Squibblog

bats

Thursdays we go swimming. The pool is behind the stadium where the Tigers football team play. Every Thursday Zac comments on the progress of renovations at the stadium and his fictional idea about how the Tigers are going in the competition (based on the state of the renovations).

One afternoon, after listening to Zac talk about the Tigers for a while, Nell piped up with "I have a football team. They are called The Bats!"

The bats play in a fantasy league with other teams like The Mammoths and the Sabre Tooth Tigers. The Bats are top of the table, which is only fitting because they are Nell's team, after all.

Yesterday was a Thursday morning where we had no errands to do. So I decided we would go to the gallery before the hysteria of APEC was upon us, so I could research my Art History essay. I need to spend 10 minutes in front of this Grace Cossington Smith painting and then Nell could have her head in the gallery.

Nell was delighted by the idea of the gallery because Olivia the pig loves the gallery. Nell was convinced she would find her favourite ballerina painting and stand in front of it for a long time, just as Olivia does. We had a lengthy tantrum in the 19th Century gallery when it became clear that the AGNSW had no suitable ballerina paintings (although I did find a lovely Degas bronze downstairs which cheered her up).

But all was not lost because when we went to have lunch at the cafe, Nell exclaimed "There is my favourite! I KNEW I would find it!" pointing at this work by Lin Onus. It's hard to see in a photograph just how detailed the bats are so I have included a close up. Nell spent ages examining each and every bat to decide which she liked the very best.

A guess a girl needs a motif.

who goes there?

Overheard from the hall just now:

Zac: "Stop! You can not pass. What is the pass word?"

Nell: "Please?"

Zac: "No"

Nell: "Open Sesame?"

Zac: "No"

Nell: "With my skinna minna diggadida footla de boomtah, la de dah, dah de dah?"

Zac: "Correct. You may pass"

kevin, kevin, kevin, you're drunk. I can respect that.

I'm still not sure where I stand on the issue of Kevin as PM. Not, and let me make this absolutely clear, because I prefer little John. Obviously anyone would be better than him. Except perhaps for Tony Abbott.

And also let me stress that I have never voted for anyone Right of the Democrats back when they were the middle, so it's not that I am a swinging voter. I really hope that Labor can pull off an election win this time.

But back to Kevin. My reservations are just about whether he can eclipse Paul Keating as my No. 1 choice in a fantasy election.

First, his name is Kevin. I must admit that I hadn't give much thought to Mr Rudd's first name until I saw the Kevin 07 campaign stickers and was struck: "His name is Kevin!". It could only be more stereotypically Australian if his name was Craig. Or Shayne.

Something in my cringes a little when I think of our Prime Minister being introduced to foreign dignitaries: "This is our Prime Minister, Kevin."

Secondly, I haven't really warmed to the man. Which is fine because I don't want to hug him, I just want him to lead the country. And I think I have deliberately been reserved in my thinking because I really rather liked Mark Latham's larrikin side and we all know how that turned out. Conga line of assholes indeed!

It's Kevin's plain-vanilla side that worried me. He looks like a cut out character from South Park and acts like a library monitor. In some ways he's a little too much like John Howard who refused to drive the wrong way down a one way street to get Jeanette to hospital while she was in labour. I mean if you can't countenance bending the road rules in a health emergency for your wife, you're not fit to make difficult decisions, frankly.

So I had some worries that Kevin might be a little bit too nice. Then came the revelation yesterday that Kevin Rudd got shit faced and ended up in a strip club. And that makes me think a little more of him. Despite the handicap of his name and his looks, he managed to get blind drunk and embarrass himself in New York. Good for him.

I am, as a general rule, very forgiving of drunken escapades. I say that as a long time fan of Russell Crowe despite everything he's done this century. I think fondly of people whose hair I have held back while they vomited into a nightclub toilet, and friends who have done the same for me. So Kevin's indiscretion makes me grateful that I am not the only one who has erred with the booze and paid for it later.

Perhaps I am overestimating the propensity for Australians to laugh at poor behaviour but when the story first emerged, I wondered if it wasn't carefully planted by Labor PR to give Kevin a bit more oomph.

book week parade

This post is really an addendum to the last one. Except it's much longer. And probably less coherent.

Excited as I have been about Zac's wonderful school, I have to admit to having some misgivings about the intensity of the school community recently. After the notorious sewing committee incident (which actually became a series of incidents but let's not go there) I have gone somewhat cool on throwing myself in to the school program of late.

We're still doing parent reading which is by far the most rewarding involvement we've had. Apart from the obvious educational benefits of getting the kids reading during school times, Zac feels tremendous pride that his parents (both of them!) come to his school on Wednesdays to read. It also means that both Soy and I know each of Zac's classmates which is a real bonus.

But other large school gatherings have left me feeling a little overwhelmed. They have also brought back to me feelings about my own schooling. Despite my generally forthright nature, I am really quite shy. The fact that I speak to people at all is a triumph of will over inclination. I always have the impression that people think I am aloof but mostly I just don't have the energy to engage with them.

So with all that behind me, I was somewhat ambivalent about the book week parade today. Would it be weird and fraught? Would Zac feel drowned by the intensity of parental presence (not just mine)? Would I end up standing alone and uncomfortable in the middle of the playground, feeling 6 years old?

Fortunately it turned out to be a huge success. Zac revelled in his costume, truly inhabiting his role of brave hobbit, small but fiesty. Despite the rain and frigid wind, he bravely whipped off his shoes and donned his hairy feet just to show his commitment to all things Shire. Here he is joining the conga line behind his lifelong friend Eloise.

At the end of the parade, in a demonstration of extreme extroversion (for him) Zac even boogied on down to The Time Warp, doing the actions and everything.

I had the comfort of my camera (weapon, shield), good friends and reflected glory of my sewing efforts to keep me animated. Some things end up being worth the effort.

the real me comes out

People who have known me since Uni have been counting down the days. We all knew that sometime, very soon, I would spend a weekend sewing a costume for my child's fancy dress and then the floodgates would open and it would be kids costumes ahoy.

That day came on Sunday when I made a brown cloak, brocade waistcoat and a pair of hairy foot pads for Zac's Book Week parade today.

He went dressed as Bilbo Baggins, intrepid hobbit. He seemed a little stunned amongst the boisterous Supermen and ubiquitous Harry Potters but I think he was secretly pleased to be different.

As I finished up making the cloak Nell asked me to make her a Red Riding Hood cape and I could feel another trip to the fabric warehouse coming on...