Okay I’m not really whinging.
I like Melbourne.
I could live here. No. Really.
(Anyone want to offer me a job?)
But the thing with the tram lines does my head in.
I feel like a bird in an aviary.
Or Truman in The Truman Show.
Does anyone else feel like that?
Oh.
Just me?
Damn.
Well as if I would know, I’m only his mother!
Five Months Old
Opening of the Graham Farmer Freeway
At Rally Australia
Love this one, sliding across Lake Deborah
In our kitchen with his mate
Leaving for India
So has he been kissed?
Watch the video to find out. 
At the Sail and Anchor... again
You can’t wear your vintage dress just anywhere in Perth you know.
It would feel decidedly out of place (for me) in most places bar a fancy dress party and of course, Fremantle.
Fremantle with its bohemian culture is a place where anything goes so I went.
My vintage dress
I only wish I had the white gloves and bag to finish it all off but then again – matchy matchy is so yesteryear dahling.
A bit like my dress.
It felt a bit odd to have such a big skirt.
The skirt is full and heavy – backed by interfacing to make it stick out a bit.
I bought it many years ago for a Sound of Music film screening – we all dressed up and I bet you can guess who I was dressed up as.
Yes the famous play clothes made from curtains.
The boys enjoy a cold one... well Groover's might have been warm.
Anyway the reason we went out for lunch was because it was B’s birthday.
And the chilli mussels at the Norfolk were, as always, excellent.
At the Norfolk.
Of course the birthday boy had a burger.
My baby is thirteen and she is gorgeous.
Today we went on the tunnel tour under Fremantle Prison, the largest convict built establishment in Australia.
I think my girl was impressed that the jail was still in use when “I was alive”.
In fact they closed the prison in 1991 and then had to wait a year before they could open the old jail to the public… it was made of limestone… they used toilet buckets… limestone is very porous and holds the smell apparently… they had to air the place out.
Anyway the tunnels were made in the 1880s to harness the water in the underground aquifer, by 1910 the water was getting saline from a rising water table and by then of course the Mundaring Weir was supplying the water to the metro area.
And they were forgotton about.
Until an oil leak in the tunnel system caused oil to spray out of the prison reticulation in 1989.
The tunnels are well cool.
It’s what is known as an Extreme Heritage Experience.
There are harnesses and headlamps involved.
Anyway we had fun, learned a bit, and loved spending the morning together… although I think my gorgeous girl would have also enjoyed hanging out at home playing with her tablet.
I love you gorgeous girl!
I have this big wall calendar on my pin-up board and hopefully my colleagues noted my reminder!
The date jumps out at me from everywhere.
My colleagues have bought me a present but it doesn’t arrive for a few days… intrigued? I am. So one of them bought me some earrings – just to tide me over.
And my boss bought me flowers.
The clouds were gathering over the city as I sat in the carpark otherwise known as the entrance to the tunnel.
My sister-in-law made me this cute sunhat!
And a matching bag, delivered with charm by my God-daughter.
My nephew wasn’t too sure about it.
My darlings bought me chocolate and a book voucher. Noice.
Mum popped in for a visit (and to see if I’d used my massage vouchers…).
And then Groover took me out to Pata Negra for dinner.
I am no food pornographer.
It was a delicious day.
Sigh.
Why is it that birthdays are less exciting the older you get?
Groover was sweet. He knew I wanted to take choc chip cookies to work rather than a cake and so he made some for me.
Unfortunately they didn’t work out so well – dud recipe with no baking powder.
But I love that he tried.
Luckily I had bought extra ingredients and the result you see above.
And maybe next time he’ll go to redsultana.com for the best choc chip cookie recipe of all time.
We don’t call them nom noms for nothing!
We were down in Dunsborough for mum’s 70th birthday celebration.
She had invited her family to Caves House for a breakfast.
The photos in the room were of Caves House in the year of her birth – 1939.
This is the youngest member of the family being held by the oldest, my great aunt.
I didn’t take many photos. This is my mother’s cousin. They are very close in age.
Two brothers married two sisters and mum and her cousin are both the third children of their respective pairings.
They used to play together.
They both have sons who are artists.
They are both into alternative health.
The birthday celebration was lovely.
We brought up all the old stories… those awful eggplant patties even the dog refused to eat, the time she tried to make my brother sick of meat pies by making him eat them for every meal (she gave up after a fortnight), the education we received in transactional analysis…
But.
And I have never been so embarrassed.
How does it happen that you spell your mother’s name wrong in a video slideshow on her 70th birthday?
Please tell me how that could have happened?
OMG.
The shame.
I know my kids are going to deliberately spell my name wrong now.
It’s going to be one of those stories.
Up there with the eggplant patties.
And they’ll probably also add the inedible lime casserole I made last week.
Who knew you couldn’t substitute limes for lemons?
This is my mum and my daughter in 2005. We were in Italy, in Venice in fact.
I thought I wouldn’t like Venice. I thought it would be too much of a cliche, too geared for tourism.
It was. I didn’t care. I loved it.
The other week I caught up with my oldest cousin.
When she was a teenager, my mum was a young adult.
According to my cousin she was the coolest auntie a girl could ever have.
She fought back to her parents.
She travelled the world.
She slept in the nude.
My cousin tells me she once overheard an argument between mum and my grandparents.
They were upset because she’d cashed in her savings to buy a ticket overseas to follow my Dad to Canada (eventually).
Mum said it was her money and she would do what she wanted with it, cashed up and took off and the rest, as they say is history.
The effect on my cousin was profound.
She kept the boarding passes mum gave her and used to look at them and imagine being like my mum.
In later life she travelled far and wide and still does.
Listening to my cousin I felt a kernel of pride that this was my mother she was talking about but interestingly also a sense of wonder.
Who was this woman?
This racy, defiant, inspiring person?
She just seemed like a normal mum to me… a little vehement about me not being a teacher (she didn’t enjoy her chosen profession…) but otherwise…
It is only now as an adult, I recognise that I grew up with a pretty radical person.
Mum was always experimenting.
From eggplant patties (don’t ask – they were a disaster – even the dog wouldn’t eat them) to Transactional Analysis, she explored her inner and outer worlds and took us along for the ride.
This year she is celebrating a significant birthday.
Dad and I were going to start planning a party but we’ve been informed that there will be several functions.
A festival of Mum.
Bring it on – you deserve it!
My baby is 14 today.
And, poor thing, is lying in his unmade bed today.
You see, Groover and I had birthdays in the last couple of months and the kids did not think it necessary to make a fuss.
No cups of tea, no homemade cards, no thought on the morning of our birthdays.
To be fair, Hugamuga did make a bowl of soup for his father for his birthday but failed to tell him it was his present and it sat, congealing on the stove until Groover chucked it out, not realising it was a gift of love.
And on the afternoon of my birthday I did come home to a lovely present, bought after school.
So this morning was a pretty lame affair.
And Dippity is likewise looking at a fairly quiet day in April.
It’s not like we’re asking for much. Some fussing, a homemade card, a cup of tea perhaps, presented in bed on the morning of our birthdays is all that is required.
Trust me kids, it’s worth sucking up to your parents.
I went to a first birthday party on Sunday. It was a bit weird.
I didn’t go with my family, just me, and it did feel odd going to a baby’s party without a… well… baby.
I was out of that space.
It made me wonder about how the people I invited to my first born’s first birthday felt because we had quite a big party and a lot of the guests didn’t have kids. I even had nametags.
That’s my dad holding up his one-year-old grandson.
Of course for your first child you want to have what’s really an adults party. To thank your support group and to celebrate surviving the first year.
It’s more about you than your child – and really – now I wish I’d bought Miss Lithuania and Smartrider a present rather than their son – who, let’s face it – is highly unlikely to hold it against me!
Yeah. That’s a great idea.
Next first birthday party I go to – the present will be a “well done, you survived the first year” gift.
Miss L looks happy she survived huh?
I learned a new tradition – not sure if it’s Lithuanian or not – but at this party the birthday child was allowed to grab his first birthday cake. Apparently his mum and sister got to do the same.
Have you heard of that tradition?
I think it’s kind of cute… if a bit sticky.
