Conquering the world, one bib at a time...

My son is a chucker.
A spectacular, monumental, volcanic vomiter. Mt Vesuvius, I like to call him. He rips through outfits with waves of hot clotted yoghurt, and recently has begun to follow up with a steady stream of clear spit. (Teething, everybody likes to say knowledgeably. Whatever.)

Consequently, we've been using up the few hand-me-down bibs in our possession faster than I can wash them. We had an excursion to a DFO on the weekend to see if we could find some bargain bibs, that weren't these piss-weak little newborn's spit-catchers and chin-cloths, and that didn't cost the earth. Oh, and that didn't have hideously ugly and naff graphics on them. (My preference was to find them at op-shops, but they are rarer than hen's teeth in my area, and those I found were pretty disgusting.)

We came home empty-handed and slightly disillusioned until it was suggested that I have a crack at making some, and miracle of miracles, I actually just got on with it there and then and whipped up TWO! As I whirred away on the sewing machine, I mentally built a reclaimed fabric bib empire, complete with minions, a bald cat to sit on my lap and a good stock of evil mwahaha-has.


So, here are my two steps towards world domination. Only prototypes, as I discovered on putting onto my lad that they are just a wee bit broad and long, although through the course of an evening wearing one he still managed to saturate it while remaining fairly dry beneath. Which I think may be a marker of success.

Where history lives.

My partner and I recently made the radical decision to move interstate. We bought land in Tassie and plan to leave Victoria in October when our house lease ends.

Contemplating the big shift from mad, bad, dangerous to know and open 24/7 Melbourne (Smelbourne to its mates) down to small, cold and islanded little Hobart (Slowbart to the bitter 30-something expats that make up half of Melbourne's population - or maybe just to me!) presents me with various issues and emotional hurdles to be overcome. I grew up there after all, and you don't leave your home-state without good reason.

One such pang hit me today when walking home from the supermarket, with my little glassy-eyed, spittle-blowing, Melbourne-made son in tow. I passed a guy who reminded me vaguely of someone I once knew, a friend of an ex-Clifton Hill housemate, and I suddenly realised that in returning to Hobart, the run-ins with people from my past will no longer be with people I have met and known as an adult, but more likely people I went to school with (a whole other kettle of blog-posts!). These incidental meetings serve as reminders of my various other incarnations. I see someone I knew during my undergrad and remember that I spent the best part of the late nineties taking drugs, drinking beer, dancing in my bra at the Evelyn, and other such niceties. A friend from my Dip Ed last year brings me out of my spacey maternal reverie to remind me that I am a qualified teacher. Someone from the creche I worked at years ago passes me in Northland (I look the other way like the scumbag snob I am) and I am transported back to the days of plastic bowls of macaroni cheese, snotty faces and heated disputes over the dress-ups.
What I'm leaving behind are the tangible remnants of my history as a grown woman. I came here at the age of 21, and feel very much that I have lived my whole adult life here. I think on some level I am afraid that by leaving the place I also leave behind my history and therefore my actual self. But these are all just memories after all, and I take them with me wherever I am, regardless of the faces from the past swimming up out of the crowds to remind me. It's not like I have my memory wiped when I cross the Bass Strait... they stopped doing that years ago!

In a way, it's fitting that I am coming full circle and returning to the place of my very happy childhood with a happy child of my own. And what real loss is there in not chancing a run-in with my ex-boyfriend and showing off how far I've moved on since him?! That would really just be an empty and narcissistic exercise anyway!

Though having said that, I'm sure there will times in Tassie when I try and impress new friends with my past as a life model or raver or illustrator (HAH!), because at the end of the day, I actually am just a little bit empty and narcissistic!

Today is a good day to dry.

I love the old Hill's Hoist.


Okay, some might say that it isn't necessarily the prettiest piece of industrial design, but it serves a great purpose and I can't imagine what you would do without one. I have to admit, I do rather like the aesthetics of them myself (form following function?), and I find the sight of a line full of clean laundry snapping away in the breeze and sending off waves of sun-baked cleanliness a lovely thing to behold. I don't know anyone who would deny the pleasure of climbing between clean sheets dried in the sun and wind. That fragrance goes up there with fresh-baked bread, newly cut grass and baby skin as top-ten all-time best smells.
Maybe it's a particularly Australian thing to do, but I was flabbergasted to read this article about how it is so rare to hang laundry outside in Canada that it's a newsworthy event when someone does it unashamedly! There are even tips at the end of the article about how to dry laundry without using a dryer, like putting your delicate smalls on a rack indoors to "avoid embarrassment"! Cos having clean undies is pretty mortifying. I'd rather everyone thought I never washed mine at all, or just threw them out after each wear!

I know dryers can be handy, but really, most of the time they are totally unnecessary for most people. Especially in a country forever gripped by drought!
Besides, some days, if it weren't for the endless stream of laundry to be hung, I might never leave the house!

Fad no# 24: TTV Photography!

I have had good intentions of blogging more often since I've been at home with a baby, but frankly, I'm fucked if I have anything interesting to say most of the time! And on the rare occasion that I might think up a thought worth writing, I lose it in the quagmire of my fritzed short-term memory before I can find ten minutes to post it when I don't have a baby dangling from one of my sad udders!
But last weekend, while feeling particularly sorry for myself, I was ambling about my saved websites and rediscovered these lovely images. I assumed they were taken using some fandangled fancy camera, or printed on some fabulous type of paper, but when I did a whole five minutes research (my old friend google), it turned out to be a very simple technique, that even very simple folk like me could muck about with at home!
So...what is TTV photography? Basically, shooting with a digital camera through the viewfinder of an older camera. And that's it, as far as I can gather. Dead easy. And effective! I wanked about one afternoon, in failing light what's more, and came up with a few okay pictures, I think, after a bit of diddling with the contrast in photoshop to make up for poor light and such.
So here are some that I was pretty pleased with, given it was my first crack at it and it was getting dark and I was dicking about at home and while walking the baby and, erm, the dog ate my homework. (Just gotta cover all bases!)

Fad no# 23: Time-bites.

In my new reality, the one I've been occupying for the last three and a bit weeks, time is measured into frugal, 10-minute bites. If I can complete any one 10-minute task in a day, I am a satisfied camper! Hang washed nappies - 10 minutes. Shower and dress - 10 minutes. Fold clean nappies - 10 minutes. I might start a task requiring longer than 10 minutes, but will go into it knowing and (more amazingly for me!) accepting that it might get cut short at any point and not be taken up again in this 24-hour period. Which all means that I have to be okay with getting a whoooole lot less done than I used to. And I thought I was unproductive while I was pregnant!

Oh, except this isn't unproductive at all. I am keeping a whole human alive!

We have lift-off on Push My Buttons!

Go here to see the first of the button badges...

and...

...he was actually due today!

A Labour of Love!

How timely, that the day after I resign myself to a 40-week pregnancy, the baby decides now is as good a time as any to get out there and into it!!

Saturday, January 12:
3am. Waters break.
2.09 pm. Little boy born.
2.10 pm. I say "Fuck!! Oh fuck!! What do I do?!!"

So what do I do?
I feed, sleep, gaze, stroke downy skin, and endlessly ponder the state of my beleaguered bazooms.

My lovely little J E P.

Putting the 'crap' into 'carp'...

How do you like my 2008 diary cover?
Last year was first in a good decade that I didn't do anything to cover my plain blue diary, and whilst it turned out that I survived with it like that, I prefer a diary that is a bit memorable and unique. So this year, I thought I would attempt one last creative project before baby-land.
I can't take the credit for the originality of the artwork - I basically did a fairly dodgy knock-off of a piece of tattoo flash from the net. My painting skills were very rusty, and while they developed along the way, on the whole it is a decidedly slapdash affair (note the streaky shellac!!)- but hell, it's only a diary! It only has to last me the year!

Fad no# whatever...Nostalgia TV

In the infinity that is the last weeks of pregnancy, the Groundhog Day of weird aches, spasms, bodily fluids, naps and tears, I have found solace in rewatching a favourite from adolescence: Press Gang! The dialogue stands up after all these years, the characters are strong, the rapport comes across as genuine, and the spark between the gorgeous Julia Sawalha and Dexter Fletcher (who I must admit, still does it for me!) is as fresh and dynamic as ever! God bless the local library's teen section!
If my library stocked early Grange Hill, Degrassi Junior High (the original) and the Goodies, I would be a happy couch potato!

Ah...
Dexter....

Eating humble pie!

I am hereby officially retracting my previously disparaging comments about blogging... as I think it very likely that I am going to take it up again myself! I realised, reading back through old posts, that I rather enjoy the process of composing a post, of posting pictures of stuff I like or have done, and generally journaling stuff as I see it. I think that in the time that is coming, that of new parenthood, I may feel the need to use my brain occasionally for more than just working out the shopping list or sorting the laundry. Of course, I have creative plans to be getting on with as well, but for those in-between times, I might as well keep my language skills above 'A-goo! A-booh! A-brrrrrrrr!' and the like (baby-talkin'... for those who might be reading and wondering if I have already lost my mind!)

And in the meantime, until I think of some clever and funny things to write about, here are some pictures of stuff...

My excellent Xmas presents from Dan: a fabulous badge-frame handmade by Him (no, not god), a spiffy Crumpler camera bag, and the coolest retro radio!!!


A self-portrait I made for a subject at Uni... quite pleased with this! One of the few bits of art I made in 07, what with doing lesson plans and teaching rounds!



A cut-paper collage birthday card I made for Dan... note how I cleverly (read: utterly stupidly) made the hammer the wrong way around - unless you're s'posed to strike things with the claw?

I never said I was a GOOD poet!

Late pregnancy haikus:

High summer in urban Melbourne...

Chilled water, ice and fan
Next door's aircon blows warm winds
Panting on the couch

Conversations with strangers...

How long ya got, love?
Size of you, must be a boy!
Gotcha names picked yet?

Me and it...

Hullo Fidget-Kid!
Don't poke me in the bladder!
Wait til Dad gets home...

Housebound...

Surf the internet
Check my facebook, write emails
Wander 'round the house


See, I am clearly pretty bored! Have a sneaking suspicion that a haiku requires more than just filling in the syllables.

Productivity!!!

Yes, despite being mere weeks away from delivering my first child, and in the grip of the early stages of a cold, I have actually managed to have a productive day!

I've been making some badges and exploring some new ideas which I think have come out pretty well. I've also created yet another blog, this time to push my wares, hence its name: Push my buttons! Don't get excited yet, there is nothing there so far, but pictures will be coming!

Eventually, when I get into production, I will list them for sale on etsy, but who knows when that will end up being, given the pending motherhood that is looming!

For now, I will be happy with having made some progress and laid some groundwork for future craft products.

Dropping in for a quick cuppa...

My, it's been a long time.
Having pretty much decided that blogs were the domain of the tediously self-indulgent, I went cold turkey on looking and posting.
But I recently got roped onto bloody facebook, which is living up to its stalker reputation (!), and it has renewed a vague interest in my sad, self-indulgent little blog, languishing all alone and unloved in cyberspace, and I thought I'd check in on it.
I think, Faddsy my old friend, that it might be just you and me here together. I think we can speak frankly without fear of being overheard. I'd guess that visitors to this cave have long since stopped when all they found were bleached bones and scattered remains. (I really shouldn't reread Clan of the Cave Bear. It's bad for me in so many ways.)
Fadds, I confess, I have been attacked anew, but not by a fad this time. After all, fads are for Christmas. Babies are for life. Babies are life. I have new life. In me.

I am 22 and a half weeks into pregnancy, and loving it!
The baby is constantly squirming and rolling and thumping me from inside. It's really the most awesome sensation!

Whoops...I am turning back into a self-indulgent blogger who thinks everyone is interested in what, although it is new to me, is merely a fact of life and not the most original thing I have ever embarked on, as lovely as it is.
So, that was just my catch up session with you, Fadsattack.

xxx

Phew!

Aaah! The sweet smell of a plan coming to fruition!
I am at the end of my first week of teaching rounds and I'm delighted to report that I loved it! Sure, I've made plenty of cock-ups and finished lessons with big gaps and empty spots in the kids' understanding, but I figure it's as good as I can get at this stage, and I'm working my bum off to do a good job, so I can't ask to do more than that!
I'm so pleased that I've finally reached a point where I look forward with happy anticipation to a time when I might have my OWN class one day...hopefully next year!
......
The honeymoon period...aint it grand?!

The bittersweet smell of ennui.

I have major assignments coming out of my ears, my first teaching round coming up in a fortnight (school still unknown) and all I want to do is curl up in bed and read a (non-study-related) book.
I'm not in a teapot-panic...I just can't be arsed.

Unlucky only for SOME...

Friday the 13th has blessed me!
I finally finished the puzzle that has been languishing in pieces all over the kitchen table this week! Hazah!













Why is it that a puzzle that was obviously a promotional gimmick is okay and pop-culturally cool when it is a daggy icon of my generation's childhood, but were it a Hamburgler game or KFC jigsaw it would be very NOT cool and a terrible attempt at brainwashing our children?
Dunno, but you can't deny the coolness of a plate of tinned spaghetti pieces as a jigsaw puzzle!
(Credits to Dan's family treasure chest for this gem.)

old

...and yes, I know I sound OOOOOLD when I complain about too loud punk bands. I know. What can I say? Too loud punk bands make me FEEL old.
I am becoming a person who takes earplugs to concerts.
When my parents use to put their fingers in their ears during the extra-loud Hollywood on the Gold Coast ads at the movies, I used to die inside. Now I see their point.

At least the tickets were free...

I'm on a mailing list for a local burlesque troupe, and last week won free tickets to the High Society Ball at the Regal Ballroom in Northcote.
"Kewl!" methinks. On the playlist were The Wagons (always worth a see), Bob Log the third (had never seen but heard was kinda funny), Legends of Motorsport (one Dan had heard were good) and various burlesque acts throughout the night. We went along, relishing the fact that everyone else was paying $34. The venue is awesome, a grand old ballroom. If I were a wedding type of person, it would be a cool place to do a thing like that. The Wagons were up first, and they were excellent, as usual. Then there was a tap-dancer, who I think was probably fairly good, but given that all I could see was the back of tall people's heads, I'll have to trust that what my ears heard was capable tap-dancing. Then the night began to slide downhill. The utterly inept DJ filled in the gaps between acts, and the patrons gave it a red hot go at ignoring his shoddy work and had a bit of a boogie, but then Legends of Motorsport came on and the fledgling mood of the night just leaked away with the thrash and scream of punk. Now, their music isn't my cup of tea, so I can't really criticise it given that it just aint my genre of choice, but it seemed so out of keeping with the proposed vibe of the night, and judging by the number of people who legged it out to the bar where it was slightly less painfully loud, that was the majority opinion. Finally they finished and we all trooped back in hopefully, where we waited and waited for the next burlesque act to start. When the work experience DJ cocked up the burlesque dancer's music for the tenth time (I shit you not) and she cracked it and left, Dan and I looked at each other and knew that the evening was drawing to a close for us. We pushed on a bit longer, but come 12ish we'd had enough. All I can say is, thank christ the tickets were free. I think we'd have had some 'give us our money back' argy bargy if they hadn't been.
Gift horses, eh? Sometimes they shit on your foot when you're not looking!

These are a few of my (new) favourite things!

1. John Marsden's the Tomorrow series. I devoured the first two books over the weekend and I'm hooked. I've always been drawn to the post-disaster/apocalypse/nuclear war genre. I guess it comes from growing up with the ever-present threat of the man pressing the button. Whilst the Tomorrow series are not post-nukes, merely your garden variety domestic invasion, the first two books have proven to be a gripping, thrilling exploration of the effect of this almost unthinkable (in our country anyway) event. The characters are wonderful - thoughtful and emotional and human. I've heard criticisms of the notion of teenagers becoming soldiers, but I think the way that Marsden handles this delicate and complicated subject is brilliantly done. These kids perform acts that would have been undreamt of to them prior to the invasion, but now they feel compelled to act, and it is not something they take on lightheartedly. They are changed people. And there is real food for thought in this story. More than once since finishing book two (I am not allowed to go to the library for the next until I have finished more Uni work) I have stopped mid-washing-up to reflect on how much of an impact a national invasion would have on my own life, and this reflection leads to the thought that there are plenty of people out in the world who have been living this reality for years, and will continue to do so despite my sheltered, comfortable, ignorant existance here. It's potent stuff. I just have to ration the reading and not glut on it and end up OD'ed in a corner somewhere.

2. Wilfred. We caught this little gem on SBS last night. It's only an eight-part series, and I'm not sure how far into we are, but I sure hope it's early days. This is comedy gold. Wilfred the dog, basically a bloke in a crappy rent-a-dogsuit, wanders around the house, ciggie dangling from his mouth, bored look on his face, tormenting his owner Sarah's new boyfriend Adam. Sarah only sees her wittle Wilfred, but Adam knows Wilfred's real self, and the battle-lines seem to have been drawn. I loved it.
3. The new kitchen butcher-block, made by the brilliant male I have the honour to live with.