Cafes & Kids

This week there has been much commotion in Melbourne's media regarding appropriate cafe etiquette with children.

One article in particular found on The Age's website really got me thinking about Melbourne's ubiquitous cafe culture....

When Miss E was a baby, and our mothers' group was first starting we regularly met at local cafes. I was never quite comfortable with this arrangement. I could never really relax, as I was never sure if my bubba - who refused to sleep anywhere but her cot - would lose the plot when she got tired and scream at the top of her lungs. Or if she became hungry. Really, there are a myriad of reasons why a young baby might start wailing! And as a regular cafe goer, I don't enjoy hearing a baby screaming, so I wanted to be considerate of others, and not have my baby create a disturbance. This of course was confounded by the fact that, unlike all the other babies in our group, mine was never happy to just sit in the pram, or even on my lap. She got bored. In about 5 minutes. So being trapped in a cafe was not ideal for us.

Also, I felt that a mothers' group was not a particularly attractive or sought after customer base for a cafe. We mostly just ordered coffees, and then stayed for up to two hours taking up literally half the cafe with our prams, and other baby paraphernalia that seemed so essential at the time. Those tables could have been being used for customers who actually wanted to order meals. And who didn't take over the whole cafe. I guess I was more aware of these issues than others may be, as I had owned a business myself and had heard horror stories from other traders in the cafe industry. So I mentioned my concerns to one of the other mums, who was also the person who had been arranging the get togethers, and from then on, we met elsewhere. At each others' homes in the cooler months, and at various local parks in warmer months. Our new arrangement was wonderful! Especially as the babies got older. They had room to explore, and make noise, and when at another person's place, new toys to investigate.

Miss E is no longer a baby, and I still feel the same way about cafes as I did when she was a baby. A pre-schooler can't be expected to sit still or quietly for any length of time. When I do visit a cafe, we have a window of about 30 minutes before she begins to get restless. I am ok with this. She's a kid and kids need to be active. So my options are a) allow her to run around and generally make a nuisance of herself while diminishing others' enjoyment, or b) leave after 30 minutes. Option B is my preferred choice. I think it serves the needs of my child - who needs to be active, and the needs of the other patrons. I guess the only person whose needs are not met, are mine. I don't get to sit and enjoy a long, uninterrupted conversation with a friend/s. But I signed up for this motherhood gig, and that goes with the territory.

It seems that Melbourne's cafe culture has evolved to the point where people think of their local like a home away from home. For many mums, a trip to a cafe is a little outing that gets her out of the house and makes her feel like she's part of what's happening in the world. I get that. Motherhood can be very isolating. And I think in general, most mothers balance their own needs and the needs of other patrons well. But there are the occasional few who seem unaware of the need to be considerate of others.

When frequenting a cafe with Miss E, I stick to the following rules:

* Try to pick a family friendly cafe - with either a kids room or a play area outside

* In a cafe where there is no kids area - Miss E is expected to sit at the table. Running around said cafe is not acceptable. I provide pencils and paper, games on my phone or buy her a baby cino as a novelty.

* If Miss E throws a tantrum, or cries for any reason, I take her outside, and don't return until she has calmed down.

* As mentioned above, if there is no kids area, I don't stay longer than 30 minutes.

What are your cafe etiquette rules?

Metamorphosis

It's almost the end of 2012. What a year it's been. We have experienced some very high highs and some low lows this year.

I don't really want to give undue attention to the lows, so I'll talk about the highs!

After a gruelling and mind-bogglingly busy year Mr D - as expected -showed that he really does have an extraordinary and uncommon intellect, and was rewarded with a PhD scholarship. To date, throughout his academic career, he has won awards and acclaim in almost every area he has studied.

He won the Judith Rodriguez literary prize, and had another story published here. He was awarded an Honours scholarship for outstanding academic achievement, and had an essay published in a public policy journal. He also had a poem published in a literary magazine that was launched at The Melbourne writers festival a few years ago.

When we started to discuss the idea several years ago of a PhD, the notion seemed so....foreign. So unattainable almost. But the closer we got to it becoming a reality, the more normal it seemed. Like a natural progression. From second-hand dealer to academic. Who knew?  

I'm (quite obviously) so proud of him. His achievements have come at a personal cost. Sacrifices have had to be made - Like studying in a windowless room that had no ceiling lights, and no heating for the last few years. Studying in solitude and quiet is an essential for Mr D, and that cannot be achieved when one lives with a toddler. His office -if it can be called that - affectionately became known as 'the box'. He would leave every morning through winter, rugged up with 6 layers on, and come home frozen. He would study with a small desk lamp for light - or if it wasn't too cold he would open the door to let the light in. Here's some photographic evidence:

And over the last few years our social life has taken a hit. We (and I say we because in a sense it is a team effort) have been so crazy busy that we have lost touch with many friends. We literally haven't had time to 'hang out' regularly like we used to. And here's the scary part: we've just signed up for another three years of it!! Gluttons for punishment?

But there are some perks to being a PhD student - thank goodness! - like a a real office - on campus no less. With windows. And lights. And even heating. What luxury. And getting paid to study (well in actual fact he will be conducting primary research rather than 'studying') instead of having to pay is quite a bonus too.

And now it's christmas. Mr D is on holidays and we're enjoying this time of no uni and no assignments looming.

Beauty & Brains

I really think you can judge a book by it's cover.......

Are hairdressing salons inherently vacuous places? Devoid of anything cerebral or intellectually stimulating? This is my question of the day.

I had my semi-regular hair appointment today, and had been looking forward to it for several days. As a stay at home mummy, getting several hours to myself is, well, bliss!

Being able to sit and read uninterrupted was the thing I was most looking forward to. But then it dawned on me. There would be nothing to read there that would interest me. Unfortunately trashy gossip magazines don't float my boat.

I'm really not the slightest bit interested in who Paris Hilton - the patron saint of vacuous - is sleeping with, or who is divorcing who. And for the love of God can someone please tell who on earth are the Kardashians??!!! Even worse is when, with no alternative I flick disinterestedly through these mags, and my hairdresser exclaims about a particular celebrity, making pronouncements about people with all the seriousness of one delivering a speech at the UN. She speaks with authority as if she knows the person. I find it incredibly strange.

Surely I'm not the only person who's not interested in reading about the dysfunctional lives of the rich and famous? Would it kill them to have a few issues of The Monthly, or Frankie or even The Australian Women's Weekly. These publications actually have articles in them, as opposed to full page spreads of celebrities with a few paragraphs at the bottom as a vehicle for the pictures.

Does caring about one's appearance and more specifically hair automatically mean said person is only interested in the banal, the ridiculous and the inane of celebrity culture?

What do you think? Am I being a snob? Or should salons cater to a wider reading audience?

Maybe I'll donate them a couple of back issues of The Monthly I have lying around......

Breast Politics

Unless you've been living under a rock this past week, it's unlikely you missed the controversial cover of Time magazine with a mother breastfeeding her almost four year old son. Check out the story at The Age here. The story was widely disseminated by news sites within hours and created the quite predictable media storm I imagine it was expressly created to do.

Before writing this post I was thinking that Grumet must be either astoundingly naive or strategically attention seeking and courting controversy. Further follow-up interviews with her suggest the latter.

I find this cover offensive, but not in the way you might immediately assume. I find it offensive because rather than promoting breastfeeding, it is creating controversy and strife. While I personally wouldn't breastfeed my child at three years old, I'm not against others doing so. It seems to me to be an overtly sexual image, and has been constructed to shock. Combined with it's confrontational headline, "Are You Mom Enough" the whole cover has quite an alarming effect on the reader. Let me explain further. In the context of magazines, and the visual language we understand in our western culture, we have come to expect highly sexual and sexualised images on magazine covers, particularly of women. All of these facts must be considered when 'reading' this image. Grumet is a young, slender attractive woman. She stands in a provocative way and stares into the camera wanting to be looked at. So far nothing unusual for a magazine cover. The child standing on a chair latched onto her breast is where it gets weird.

I think in the photographers mind he was perhaps trying to highlight the many facets of womanhood and the expectations on women. Women are supposed to be attractive, sexy, confident, slim, and at the same time feminine, demure, motherly, nurturing. Can we be both at the same time?

But ultimately I think this cover - and the story - pits women and mothers against each other, using breastfeeding as the weapon. And that's what I find most offensive about this cover. Using breastfeeding - which is so profound, challenging, and important - to tear each other down is wrong. It's cheap and base.

Here comes the rain again

Winter is almost upon us, and as the cold blows in, I feel like a fog has rolled over me, dulling everything.

I quite literally have a feeling of dread every time I think about winter. I try not to think about it, but in the back of my mind I know it's coming, and that sense of dread lurks. My mood seems to reflect the grey barren outlook of winter.

This week winter has come early in more than one way. We've been blasted with wintry conditions here in Melbourne, and my little family have all been battling an unpleasant cold.

Some people profess to prefer winter over summer. Such statements - if indeed true - render me confused and without any point of reference. Perhaps they don't feel the cold so much? Perhaps they don't feel depressed by bleak grey skies? Perhaps - although inconceivable to me - such people prefer being inside to being outside?

If I have learned anything about myself since becoming a mother, it's this - I'm an outdoors girl. Any sort of confinement leaves me anxious and stressed. Being cooped up inside for any length of time makes me feel like I can't breathe. Being outside and preferably near water or animals makes me feel like I can breathe again, I feel my stress seep away. Pre-mummy days I thumbed my nose at winter. I wore appropriate clothes and braved the wild and wooly weather. Walking the dog (by the sea - two birds with one stone you see) or feeding/riding horses, I found a way to be outside.

Since Miss E's arrival, winter means being inside more than I would have previously. And why I can only recall dreading winter in recent years! Of course we still get out in winter when we can. And it creates new adventures, as we look for indoor activities (I've never been to Melbourne Museum so regularly before!) that, if it wern't for inclement weather would be overlooked!

So winter is once again upon us. And I feel like I'm preparing to hold my breath for a really long time. But on the other hand there is hope. Summer will come again. The sun will shine and I will once again be re-aquainted with the great outdoors.

My annual Christmas post

Apparently it's been 6 months since I last posted. Either my life's so boring I have nothing to write about, or I'm so busy I never get a chance. I'm going with the latter...

I love Christmas time. Pretty much the whole of December is great. The excitement starts to build and the parties come thick and fast. There's the shopping - which I normally loathe, but have actually quite enjoyed this year. It's the feeling of knowing hot days are coming, and the Australian Open, and beach holidays spent in the sun are just around the corner.

Summer is magical to me. A week spent somewhere warm and by the sea can quite literally remedy all the stress accumulated from the year just gone.

This year we are forgoing our usual coastal oasis and are instead travelling north for a family wedding. While I'm delighted to be going somewhere warmer and to be able to lay by the pool, a part of me is sad we won't be going to our usual. It is my favourite place in the world, a place that enables me to be the most relaxed and happy I can be.

And Mr S and Mrs B have done their bit to make this summer especially exciting as they await the arrival of their first bundle of joy. A baby is always exciting. But becoming an aunty for the first time is very special. I'm also excited for Miss E who has been telling everyone she's going to have a cousin.

Christmas day is rapidly approaching. I'm pretty stoked actually that we get two Christmas day's this year - one on christmas eve with Mr D's family and Christmas day with mine. Double the fun, (and the drama, calories, hangovers, and presents!!)

Then, when the glow of summer begins to fade, real life begins again.

Reflections on Motherhood

Tomorrow is Mothers Day, and as I have been reflecting on motherhood recently, I thought it an appropriate time to write about it.

Before becoming a mother, when people said things like, 'you don't understand, because you're not a mother' I thought they were just being smug, or superior. Turns out they weren't. Here are some of the things I now know;

1. Being a mother makes you so vulnerable. In every way. Emotionally. Physically. Financially. From the moment you discover there is a precious life growing inside you, you feel that urge to protect, nurture, love. But so much of it is out of your hands. It brings a whole new meaning to vulnerable.

2.If emotions can be described as colour, then for me pre-motherhood was black and white and motherhood brought about amazing techni-colour vividness. Every emotion is experienced ten fold in strength and fervour, and is no longer easily containable and restrained. Instead, they sit just under the surface, refusing to be tamed. Rogue tears often appear at the most horrifying moments.

3.The constantness of motherhood is mind-boggling and incomprehensible until experienced. Pre-motherhood I understood the concept in a cerebral sense. But the experience of it is another matter entirely. Come rain or sun, colds or gastro, late nights or hangovers; The motherhood show must go on!

4.A friend of mine with adult children said to me not long after the birth of my daughter, 'Once you have kids, you understand how the world works,'. And what she means is the love. The epic, epic love that you feel for your child. And along with that comes the knowledge that every person has a parent who feels that way about their child, and therefore where their heart lies. It helps you understand how precious and important each person is because you understand it about your own child.

And so, here I am almost two years into this motherhood gig, and despite vulnerability, and constantness and the emotional rollercoaster that is the permanent state I now find myself in, I want to do it again. It's because amongst the mundane is the profound. Being a mother is so ordinary, yet at the same time extraordinary.

The year that was...

2010 was a big year. It was the year I finished my degree. The year my daughter turned one, and the year I realised I couldn't do everything and needed to let someone new take over something I had been doing for almost a decade.

Full time motherhood combined with full time tertiary study was only possible with one extraordinary and very committed husband and father.

I'm pretty sure, in fact I know, that the pressure I put on myself to complete my studies and do well, as well as be a good/engaged/involved/committed/loving/not-so-tired-my-eyes-are-rolling-in-my-head mother, directly affected said husband, who bore it with patience and immense grace.

In the midst of an intense year, I feel I was so focussed on my goals and getting through everything (and consequently became somewhat of a stresshead), that I lost some perspective.

While holidaying on the coast and spending some time with a friend and her family, it gave me the (terribly cliche) opportunity to relax and reflect. It made me see my life from a different perspective, and enabled me to appreciate what I have in a new way. God is good.

So 2011 is here, and now it's my husbands turn to shine - and shine he will, as always - and for me to be the supportive one (please God let me do it well!!!!).

When nature is not nature...

My little family and I recently rugged ourselves up and braved a wintry Melbourne day to visit the Melbourne Museum, where the main attraction is currently the Titanic exhibition. But before we walked through the Titanic exhibit - which, incidentally, was great, and worth being packed in like sardines for - we thought we could walk through the Rainforest Secrets permanent exhibit. It's quite amazing, and is in the centre of the museum. It effectively brings the outdoors inside, as there is no roof. But as we entered the glass sliding doors to walk up the pathway, a sign had been put up blocking our entrance saying, 'Due to high winds and wild weather, this exhibit is temporarily closed for safety reasons'. So, we wandered off to another area and meandered around until we were ready for the Titanic - which is a timed exhibit, where you 'board'.

After exiting the Titanic, we walked past the rainforest again and saw it had been re-opened. Clearly the dangerous winds had subsided enough to stop the managers worrying about law suits....But it got me thinking. We had all braved the so called 'dangerous winds' to get there, and if the tree's in the exhibit are affected by the winds, well isn't that part of nature? But clearly this is an artificial nature. One that is manipulated, managed and tightly controlled for customer's/visitor's.
Paying to 'experience' nature, in a controlled environment means we are not really experiencing nature at all - it negates the whole point. It made me feel that the whole orchestrated process was contrived and a little absurd. This was further illustrated to me when a young boy turned excitedly to his mother and asked, 'Can we keep going so we can see more of the nature?' Real nature exists, and it isn't found indoors, or in a museum. Real nature can't be contained, is largely uncontrollable and is innately beautiful.

As we were leaving the 'nature' exhibit, I felt overwhelmed by how strongly I felt about experiencing real nature, and what a formative and positive effect spending time in the Australian bush had on my childhood.
I recently heard an interesting segment on Radio National about how important it is for kids to spend time in nature. Richard Louv, the main interviewee, claims that paediatricians in the US rarely see broken bones these days, and that they are increasingly seeing repetitive strain injuries from computer games. Ironically, repetitive strain injuries have longer and more serious complications than broken bones apparently. So kids, put down that PlayStation console and go climb a tree!

Day Spa's & World Poverty

The lovely Mr D bought me a gift voucher for a treatment at a day spa recently, and I availed myself of this opportunity yesterday. Several things struck me as I lay there having my skin smoothed, polished, hydrated and generally pampered;

1.
Since when has frequenting day spas become the norm for the middle class masses? In my mind, spending several hours - or even just attending - a day spa was the reserve of wealthy women, with too much money and not enough to do. You know the types - the 'ladies who lunch' set who have nothing to do so fill their day's with spa and salon appointments; the type's who start philanthropic foundations. Lady McMahon comes to mind. So how did going to a day spa become something the middle class masses partipated in? Which brings me to my second point....

2.
While laying there doing essentially nothing, except for relaxing, it occured to me that the process of paying to do nothing is the ultimate form of commodification. At a day spa you are basically being sold an idea, or a state of mind. Sure, there are services involved, but most of that could be done at home yourself. No, the whole point of going to a day spa is to feel spoiled, indulged. Effectively you are paying to feel good about yourself - it's the commodification of self worth.

3.
My conscience was being somewhat of a miser yesterday, trying to ruin my indulgent experience by reminding me that while I lay there having a grand time, there are people who cannot afford to feed themselves, rendering the 'relaxing' element of the experience somewhat redundant. However inconvenient my conscience was, it did have a point. It seems almost obscene to spend what for some in the developing world would be over a years wage, on having a massage and a facial.

4.
In Australia, we have become so wealthy that going to a day spa and spending hundreds of dollars has become something the average person particpates in. But according to the World Bank, 80% of the worlds population lives on less than $10 a day. I think it's time I stopped defining rich as the person who lives in a big house on the water, and consider myself rich. Becasue the reality is I am. Most people in Australia are, when looked at from a global perspective.

Will I ever go back to a day spa? Probably. Will I enjoy it? Yes. Will I also feel guilty? Yes.

Mother's Day

It's Mother's Day this weekend, and it's my first as a mum. Mr D has offered to take the three of us out for breakfast on the day, which will be lovely.

I was asked what I would like for Mother's Day, and after realising that sleep cannot be purchased, or wrapped up and put in a pretty box, I began to think of something other than sleep that would be a nice gift.

It got me thinking about what we used to get my mum for Mother's day. I have memories of Dad waking my sister and I up while Mum was still asleep, with the three of us sneaking around the house, making Mum breakfast in bed. This usually consisted of toast and a cup of tea - and then going outside to pick some flowers from the garden to put in a vase on her breakfast tray.

I am sure Mum was on to us, and made a great show of pretending to wake up when we came in, and then acting so surprised/delighted with her cold toast and weak cold tea. But perhaps the delight was genuine, because having your children do something nice for you is special isn't it?

So maybe I don't need a present after all. I'm saying no to the commodification of motherhood! I am above consumerism. I don't need to feel loved through the consumption of a never ending array of must have products. But perhaps I could make an exception for those exquisite boots I saw in Witchery last week...

TV Series...

I love DVD's. I mean not the actual discs themselves - obviously - but I love buying a whole season, or series even, of a TV show I love, and working my way through it. In my own time, and without being sold to advertisers without my consent. That's effectively what TV networks do. They sell you - the audience - to adverstisers, with their so called 'ratings' stats. Sorry, I digress....

Anyhow I really do love being able to sit down and watch an episode (or three!) of whatever show has taken my fancy. With the whole series in my hot little hands, I'm not at the behest of some televsion executive, deciding when I may watch a show and in what manner. With my DVD's I can devour the program or I can slow it down (as I often do when I am nearing the last DVD of the last season of a series!).

Currently I am progressig through the first season of Mad Men. It's very clever and funny and sexy.

Mr D is working his way through The Soprano's at the moment. He say's it's awesome...I might have to check it out some time.

I still look back with fondness on the days when I first watched the entire series of The West Wing. Love that show. Sigh, I will watch it through again, but it's not the same as the first time. I was fortunate too to discover the show when it was in it's final season, and therefore had the whole series to devour from start to finish.

So, I'm looking forward to discovering my new favourite series. Any suggestions?

Social Networking & Baby Boomers

It has come to my attention that many over fifties are making their presence felt in the online world of social networking. My mother is on Facebook. As is my Mother in law. I have refused to accept their 'friend requests'. I am unmoved by their pleas to accept them. It's bad enough they are on there in the first place.

I recently had to alert my mother in law that listing that she was 'interested in women' on her social networking site, meant people thought she was a lesbian. One would think that would be perfectly obvious. But not to her. She thought it meant interested in making friends with women. Nothing wrong with being a lesbian. It's just that she isn't one.

The Baby Boomers ruled the analogue age. They are the most prosperous and successful genereation ever, and it seems they are so used to everything going their way, and being catered to them, that it hasn't even occurred to them that Facebook is essentially not for them.

People my parents age on Facebook is a bit like my parents turning up uninvited to a party thrown for my peers. Not cool. In such a scenario, I imagine that most people would leave and find somewhere else to continue partying/socialising and generally having a good time.

And, funnily enough the same thing is happening online. Facebook has become the giant of the online social networking sites over the past few years. It was originally created for university students, but has rapidly evolved to become a multigenerational phenomenon. But more recently, younger people are leaving Facebook, while the fastest growing user group by age are the over 55's.

According to The Age, ChatRoulette is taking advantage of the mass exodus of young people from Facebook, and could be the 'next big thing' in social networking. But that's the nature of the online world isn't it? Transient, evolving, pushing boundaries. Seems like the Baby Boomers have jumped onto the Facebook revolution a little too late.

Summer Days

This week Melbourne's Spring weather is teasing us with a taste of Summer. We are told to expect three days of 25+ degrees Celsius. Summer is flirting with us, reminding us of our love of warm weather, clear blue skies and balmy nights.

While there are normally a few days that are too hot, almost oppressive, an Australian Summer is a special thing. Summer to me means beaches, holidays, Christmas, tennis (yay for the Australian Open!) and a general happiness.

But this summer I am a little apprehensive. A few things are on my mind regarding this Summer. The first is keeping my little girl cool, and protecting her from sunburn. But really I guess what is really causing my reservations about Summer this year is bushfires. The horror and devastation that occurred on February 7 2009 is still all too vivid in my mind.

My family who lived in Kinglake - one of the worst hit areas - are still recovering emotionally. All of them experienced some level of post traumatic stress disorder. They have all relocated and found new homes in other areas, too traumatised to return to the town they had called home for almost 30 years. I will never forget where I was when I got the call from my mother. My Aunt had called her screaming, they had lost the house and were trying to escape. . .then the phone cut out. Nobody was able to contact her or her husband for 12 hours. We didn't know if she had made it out. Miraculously she did, but sadly many others didn't.

Here is what is left of her house:





My father had made it to a sports oval where many others sheltered for days. He lost his home too. The fire came within 2km's of the oval that was supposed to be safe. Embers rained down on them throughout the night. Now just the smell of smoke triggers the horrific memories of bushfire survivors. And there will be bushfires. I hope and pray they will not reach the catastrophic levels that the Black Saturday bushfires did, but bushfires are a fact of life in an Australian summer. In fact officially, bushfire season started several weeks ago.

This is Kinglake one week after the fires:



So when the hot dry winds from the desert blow across from Adelaide and reach Melbourne, sending temperatures soaring this summer - as they inevitably will, I will be a little anxious. Anxious and concerned for those in high fire danger areas, anxious for the survivors, who will re-live the trauma all over again, and anxious about friends who have a holiday home surrounded by bush.

For information regarding Victorian Bushfires please got to:

http://www.cfa.vic.gov.au/index.htm

The ABC have compiled an excellent report about Black Saturday:

http://www.abc.net.au/innovation/blacksaturday/#/stories/mosaic

The Stork Has Arrived

I'm sitting here, sipping my honey and lemon hot drink, and listening to the sounds of my daughter sleeping.

Today we are down to her last clean/dry outfit. Who knew so much liquid could come out of such a tiny person with such regularity!? And the wet weather is not helping....I have loads of washing hanging up all around the house, under heating vents waiting to dry.

And it's alarming how quickly I have found myself in conversations that once made my eyes glaze over. For example; the pram chats. Apparently mums are all about the prams. I have only been out about 4 times with my pram and have already been stopped and questioned several times about it. What brand is it? Where did I get it from? Am I happy with it? Was it expensive? What did I like about it? Is that the ones all the celebrities use? The last question was asked while I was trying to put bubs in the car seat, and I barely remember what I said to her!

Also, when you get pregnant all the women you know who have been pregnant want to bond with you about the experience of pregnancy and .....nobody ever really does that before you get pregnant. So it's the same when you have the baby. All the women who have been through labour want the details and tell you about theirs.....some of this info might have been helpful before labour!? But maybe they don't want to scare you?!

So I am in two minds about how much to divulge to my non-mummy friends. Do I tell them the truth when they ask questions, or water it down so they arn't put off? I think that's the issue. Despite the fact that morning sickness is horrible and that labour bloody hurts, being on the other side of it now means I have more perspective. I wouldn't want to be responsible for scaring someone off having a baby, when I know how much joy and love they bring, and how everything else fades away.

Ute Gate!!????

Enough with 'Gates'. Seriously. I think all the journalists in the Canberra press gallery are bored.

The term comes from the US political scandal involving President Nixon; Watergate, eventually leading to his resignation and apparently changing US politics forever. Watergate was an office complex that was the scene of much of the scandal.

Since that time, journalists have taken a liking to adding 'gate' to any old minor political scuffle. 'Ute Gate' is a prime example of this. Perhaps we should take pity on the journalists in Canberra. Australian politics is a generally mundane affair, and something most Aussie's show a healthy apathy for.

Not like those US journalists, with their glamorous Presidents and all the pomp and ceremony that go's with US politics - they have plenty to write about. And take politics in the UK. Lots to write about there, what with all those tawdry sex scandals and until recently, controversial wives.

So perhaps Aussie journalists are a little gate happy, but I feel for them. I understand. What else do they have to write about? Rudd's use of Australian slang? Hardly news worthy; he grew up in Queensland and his name is Kevin. It's a given he's going to have some bogan in him.

Shopping and Refugees

Recently, while out purchasing essential baby items - such as a cot - before the stork arrives, I stumbled across the Maribyrnong Immigration Detention Facility. Large and important looking signs alerted me to this fact as I was driving along looking for the baby superstore I intended to visit.

I knew that it was in the area somewhere, but had never seen it. I pulled over to have a better look, and saw - in stark contrast to the signage at the front - several very run down, old, depressing looking buildings, much like the commission flats we see around Melbourne.

I was struck by the detention centres close proximity to one of Melbourne's largest shopping centres: Highpoint. In fact it would be a mere two blocks.

Highpoint displays the opulence and affluence we in the developed world have come to take for granted. Upon entering the shopping centre customers are transported from reality into an alternate universe where every comfort is met. The temperature is always perfect, the light is bright as if it were a lovely summer day, and palm trees line the main thoroughfares.

Highpoint exists as a temple of consumerism and capitalism, feeding our need to define ourselves by what we buy rather than what we do. This point was not lost on me as I wandered around the ludicrously large baby store that contained every possible style and design of the items I was looking for.

Across the road people are detained for trying to access the very lifestyle I am participating in. The governments website for the Maribyrnong Immigration Detention Facility claims that most of the detainees held there have overstayed their visa's or have been denied entry to the country. However it made me think about asylum seekers and refugees who have more genuine and urgent reasons for entering our country illegally.

I still have not been able to reconcile the two extreme realities that the detention centre and my shopping experience represent...

Prodigal Blogger

Enthusiastic Hack has been quite prolific in his writings recently, and is feeling the pressure to satisfy his loyal and adoring fan base. While I on the other hand have been busy growing his baby.

As such, due to various circumstances beyond my control (read: incessant nausea) the only things I have to really write about are the most amusing places I have lost my breakfast/lunch/dinner.

I think the best one was in the manicured box hedges outside my chiropractor's. The elderly couple walking past at the time didn't seem to find it amusing though, by the looks on their faces.

Especially fun too are the condescending comments from other women about morning sickness. Such as , "Oh you musn't be eating a cracker before you get out of bed" Yeah like a cracker is gonna help me. Most of these are just amusing but occasionally you get the odd person who seems to be trying to upset me, by trivialising my experience or dismissing it all together. In these cases, depending on my mood, I either want to hit them, or go and cry somewhere quietly by myself. Yesterday I did the latter.

But, before you start feeling sorry for me, I must add that I was at a Tupperware party - which should be renamed 'Tupper Torture' and a persons behaviour cannot be judged when obviously under such duress.

I almost always find myself having an outer body experience at such 'parties'. I feel like I am stuck in an alternate universe where people pretend to care about PLASTIC. At least I tell myself this. Because the alternative - that people actually do care about that stuff - is too much for me to bare. And the hardest part is pretending to act like I care about it also. It's almost like I have to shrink my personality down to practically nothing, and nod and smile while pretending to be interested in the banal conversation I have found myself in, all the while feeling like I want to scream. It's suffocating.

The thing is, if I were to actually be myself and contribute to such conversations in a genuine manner, I am sure, in fact I know, that my thoughts/opinions/general banter would be far to confronting or alien for those present. Then there would be an awkward moment, and then I wouldn't be able to talk to them anymore. So I stick with the 'plaster a vague look on my face and don't say much at all' strategy. Then I come home and decompress, ie: rant.

So I have been to two of these Tupperware parties in recent weeks, and been the dutiful cousin/friend. But I think I have reached my threshold. No longer will I expose myself to inane discussions about the best sized fridgemate for broccoli to be stored in. NO! I am taking a stand!

Christmas Already!?

It has come to my attention that Christmas is almost upon us. I have been alerted to this fact by the aisles and aisles full of gaudy and loud decorations, that seem so essential to the Christmas experience in our consumer driven culture.

All things shiny, tasteless and tacky are passed off as delightful Christmas decorations. I mostly roll my eyes and make some kind of derisive comment under my breath as I walk past such items. However, recently in my local supermarket, my attention was drawn to the particularly inane, but simultaneously rage inducing 'singing santa'. You know the ones. The ones that kinda dance and have a hideous sound emanating from somewhere within their mechanical centres. Within about .5 seconds of exposure to such 'toys' I am usually looking for something to smash the offending object with, just to make it stop.

But on this particular shopping expedition, Mr D decided that the lovely staff working at our local needed to be exposed to this sound more thoroughly, just to test their proffesionalism. So he dutifully set about pressing every button on the santa's, setting off an aisle full of dancing singing santa's much to everyone's delight.

He was of course very amused by his antics and proceeded to carry out the rest of our shop with a grin on his face. I wonder how many others do the same thing? Anyhow, I really want to know, who the hell buy's these products???? Seriously. Why I ask you? Why? If you didn't buy them, the shops wouldn't stock them and Christmas would be a more enjoyable experience for alot of people.

Newlyweds & New Friends

German Backpacker X left today for Tassie tonight - but he'll be back in a week. Who is backpacker X you ask? Well it's a long story.

The lovely Mr S and the delightful Mrs B - who shall henceforth be referred to as the newlyweds - arrived back from their almost three month long honeymoon last week. And due to circumstances beyond their control, have been prevented from abiding in their intended place of residence. But this inconvenience is only a minor problem, and is easily and readily solved by moving in with your brother and his wife (read me) who are only too happy to accommodate you.

On the day that the moving occurred, Mr S received a phone call from the aforementioned backpacker, whom he and his missus had befriended while traveling. He was arriving in Melbourne tonight and could he stay with him. That's where I come in. I obligingly acquiesced to the request and made up a room for our German friend. He arrived an hour later.

The standard meet and greet ensued, and then progressed to dinner and drinks around our dining table. All of a sudden my house and it's bedrooms were full of people. It's nice. I like having people around, and our backpacker friend was very easy to get along with.

So he will be back in a week to stay for a few more days, and then he will leave to travel around the rest of this great country of ours. I will keep you posted.