Month: February 2007

Look what I did today!

There are few perks in my job – apart from feeling like I use my brain, knowing in me and for me that I am more than a glorified slave doing washing, cleaning, cooking and picking up clothes (which was how I felt when that was my reality), getting an immense sense of satisfaction knowing I am highly regarded, liked and relied upon and that it well actually pays me. In money! And yes, everyone, I know that is a pretty bloody good wicket. But today, today I got a perk. I got to do this:
It was truly one of the most exhilerating fantabulous things I’ve ever ever done in.my.life. (and it didn’t involve pushing children out of my body and ripping my bits to kingdom come! Who’dathought!)
I was smiling like a cheshire cat for a long long time


It was a media/VIP event thingy by the company that operates bridge climbs – curiously called BridgeClimb. It was to showcase their new climb – the Discovery Climb – where you go up the inside arch.

It was breathtaking. There are catwalks you walk along that have you directly over Sydney Harbour and eight lanes of traffic. You get the most stunning views of Sydney as well as the scale of the Bridge itself.

People – I stood on the top of Sydney Harbour Bridge. I hung over the edge of railings looking at cars whizzing by. I stood so close to a train going by I could almost have touched it. I saw a container ship going under the bridge that was of such scale we could see the both ends of it depending on which side of the bridge we looked out. We got to touch some of the 6 million rivets holding it together (of which not ONE has ever had to be replaced). We gained a true appreciation of the men who built this bridge, with no safety gear and in some of the toughest working conditions imaginable (granted with a spectacular view of the most beautiful harbour in the world). I walked along catwalks where you could see the water beneath you.

And there were crudites served afterwards, and as my dear friend ED – who is now living in the UK and who I miss more than I ever EVER thought I would – would say, “nothing beats a good crudite”.

On more important matters…

Yesterday my biggest boy turned nine. 9. NINE.

its been quite a ride.

but his joy has kept me going every.single.step.of.the.way
I love you my beautiful Ogga Boy. May the world always be as big as your heart is as full of love.

So

You should know I’m typing this as I watch the Oscar’s broadcast. Its an addiction, deal with it. A quick synopsis:

JLo – just morphing into the crack addict sullen bride. Is she just trying to perpetuate pregnancy rumours? And I’m so over her perpetual Ode to a Grecian Urn

Our Nicole – has she had a boob job or is it just the embodiment of how to really use chicken fillets? And just how much botox has been pumped into that face?
Our Cate – on the SMH photos it looked like she was wearing glomesh – but on the tele it is just exquisite.
Duckface (Penelope Cruz) – there are very few people who can pull off wearing a skin coloured dress (take note Gwyneth) but she does it. Although it does border on looking like one of those dolls my nan used to have that sat over the spare roll of toilet paper.
Gwyneth – yes yes yes, we know you’re thin, show me a vegan who isn’t, but this dress is only a marginal improvement from the whole Heidi hair squished boob fiasco of 2002.
Maggie – you had a baby two minutes ago but managed to look exquisite in shiny blue satin – snaps to you young lady.

Jodie – On first glance I thought it was another Melanie Griffith trainwreck and was slightly disappointed there was no cane. Then I realised it was Jodie. In a dress meant for someone about six inches taller.

Beyonce and Kate Winslet – that green is difficult at the best of times, you guys are almost pulling it off. Almost.

(TV side reference: Is it just me or does Ellen (who I love) just seem uncomfortable.
Tobey Maguire looks like he needs a good feed.)
Jessica Biel – I dont get all the hoohaa about this bird, and the birchbroom hair and 1980s prom dress pink outfit just adds to my indifference.
Kirsten Dunst – that dress is stunning but ugly all at the same time. That’s quite a skill.
Rachel Weisz – jog it in. Simply stunning.
You know, I don’t know her, but DuckfaceII really annoys me. And this does nothing to lessen the completely unfounded sentiment:
Cameron – I just don’t get why she always wears white.
Jennifer shoe-in – I have not seen Dreamgirls, I care not if I never do. I was disappointed when she won, simply because of the calibre she was competing against and the gravitas of the roles they played, as opposed to a singer. Not saying all singers are shallow, but you know, if you’re singing and dancing head on over to the Grammy’s. Anyway, from one rather large busted woman to another, the bolero? and the bolero in a shiny faux snake (croc?) skin? is just a big N.O. I must say, my indifference abated slightly on hearing her sing, but I couldn’t help wishing she had worn that red number all night.
Portia – please meet up with Maggie at the Governor’s Ball to discuss how to wear shiny blue satin. I’m aware you are painfully thin, and yet this dress makes you look lumpy through the thighs. This means all hope is lost for all.
Further TV asides:
– why Why WHY are all this awards that mean nothing to all of us being given airtime? Get them off – we want the glamour and the big names. We’re shallow. Get over it.
– You know, Mr Morricone, if the biggest awards in the world are recognising and paying tribute to your work, the least you can do is LOOK INTERESTED.
– Am I the only one who goes “Oh I forgot they died” when they do the dead person tribute? And just how insulting is it to the families of those stars who have died who don’t get applause. If you were some composer or screenwriter you’d just hope you followed someone like Altman so you got some of the clapping-lingerers.
– Why was Our Naomi wearing chiffon arm-warmers?
– Robert Downey Junior is hot.
– George Clooney is hot.
– That Ari fellow who won for short films? He’s hot.
– Is Meryl an active paid up member of a particular tribal cult because I just don’t get the whole homage to some lost African tribe anthropology movement.
– My GOD did someone have to wake Philip Seymour Hoffman up out of a gutter after a three day bender? He looks appalling. I recently saw him when he was in Sydney carrying out auditions at Sydney Theatre Company for Riflemind, a play he’s directing later in the year with Hugo Weaving (how good will that be) and he was in tshirt, shorts and thongs and looked better than this.
– Were Jack Nicholson and Diane Keaton absolutely and totally tanked?

My addiction to Go Fug Yourself is well known, but this killed me.

Today

We left the house at 7.35am. For the last three weeks its taken me on average 1.5 hours to get to work and home from it. Each way. With visiting dignitaries in town, I knew I had to leave us some time.
I had the best run in in over a month.
Anyway, we dropped the littlest fella at daycare.
Then on we went to hospital. The one specifically for kids. The one where we spent the better part of six weeks when Oscar was born and have visited probably almost two dozen times since. The one which the colour scheme and smell send me reeling back to March 1998 and all the other times involving a very sick little baby or a very bored little boy or a very scared child.
We arrived at 9.15. We left at 5pm. It was what I believe is known as a.very.long.day.
Oscar was pretty OK with it, until we walked across the threshold between the big private hospital into the childrens hospital. He saw it’s logo, its colours and that was that.
The thing I hate the most about it all? With all.the.fucking.waiting. coming in a very close second? Is when he goes under the general. He’s so frightened. His eyes just pleading with me, the screaming. Then the eyes rolling back in his head as he goes under and his body going limp. I’m not really good at that stage.
Anyway, I did today on my own. This was a really bad idea.
Apart from the fact I didn’t eat anything – the Ogga boy was fasting and wouldn’t let me leave his side. When it became apparent he wasn’t going into theatre until – gee – AFTER THREE FUCKING PM – I realised it was going to be cutting it very fine to get back into the city to get the littlest guy.
Chef did not step up to the plate at this stage. I needed him to get his lunchtime chef to stay for an extra hour so he could come into the city, get the J-boy, bring him to me then go home. He wasn’t having a bar of it. The idea of me leaving the hospital after witnessing the above incident, getting Jasper, then getting back to the hospital with J in tow, leaving Oscar to wake in recovery on his own was – apparently – a much better idea.
I hung up on him.
I basically woke him in recovery and pushed him through the next hour and a half so we could get out of the hospital in time to get to the daycare centre.
We got there at 6pm.
We got home after 7.
This is when I really really miss alcohol.

The angst update and other stuff

Well, we met with Felix’s teacher last night. She is just lovely and of course, I’d fallen hook line and sinker for Felix’s penchant for melodrama. He is behind where he should be for his age in literacy (although how these things are determined still highly irritate me) but it’s not nearly as bad as Mum made out at the end of last year or Felix made out earlier in the week.
I came home, reassured him he was not doing easier work than anyone else in the class and that we just needed to practice some sheets and he’d be as good as gold. He seems to have picked up again, but I know that incident on Monday night will be relived many times over between now and when he does his HSC.
Sigh.

*****
In other news, the complete dorkiness of the Sydney public was on display on Tuesday night when many of us flocked into the city to see two big liners in town, together, for the first time since WW2. It was living proof we as a people would turn up to the opening of an envelope, or even the opening of junk mail if there were fireworks.
Anyway, Chef and the boys came in – it took them almost two hours to make a 50 minute trip.
We went out to dinner. Only one plate got shattered on the floor. The big boys were the epitomy of great kids in a restaurant. They sat, they stayed seated, they weren’t too loud and we all talked to each other like, I don’t know, normal people? We had very good Italian food. Yum.
We wandered around in the sea of people wandering around looking at the QE2. The Queen Mary was berthed too far away for little people on little legs and a mother with a very.expanding.girth.
Then we went up onto the roof of my work and watched fireworks. Yey!
Good times.
I’d post the photos I took but I just can’t be bothered.
*****
Current foods of craving:
Tonic water
Fizzy anything – I’ve even said to myself “gee I feel like a Coke”. I do not drink that black hideousness, so this has come as quite a shock.
Anything fried
the ham and cheese croissants from the French Patisserie near work – mind you, I’ve only indulged this once mind you as OH.MY.GOD the expansion program is already breathtaking, I don ‘t need to move it to alarming.
Fruit fruit and more fruit
*****
Oscar is in hospital tomorrow for another round of botox in his legs. I say another round but he’s been very lucky. Normally CP kids need it every six months, his first dose has lasted him almost two years.
Anyway, we held off telling him as he gets very anxious about a) going b)having the mask on his face and c) the lack of understanding time means if we tell him too early all we get is him asking (hand over his mouth as the anaesthetic mask) “now?”
So when I told him tonight, it became pretty obvious to me that going to hospital for an almost-9-year-old is very different to a 7 year old. He actually said “yes” on the not going to school and punched.the.air. when I said he’d have to have the mask to put him to sleep.
Go figure.