Stuff and Nonsense

I’m working on a new project that has my stress levels in the category of stratospheric but the phrase “just think of the money” is keeping me going. When I first landed the gig, which I got after cold calling a guy I went to uni with, I totally freaked the fuck out. Of course my FTFO is so stellar I jump straight from “why, I’m feeling a tad stressed about this new project, which is a completely normal emotion” in about 1 millionth of a second to “I’m just going to kill myself because everyone would be better off that way”. Incredibly I’m five weeks into the 12 week project and am a) still alive and b)not as suicidal. Good times. Also, just think of the money.

We’ve just wrapped up the first term of our school year. First term is hard. For starters it features the hottest and most humid of months along with the brutal re-entry from 6 weeks of holidays. There’s new teachers to adjust to, new routines and the whole begrudging trudge back into the land of school lunches, 5,000 notes and late night washing for a clean uniform the following day.

Oscar’s still on his long term (3 month) antibiotic regime to ward off the not-but-maybe-osteomylitis-always-cellulitis but has tonight come down with a wicked temperature and head-ache. In a normal child this is called a virus. In Oscar it’s called CODE RED HIGH ALERT. I will look anxiously at his left ankle, the offender, in the morning as tonight it was not hot, red, or swollen. While I am wishing this to be some bog standard ailment or flu, my friend J just had a flu so violent it was named the black death vomit. I’m not wishing for that either.

Felix had his first Duke of Edinburgh camp last weekend. It rained on them for about 12 hours the first day and at that stage they all hated it with a passion. The next day gave them a weather reprieve and firmly planted the adventure back into the category of awesome. I am so so stoked Felix is doing DofE and thrilled he got as much from it as he did. This was a test hike with a staff member hiking with them. The real deal later in the year will be groups of them going out on their own. I think as a parent I’m meant to feel apprehensive about that but curiously, no. Just lots of excitement for him.

Jasper. Well Jasper spent the entire duration of Grover’s rugby game in the car colouring in. The kid has smarts, it rained on us three times. He’s learning guitar and a teacher change mid-term saw his attitude towards it change markedly. He doesn’t want to play rugby or any other sport (he did an 8-week cricket thing with Grover but I think that was more on the fact they got a shirt, hat and bat than any great love of the game) but was gutted last week when his best-rusted-on-friend-for-life was picked for a school team and he wasn’t.

Grover’s obsession has moved on from cricket to rugby with the change of season. He won man of the match in their first game last week and my concerns he might have peaked early abated with his performance on the field this morning. He’s such a cracker of a kid. I refused to lie down with him at bedtime a few nights back because, well I just didn’t want to, and he wailed and carried on like I’d amputated the wrong leg. By the time I went back up there he was a hot steaming mess of tears and snot. He clung to me and said, “I just needed a friend to help me go to sleep.” “Am I your friend?” “Yes”. Kid has me wrapped around his little finger.


Stuff and nonsense

Just some stuff and nonsense.

The brain has not been very still of late. Ways I know I’m not firing on all cylinders include an unquiet mind, a sense of “why do I bother” and “this is fucked”, poor sleep, worse diet, and then the panic attacks arrive. Last week I sat staring at my computer screen with my mind racing in chaotic circles turning in on themselves then swinging way out wide. I’d read something and none of it would make sense and the panic, it hurts.

I keep reading stuff written by people about their depression and realise that what I think is my resting state of normal is actually a resting state of depression. It kinda sucks realising that. Depressing even.

I went to TEDxSydney, did I tell you that already? It was fabulous on a number of levels but mostly because I got to be with Eden, met two awesome Sarahs and reconnected with a Kate I went to uni with and always got on with extremely well. She’s living in Darwin. Could you imagine?

The oddest thing has stuck with me. One of the speakers told us about how scientists have studied some beetle that lives in the desert to work out how it gets moisture from the air. They’ve used that knowledge to develop better air conditioning systems and to help communities in arid areas. Isn’t that cool? Out of the whole day that is the thing that keeps popping back into my head. The scientist was also the guy who discovered that eyes developed 512 million years ago. In a troglodyte. Apparently.

I’ve decided I’m going to make butter.


I’ve stopped eating gluten. I know, you’re on the edge of your seats (as Blackbird would say). It’s been two weeks with only two transgressions. The difference in the size of my gut and the behaviour of my bowels (aren’t you thrilled) is telling.

Gluten, it appears, is the tobacco of the food world and it was with great desperation that I decided to stop eating it. The dodgy thyroid is an auto-immune disease. Gluten is a big fat waving red flag for any auto-immune disease. Apparently. So, I’m giving it a month. But I’m already half way and it’s really not been that bigger deal. I once did a gluten free diet with Oscar when he was wee during one of our more expensive snake-oil salesman allied health professional straw grasping phases. I am pleased to report that the gluten-free offerings now are vastly improved on the gluten free offerings then.

Scintillating stuff.

I’m currently getting up at 4:50am in the morning to go walking with my friend B. We are friends because both our lives lurch from one melodrama or catastrophe to the next and we know neither of us will tire of such NONSENSE. We cover just over 4kms in 45minutes with a whopping great hill and a little sneaky one at the end. We’ve been threatening to do this for the last two years. Good things time…

There was lunch with friends this week – I got there an hour early because if I’d been at home then I would have been cleaning.

Today I did the grocery shopping to avoid the cleaning.

Mum flew out to Hawaii tonight. Chef’s parents are getting ready to fly out to Paris.

I’m almost back in control of the washing.





Meet The Press

Kim Berry’s appearance on Meet The Press

So this was how my Sunday morning played out:

I watched it tonight with Chef, the inlaws and all the boys and didn’t wince once. In fact, I was quite pleased. And how hot are my new specs.

smile and wave boys, smile and wave

Well last week was quite a week. The media storm following dinner with the PM was quite something. Is there really that much anger and hate in people over something so inane? Really?

It occurred to me that perhaps more people would be swinging by for a look see so if you have, hi!

Of course, the next thought in my head after “smile and wave boys, smile and wave” was don’t fuck it up. I mean, it’d be nice if you did swing by that you’d like to come back again.

So naturally I have the most spectacular case of performance anxiety. In fact, my inability to think of anything erudite to write has only been outdone by my ability to scoff hot cross buns with lashings of butter as compensation. What, it’s a symbiotic relationship. Clearly.

My brain is now in that awkward place normally reserved for parties at which you know no one and join a conversation just as it ends and a painful silence ensures. Just.say.something.

Behold a bigger crisis than a busted back:


broken stove The oven door has been “clicking” when it opens for a few weeks. I totally busted it on Sunday night and then broke it some more on Monday night just for good measure.

Someone’s getting pretty plum tuckered with this five days a week of school:


Felix has confirmed that playing rugby professionally is something he wants to do. He’s also mentioned heart surgeon so you know, he’s keeping his options open. This announcement and wanting to play rep footy means I now have somewhere to unleash the Show Mum in me. Part 1 of this involved this:

rugby trainingOh yes I did. Chef and I attended a 3.5hr evening learning the ins and outs of being an assistant referee (an AR if you don’t mind) for rugby union.

Safe to say, I will never EVER be an AR. Not without at least 20mg of valium under my belt.

God FORBID if I had to try and comprehend whether a ball was “in touch” when the player was in the air/on the field/off the field/in the dressing room/running straight for me while the ball was moving/not moving/had touched someone or someTHING.

OR grasp what constitutes foul play (note for fellow rugby lovers – rucking, you know, where you ram your studs into an opponent, is TOTALLY legal so long as you are clearly looking to “progress the ball”. Stomping however is not. So get your leg action right to get away with it.) AND how to report it to the referee.

Seriously, I’d be lying down playing dead within ten minutes of the first whistle if I had to fulfil AR duties. That or yelling at the crowd for someone to find an adult.

Do NOT get me started on the arm gestures or USE OF A FLAG.

Apart from the stress of it, I now proudly own my limitations and well, give me a list of rules and I will implement them to the letter. Handy if the world’s ending and we need to keep order for the survivors camp upstate but probably not ideal in a game where the whole purpose is to keep the ball in play.

This tendency to love a rule and carry it out no.matter.what was no better illustrated than my role as a School Monitress and then as a Prefect. Yes, I capped those two titles. I attended an exclusive private girls school in Sydney and would, by today’s funding model, be the aberration that allows an exclusive private girls school on many many acres on Sydney’s Leafy North Shore to claim it was educating children from family’s suffering financial hardship. That’s right, my presence at that school was doing them a favour and I said thank you by carrying out the rules to.the.letter. Let’s just say part of the school uniform was wearing a hat and well, if you didn’t have that hat on I would write you a blue slip quicker than you could say what a dork. No matter your year or social standing. I was stupid dedicated ruthless.

So yeah. I have realised my limitations and accepted my ideal role is that of Field Marshall.



I just ate an entire packet of SAOs with butter and vegemite in the space of two days. Note to self: do not buy what you can not control.



moments in time

On Monday night I had dinner with the Prime Minister.

There’s been quite a media brouhaha about it ever since.

I wrote about it over at Australians for Honest Politics for Margo Kingston.

Think I’ll just leave it at that.