Not the Answer I wanted, but an Answer nonetheless

I have two absolutely beautiful children. Gosling is 18months old, and Critter will be 6 next month.


Gosling is slowly learning new words, with all people having become 'daddy' (Tall person with hair on his face who throws me in the air? Daddy. Other tall person with long hair who stays at home and feeds me? Daddy. Random people I meet at the shops/on the street/at the brother's school? Daddy), and all objects having become 'dut' (especially if they are yellow, say "quack" and like water), except trucks, which are brrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrm. She has a doll cradle, and is constantly putting her babies (dolls, bunnies, teddies, trucks, books, blankets, cooking implements) in, rocking them vigorously, and taking them out again. Lather, rinse, repeat. And repeat. And repeat, repeat, repeat. She tries to be gentle with the cat, and loves to do my hair. She's also become very interested in birds, and is constantly pointing them out to me whenever we are outside. She is my shadow, and wants to be wherever I am, and do whatever I am doing. From cleaning the windows, to wiping up spills, to sitting on the couch listening to music. Now if only her hair would thicken up so I can do cute things with it...


The Critter, my big boy, is a very smart little thing. He is reading at a level far above every other child in his class - well enough to have been pushed into the 2nd highest reading group in the 1st grade class. He is in kindergarten. He can read words like laughter, lamington, crocodile, and amused. I change the channel when the news is on because he reads the headlines and asks me what murder means and why did that man do it to his three children? He is interested in everything, and I find myself answering a never-ending string of questions on everything from how a jet works, to why there are so many different types of flowers. He is amazing with lego, and has been doing the 7-12 age group stuff since before his 5th birthday. He plays Auskick - kids version of AFL (aussie football) - and has kicked some very good goals. He loves to dance. And sing. And run, and jump, and do flips and play on the trampoline and play with the hula hoop andplaywithtrucksandreadandwatchtvand.. you get the picture. He loves life. He loves everything. He loves vegetables. We bribe him with broccoli to get him to finish his meat ('If you eat three more pieces of your steak, you can have daddy's vegetables.'). We fight a constant battle against eczema, and have a variety of asthma and allergy medications in the cupboard. Every time he encounters a new food, he asks if it has eggs in it. Or chicken. Or nuts.

He is the sweetest, most beautiful boy I have ever known. He hugs me when I am sad, pats my head and wraps his scrawny arms around my neck, and tells me that its OK and he loves me. He picks me flowers and draws me pictures. He wanted to marry his sister because 'she is so beautiful'. He wants to play with her all the time, and is always telling his friends about all the amazing things she can do - like walking, and eating her own food, and talking.

But ever since he could walk, the Critter has been running. Everywhere he goes, he runs, skips, or jumps. He climbs trees (I had to wash his hair before it was due the other day because he was covered in ants from climbing trees), rolls down hills, and jumps off steps constantly. The more he runs, the more energy he seems to have. The trampoline is in almost constant use when he is at home, and some days, it is the only thing that keeps me sane. He can not sit still, constantly jumping into and out of his chair, whether he is eating, playing lego, watching tv, or doing his homework. Every time he sees something, he gets distracted by it. It takes him 25 minutes to put on a t-shirt and trousers in the morning, over half an hour to brush his teeth, and he takes nearly an hour to eat a sandwich.

I do not remember the last time he actually ate all his lunch at school. Usually, at least half a sandwich gets eaten when he gets home, because he didn't eat it all before the bell went at lunch time to go outside and play.

He sits at his own desk at school, because he gets distracted too easily if there is another child sitting near him. He tells them how to do their work, wants to play, and does not keep his hands to himself.

There is a square taped on the carpet where he is allowed to sit, and none of the other children are allowed inside his square.

He has been kept in at lunch for playing instead of doing his work, telling the teacher what to do, and not keeping his hands to himself.

Again, he is in KINDERGARTEN.

Even when he's kept in, he still doesn't manage to eat all his food.

He has lost his jacket at school more times than I can count. He's on his third one now, the other two having vanished, and he's left it behind at least twice already.

He loses things at home too. I don't know where half his lego is.

He seems to find it impossible to actually look at people when they're talking to him. In the time it takes to tell him to go brush his teeth and get his PJs on, he will have changed his line of sight at least 3 times, probably swung at least one arm around like a windmill, and moved about a foot to the left - after being told to stand still with his hands behind his back, and Look. At. My. Eyes when I'm talking to you please.

When he was younger I assumed all children had boundless energy and didn't know how to stay still for more than a heartbeat. His teacher thought it was boredom and has been giving him harder and harder work, because he is a bright boy, and he does need more advanced work than a lot of the others in his class.

In my bible study last week, when we were each asked for things we'd like to pray for, Critterbug was mine. That we would find some way to help him, something we could put in place that would stop him being disruptive in class, help him find a way to concentrate, and bring a calm to our lives that we've never known.

Yesterday, I got my Answer. His teacher says a his behaviours are very similar to other children with ADHD. Giving him harder work to alleviate boredom has not worked, it simply makes him frustrated at the harder work. He recognises that he can not function at a table with other children and needs to be on his own, but it upsets him that he has to be separated, and he still has concentration issues. Lots of concentration issues. It is practically impossible for him to stay still. Ever.

Looking at a typical day in Critter-world, at the things he does and the things he can not do, and having looked at lists of symptoms of ADHD, I'm coming to agree with the teacher. While he doesn't do anything to the extent of the "troubled ADHD kids" you see on the TV* - hitting, screaming, climbing onto roofs, running non-stop, throwing things around - he does do a lot. He gets distracted constantly, can't stay still, flits from one thing to another, loses things a lot, fidgets, runs and climbs all the time, has NO volume control (actually, he has three volumes - shout, shouted-whisper, and so-quiet-he-can't-even-hear-himself), talks/sings/hums ALL. THE. TIME. (the only time my house is silent is when he is asleep or at school. even when he's eating, he's talking), doesn't seem to hear what people tell him, and interrupts a lot.

He's a good boy. He's sweet. He's bright. And he tries.

This was not the Answer I wanted for my boy**. This is not the Answer I wanted for our family. But it is an Answer with an answer***, with things we can do, if doctors agree with his teacher's suspicions.

And it's looking like the only Answer I'm getting.



*He actually does have a cousin like this, though I've only seen him post-medication, where he looked like any other 5yr old. Hubby tells me that before his nephew was medicated, things were pure insanity.

**After looking at everything I possibly could to prove to myself that there's no way Critter has ADHD and the teacher must be wrong (yeah. that failed), it actually looks like this is a possible answer to me as well. It would explain a LOT of my childhood behaviours, and a lot of the problems I have now, in regards concentration, distractedness, and forgetfulness. For example, I don't think I ever once did my homework on time - not because of laziness, but because I could never remember that I even had any, and the only way I can come even CLOSE to keeping the house in order now is to have a list of 3 to 4 things to do each day, taped to the fridge so I'll get distracted by them every time I walk past it. It works a little bit.

***The more times I write "answer" the more the word looks wrong. Do you ever find that?

Its beginning to look a lot like Christmas

Today is Wednesday. Christmas is on Friday. The tree went up on Monday.

Oh yeah, we leave things to the last minute here.

Presents are (mostly) bought - the man says he will buy mine tomorrow, on Christmas Eve. GOOD LUCK WITH THAT.

Turkey will be coming out of the freezer tomorrow to start defrosting, and we will go to the supermarket to get last minute food stuffs.

And best of all, the bank has agreed to give us a bunch of money, and we exchange contracts tomorrow.

Some two-thousand years ago there was a miracle that I am eternally grateful for, in the form of a squeaky miniature human, sent here to save us all, fully human, yet fully divine. A young girl, an honourable man, a miraculous new-born.

This year, we have our own miracle. This is the fourth or fifth house we've gone after, and we were beginning to think the bank was going to turn us down, again. Instead, this is the second best Christmas present ever. (The first, obviously, being Christ. Just in case you weren't paying attention.)

God gives in abundance. Not necessarily when or what you expect, but always what is best.

Merry Christmas!

So Far Today

• I've been mostly awake since 3am
• the baby is being weird
• she stinks
• my eyelid feels like its on fire
• I have killed over 30 fleas in the last hour
• the rat came into the house
• I have no idea what to do for dinner
• the boy keeps arguing
• I keep yelling at him
  
• God loves me anyway
• that makes everything better
  

My Husband Is Not Special

I have a friend whose husband is a cop. Another is married to a doctor, another a head chef. My father is a lawyer. My oldest friend helps businesses find solutions to their biggest problems, his father helps with the pipelines all across Australia. A lot of my friends husbands are, or are training to be, ministers.

My husband is the manager of a refrigeration parts warehouse. Before that, he worked on the counter in a warehouse. Before that, he drove a truck, delivering stuff from a warehouse. Before that, he was the heavy lifting boy in a warehouse. Before that he was tech support, telling old people how to connect their computers to the internet.

Its very easy to see what he does as less important than the other men I've mentioned. He doesn't save lives, or catch baddies. He doesn't ensure our country's sewerage, gas, and water are all working. He doesn't know the bible inside-out and backwards, read it in three different languages, and speak to a congregation every week about our Lord. The only people he cooks for live in this house.

He doesn't have a good singing voice, he can't play an instrument. His writing is incredibly messy, and he can't paint or draw. He doesn't have an extraordinary memory, and he doesn't make up amazing stories. He isn't drop dead gorgeous by most people's standards, though I wouldnt change anything about him.

He sells copper pipe and refrigerant gas, components for cool rooms and filters for air conditioners, stud finders and tape measures, and gloves. He drives a truck and delivers parts to the fridgies and plumbers and sparkies who actually use the stuff he sells.

My husband is not special.

But without him, when the coolroom at your supermarket breaks down, everything is wasted. He goes to work in the middle of the night to get stuff for the technicians so the supermarket doesn't lose $50'000 worth of dairy (true story. He left well before midnight and didn't come home till the small hours). He sells the parts to keep your local department store air conditioned. He supplies the people who service the steelworks.

All of us have a job to do. Some look more important on the surface, but none is without worth. Just as none of our lives are without worth. God created each and every one of us, and he gave us each a job. Who knows what that job is? I don't. You don't. Only He knows what we do and why. But none of us is unimportant.

Adressing the Skirt Issue

**Bible quotes taken from NIV unless stated otherwise**

I have a comment on the post about dressing the baby:

Anonymous said...

request lodged for clarification of reasoning: not wearing pants.

expressions of gratitude for same tendered.

Since I only know one person who talks like that, I know who posted it, but since she's chosen to remain anonymous, I'll not out her. I will give the clarification requested however.

The bible clearly tells us that we are to dress modestly:

1 Timothy 2(9-10)

9I also want women to dress modestly, with decency and propriety, not with braided hair or gold or pearls or expensive clothes, 10but with good deeds, appropriate for women who profess to worship God.

Lets have a look at modesty.

From Wikipedia:

Modesty is most often rendered as humility, shyness, or simplicity. The general principles of modesty include:

• Avoiding attracting attention to oneself by moderating one's actions or appearance;
• Downplaying one's accomplishments (see humility);
• Avoiding insincere self-abasement through false or sham modesty, which is a form of boasting.

and:

Standards of modesty usually discourage the non-essential exposure of the human body. This applies to the bare skin, hair and undergarments, and especially to intimate parts. The standards not only call for the covering of parts of the body, but also obscuring their shape, by means of suitable clothing. There are also standards covering the changing of clothes (such as on a beach), the closing or locking of the door when changing or taking a shower, etc..

For me, dressing modestly means keeping myself covered, to a certain degree. Not "showing off the goods" as it were.

• I aim to dress neatly, to look nice - not to have people (men especially) staring at me because my bust is about to fall out the top of my shirt, or the entire world can see what colour underwear I have on.
  
• I do not wear sleeveless tops, because I feel uncomfortable with everyone seeing my arms like that. I also rarely wear short-sleeved tops, reserving them for very hot days.
  
• If I feel the neckline on a top is too low, I wear a singlet underneath. Too low means my bra is showing, my cleavage is showing, or I would simply feel uncomfortable if someone was staring there (then again I would feel uncomfortable if someone was staring anywhere for extended periods of time, wondering what was wrong with me.. but you get the point). I have a few tops that fit this criteria, but are otherwise fine, so I just toss a singlet underneath.
  
• I avoid button-up shirts, because I cannot find any that fit me well. If they fit properly over the bust, the waist is far too big and I look frumpy. If they fit at the waist, the buttons pop over the bust and I look like a tart. Neither fits my aim of "neat and nice".
• I do wear fitted tops. Loose and baggy makes me look and feel frumpy, and does not fit in with "neat". Note there is a difference between "fitted" and "tight". If everyone can see whether my bra is embroidered or not, precisely where my belly button is, and all the flab from having 2 children, thats tight. If people can see where my waist is, and I do not look like I've lost weight but never bothered to buy smaller clothes, thats fitted.
• I do not wear pants. Every pair of pants I've ever tried on is too tight in the front and too loose in the back. There may be some out there that fit me properly, but I probably can't afford them. I've also never found a top that looks nice when standing, but is long enough to cover any waistband-falling-down in the back when sitting. Other people can pull of the long top look, I just look like an idiot. If that wasn't enough, baggy pants look stupid on me, and fitted ones just scream at the world to stare at my butt. Not want I want.
  
• Skirts are A-line. Not only does a tight skirt still scream at the world to stare at my butt, I just look plain stupid. Everyone can see what kind of underwear I have on, and the not-so-slimness of my legs, also I have broad hips and end up looking a very peculiar shape. An A-line skirt is flattering on almost everyone, can easily be dressed up or down depending on what you wear with it, and they seem to be in fashion at the moment, so they're easy enough to find.
  
• Skirts come to below the knee. The longer the skirt, the less chance of it blowing up and showing things you didn't want shown. The knee also provides a handy reference point. If you don't have a set length, its a lot easier to say "Well, I don't think thats as long as what I usually wear, but its probably OK," and before you know it, you're wearing a glorified belt.
• A slip is worn under un-lined skirts. I have a few skirts that are unlined. One is a nice chocolate linen, that just happens to let the light shine through. A skirt is not very modest if everyone can see everything through it when I walk past a light. I have another, thicker, skirt, that is unfortunately pale enough that everyone can see the colour of my underwear. A slip comes in handy here. A slip is also handy for very windy days. my slips are all tighter fitting that my skirts, and no matter how much my skirt blows up, the slip will not. I do not always wear a slip because of modesty however. I have a lovely, thick, dark brown corduroy skirt that certainly doesn't need a slip to be modest - but the seams make my legs itch.
  

Its not just about the clothes though. Remember, modesty is also "Avoiding attracting attention to oneself by moderating one's actions or appearance". To this end, I do not wear a lot of jewellery. I wear my wedding and engagement rings, a necklace my husband gave me when he proposed, and earrings to match my clothes. Occasionally, I wear a necklace to match the earrings. This is not because of the "gold or pearls" bit. I do not believe this instructions bars us from jewellery. I do believe that too much or too flashy jewellery can draw attention to us, undoing any modesty our clothes may display. If I'm wearing 17 gold chains and fluro-pink earrings the size of dinner plates, I am not dressed modestly, even if I'm wearing a burqa. (I also do not wear a lot of bright colours. This is not so much about modesty as it is about comfort. I do not feel comfortable, or look good, in bright colours. I look good in brown, so you'll find a lot of it in my wardrobe.)

Back to skirts. A lot of people reference Deuteronomy 22 (5) as a reason not to wear pants.

5 A woman must not wear men's clothing, nor a man wear women's clothing, for the LORD your God detests anyone who does this.

I don't. For a start, there is too much difference between clothing in different cultures to simply say "Pants are boys clothes. Skirts are girls clothes." Fijian men wear a garment that is, to all intents and purposes, a skirt. (So do some Scots.) Even in european culture, trousers are a relatively recent innovation. Yes, in recent times, men have worn pants while women wear skirts, but prior to that, everyone wore dress-like garments. Can we therefor say women shouldn't wear dresses because men used to? Of course not. Its silly. Women now wear pants. Pants that are made specifically for women. They are women's clothing, like it or not. That doesn't make them modest, or feminine, but it does negate the "girls clothes/boys clothes" argument. Clothing is always changing, and I do not think "pants are boy's clothes" is a reasonable argument. "Pants reveal more of a woman's body-shape than is modest" however, is a reasonable argument, and its my reason.

Cutie Kid

My husband is Catholic. I'm Anglican. Other than occasional teasing arguments about things like the Catholic Church being hypocritical for making "obscene wealth" one of the new deadly sins (seriously? 'pay us and we'll pray your dead loved one into heaven' and they're now outlawing being rich? HA! (and yes I realise they no longer do this, but I have to be able to tease my man about something.)), what this means is that he has a rosary, somewhere, and a crucifix that I feel uncomfortable with being up in the house (a plain cross would be fine, but a Jesus-figure feels idolatrous to me). So it isn't. Because he is a wonderful husband.

At the moment, as I have recently been pregnant and new-babied and am tired and exhausted and brain-fogged all the time, there is a bunch of stuff sitting on the hall table that needs to be put away, and the crucifix is part of the pile-o-stuff. Today the kid caught sight of it.

CRITTER: This is like the stone at church.
ME: What is like what stone at church honey?
C: THIS. It's like at church inside.
M: Ah.. yes, you're right, it is, and it's called a 'cross'.
C: Yeah and this is Jesus like how He died on the sad day (Good Friday. We discussed Easter this year and Good Friday has become The Sad Day, because He died, and death is sad. Kids are cute).
M: Thats right, He died on the cross, and on the Sunday He came back to life..
C: (interrupting) Yeah and so why do we have this?
M: Well when we see the cross it reminds us about when Jesus died and rose again, and how much God loves us to have done that for us.
C: Oh.. Mummy can I keep this in my room so I can remember Jesus all the time?


I told him he would have to ask daddy, because it's daddy's cross. He is totally adorable. And I'm impressed that he remembers so much about Easter. Usually things go in one ear and out the other with him until he's been told a few times.

Can't I Keep Her A Baby Forever?

I've just finished cleaning up an ENTIRE glass of milk from the floor.

Mr Snotface decided he didn't want to drink his milk this morning. I told him that was fine, but if he didn't drink it, he's obviously sick, and wont be going to preschool. So instead, I get "I have to go to the toilet." Classic excuse, one he uses a LOT to get out of things, but I can't take the chance that this time he's actually telling the truth - I really don't want to be the one that makes him poo in his pants because of some milk.

Since then, three things have happened, because he is being Mr Snotface today, instead of the sweet Critterbug I'd rather see:

• In his attitude laden stomping, he spilled the ENTIRE glass of milk, and then, despite being desperate to go to the toilet, he just stood there, staring at it. Not making any effort to clean it, or even ignoring it and continuing on his stomp to the bathroom. Just standing like a lump.

• He is now in his bedroom wailing hideously because I told him he has to wear a different shirt - I don't want him getting one of his only 2 unstained shirts covered in paint and marker at preschool. So he put the other one on, and screamed when I said "not that one please either" in a calm voice.

• I am now siting here praying for peace and patience, and that God will miraculously stop me from strangling him on the walk to school.

Are we absolutely certain theres no way to stop the aging process so I can stop Spaceghost before she gets to this point?



***UPDATE*** Imediately after posting this, what do I hear? He has turned the tap in the bathroom ALL THE WAY TO FULL to brush his teeth. Despite being told at least once a week that it is not to be turned that high. Somebody better calm down at school today.

the ultimate bob the builder

when barack obama won the US presidential election, a lot of my friends on facebook made comments about america being run by bob the builder. i didnt realise obama had been using bob's catch-phrase, but what disturbed me was that some people left comments to the effect of 'who?' not knowing who bob the builder was. i have a four year old son. i will never have that problem.

ive been thinking recently though, that before obama stole bob's catch-phrase, bob stole it from someone else.

sometimes things happen in our lives that we cannot comprehend. we cant understand the reason behind it. sometimes things go so wrong that we cant even begin to imagine how to put things straight.

but there is one who can, if we ask.

our lives dont always go according to plan. our plan that is. i didnt plan on being pregnant before i was 22, unmarried and half a world away from my family. to be honest, i didnt plan on being pregnant at all. ever. i looked at my life, at all the problems i had, at how i dealt with things, and decided i wasnt cut out to be a mother. i didnt want to inflict my insecurities and issues on some poor sweet little person who would look to me for everything. so i decided never to marry. someone had other plans for me.

someone knew exactly how my life would play out, before i was born. before my parents were born. before this world came into existence. someone knows what will happen to me in ten minutes, an hour, a week, a year, a decade... someone knows exactly what will happen to me and around me, for ever.

it might not be what i want, it might not necessarily be what He wants (sex before marriage = bad. still happened, and He knew it would), but it is what He knows. and when things go wrong in my life, when i am suffering, and scared, and dont know what to do, there is someone who does.

if there is one thing in this life that i am absolutely certain of, it is that when everything is broken and in my life is in pieces, there is someone i can call out to, who knows all my pain, and sorrow, and all my joy and gladness too. someone who is great beyond all reasoning, and who knows exactly how to set things straight.

can He fix it? yes, He can.

never fails to lift my heart.

we sang this hymn (music only there.. couldnt find it anywhere with singing also) in church the other week. correction, everyone else sang. i tried not to cry. hormones suck.


O God beyond all praising,
we worship you today
and sing the love amazing
that songs cannot repay;
for we can only wonder
at every gift you send,
at blessings without number
and mercies without end:
we lift our hearts before you
and wait upon your word,
we honor and adore you,
our great and mighty Lord.

Then hear, O gracious Savior,
accept the love we bring,
that we who know your favor
may serve you as our king;
and whether our tomorrows
be filled with good or ill,
we'll triumph through our sorrows
and rise to bless you still:
to marvel at your beauty
and glory in your ways,
and make a joyful duty
our sacrifice of praise.


Text: Michael Perry
Music: Gustav Holst

the baby, it is trying its hardest to make my life suck.

yesterday around lunch time, as i was sitting on the couch checking my email and bank account and all those fun things, i felt a sudden, horrible, sharp pain in my side-ish type area. it actually made me jump. im not sure if it made me yelp. the cat didnt move, but there was no-one else here to tell me if i made a noise. there were a few more stabs, then it stopped. i started to worry at this point. pain down near my pelvis doesnt bother me. if i move wrong, random stomach muscles hurt, and ive become pretty good at not doing that. although sometimes i forget, stretch, and lie in agony for a second or five. but this was entirely different. the ouchy-muscle-pain, while sudden and brief, is.. dull. this felt like someone was stabbing me with a sharpened knitting needle. on fire.

when i was sure the pain wasnt coming back, i went to the bathroom to make sure there was no blood, and then took my temperature. all fine. then i sat for a while praying that spaceghost would move so i knew it was ok, and the obliging little creature played football with my bladder for a while and tried in vain to break my ribs (haha!! youre not big enough to reach yet!!), so i stopped worrying. i was going to the hospital tomorrow (yesterday's tomorrow - today) anyway, and would ask them about it then.

then about 5:30 last night as i was lying on the bed talking to my sweetheart as he was getting changed after he got home from work, the burning knitting needle re-appeared. right about smack-bam in the gap between my ribs. a few times. hubby asked me if i was sure it wasnt contractions (dear man.. labour to me feels like period pain that wont stop till the baby pops out. this was most definitely NOT period pain), and did i need to go see a doctor RIGHT NOW. but again, it went away, and i was sure id be fine. after all, i was going to the hospital tomorrow, and if something was wrong, they'd sort it out. but i did decide that if it happened again i was going to a doctor regardless.

so i went in to the hospital today for my checkup with the midwives. my blood pressure was fine (thankyou God), fundal height is fine, baby's heartbeat sounded fine, baby was feel-able (spaceghost's limbs are on the right.. which explains why the little wriggler never kicks me on the left, and goes INSANE if i lie on my right side) but they were concerned about the pain, so after i got weighed and did the protein/urine test, they asked me to stay and see one of the hypertension doctors, instead of waiting for my hypertension clinic appointment in two weeks. i guess the doctors were concerned enough without seeing me, and there was protein (ugh) so i had to do blood tests (three vials), and put off the glucose till next time, and i had to make an appointment for day-stay "either tomorrow, or the next day", and have another ultrasound while i'm there.

tomorrow i have to get up far too early so i can be at the hospital by 8am. my husband is going to be late for work, because theres no WAY i can organise myself to get a bus there by that time, so he's going to drop me off, then drive all the way back to our suburb to drop off the kid at preschool, and then make his way to work. and i have to stay there for a few hours while they monitor my blood pressure and blah blah blah. done it all before with critterbug. i was in and out of that hospital just about every week being told my blood pressure was too high, oh wait now its normal, oops no its high again..

but i was hoping to avoid all this for at least another month. im only 26 weeks. im sure i was at least 30 when it started with my critter. and the fact that its starting earlier, and has the added burning knitting needle pains.. is worrying me. just a little.

this wriggly baby spaceghost is not cooked enough to come out, so nothing better be horribly wrong with me. and i cant be put on bedrest.. i have to be mobile to look after my critterbug.

please please please let this be a false alarm.

God does not do the sermons at my church

theres a man sitting about 2 feet away from me, who am incredibly thankful for. even though he hasnt responded to a single thing ive said in the last half hour. hes paying much more attention to his own computer. but hes cute when he concentrates, so thats ok. dont tell him i said that.

ive just finished watching an article on 60minutes about the idiotic things kids do, driving too fast. something they mentioned is that the human brain is not fully developed until the age of 25. this means that not only was i still a child when my son was born (i was 22.. i guess im just barely an adult now, at 26), so was my husband. he was 24. and i can believe it. i saw him do some pretty dumb things in the year or so we were together before critter happened. matter of fact i remember doing some dumb things myself. like driving around with my mates during our lunch break, with 7 or 8 of us in a station wagon - one lying down in the boot, 4 squished on the back seat. the front seat was a bench, so three of us fit. at least we werent driving too fast.

but it got me thinking about how grateful i am for him. not simply the fact that none of those dumb things ever got the better of him, but everything. he works hard to provide for us. hes a great cook. he does the dishes. he makes cute faces when hes concentrating (dont tell him i said that). and he loves me, for some reason, just the way i am.

most of my friends are stick insects. they eat too much salad, and work out all the time. i used to look like them, somehow without the salads and working out (oh the lucky 16 yr old me who could eat 4 quarterpounders, 20chicken nuggets, 3 large fries and a thickshake.. in about half an hour. and still look like a twig). not so much anymore. a slowing metabolism and pregnancy has added a fair amount of pudge. and he doesnt mind. "you look like a girl. girls are supposed to be soft and curvy." i look at my ever-expanding, baby-enclosing stomach in the mirror, and i hate it. i still dont think i look pregnant, just fat. i think of my skinny friends, and i wish i looked like them again. "why would you want to look like her? you can see her bones. its gross." (for the record, this 'bony' friend is not extreme.. she doesnt look anorexic by any means, but you can see her hips bones when shes in a swimsuit.) he doesnt mind the stretch marks. he doesnt mind the scars. he doesnt even see the things that bother me the most. if pressed he admits that i could "maybe lose a little weight, for your health. but you look perfect to me."

i dont know why God has given me this amazing man, who is so perfect for me. a friend of mine, who i fancied when i was younger, likes his women skinny. his family rates his girlfriends on the SII - the Stick Insect Index. God didnt give me that man, or any of the other men i knew. he gave me the one that was a match for me. the one i had to travel to the other side of the world to meet.

the one who gave me the cutest child in the world.

last week, in church, i reminded critter that we have to be quiet, so we can hear what the minister is saying, when he tells us about God. when the minister started talking, after the first hymn, critter stood up, straining to see to the front over the heads of the other parishioners. he turned to me with the hugest eyes i've ever seen and said "mummy! is that GOD???" not the best thing to say to a pregnant woman. i nearly wet my pants and had an asthma attack at the same time.

all because of this wonderful match God made.

in the end, it all comes down to choice.

there is an addictive streak in my family. my father, now in his 60s, has been smoking since he was in his teens. he's also spent way more money than i could ever imagine on pot (and who knows what else), and my mother is convinced that if she hadnt married him, he would have ended up drinking himself to death. my sister struggled for a while with binge drinking, and over eating. knowing this, i choose not to drink.

i turned 26 in august, and alone among my friends and family, i have never been drunk. i seem to have a fairly high alcohol tolerance, which has helped, im sure. while my friends were getting so smashed they forgot who they were from only one or two drinks (light weights, all of them), the only difference i noticed after 4-5 standard drinks (a mistake - someone bought me a different variant of what i usually drink and it was super strong) is that i was warmer than usual, and i wanted to lean on things. ive only done this once. so, ive been 'tipsy' but not properly drunk (though im sure if i blew into a stick i would have been over the limit). my friends keep insisting i should get drunk, just once, go on, just to see what its like, it wont hurt.

maybe theyre right. it might be fine. i might be fine. but i know theres an addictive streak in my family, and id rather not chance it. what if i liked it? what if i decided to do it again, and again, and again, and slowly it took more and more to get me there.. then i find myself having a drink every night. or 3. and then i cant stop. i choose not to. i choose to have a drink every few weeks if i want one (not now, obviously, because the alco-ma-hol, it is not good for growing sprogs), but not to go out of my way to have one. i choose to limit myself to 2 alcoholic drinks in any given night if i'm out, and often have less.

just in case.

we all have the ability to choose, and we all make choices every day. i chose to wear my boots today, even though i know my ankles/legs are a teensy bit swollen, and the heels make my feet not happy, because my other option was open toed slip ons, and its raining. i chose to wear a slip i knew would make me a bit too hot, rather than let the whole world know what colour undies im wearing because my skirt is a little thin. my son chose to muck about during breakfast time instead of drinking properly, and had his drink taken away. my husband chose to sleep in this morning rather than go for a jog in the rain (good choice, he kept me nice and warm when the cold snap hit).

one of the arguments people make about being gay is that its not a choice - theyre born that way. maybe, maybe not. im not a geneticist, and even they seem divided on the issue. it certainly seems possible - if someones genetic makeup can cause them to have absolutely no pigmentation, or to have some terrible incurable disease, i see no reason why it shouldnt affect their attractions. but even if same-sex attractions are part of their genetic makeup, they dont have to act on them.

my father is addicted to tobacco. so was my husband. my husband chose to quit. he finished the last cigarette in the pack, and stopped. it was hard, theres no denying that. he quit 3 times, and only succeeded the last time. some people need help to quit, some people dont. every day, he chooses not to start smoking again, and some days, its a very hard choice indeed. my father chooses not to quit. he has also tried a couple times, and now chooses to try no longer. every day he chooses to light a cigarette. its his choice, and he makes it. ignoring a same-sex attraction may be harder for some than others, and some may need help, if they choose to ignore it. some might find they fail, like my husband quitting smoking, and have to try again. some may find they fail, and like my father, choose to stop trying.

they say its not a choice, and maybe theyre right. but it is a choice to act on it, and that choice goes against God.

the human body never ceases to fascinate me

seriously. its just so.. fascinating. and weird.

i'm a fairly hairy person. not werewolfy by any means, but theres a fair amount of hair on this ever so pasty body. thing is, its all different colours. the hair on my head is a sort of dark-blond/slightly-yellowy-light-brown, generally referred to as 'fair'. my eyebrows are nearly black. my legs are super hairy, but its almost white. i wont go into details about the rest of me, but you get the idea. ive always thought it was odd...

my husband is also hairy. (side note: totally smooth and hairless guys like you see in movies and on ads are creepy. men should be hairy. thats how we know theyre men and not boys.) but unlike me, he is covered head to toe in black hair. its all the same. head, black. legs, black. chest, black. EXCEPT: his beard. there is SOOOOOOOOOOOOO much ginger in his beard it looks almost mid brown, and makes him look as if he's dyed his hair black. how does that happen?

im curious about my munchkin. his hair is about the same colour as mine, so he'll probably end up quite dark when he's older.. but will his body hair pattern follow me, or his dad? will he be a monotonous dark brown? or will he be a veritable rainbow of different hair colours?

he's got his father's skin. he's only 4 years old, and he's already darker than me, despite starting out just as pasty. hes got the milkman's eyes. (seriously.. where did the black come from??) he could have either of our hairiness.. since we're both hairy. and hes already proving to be hairy.

the human body is amazing and fascinating. the way it works, the way its put together. the infinite possibilities...

the God who has created it all is totally awesome.

apples! very small rocks! cider! lead!

going to a new church for the first time is rather like the first day of school. VERY rather like, if you, like me, are one of the shyest people on earth. and you are going by yourself. the 4 year old does not count, in this situation, as another person.

luckily, there seem to only be about 50 people in this congregation. which, although incredibly sad, makes it easier for the terrified among us to join in. too many people is overwhelming. and everyone was very, very welcoming.

since we moved back to australia just over 4 years ago, i think i've been to church about... 4 or 5 times. its not that i haven't wanted to, but it gets difficult when you have to go on your own. my husband doesn't like church much, and to make things even MORE difficult, he's catholic, and i'm anglican. so i'm not allowed to take communion at any church he would want to go to, and he wont take communion at any church i want to go to. and i don't drive, so i either need a very close by church, or i need to impose upon his life to take me. luckily, both these have happened.

the church i went to last weekend is about 3 or 4 blocks from my house - easily accessible in nice weather. i walk twice as far to take my son to preschool. and hubby has said he will join me in the walk, or drive me if the weather is too icky. he has no interest in going himself, but thinks it will be good for me and critter.

and the people were wonderful. as i've said, i haven't attended church much in the past few years. the place i used to attend handed out a prayer book and a hymn book upon entry, so i always had everything on hand. this church is very very much smaller, and only hands out the notices. so i was slightly stuck. not to worry! years of church attendance have pretty much seared all the words into my mind. but someone across the aisle nipped over and handed me an open prayer book. on the right page.

i cried that day. i'm hoping it was mostly pregnancy hormones getting to me - i get very excessively weepy. but it was also just so... nice. it felt so GOOD to be in church. it felt amazing.

i'm very disappointed that i cant go this weekend. i made plans months ago that i cant get out of, but next weekend ill be back again. and the weekend after.. and after that.. and after that...






*for the normal among you, the title comes from monty pythons holy grail, burn the witch scene - things that float in water. also among the list is churches.

there are naked ladies in my garden

did that get your attention? dont panic. its a type of flower. a lily. and there are at least three there now. im not sure how viable the other bulbs are - theyve been growing in the garden for some 15+ years. if theyre still good, i should have at least 10 by the time they all shoot.


this world that God has created for us never ceases to amaze me. today is wednesday. this years first naked ladies look like this:

on sunday, they looked about like this:

in three days they have gone from barely poking out, to nearly fully opened.

people often ask how we - all us crazy religious people - can believe in God. look at those photos again. how can you not?

does it really make more sense to believe that the entire universe came into existance through the spontaneous combustion of nothing, without the interference of a higher being? of God?

does it really make sense that our world, this earth we live on, is the exact right distance from the sun, at the exact right angle, and spinning at the exact right speed, for life to exist? and as far as we know, no other planet is?

for that matter, does the existence of life really make sense? if the universe came from nothing, how did all the rocks and gases that form all the planets and starts happen? and ignoring that, how did life form out of all that inanimate rock and gas?

next time you eat an apple, look inside. inside that teeny brown seed is everything needed to grow an entire tree. and of course, it makes absolute sense that it happened by pure random chance.

how can i believe in God? a God who created this universe, set our earth at the right distance from the sun, spinning on an angle at the exact right speed for us to have somewhere to live. a God who has packed everything needed to grow a tree into a tiny brown seed. a God who can make a beautiful bunch of flowers grow from a whithered white bulb in less than a week.

how can i believe in such a God?

easily. how can you not?

the Lord provides.

yesterday hubby rang me in the middle of the day. unusual, but not totally unheard of. usually he calls on his way home from work, and thats it. sometimes he calls around lunch time, if hes really really bored.

yesterday, he rang to say he was being moved.

the company he works for has two branches about equal distance from our home. a-west, and a-city i shall call them, since they both start with an 'a', and one is in the west, the other in the city. see? LOGIC. a-city, being in the city, obviously takes longer (30-45 minutes) to get to because, well, its in the city. he drives WITH traffic, at a time when everyone else is also driving into the city. a-west takes only 15-20 minutes because not only is it AWAY from the city, he can take the motorway and avoid most traffic.

when he was given the job, he did a week of training in a-west, which is actually our states main office as i understand it, and was then transferred to a-city - the busiest branch, i think he said. he preferred a-west, both for the distance, and, i believe, the people, but he likes a-city well enough too, and people at both locations like him, in fact, a-west wanted him back, but a-city told them they could want all they wanted, they werent getting him. this is A Good Thing indeed, to have everyone be so impressed and want him. gives him a good chance of moving up in the company, and getting opportunities.

now. the people at a-city are a bit... rougher than those at a-west. lots of swearing goes on, lots of stupid-boy-talk, and hubby is ok with this, although it took him a couple days to get used to it again after being with calmer people for so long - hey, he spent like a month at home with me and a 3 year old, and i dont think his old workmates were rough either - but like i said, he's ok with this. hes a bit of a rough person himself.

now me on the other hand... obviously im thrilled that he has a job. i am so thankful. i would possibly be more thankful if he was earning a little more, but his current wage is entirely livable, just not 'brilliant'. and he enjoys his job, far as i can tell, and gets along with his workmates. the company thinks he can advance easily, and he wants to. and the distance, well even 45minutes is not that far away, really. but honestly, i would prefer it if he was at a-west, where the people were no so rough, and it took him less time to get to and from work. i like having him at home for as long as possible in the mornings, and home early at night - gives us more time to do things like go for a walk, and allows us to eat dinner earlier. but i was happy he had a job, any job, and i thanked God from the bottom of my heart.

i didnt even THINK to ask God to move him back, because i was simply so thankful for the job he had, and was sure God had a reason to have him where he was. maybe there would be more opportunity to move up in the company at a-city, since the people are so weird.

but God saw what was in my heart, a desire for my husband to be in a better environment for himself, and us, and he has been transferred back to a-west. one of the employees has been fired for some reason, and one has been transferred somewhere else, so they are lacking in staff, and specifically requested my husband. so back he goes, sometime in the next few weeks.

i didnt even realise how much i wished he could be at a-west until he called me yesterday and told me he was being transferred. it felt like a weight had been lifted. God saw what was in my heart when i didnt even realise it, and my unspoken prayers were answered. truly our God is a good God.