so.much.noise

I did a software upgrade on my phone recently. It's been really slow since then.
'Have you done a factory reset?' asks Husband.
'No, of course not.'
'You got to back everything up first.'
'How?'
'With Kies.'
'The Kies that keeps crashing my laptop?'
'Reinstall it.'
'So, uninstall it and then reinstall it on the laptop that keeps crashing?'
'Well, move to the PC I built you.'
'But before I do that I have to back up right?'
'Yeah ... well start with your phone and then everything else.'

Everything else.

I'm really too young to be a tech-philistine. I can't let it start intimidating me yet. I don't want to be that person. But jesus I'm tired of having to learn to do a new thing when I just want to draw a line under an old thing and get on with living my life.

The To Do pile wrt to Things To Back Up and Move and Save for Eternity just joins the list of all the other things that need Sorting Out.
Like my desk.
And the art room.
And the piles of junk I stashed in various cupboards before the birthday party on Saturday.
And the photos, don't get me started on the photos.
And the girl's closets.
And the toy room.
And the at least 5 projects I've got on the go.
And the upcoming contract I'm starting soon.
I could go on but really it's too boring.

Sorting out and backing up and clearing the decks is not how I want to live my life. Not. At. All.
All this stuff makes so much noise.

the 4th!

We had Stella's 4th birthday party here at home yesterday afternoon. It was spectacularly good fun.

So grateful for family and friends and food and love and laughter and beauty.

sticky fish

There is a fish (in fact two fish) in that bowl, they're just camera shy.

At this first class we all had to sketch the fish, collage the fish. Instantly I was put off. I didn't want to be told what to create, that's not what I'd signed up for. But quickly it became clear that this was the fastest method to teach us the myriad of ways in which collage can be approached, and not having to spend too much time on conceptualising meant we all got right down to tearing and cutting and sticking. Oh the joy!

Apparently many people stick with their fish. Refining and building on this one piece throughout the month of classes. I'm nearly done mine, and thinking ahead to what I'll do next week.
I'm not sure what this says about me, or my method. I know that I need to start in order to get the inspiration flowing, and maybe because I was SO READY for this is was easy to throw myself in. I've also confirmed I'm not that into the torn paper look - I'm more of a scissor sister really.

I was amused by some of the questions the others asked though. Am I allowed to do such and such, or is it okay if I change the colours? The thought of asking permission to be creative never crossed my mind, and when I intricately cut out a long green water plant instead of collaging it in, the woman next to me said, 'That's a good cheat' and I laughed, you can't 'cheat' at art. Can you?

This is as much fun as I thought it would be. Roll on next week!

more about Adam

Last year I wrote a post about my friend from high school who died tragically aged 17. Lynne begged me to send a copy to his Mum, and with every intention of doing so I tracked down his brother and had a tear-speckled email conversation with him.
I got his Mum's address, but I kind of lost my nerve (why? what was I nervous about?), and a full year passed until I finally wrote to her, a few weeks ago.

I received her response today.

It's a weird feeling, knowing that my letter and the blog post I printed and sent with it, made her so happy and so sad.
I feel conflicted, with happiness - satisfaction that I could express how I felt about him so well (she refers to the post as 'an eternal love letter to my beautiful son') and that my letter was 'so very welcome' to her  - but also really humbled and unworthy to have intersected with her immeasurable grief. I think this is what held me back from writing to her for so long, I didn't feel ... entitled in some way ... to tell her anything about missing Adam. She owns the rights to that loss solely and completely.

But of course that was naive. And more than needing to hear that other people miss him, she needs to hear that others remember him, that he lives on in other hearts too.

She told me that after the first few awful years, she'd found a way that was 'manageable' to keep on going, but that just recently it has been very difficult again.
Maybe, as with all things, there was a reason I sent my letter to her now, not a year ago.

I found this in the high school diary I was reading through on the weekend. No Adam, you're my dreamboy.
For ever and ever.

the american job

Talk about hit the ground running.

After my weeks of idle layabout (doctor's orders you know), I embarked on a feverish 10 day job for some Americans.

Some Americans who work in the Communications Dept of a huge international firm.

Some Americans who work in the Communications Dept of a huge international firm and SUCK at communicating.

Add to that a 7 hour time difference, a complete lack of detailed brief, a complete lack of bigger picture perception and some pretty condescending ideas of how things work in Africa and what do you have?

A very stupid, stupid job. Which paid dollars. And is now over so ja ... I shouldn't really complain.

Debrief done. Over and out.

catch some poop Lady Liberty

nice mummy cooks ...

Half a dish of spinach & feta rolled pancakes with fresh tomato sauce, a good barrier of lightly coriander spiced chicken, half a dish of chicken rolled pancakes. All about to be slathered in cheesy sauce.

Because one little girl doesn't like tomato, and one little girl doesn't like spinach.

Also, Shrove Tuesday. Because, pancakes.

Nice mummy.

Why's there one less pancake on the chicken side you ask? Bad daddy.

50 things about right now

1. We sold my car on Saturday. I'd had it since 2006.
2. It felt like the last vestige of my pre-kids life driving away.
3. Stella's favourite word(s) are 'spic and span'.
4. Frieda's favourite word is 'lunch'. Say them out loud, they're awesome.
5. My favourite word is any one which is not directed at me.
6. This week I see a biokineticist.
7. I'm still not sure how they differ from a physiotherapist.
8. This week we see Stella's ENT. Again.
9. I will be fucking annoyed if we're going back for more grommets.
10. Someone suggested sacro cranial massage instead. Is that really a thing?
11. This week I start my collage class. Have I mentioned I'm excited?
12. This week is going to be super busy.
13. We're hosting a mermaid pirate birthday party on Saturday.
14. The lounge is half-painted.
15. I need to 1) bake 24 cupcakes (done!),
16. 2) bake 16 mini-cupcakes (fuckit, I'm buying un-iced ones),
17. 3) make icing in 3 different colours. This is all just for the cake.
18. The cake is going to be goddamn beautiful.
19. The girls and I made octo-pops (pics to follow) (not cake pops)
20. Stella didn't feel the 'tentacles' (her word) were anatomically correct.
21. We're reading On the Banks of Plum Creek.
22. We're reading Pegasus.
23. Frieda's reading flash cards. Frieda's reading.
24. We got the pedalo back in the water (husband's been repairing it) and he and Frieda took it for a spin.
25. He happily reports her legs have grown enough to significantly help with pedaling.
26. A dehydrated duckling quietly died in front of us on Friday. There's been lots of talk of death.
27. I'm having a bit of a 'approaching 40 and facing the limitations of my body' moment. Despite 40 still being 14 months away.
28. I'm tired of it not working properly though. My body that is.
29. The battery on my mobile is stuffed. I'm ignoring it.
30. And on the subject, our ginger cat is getting on and I'm nervous about how she'll handle winter.
31. Winter is coming.
32. Luckily so is series 4.
33. Husband is going to make scones for the parents on Saturday. He's a keeper.
34. I'm wondering if I can be arsed to make pirate flags ... if I do they'll be black skulls on white backgrounds 'cos that's all the fabric I have. Is that acceptable? Aha! Friends arrived with their kid draped in one, he very kindly let us borrow it for the weekend.
35. How many parents will come, and stay, on Saturday?
36. How far in advance can one make jelly?
37. I want to start working raised beds this autumn to plant veggies for spring.
38. Must do some research ...
39. I don't often indulge parenting-related guilt, but after many weeks of being disconnected (my ankle injury and then working so hard the last two), I feel I need to put some thought and planning in to what we'll do with our time together (the girls and I) this year.
40. Spending time with them is so good.
41. Their relationship with each other fascinates me.
42. Frieda has way more patience with her sister than I do.
43. The best thing about prepping for a party is clearing out all the junk in the house.
44. We took a full load to the dump on the weekend.
45. Why are we such hoarders?
46. Is there anything better than finding the perfect use for something you've been hoarding?
47. I really should be coating marshmallows in chocolate.
48. Or figuring out whether it's best to receive $$ straight into my bank account or through PayPal.
49. I should write about the American Job, for therapy as much as anything else.
50. Instead I'm hanging strings of stars arbitrarily around the house.

My little star turns 4 this month!

preaching to the choir

This evening I had the thought I should possibly work on being less sarcastic.

I love sarcasm. It's hilarious and succinct - reams can be conveyed in the simple lift of an eyebrow.

But it's a cheap trick, and I do believe one needs to master a whole lot more nuance about human behaviour before you should wield it about.

Ergo, maybe I should be less sarcastic around (and, I meekly confess, to), my children. Frieda's grasp of the tone is shockingly advanced for her age, and she's been known to think I'm being sarcastic even when I'd no intention of sounding so.
Not cool.

But my second thought was this: each post I publish here gets minimum 35 readers. I think I know most of you.

So this place, where I used to freely address strangers, my 'blog like nobody's reading', is in fact these days like talking to my nearests and dearests.

And you all know I'll never kick sarcasm.

Maybe I should just work on my delivery instead.

notes from 1993

It seems a theme is developing. Building on my ample time to resurrect old memories while crippled earlier this year, yesterday I opened an old memory box and pulled out a bunch of diaries from the 90's.

At first I thought my weekend would be consumed by them, but after randomly picking up a 1993 edition and immersing myself in my 18th year, I think I'll work through them more slowly.
So much to remember, so much to learn.

21 years later, that Molly, the 1993 version, has shown me ...

That she would be so, so happy to know that she is now married to Charl. That they have two little girls and a wonderful life.
In 1993 I'm still counting down our anniversaries in months, and my weeks hinge around seeing him again.

That I have always been creative.
I know that obviously. I have my means of expression (birthday cakes being right up there), but I've also always had friends who create for a living - beautiful handmade things - and I suspect that has prevented me from taking myself seriously, or made me vaguely apologetic for the very homemade nature of my handwork.

That I spent very few weekends and holidays at home. As an adult daughter, and a parent, this sobers me, but I have also been reminded about so many good times with wonderful friends ... foundation-building times, for friendships and myself.

If I'm bored I don't make the effort. I've often regarded this as a character flaw but you know what, I've always been like this. My school results from first quarter 1993 will confirm - winging it in English and History, barely scraping through the rest.
Life's too short you know?

I'm always telling a story. There's a narrative, a bunch of sub plots, character definitions, scenery, atmosphere to every experience I have. I'm telling myself as it happens and I rewrite and hone in my subconscious for long while after.
So why the fuck aren't I writing this stuff down?
There are clippings for writing competitions stuck all over 1993, I don't recall entering anything to any of them. Have I been carrying the same writer's block for 21 years? No wonder my fucking ankles are going.

That I was happy. As grown as I felt, I can see now that despite being 18, and world wise and clubbing and going on road trips and wearing big girl pants, I was still at school, living with my parents. From 2014 I still look very much like a child.

But I was strong, and confident and adventurous too, and this pleases me. My god, 18 was fun.

collage

I've rewarded myself (after the stupid, stupid job I've just finished) with a month of collage classes with this lady.

I can't draw. Or sew. The medium I've always been most comfortable in is paper, and I've been playing with collage since high school.
[SIDE TRACKED! I went off looking for a collaged workbook I knew I still had from 1992 and found my old diaries ... there goes my weekend!]

all mine

Naturally I signed up for the course and immediately started a 'collage' board on Pinterest.

someone else's

I've no idea what to expect, and I'm very happy to remain ignorant until class starts and let the ideas rush in then, but it doesn't hurt to hone your eye right?

I'm drawn to changing perspective and message through simple techniques.

eugenia_loli

Nick Paliughli

I like the use of negative space.

Jeorge Chamarro

I'd like to tell something of my life.

But my god I'd also love to be able to do this.

Derek Gores

And I wish I'd made this.

But all my (cough) best work thus far has always been spontaneous and inspired by the images on hand, I can't wait to see what Wednesday evening holds.

PS. The first person to say 'scrap-booking' gets a kick in the ass.