I have just found out a friend has just had baby No. 3. She is recuperating in hospital after a C-section on Saturday. My thoughts are with her as I remember the pain and lack of sleep which accompanied Jonty's birth. One afternoon when my C-section scar was still only 2 days old, The Accountant came wandering in to spend time with mother and baby and commented that Jonty looked a bit like Mr. Magoo. The pain of trying not to laugh still haunts me to this day. It is right up there with sneezing and coughing after a major operation.
I was also remembering how much easier it was knowing that my role as a new mother included entirely devoting all of my time to raising my children. A newborn baby is so time-consuming that you notice little else. However, after about seven weeks I was ready to don my dance gear and get into the studio again.
Now it is different. Baby is now about 21 months old, and I have two big boys at school. But since I do not have 25 hours of dance work waiting, I have been unwittingly sucked into housewifeliness.
It goes like this:
1. Take care of children.
2. Operate family taxi/walking service.
3. Domestic duties (53 of them).
(Numbers 4 - 26 other stuff).
27. Make dance classes for current work.
28. Find a job.
Unfortunately in the real world there is no solution to the work/life balance. There are either women drowning not waving or those who are just getting on with it they best way they can.
Otherwise it would be like this:
M.O.D. "Hello Ministry of Dance can I help you?"
Me: "Yes please. I would like a terrific dance artist job which combines my skills as dancer/teacher/choreographer in the Camberwell area."
M.O.D. "Are you a mother? Would you like flexible hours?"
Me: "Yes that would be great. I need to be able to pick up the boys from school. Jonty only goes to childcare 2 mornings a week. So would need to be pending the place around the corner...."
M.O.D. "We'll fix all that for you and get back to you with about 20 hours of stimulating dance work. How does that sound?"
Me: "Great! Thanks a lot. See you next week."
Tuesday, 26 February 2013
Friday, 15 February 2013
Yoga
I have recently joined a gym for the first time in about twelve years. Obviously I have not been sitting on my sweet ass all that time, but the amount of dance and yoga I used to participate in made joining a gym unnecessary.
After a not so fruitless search I discovered that the best and cheapest yoga classes were to be had by joining my local gym. As many sessions as you like for $15.00 a week. So I would only have to attend one class a week and not feel like it was money down the drain. I still stand by what I said in one of my first ever blogs about Melbourne. Ladies who exercise here take their kit seriously. Only the best and most expensive gear is seen in the yoga class. And you see hordes of these women having coffee during the week wearing their exercise gear (sweaty!) including matching trainers and leggings WITH PIPING just cut off below the knee (yuk).
Allegedly I dance for a living (ha!) and you would think that after all these years I would own some pretty swanky kit myself. Every contemporary dancer reading this knows very well how lovely it is to dance in your old favourites. Ripped, torn, re-stitched and re-fashioned a bit like a well-loved teddy is how I would describe my dance and yoga outfits.
I probably stick out like a sore thumb amongst the very matching outfits sparkling with newness and money. The yoga teacher is absolutely the coolest lady - mid-fifties, just the right side of hippy, she wears her dangling earrings with flair and her hair loose. I just love a rule-breaker and anyone who is not conforming to the usual trends. She is certainly something to aspire to.
There is one irksome thing though. After every yoga class we have chanted, breathed and stretched our bodies and filled our minds with good and positive thoughts. The first thing these women do (and it is always women) is get their bloody mobile phones out and start the ritual checking, texting and chatting. I hold that unless you are Hilary Clinton, NOTHING is that important. And even Hilary would have the good sense to at least wait until she has rolled up her yoga mat.
After a not so fruitless search I discovered that the best and cheapest yoga classes were to be had by joining my local gym. As many sessions as you like for $15.00 a week. So I would only have to attend one class a week and not feel like it was money down the drain. I still stand by what I said in one of my first ever blogs about Melbourne. Ladies who exercise here take their kit seriously. Only the best and most expensive gear is seen in the yoga class. And you see hordes of these women having coffee during the week wearing their exercise gear (sweaty!) including matching trainers and leggings WITH PIPING just cut off below the knee (yuk).
Allegedly I dance for a living (ha!) and you would think that after all these years I would own some pretty swanky kit myself. Every contemporary dancer reading this knows very well how lovely it is to dance in your old favourites. Ripped, torn, re-stitched and re-fashioned a bit like a well-loved teddy is how I would describe my dance and yoga outfits.
I probably stick out like a sore thumb amongst the very matching outfits sparkling with newness and money. The yoga teacher is absolutely the coolest lady - mid-fifties, just the right side of hippy, she wears her dangling earrings with flair and her hair loose. I just love a rule-breaker and anyone who is not conforming to the usual trends. She is certainly something to aspire to.
There is one irksome thing though. After every yoga class we have chanted, breathed and stretched our bodies and filled our minds with good and positive thoughts. The first thing these women do (and it is always women) is get their bloody mobile phones out and start the ritual checking, texting and chatting. I hold that unless you are Hilary Clinton, NOTHING is that important. And even Hilary would have the good sense to at least wait until she has rolled up her yoga mat.
Saturday, 2 February 2013
Northcote
Last weekend I had a free Saturday night. Well who doesn't when you have three small children? Sad isn't it? No but what I mean is that The Accountant was between business trips. He walked in the door from Hong Kong. And I walked out to yoga.
By the evening I had my groove on and was dressed up in my favourite outfit of the moment - a funky jumpsuit I bought in Oxford on my last trip back. Of course my Best Gay Friend said it was fabulous and I just had to have it. However I can never wear it on date night with The Accountant as apparently I look like an Oompa Loompa (his words not mine).
I was going out in Northcote with two gay men anyway, so I wore it with confidence. I drove out of the leafy but dull as ditchwater suburbia, and knew I was heading towards something more akin to the Cowley Road of Melbourne when I saw a guy skateboarding. In the middle of the road. Wearing a poncho. I felt right at home.
We had a great night starting with a drink at Kitty Somerset - which sounds like a Bond Girl but is a bar with a cool vintage/art deco vibe. Then dinner at a vegetarian restaurant. Fantastic. Just what the doctor ordered for the lady who has been trapped in the house small boys for company. You may think me ungrateful but I will give you an example.
Whilst I have been typing this I have had to time Henry as he races around the house and reports back to me after each round. Rufus has been telling me about his "buddy" from school and how glad he was that he did not get the crazy buddy or the crap buddy. Jonty shouts out MAMA every now and then. God knows where The Accountant is, but this is the family's version of leaving me alone. Everything from brushing my teeth to going to the loo and even doing up my bra has to be done whilst talking or reasoning with a small child, who may or may not be clinging to my legs or going through and slowly wreaking havoc amongst my special things whilst I am otherwise occupied.
I had better make sure that jumpsuit and my heels are ready for another trip soon. I am going to need it.
By the evening I had my groove on and was dressed up in my favourite outfit of the moment - a funky jumpsuit I bought in Oxford on my last trip back. Of course my Best Gay Friend said it was fabulous and I just had to have it. However I can never wear it on date night with The Accountant as apparently I look like an Oompa Loompa (his words not mine).
I was going out in Northcote with two gay men anyway, so I wore it with confidence. I drove out of the leafy but dull as ditchwater suburbia, and knew I was heading towards something more akin to the Cowley Road of Melbourne when I saw a guy skateboarding. In the middle of the road. Wearing a poncho. I felt right at home.
We had a great night starting with a drink at Kitty Somerset - which sounds like a Bond Girl but is a bar with a cool vintage/art deco vibe. Then dinner at a vegetarian restaurant. Fantastic. Just what the doctor ordered for the lady who has been trapped in the house small boys for company. You may think me ungrateful but I will give you an example.
Whilst I have been typing this I have had to time Henry as he races around the house and reports back to me after each round. Rufus has been telling me about his "buddy" from school and how glad he was that he did not get the crazy buddy or the crap buddy. Jonty shouts out MAMA every now and then. God knows where The Accountant is, but this is the family's version of leaving me alone. Everything from brushing my teeth to going to the loo and even doing up my bra has to be done whilst talking or reasoning with a small child, who may or may not be clinging to my legs or going through and slowly wreaking havoc amongst my special things whilst I am otherwise occupied.
I had better make sure that jumpsuit and my heels are ready for another trip soon. I am going to need it.
Wednesday, 30 January 2013
Floods
It has been a normal sort of summer by Australian standards. Some places have been suffering sweltering temperatures of over 40 degrees for a month or more. Other parts have been enduring bush fires which have devastated communities, livelihoods, homes and wildlife.
And now in Queensland and northern NSW come - the floods. My mother texted me to say they were OK although no electricity and no phone lines including mobiles. So I left it a bit before I called her. Meanwhile whilst checking news reports and watching the news I started to get a little worried. By the time I called my mother she was in bed. No electricity and no daylight savings in Queensland meant that by 7pm it was dark, and there was nothing else for it but to go to bed with a torch and a book.
She assured me everything was fine in their area, aside from the fact that their pool had flooded and due to having no electricity, they could not open their remote control doors (to get out the Mercedes Benz the poor things!). I told mother that I was hoping for more drama, in order that I could get a decent blog written (selfish I know but I am getting the scraps where I can).
She replied that it was a big drama for her - "I haven't had a cup of tea all day!"
So yes she is suffering. Although as I watched my own tea bag floating in my cup, I pondered that some people would be watching their houses float down the river. And perhaps even their car or dog too.
There must be a gag line in here somewhere to do with cups that overfloweth - but I am too damn tired to even think on it.
And now in Queensland and northern NSW come - the floods. My mother texted me to say they were OK although no electricity and no phone lines including mobiles. So I left it a bit before I called her. Meanwhile whilst checking news reports and watching the news I started to get a little worried. By the time I called my mother she was in bed. No electricity and no daylight savings in Queensland meant that by 7pm it was dark, and there was nothing else for it but to go to bed with a torch and a book.
She assured me everything was fine in their area, aside from the fact that their pool had flooded and due to having no electricity, they could not open their remote control doors (to get out the Mercedes Benz the poor things!). I told mother that I was hoping for more drama, in order that I could get a decent blog written (selfish I know but I am getting the scraps where I can).
She replied that it was a big drama for her - "I haven't had a cup of tea all day!"
So yes she is suffering. Although as I watched my own tea bag floating in my cup, I pondered that some people would be watching their houses float down the river. And perhaps even their car or dog too.
There must be a gag line in here somewhere to do with cups that overfloweth - but I am too damn tired to even think on it.
Monday, 28 January 2013
Australia Day
About ten years ago David and I came back to Australia for what we liked to call a "sabbatical". In reality David was desperate to come back for a while and I begrudgingly tagged along. We were living in Sydney for six months and both working (eventually). On the Australia Day long weekend David went climbing with a friend in the Blue Mountains, whilst I was lucky enough to be invited on a boat on the harbour, with two old university friends Samantha and Juliet and Juliet's new partner.
It was a glorious day filled with swimming in harbourside lagoons, great food and cold champagne - all taken from the boat. It was such an adventure and so much fun. As the sun was setting we were toasting our glasses in front of the Sydney Harbour Bridge and the Opera House - two very Australian cultural icons - and Juliet was jubiliant in her enthusiasm in celebrating the lovely day we had enjoyed. She said "To great friends and a great day, and this bloody beautiful country of ours!". The funny thing was, there was no tongue in cheek or jest as she spoke these words, and they were perfectly true and fitted perfectly with the day we had experienced together.
So as I was watching the tennis the other night, my first experience of Australia Day 2013 was a TV commercial featuring rock music, esky's (cool boxes), men running around playing cricket, men laughing and joking in the sun and all of them drinking VB (beer). The tagline at the end was "Celebrate this Australia Day with Liqourland!"
On another note it has not been funny to see the media bitching about Victoria Azarenka. Anyone who is not an absolute idiot could see from the courtside interview that she did not understand the question and launched into a completely different topic. The media then seized on this and have since been reporting very unsporting comments. This eventually led to the crowd booing Azarenka when she entered the court for the Women's Final. Thank god she quieted them by thrashing her opponent.
Ever since Lleyton Hewitt and Bernard Tomic went down the Australian press have been less interested in the Open, all information going from front page to back page overnight. However, it was very exciting to see Murray and Djokovic going at it last night, even when the poor old Scot went down like a lead balloon in the 4th set (but with a sore toe). I will need a whole other blog post to even try and explain the outfits worn by the umpire and lines people. Orange fleece jackets by none other than Lacoste. Looks like someone may have visited Liqourland before designing them.
It was a glorious day filled with swimming in harbourside lagoons, great food and cold champagne - all taken from the boat. It was such an adventure and so much fun. As the sun was setting we were toasting our glasses in front of the Sydney Harbour Bridge and the Opera House - two very Australian cultural icons - and Juliet was jubiliant in her enthusiasm in celebrating the lovely day we had enjoyed. She said "To great friends and a great day, and this bloody beautiful country of ours!". The funny thing was, there was no tongue in cheek or jest as she spoke these words, and they were perfectly true and fitted perfectly with the day we had experienced together.
So as I was watching the tennis the other night, my first experience of Australia Day 2013 was a TV commercial featuring rock music, esky's (cool boxes), men running around playing cricket, men laughing and joking in the sun and all of them drinking VB (beer). The tagline at the end was "Celebrate this Australia Day with Liqourland!"
On another note it has not been funny to see the media bitching about Victoria Azarenka. Anyone who is not an absolute idiot could see from the courtside interview that she did not understand the question and launched into a completely different topic. The media then seized on this and have since been reporting very unsporting comments. This eventually led to the crowd booing Azarenka when she entered the court for the Women's Final. Thank god she quieted them by thrashing her opponent.
Ever since Lleyton Hewitt and Bernard Tomic went down the Australian press have been less interested in the Open, all information going from front page to back page overnight. However, it was very exciting to see Murray and Djokovic going at it last night, even when the poor old Scot went down like a lead balloon in the 4th set (but with a sore toe). I will need a whole other blog post to even try and explain the outfits worn by the umpire and lines people. Orange fleece jackets by none other than Lacoste. Looks like someone may have visited Liqourland before designing them.
Thursday, 17 January 2013
George
Here is George on holiday with us at Tathra, on the NSW south coast. The owners of the holiday resort/park warned us about George and Frank. I came back from a walk one morning to find Rufus very excited about "the biggest lizard I have ever seen". Of course all small reptiles seem big to a small five year old boy so I went along with him to see this tiny thing of excitement with a smile on my face.
Bloody hell! George was of crocodile proportions and had claws of death and could scale a gum tree in seconds. I could only imagine what he would do to an unsuspecting Jonty with a bit of toast in his hand.
Frank was a smaller and prettier water dragon who liked to hang out at the pool and lake. Although like George, he would creep up on you just as you were arranging your book and towel.
One night The Accountant and I went to dinner in Merimbula with friends. The locals warned us about driving back on the road - "watch the wildlife" they said knowingly. It was like some sort of animal obstacle course on the way back. Kangaroos everywhere, at the side of the road, on the road, crossing the road, about to cross the road - STANDING IN THE MIDDLE OF THE ROAD. Possums and their entire family crossing the road at a leisurely pace. I had to drive at 20 miles an hour just to keep the bloody wildlife safely in my headlights. It was a full moon, so there was a fair amount of craziness.
The holiday was spent at the beach, at the resort playing mini-golf, canoeing on the lake, swimming and walking. And keeping one eye out for George.
Photo caption: Henry, Rufus and cousin Evie casting a wary eye over new friend George.
Bloody hell! George was of crocodile proportions and had claws of death and could scale a gum tree in seconds. I could only imagine what he would do to an unsuspecting Jonty with a bit of toast in his hand.
Frank was a smaller and prettier water dragon who liked to hang out at the pool and lake. Although like George, he would creep up on you just as you were arranging your book and towel.
One night The Accountant and I went to dinner in Merimbula with friends. The locals warned us about driving back on the road - "watch the wildlife" they said knowingly. It was like some sort of animal obstacle course on the way back. Kangaroos everywhere, at the side of the road, on the road, crossing the road, about to cross the road - STANDING IN THE MIDDLE OF THE ROAD. Possums and their entire family crossing the road at a leisurely pace. I had to drive at 20 miles an hour just to keep the bloody wildlife safely in my headlights. It was a full moon, so there was a fair amount of craziness.
The holiday was spent at the beach, at the resort playing mini-golf, canoeing on the lake, swimming and walking. And keeping one eye out for George.
Photo caption: Henry, Rufus and cousin Evie casting a wary eye over new friend George.
Tuesday, 8 January 2013
Birthday Blog
Is it so bad being 44? I was so young and happy yesterday, and today I definitely have to tick the mid-forties box. No blogs for ages due the weariness of the festive season setting in on about December 1st. The weariness and despair of Christmas was with me throughout December and now nearly half of January.
Whilst my European and UK friends have been toasting the new year in front of cosy sitting room fires, we have been literally sweltering in 40 degree heat with real fires blasting away across Southern Australia. The road we took from our coastal holiday to Canberra is now closed due to bush fires, and yesterday people in some areas were told not too bother evacuating, but just to find some shelter. The only shelter available to most people would be to jump in a river or lake. If there is one.
Thankfully Canberra has cooled down overnight, and where it was still 33 degrees at 10pm, it is now blissfully fresh.
My birthday celebrations are kicking off without The Accountant, who is adding and subtracting numbers in Melbourne and bringing home the bacon. And although he was not looking forward to going back to the office, he was feeling terribly chuffed about having the house to himself for the week. Beer. Sofa. Take-away dinners. Peace and quiet. And leaving his undies and wet towel where he damn pleases thank you very much.
I awoke early this morning to find a lovely birthday breakfast being prepared on the verhandah, and this afternoon lunching at the gallery with my sister and mother. All this to distract me from the fact that I am officially OLD(ER).
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