How beautiful is my new little niece?!
And how clever my sister in law?
Okay… and I know you had something to do with it my brother but lets face it – your real work starts now!
Love. Love. Love.
I’m very excited to write that my brother’s first born entered the world this morning at 9.08am Melbourne time.
My mother has already “done her numbers” and she has the soul urge of an artist. Three. So to celebrate her birth I thought I should put something up that’s arty.
She was born on my paternal grandmother’s birthday, and this little girl (3110g or 6lb 13oz) is my kids’ cousin… so I think we’ll call her Cuzie…
Apparently mother and baby are doing well and my brother sounds deliriously happy… he probably is a bit delirious given he’s been up all night. 
Now to organise a weekend in Melbourne!
Is it just me or am I the only one who is noticing how often the word ‘literally’ is used?
“I was literally going to the shops…”
“That is literally the best movie I’ve ever seen!”
It is the new ‘like’.
I, like, hate it.
But you know what?
I hate it even more when the word is pronounced lit-er-al-ly.
For me, literally should be pronounced the same way as you’d pronounce actually and virtually.
People – it’s act-shul-ly, virt-chew-ly and lit-tra-ly.
Now I know my friends in the United States say all four syllables… well good on them.
For me, all four syllables is like fingernails down a blackboard.
Literally and for that matter, virtually and actually.
Please.
Control your use!
You know, usually, when you leave something in a taxi, you get that sick dread feeling that you’ll never see it again.
That’s how I felt when I realised getting ready tonight that I didn’t have my camera.
I’d even done a cursory check of the backseat to make sure I’d left nothing behind… it was like I knew…
Luckily I had a card from the taxi company and I called them…
I couldn’t tell them the taxi number or driver’s name or even the exact time I was in the cab.
All I remembered was that we’d been at the National Portrait Gallery and that the driver was from Queensland.
Anyway the guy on the enquiries line was quite sweet and he took down my number and promised to send out a message to the fleet.
I didn’t hold out much hope and tried not to think about how I was going to explain to Groover that I had lost his camera.
To my great surprise, not an hour later they had found it!
It had fallen to the floor of the cab and George, the cab driver brought it round to me while we were still at dinner.
Doesn’t it just give you faith in people again?
Yay Canberra! You rock.
Even if some of your taxi’s could do with a little TLC.
No surprises with the title of this post that you find your correspondent ensconsed in a hotel room.
In Canberra. The bush capital.
So much a bush capital that I spied a dead kangaroo on one of the medium strips on the way in from the airport. It looked odd on the lush green lawn of the strip, I’m more used to seeing them on the soft gravel edge of a country highway.
I wonder if they’ll clear it away before the dawn breaks…
I haven’t spent a lot of time in Canberra.
Are there shops?
I assume there must be but I didn’t see anything but office blocks on the way to the hotel.
There’s not a lot of neon in Canberra.
The hotel room is very nice. The sheets are crisp and white. The bed – king-sized – is on a raised dais. I feel as if I’m on the set of a porn film.
A very beige porn film with a contrasting throw over the foot of the bed.
And that’s appropriate as Canberra is the porn capital of Australia as well isn’t it.
It’s hard to imagine frankly.
Apart from the raised dais and the king-sized bed, the neat streets, dead kangaroos notwithstanding, seem an unlikely location for vice.
I’m here for two days. Any suggestions for fun things to do? Places to shop?
Not porn, though, thanks.
One of the things I learned on a trip to Bath in the UK was that “avon” is the Celtic word for “river”.
Thus when the Romans asked the ancient Britons what that river was called – they called it the Avon.
This is why there are so many Avon Rivers in the United Kingdom and why we have one in our ex-British colony of Western Australia.
It amuses me to think of it.
I had cause the other weekend as I travelled to Toodyay for the annual Avon Valley Bridge Congress with Arty.
It was perfect Sunday drive weather and the scenary – dry and brown – flew by as we sipped our take-away coffees and caught up on ten years of gossip.
There is nothing like bridge gossip.
The bridge world is rather small.
We had a lovely day.
We spent money in the shops, made the final, and enjoyed a delicious Polish meal on return to Perth.
Have you ever heard a parent say in company:
“Say ‘Thank you’.”
If the parent’s voice is slightly louder than necessary – that’s conspicuous parenting.
Take today.
We were on our normal walk that we haven’t done for several weeks due to slackness.
A young mother was blocking the path.
She was crouched down next to her young child, pointing at the sky:
“Look at the sky darling!” She crooned. “What colour is the sky?!”
“Pink?”
Conspicuous parenting FAIL.
You hear it all the time…
“What do you say darling?”*
It’s not that I haven’t been guilty of the odd bit of CP myself.
I have taught my kids to say “Thanks Mum! You are the greatest!” when I do something for them.
Frankly I’m pleased when they go out of the house with their shorts on the right way.
But when is conspicuous parenting just good parenting?
I was thinking about the parent who brings along a little container of chopped up raw vegetables for her child to munch at a restaurant or party.
Is that conspicuous? No. That’s just good.
The conspicuous parent pretends they would normally only feed their child raw vegies and allows them to have chips.
“OK darling, but just this time, chips are an ‘occasional’ food…”
Yeah right… bet the kid gets them every night next to their fish fingers.
So go on, ‘fess up, what’s your example of conspicuous parenting?
* Which reminds me of that joke:
Child: Can I have some more icecream?
Parent: What do you say darling?
Child: Can I have some more icecream now?
Do you want my business?
This guy does:
Yes. The pun is cute and I admit I’m a sucker for puns, but what really got me was the reason for the P.T.O.*
Now wouldn’t you call him?
I feel good thinking about how good he feels about what he does.
(I also like the “Pooh Mobile” truck)
I’m thinking of handwriting a whole heap of messages on the back of MY business cards… a slightly different message.
DON’T call me if your loo backs up.
What I love about the school curriculum these days – no matter it be private or public – is the onus on public service.
I don’t remember it being part of my education.
There are heaps of fundraisers of course but the kids are also required to complete a certain number of hours of community service.
Hugamuga for example teaches computer skills to elderly people. Dippity has sat on the gate of a community fair collecting money.
The thing with community work is when you do it you realise that you feel SO good which is why I shouldn’t have been surprised when Dippity came to me with a handmade sponsorship sheet and a promise not to speak for 24 hours.
Win-win I thought.
She came up with it herself and convinced some mates to join her. She got permission from her teachers and went for it.
They raised about $140.
We had a very quiet night.
Community service… it’s a good thing.
UPDATE: For those of you who are interested here is the Education Department Policy.
As part of the Community Service Program students must complete a minimum of 20 hours of service in the community. Students complete their community service between Years 10 and 12.
From 2009, completion of 20 hours of service will be one of the requirements for achieving the WACE for Year 12 students.
Schools provide students with a variety of ways in which they can complete their 20 hours of service through the Community Service Program.
