I'm hoping this will be a photo...

It looks like a load of meaningless code to me, but hopefully it will magically transform into a photo when I publish this post. It's Polly the Puppy, by the way.

Robin asked how things were up the eucalypt... Frenzied is the answer. I worked five days last week. I don't think I have done that since Cricket Boy was born. This is always a busy time for me, with lots of clients wanting things ready to print for Christmas or early next year, but this year has been bananas. I could work three or four days this week too, but I don't think it's fair on Princess or Polly so I'm trying to squeeze everything into the few hours I have.

Also, my mother-in-law's aunt died - the last of her generation, so we've had to comfort Grandma. Plus the kids getting into Christmas performance mode, Cricket Boy's birthday coming up this weekend and one of my friends has just split with her partner - initially amicably, but now he's just tossed her out, so needing to offer support there, too, and practical help. So...yup...frenzied.

Over to you...

My last post about the weather (exciting topic, eh!) got a bit pretentiously writerly, I thought. That's because I was trying to write it without any visual description whatsoever. Did anybody even notice?!

So now...can you do it? Tell me about the weather where you are without using your eyes!

How's the weather with you?

It's spring here. The air is thick with the smell of freshly cut grass and cicadas hum to one another across the garden. In the middle of the day my skin is clammy with sweat and when I lick my lips they taste of salt. The puppy and the kids pant, slurping water, or crunching ice blocks. You can almost hear the rustle of new growth, of the earth relaxing under the gentle sun. In a few months it will become brutal, blasting everything brittle with dryness. But for now it caresses us, slipping its warmth under our goosebumps, coaxing us outside with its tender touch.

We have puppy!

It was a struggle getting her up the eucalypt, but we managed in the end.

She's a nine-week old cavoodle (they used to be called mongrels, but now they're getting all fancy); a Cavalier King Charles spaniel/poodle cross. In the shop she was 100% Cavalier, loving and smoochy and very mellow, but then we took her home and she turned poodle on us, dashing around the garden in a frenzy, playing with the kids. I like that she has both natures in her, it will keep us on our toes. As will the pee and the poo all over the laundry floor. I've got pads out, but Madam prefers to choose her own spot - a different one every time, although she does pee on one side of the laundry and poo on the other, so I suppose it's a system.

Her name is Polly, chosen by Cricket Boy.

Reading superstitions

As a child I think I may have had mild obsessive-compulsive disorder. If I took a drink, whether it be from a tap or a cup, I had to have an even number of mouthfuls, and preferably in multiples of two and then four etc.. Two, four, eight...and if I accidentally took that ninth swallow, I was up for sixteen, and then after that... well, it was a stretch for the bladder. I also could not stop reading on page or chapter 13 - or multiples of 13. That meant some late nights if I was reading a book with long chapters.

I'm over the water thing now (tg!) and over the multiples of 13 thing - but I still cannot stop reading on chapter 13, or any chapter before or after. So I still have to decide whether or not to stop at the end of chapter 11 or if I forge on to the end of chapter 14.

OK, so now you know I'm a complete freak, do you have any weird reading or writing superstitions or habits?

Cricket Boy Clean Bowled

Along with the rest of his team. Once again they ran into a team infinitely better than themselves. Seems to happen every week actually.

Revised Sand Baby on Crapometer

It's here if anybody would like to read it: http://www.crapometer.blogspot.com/

Cat or dog?

We have a mouse in our bedroom, scritchy-scritching behind the wall. Simultaneously, the cat or dog debate has been raging in our house. I thought this would seal the cat side, but husbad claims that he read somewhere that mice will also stay away from a house with a dog in it. Any ideas?

Cricket Boy bowled like a...well...really, there are no words...no, not demon...so not demon...more like something that really can't bowl...fish with its fins tied behind its back. Better draw a veil over that one. However, he won an award for his excellent batting last week, so he was happy. (Really, it was the coach making sure he'd bat next week, but he's not to know that...)

Late update on Cricket Boy

There were tears. There was stamping. There was messy nose blowing. Cricket Boy did not wish to bat.

'But you were great last time!' Big, wet eyes that knew the truth looked up at me.

Quick update. 'You'll be great this week!' More tears.

Then, coaxed every step by the coach, he dragged out to the crease; shoulders slumped, bat a-hanging, pads unravelling.

And he whacked that ball! He slapped that ball! He clouted that ball! He didn't score many runs, but he did score a little bit of dignity, and that's enough for me.

The rules of cricket

This is a quick read, honest. Only two pages. Big letters.

http://news.bbc.co.uk/sportacademy/hi/sa/cricket/rules/the_basics/newsid_3794000/3794981.stm

Hm, you'll need to cut and paste that as I am a link-making fool.

Cricket Boy's First Steps

The slap of leather against willow. The gentle applause from the crowd. The smell of the dry grass that crunched under his feet. The feel of the giant pads, strapped tight against his legs, making him walk like a constipated brachiosaurus. The heavy bat, dragging along behind him.

Thus it was that Cricket Boy made his way to the crease for the very first time.

He lifted the bat, weighted it in his hands, then lowered it so the tip touched the sandy spot by the stumps and turned side on to the ball. The bowler, unemcumbered by pads, scurried towards him, released the ball - a flash of red - clatter - stumps ahoy! Out first ball.

To be continued as the cricket season unrolls...

Great words that need a little more exercise

Over on the most reverend Church Lady's blog (http://abenchpress.blogspot.com/) a few of us were distracted by some wonderful words that just don't get out of the house enough: namely 'turgid' and 'roil'.

Can you think of any other words that deserve to be sent out in the world a little more often?

Things you fail to notice in writing and in life

So I trundle downstairs this morning to find a spotless kitchen floor, but kitchen cupboards stained with brown. Husbad had dropped a cup of coffee. He had the brains to clean the floor before the Wrath of Wife descended on him, but even with all his academic and professional brilliance at his power, it simply did not occur to him that the coffee might have landed anywhere other than on the floor, and his eyes failed to register the streaky cupboards.

When I write, my eyes fail to register the word 'just', and I have to go through all my manuscripts using find and replace to cut the 'justs' down to a reasonable amount. I've found it occurring three or four times in a single sentence. I also don't always notice repeated words in my own writing - a much harder problem to fix as I can't use find and replace on every possible word I might have used (can I?).

Is there anything your eyes or brain simply refuse to register, either in your writing or in the world around you?

Spending your imaginary advance

JJ the Goblin says it's OK to blog brain fluff, thus refreshing my confidence in my ability to blog. Brain fluff. I can do that.

Today, however, I've come over all Proper Blogger and actually have a question which might be remotely interesting. There's a fine old wrangle going on at http://rejecter.blogspot.com/, basically The Rejecter vs Unpleasant Anonymous Blogger aka Anon 7.55. Hie on over there if you wish to follow the main thread of the argument. My question, vaguely arising out of their grandstanding, but requiring absolutely no knowledge of that to answer is: (drumroll)....

Your novel has just been accepted for publication (woo hoo!) for an advance of $5000 (hmm). What would you spend that money on?

Pointless entry

Jeez, I'm one lazy marsupial when it comes to blogging. About to go on another trip, so the situation won't improve much over the weekend.

I think the problem is that this blog has no focus. Bit like me, really.

You tell me. What should I blog about?

What fun it was in paradise...

Sea, sun, sand... Not that we froliced (should that have the 'k' or not?) much in the sea or on the sand, because when folk bring sand in lorries and lay it on bare rock in front of a tableau of oil tankers it's really not that inviting. The sun was good though. Apart from the rain.

OK, here's a very funny thing. Flight: $1000. Suncream: $15. Discovering suncream not waterproof after a whole day at the pool: priceless. When I could walk again (legs) and the littlest koala could open her eyes again (face) we bought new cream, to which Soccer/Cricket Boy then had an allergic reaction. Sooooo funny...

This sounds like a catalogue of disasters, but everything else was fab. Paradise. Best hotel swimming pools in the world. Three separate pools, all with warm water and one with water slides for little koalas. I like my pools hot, hot, hot and spent hours in a chlorine marinade. We eschewed the poolside bar for the water safety of the little koalas, but made up for it with cocktails later when the furry babes were tucked up tight in their eucalypt. We also had some top times with a friend from the old countree who now lives in paradise, and has a maid who looks after baby koalas and does grubby holiday washing while cooking dinner with her third hand. Maid? Angel.

No, I'm not telling you where paradise was. Koala secret.

Holiday hiatus!

We're dragging our weary bones on to a plane later this week, seeking sun and pleasure. Hoping to come back fully re-energised and raring to go with a fun-filled blog... I'm sure post-holiday koala brain will be much more entertaining than pre-holiday koala brain, which is as full of holes as a slice of gruyere.

Befuddled and therefore simple

My head is stuffed and befuddled by some weird virus or other, so I'm keeping it simple today (well, that's this week's excuse...). Let's talk the last soccer game of the season!

The last match was a good one. Against an all-girl team, but they had one of the most solid defenders I've ever seen (solid in every meaning of the word, too) and a good little attacker. Still, we kept them at bay with a 1-0 result. An accidental ball to the face of the attacker may have influenced that result - she refused to play any more after that. I'm reliably informed that Soccer Boy scored the goal, but unfortunately I wasn't watching at the time, and despite recording most of the match on my video recorder, you've guessed it, I missed the golden moment... Idiot mother.

Now, sadly, the Era of the 7G1s has drawn to its close. Never again will the exact same combination of boys and girls grace the field (guaranteed by the fact that one of our kids has already moved house and has been toiling long distances to get to our matches...). It's been fun, fun, fun all the way. Highlights: Soccer Boy's hat trick (grin). The Winner that Never Was (the whistle had blown, but we mums had missed it and went into full-on celebrations with all the kids laughing at us...). The Dancing on the Field (from one of the girls). The Dancing on the Field (from one of the boys). The Mums' Nights Out (heh, heh). The End of Season McDonalds Party and Presentation (Soccer Boy - Top Goalscorer). The End of Season Parents-Only Party (yet to come, but I'm optimistic as to its success).

In a month or so, Soccer Boy will return to the blog in another guise...Cricket Boy! Roll on summertime!

Stretched thin like chewing gum

Remember in the gross years before you realised anything was gross, you'd take a bit of chewing gum out of your mouth and stretch it until it was long and droopy and so transparent in the middle it seemed thinner than paper, but somehow it still held together? That's how I feel right now.

In the past three weeks we've been undergoing a major crisis with Soccer Boy who decided to grow a big lump in his neck. All kinds of tests showed nothing. We were about to have a biopsy for lymphoma and were quivering with fear, when at the very last minute his last blood test showed glandular fever.

He has glandular fever and we're happy! It's just, the other options were so awful. What's more he's not even unwell. A little tired and grumpy, but still going to school, even still playing soccer - although no goal this weekend, so clearly it is affecting him in some ways, heh heh...

Back to that gum...and then after you'd stretched it so far that it was just a thread wafting in your breath, you'd bring the ends back together, all dry and crusted with whatever dirt was on your hands, then you'd put it back in your mouth and chew it all back together again.

We're going on holiday in two weeks. We need to bring the ends back together again.

Victory!

It's been a long time since I've updated the progress of the 7G1s and, my friends, I know you are on the edge of your seats, because under sevens soccer is everybody's idea of a top sporting event.

The weather was against us for the longest time. Weeks without a match, weeks without training, weeks of small boys weeping every Saturday morning when they saw it was raining yet again. Finally, a couple of weeks ago, the sun crept out again and... we got crushed 5-0. Oops. The next week, though, the team were back on form with a 3-0 victory and this week a 4-0 victory, with Soccer Boy scoring twice in each game. Ah, mummy's so proud!