making love

It's beautiful to relive it, the joy of bringing a little soul into the world. (And it just keeps getting better.)

man of wood

Watching the Douglas Wood "His Story" special on Channel Ten last night--specifically, watching him speak in hushed tones of President Bush and Prime Minister Howard, and insist on continuing to support the war in Iraq--I couldn't help thinking how the Right must've been gloating. I mean from the family reunion scenes it'd appear he's obviously a dyed-in-the-wool Liberal voter, so it's not a big surprise. But yeah, John Howard must've been kissing the television set for all the free plugs he was getting.

coast is clear

The other week I made a vague off-hand comment that "the Nationals are probably getting more and more irrelevant in post-seachange Rural and Regional Australia anyway."
I was talking out my ass, of course, so I was pleased to see this Herald article, "National sea change", which does a much better job of explaining what I meant.

well, well, well...

Hey, I got a copy of the latest Quarterly Essay in the post on Friday. Are they sending them out free as part of a promotional campaign? Or has some kind soul perhaps subscribed me? It's a nice thought. Anyway, I'm looking forward to reading Gail Bell's "The worried well: the depression epidemic and the medicalisation of our sorrows". This doesn't really seem like such an earth-shatteringly new issue to me (haven't we been hearing about this for years?), so it'll be interesting to see what her take is.

almost real

I meant to blog more often about BB05 but have only been managing to catch about one in five episodes, enough to keep track of the score but not enough to seriously analyse the group dynamics.
Still, I can hereby admit I have a hopeless crush on Big Brother housemate Tim--the token "intellectual leftie journo". Anyone who will sit and patiently explain the war in Iraq to a bunch of apparently very Right-Wing young Australians (e.g., the prototypical new "sexy Conservative" Kate, whose response was an irritable flick of a ponytail and a whiny "God, who cares?") is a hero; for me, anyway.
Wonder what he's doing when he get's out?

pick-up lines that don't work on me

"Yeah, I only have a forty per cent chance of even surviving the operation."
I mean, maybe if it had actually been true (and as I found out from mutual acquaintances, it is not), it might've got some kind of sympathy fuck vote.
My instincts are pretty trustworthy, though. As it turned out, this same person also eventually mentioned how he didn't like Jews.
"They're greedy; there's just something about them I don't like."
I was too flabbergasted to say anything, and later I felt guilty about that.
Next time I bump into him, though, watch out...

NB I don't plan on ridiculing him; I plan on re-educating him. That's a lot more constructive, I reckon.

riding in cars with babies

We went up to Brooms Head with some friends over the long weekend. It's a pretty little place with (wait for it) sweeping views, about five hours north of here. As usual, as we were driving along I pointed out all kinds of stuff to the baby: cows, trucks, cranes, Big Bananas; you name it, I named it.
So I felt pretty silly when, just as we were nearly home again, I happened to bend down to exactly his eye level and realised that the only thing he can ever see is the tops of trees and the sky. Oh.
He's a good sport though; plays along, looks out in the direction of whatever I am pointing at and appears to go, "Oh, yeah...so it is."
He probably thinks his mother is quite mad, seeing a whole bunch of invisible stuff floating by. Or maybe he sees it too, in his mind's eye? I hope so.

embedded

We now cross live to our correspondent reporting directly from the front line--
crackle crackle--
Well, it's been a painful couple of weeks down here in the trenches. We have been in the wars, as they say. The troop is recovering from the following injuries sustained during episodes of fierce play: one black eye, one finger squished and almost severed in a door, and last night, one tooth straight through the lip. He's now confined to barracks and suffering from a head-cold on top of everything, but strangely enough, morale remains high.
This has been his completely freaked-out mother, also suffering a cold, reporting for she sells sanctuary...and now crawling back under the doona.
crackle crackle BLEEP
Hmmmmmmmmm, yes. Well, that's it from the newsroom for now. Coming up, brand-new episodes of Celibacy & the Country. Right after this break...

counting the ways

The way he sits in his bed in the mornings and chats to his teddy-bear until I get up.
The way he runs around with his purple Wiggles guitar announcing he has a “tuggar”.
The way he claps for himself when he has done something he is impressed with.
The way he kisses the cat by turning around and nuzzling it with the back of his head (he’s been acquainted with claws).
The way he runs headlong into the surf, no matter what the weather.
The way he insists on brushing my hair for me.
The way he runs everywhere instead of walking, as though afraid he’s going to miss out on something if he doesn’t.
The way he offers me bites of his food, particularly if it’s something he finds really yummy.
The way he gets so excited when his babysitter comes to play that he gets almost hysterical and laughs til he’s nearly hyperventilating.
The way his hair looks after he’s been sleeping.
The way he insists on brushing his teeth with my toothbrush and not his.
The way he thinks my friends have come around specifically to play with him.
The way he can only ride his firetruck backwards at the moment.
The way these days, when things have gone quiet and I start to suspect he’s up to something, I find him sitting by his bookcase, quietly leafing through a book.
The way he looks at me sometimes.
The way he loves to wander around sucking on half a lime.
The way he won’t sit in his high-chair but will sit in a regular chair at the dinner table.
The way he loves to make me chase him all around the house, especially nude.
The way he gives me a deliciously naughty grin when he does something he knows he shouldn’t.
The way he cries “more!” over and over when we are playing “Itsy-Bitsy Spider”, even though he can hardly bear the tickling.
The way he grins ecstatically and starts bobbing up and down, and lately doing wild jumps with both feet off the ground, whenever any kind of music comes on, even just a jingle on telly.
The way he puts up with his crazy mum.

to be continued...