It never fails....

Whenever I use the bathroom, it never fails that either one or both of my children will cause incident during the brief time I am in there. They will follow me and sit, stand or lay next to the door, and either quietly tap the door, thump it violently or yell at me through it, until I come out.

Should I manage the miraculous task of creeping away unseen, it never fails that one or both children will start screaming for me to "come here" and much to my urgings, they will not divulge the reasoning behind my immediate and urgent summonsing.

On the even rarer occurrence where I have managed to venture to the bathroom alone, without being followed; they knowing exactly where I am going, but are too engrossed in whatever it is they are playing to care, it never fails that some freakish mishap or bizarre turn of events should befall upon one or both children in my absence, causing one or both children to scream at blood curdling decibels, which leaves me panicked and helpless in my efforts to speed things along so I can attend to the broken limbs, broken teeth, gauged eyes and split open heads I am imagining I will find upon scrambling out of the bathroom...which, for your information, is never the case, despite the stuck pig-like squealing and squawking going on, or the terrorised tone of the non-injured party who is frantic for me to emerge "quiiiiiiiick"and call OOO.

Why oh why oh WHY, can't I use the bathroom in peace...just once?

Lingering

This past weekend the fair came to town, as it does each final weekend of May. This particular fair consists largely of exorbitantly prices amusements, aging carnival rides and of course, the usual carnival fare; greasy chips, hot dogs, popped caramel corn, hot sugar donuts and candy floss…. among other things; so-called food stuffs that smell good in theory, but in hindsight always leaves one wishing there were such places as food confessionals, where one could simply reveal thy food sins, offer up ten Hail Mary’s and miraculously be absolved of all cholesterol, calories, rotten teeth, future cellulite and spare tires.

The other consistent feature of fairs such as ours, are those humorless nomads, otherwise known as carnival employees. Each ride or amusement tends to be manned by these atypical characters; faces lined and leathery from over-exposure to the elements; hands and clothing oiled and greasy from rigging together their equipment; fingers swollen and nicotine stained, knuckles gnarled from physical labor; and while the ability to chuff upon a cancer stick seems to be a requirement of the job, “jolliness” and “must be good with people”, certainly didn't seem to have been a mandatory component of the job criteria.

Most of the carnival characters sat begrudgingly on the crude stools, glaring grimly and sullenly into a vacant abyss, occasionally rising to intimidate some over eager, sugar hyped kid and/or their impatient parents, like some kind of boorish nightclub bouncer. I am sure they have a lot to deal with, particularly those who have to deal with smart-arses and alcohol inflicted teens, but I have noticed that the carnival really does attract a certain type of individual into its employ - the positively miserable, and they remain so, standing in stark contrast to those enjoying the thrill and vibe of the carnival.

Having said all this, my children were very excited to learn that the fair would be taking place over the weekend, and were eager to hurry along to it.

Friday night was opening night for the fair, and the carnival rides were all half price. Alex happened upon at least half his pre-school class there, which was an added bonus, as far as he was concerned.

I arrived with a limited amount of cash, determined that this meager amount would be our budget for the evening, but I was soon shocked and dismayed at how quickly the cash supply ran dry; frittered away into thin air it seemed, for we certainly had nothing significant to show for it. Nevertheless, we did enjoy three rides (my young ones being very easily pleased) and managed to escape with that mandatory bag of candy floss that is said to be “for the kids”.

Saturday and Sunday are the serious carnival days. Everything is full price and there are more exhibits, craft sellers, and a petting zoo. Sunday caps off the carnival with a parade, which mainly consisted of local business people and politicians, and also fancy cars owners who had been summonsed to chauffeur some posing old codgers, whose identities I hadn’t the foggiest about, but the parade is really an illustration of town spirit, and with that in mind, it was indeed, a great success.

Today in the aftermath, I took Olivia to her ballet class, which takes place in a hall alongside the carnival grounds. Since parents are not invited to witness classes for that age group (parents are seen as a distraction – and rightfully so, from what I have witnessed), I decided to venture out and gather a glimpse of the carnival clean up effort, but much to my disbelief, there was nothing left. At some stage through the course of the past night, those diligent rough bastards of the carnival had packed up the entire show and hit the road, and what remained was our humble town park; a pristine picture of how it stands on any other given day. If one was to venture into town for the first time, one would never have known that this land had only yesterday, been teeming with people, colour and noise. And as I stood there taking in that still and unspectacular scene, I thought I might allow myself to delve into the deeper layers of what I was witnessing, so I took myself for a wander around the park, and allowed myself to feel.

It is an interesting thing to do; to return to the site of particular and recent activity. If one allows oneself, one can feel the flurry of activity still churning in the atmosphere like a disturbed river bed, whereby the water is left muddied and unclear. As I walked, I noticed the faint outline of a square. A shallow pool had been resting there the day before; my son had paddled a little boat in it; he had stood upon that very spot, feet bare and waiting in line for his turn. I walked around a playground perimeter fence; we had stood there Friday evening in a long impatient line up, consisting of overly excited children, surly teens and tired parents, all waiting for the tardy ticket collectors to open up their booths.

I meandered over to where a large stage had been set up the day before; a band had been playing there. The stage was now gone, but the green tiered bench we had sat upon while eating hot dogs, remained, and I imagined us sitting there, munching away to the tune of a howling child who had just spilled the entire contents of his lemonade onto the grass below. I could still feel us there.

I then moved over to a square patch of earth that had temporarily housed the petting zoo. Remnants of straw were scattered upon the hoof trampled grass. It amazed me to think that this small fragment of land was completely surrounded by people, just yesterday - 5 or 6 people deep in some places, and a dozen rabbits hopping behind the fence; dodging a brood of fluffy chicks. A piglet and lamb scurried in another pen, while a tiny pony nibbled at tufts of grass alongside a calf; a solitary llama stood alone in the remaining pen, peering our from behind the hairy fringe hanging over his eyes. Children clung to the fence in the hope of being asked if they might like to hold one of the smaller animals. My son was patient and was finally rewarded which the chance to hold a chick, which he said was warm and soft in his gentle hand. We each crouched down to stoke the chick held loosely in his grip, which seemed surprisingly calm and happy to oblige, despite the excitement surrounding its temporary environment.

On my way back to the ballet hall, I passed a concrete picnic table, such as the type commonly found in parks everywhere. I noticed six extinguished cigarette buts lying discarded in the well trodden grass surrounding the table. These buts were fresh; their filters still white, appearing not to have endured much time on the ground. I concluded that they must have been smoked yesterday. Two buts had been thrown to the ground when the smokers were done with them; embers of ignited tobacco left to wane, dulling and transforming to grey ashen conclusion. The other buts were crushed on one end, snuffed out by a rubber soled toe; an action that had left a sooty smear on the ground.

Yesterday people had stood right there and smoked those cigarettes, and in a way they were still there, with me standing like a future ghost in their circle, or perhaps traces of these yesterday smokers were now encircling me while I stood pondering, and it struck me that much of the weekend’s energy was still present in the park as I walked. The faint smell of hot cinnamon donuts still swirled in the air as black birds pecked feverishly at minute food particles that had been scattered over the lawn. The energy stirred and it hummed. It hung in the trees like dark bats and rolled all over the ground like tumble weed carousing across a dusty plain, and I wondered if that energy might still be there next week, when I returned for the next ballet class.

There are ghosts everywhere and in everything, you know. If you don’t believe in ghosts, you are just not looking hard enough.

some pictures

Here are some pictures I thought you might enjoy. The group picture was taken yesterday before we went out for Mother's Day lunch.
Olivia's cheeks are a bit red in this picture. She ended up with a high temperature last night, and me sleeping on the cold ground beside her bed all night. I have a stiff neck today.
It appears that she has tonsillitis. She was crying this morning that her throat hurt and was "yucky". She has fallen asleep on the couch just now, so I will take her to the doctor when she wakes up.
The photo below that is of Ashley and Olivia when we went to Victoria last month. We were in a restaurant on the wharf - the same one we happened to eat at 8 years ago when we visited Canada as tourists - it seems we were just doing that this time around too.
The final one is Alex, who looks very cute in this picture. He was being a bit of a devil in the first shot. We only had one picture left on the card, so we had to get it right. Despite explaining this, Alex seemed intent on placing his hands in front of his face, so I am struggling against him in keeping his hands away. He has a very nice smile when he chooses to show it. He only got his crew cut last Thursday.
Well enjoy the pictures. I hope all the Mothers had a lovely Mothers Day yesterday.
Happy Mothers Day, Mum.

Purpose

We have a bird house hanging in the lofty cedar that basks in the sunshine, out the back door.

I really missed the parrots that flitted in and out of our yard in Australia. Their noise and colour, brought such life to our yard, and I used to encourage their return by hanging bird munchies in the Stringy Bark growing at the edge of the lawn. These munchies were bought from the store in a block, which was basically a make up of seeds, dried apple and, I think, some syrupy water to hold it together - the birds loved them. Here though, the rats congregate if I put seed out and they are certainly NOT welcome.

Last year I placed the bird house in the tree and hoped it would become tenanted. I believe we were outside playing one late spring day, when a sparrow stumbled upon the bird house, inspected it inside and out, and called for an entire afternoon, to all the birds in the district, to let them know her intention of claiming this seemingly vacant abode, for herself. No one challenged her, so she made it her home.

In the summer, we started doing up our backyard, and perhaps it was the commotion coming from outside her front door, I am not really sure, but she up and left one day and never returned.

This year, as I undertook my morning ritual of gazing out the bathroom window, I was delighted to see that the birdhouse was inhabited once more. This sparrow had been living in the house for some weeks before she determined to make a cozier nest, and I watched her one morning journeying to an fro with old twigs and brush, and forcing them through the tiny round opening at the front of her house.

Now I believe she has some chicks. From the open bathroom window, I can hear tiny peeps and the mother bird flits out in search of food and returns, perches on the edge of her house's opening; her head in and tail out, presumably feeding her young. One day I hope to bear witness to her brood taking flight.

This morning however, I observed mother bird preening herself on a thin branch nearby. She seemed relaxed and content while attending to her personal needs. Then she flew away.

Her activities lead me to ponder the themes of duty and purpose. I thought about birds and animals and wondered if they ever questioned their existence, or do they accept that this IS their purpose, and once their babies are grown and are strong enough to leave the nest...how did she feel? Was she relieved to be free of her children's demands? Was she sad that she was now alone in the world? Did she worry what would become of her many children? Did she ever long to see them again, and if she did, did they recognise her and greet her with affection? Or did she then become immediately concerned with preparations for surviving the coming winter, and come next spring, would she be filled with the insatiable desire to fulfil the destiny of mother to a brood of birds once more?

In that moment, I favoured the notion that this little sparrow knows and is quite certain of her purpose in the world, and I found myself envying her, just a little.

Yay me!

I had my first reality check (my phrase not theirs) at Curves, Wednesday morning. I knew I was feeling so much better for going. I also believed that I was beginning to feel more toned, and my clothes weren't as tight, so I wasn't all that fussed about whether or not I had lost weight, even though I was aware of how terribly unfit I was, but I was gently reminded recently, "muscle weighs more than fat", so with that important mantra ringing in my ears, I walked into Curves this morning, with my head held high, for I knew I hadn't missed a session...as yet.

I must admit though, I did actually have my fingers crossed that my body fat percentage might go down. I scored in the "poor" range at my sign up measurement; a reality that brought back humiliating high school memories of being forced to stand in line to be submitted to the dreadful "skinfold pinch test" by some insensitive physical education teacher, who then boisterously insinuated that one was a bit on the lardy side - shudder. Truly, that practice should be outlawed, it was not like anything more was done about it; the chubby ones weren't immediately told to drop and give them 20, nor were we sidelined and given a pep talk about diet and exercise, nor enrolled in a special hard slog fatties program, rather we were only given a brow beating and tsk tsk'ed as we shuffled away with our tails between our legs.

Well, horror stories aside, I was given a reprieve this month, because I lost 4 pounds (2kgs), 5 inches (dunno the conversion) and reduced my body fat percentage by 2.1% - whoo hoo, go me! The body fat reduction saw me receive a Curves t-shirt as a reward. It was a pretty cool feeling, and other Curves devotees were congratulating me on my effort. What a great start to the day; kind of makes me regret eating those 6 chocolate chip cookies yesterday - oops.

The result encourages me to keep going, and to even see about doing a bit more. Maybe I can add a swim once a week for something different...although I do have some ghastly memories of when I attempted that form of exercise. I guess I am a bit fitter this time around and not as idealistic, we'll see.

Realistically speaking, I think I should probably reap more benefits if I do take a more concerted effort with the ole diet. I don't think 6 chocolate chip cookies is good for anyone really. Do you?