of proof that aliens have landed which played on the publicist’s line that:

The name Suri has its origins in Hebrew, meaning “princess” or in Persian, meaning “red rose”

comes from Gawker.com

. . .The press release is thin on details like, say, when exactly the child was born, but the poor thing weighed in at 7 pounds and 7 ounces and is reportedly named Suri, which means “doomed” in Hebrew and “utterly fucked” in Persian.

We are, of course, incredibly happy to hear that the couple has finally cast the appropriate orphan to play the role of their child — and our congrats to Katie Holmes, who must be thrilled to return to Barneys sans the cumbersome prosthetic.

and then:

While Suri is indeed Persian, it is not a Hebrew name. It is, however, a Hindu name meaning “Lord Krishna.” Hindu, Hebrew — simple mistake.

stop, my sides are hurting.

and this, just because:

After her baby Sean was effectively dropped on his head, Britney Spears looks to sue the makers of the high chair the child had been in. If only she could sue the makers of retarded white trash, too. Then all her problems would be accounted for.

For Blackbird this week Show & Tell was an outfit. I almost vomited. In my shoe. At the threat of having to show you an outfit. I don’t have outfits, I have the fits pile and the oh-shit pile. There are no outfits, just whatever is clean and fits.
But best of all – on Easter Saturday night, Chef and I got to go out to dinner – Jellyfish in Manly. Divine food, we took along a
1996 Henschke and just a wonderful evening of playing grown-ups and doing things normal couples do.
with that, I’ve run out of puff.

The end.