Sunshine under rain

The second week has been easier. I no longer feel as in the way. Or so stupid. I no longer feel like this was a big mistake. I still feel like a fraud and it still seems unbelievable that this hasn't been figured out and that I've been sent home in disgrace, but I've got some spice back, and I would fight back if they did. I may not be that clever, learned, industrious person right now. But I will be some day.

As I drove home this afternoon it was bucketing with rain. Big splashy swathes of Summer rain that ran down the windows and smelled delicious. The sun was setting behind the mountains and just as I neared home it burst from underneath the clouds and made each sparkling drop golden. I was smiling uncontrollably, happy and wondering if anything in life could be more beautiful when the sky above me forked with lightning while a rainbow shimmered in a full double arc across the sky.

I am a mother, no really

'Twas the night before Christmas Eve when all through the house, not a creature was stirring (except the husband playing Star Wars Online and the neurotic cat). The children were nestled all snug in their beds, while visions of Pillow Pets danced in their heads.

4 hours driving today to bring my babies home and I have MISSED them. I miss them of course any time they're away, I missed them when Bingley and I had our Parisian extravaganza, but truly, this last week I have missed them most. I missed their excitement about Christmas and stealing overheard whispers about Santa. I have missed getting ready for tomorrow while they giggle and laugh and get under my feet and ask me a million questions. I have missed curling up in bed at night with a brightly coloured Christmas book and weaving more magic. I have even missed being woken to the excited babble of the latest window in the Lego Advent calendar.

I have missed being able to do Christmas cooking and making pompoms for the table with them, and though I sat down last night with plenty of time to cut out the Christmas dresses I couldn't do it. I needed them home with me, and now that they're here I feel like singing again.

For our little family it is Christmas Eve that I look forward to beyond all days on the calendar. It is the day where magic reigns and no matter the year I/we have had or how miserable or cynical or overwhelmed I may have felt in that year, I have never ever failed to feel the veil between adulthood and childhood lifted on that magic night. I always believe in magic, but sometimes a wave of cynicism swamps me and tries to muddy it up. And even the most brilliant moon or a stunning eclipse or the twinkliest stars can't make a dent in it.

But Christmas, Christmas is sacred. The night when bells ring on the stillest breeze and somehow every wish is possible, just might be granted. And in amongst it all the feasting, the togetherness and the family all trump. Until stuffed and exhausted I curl up in my bed, brilliantly lit from the fairy lights in the next room and I smile until my face aches.

It was pouring with rain when we came home tonight and slipped across the wet grass in the dark as we climbed the stairs. The chatter of excited children all around me as I invited them to turn on the gaudy festive lights that I had spent an afternoon unravelling and tacking to the banisters. And as they exclaimed and clapped, while the rain misted over us and sparkled with the lights I could not help but feel that the greatest gift I have ever been given is them - they make everything worthwhile.

And now as the quiet drum of the rain rhythmically caresses the roof, and the gentle gurgle of the gutters and the wet splash on the grass echo through the night, I have my right to steal into the softly lit rooms where little people are curled. And to smooth locks of damp ruffled hair from high smooth foreheads and gift them good dreams as I tuck in dimpled limbs and kiss their baby skin, sniffling in the darkness at how wonderful it is to have them home.

Welcome to Bangkok

That's us in the rearview mirror. We are worried we're about to die in a fiery crash...

I have a confession, when we decided that we would break up our home flight by stopping over for a few days, I didn't actually care where it was. I had no burning desire for anywhere in particular really, my only half baked thought was I wanted somewhere with night markets because I love this Canon ad. And it's funny how accurately we replicated it bouncing through the steamy Bangkok nights. 

We arrived heavily jetlagged at around 6 in the morning. I think it was dawn, but it was hard to tell as the smog over the city is quite thick, held in tight by the incredible humidity. We had come from a particularly bright and frosty morning in Paris, watched a movie marathon and eluded sleep in a freezing plane and it was amazing we could tell which way was up. So we found the cab rank and let the helpful bossy woman there direct us to our cab and tell the driver where to go. And so, about 45 minutes later we were deposited at the Banyan Tree Hotel, on the outskirts of the Bangkok city precinct. 

First, sleepy impressions were good. The lobby was as lovely as we were dishevelled as the porter whisked off our bags and the concierge directed us to the 19th floor so that we could be checked into our Club Room. Once the forms had been sign we asked our smiling hostess if it was possible if we could actually go to our room or if we'd have to wait. I could have cried and only just restrained myself from hugging her when she said we could. 

So at 7 o'clock in the morning, which would have been about 2am in Paris, we walked into this room and saw the bath. I nearly burst into tears, so much did I love it. The bathroom was ridiculously large, larger than our lounge room. 

As you can see, massive. That's just the bath and one of the sinks. One. Of. The. Sinks. Behind me there was the rain shower which was also ridiculously over sized. Not that we noticed much as we were too busy stripping off slimy travelling clothes and jumping in to get clean. By this stage I was so tired that I couldn't work out how to get out of the shower (um, push the door), and after being rescued and finding my bathrobe I properly inspected our bed.

Big doesn't quite describe it. In fact, in the picture because it's so massive in all directions it doesn't look so big, but I could lie sideways across it with my arms above my head and still not reach the edge. I'm 170cm tall, so yeah. Huge. Bingley and I jumped in and slept for 4 blissful hours. Or maybe it was 5. We weren't counting. It was lunch time anyway, and being as I'd refused to eat any of the plane "food" I was ravenous. A quick glance at the room service menu told me I wasn't THAT hungry, and I hollered over to the other side of the bed to Bingley and asked him if he was hungry. He was still jetlagged out of his mind, and not being so used to waking up randomly as I was from shiftwork he had no idea.

While he woke up a little by walking around the room and occasionally into the furniture I had a good look at the view from our 31st floor room. I was pretty impressed.

Then we logged onto the free wifi and tried to work out where one could buy food in Bangkok. The answer, for anyone who doesn't know, is everywhere. We hit the foot path and they were already cooking at little carts all along the road. But being as Bingley was feelign queasy from having succumbed to airline food earlier, we decided to eat at a proper cafe. These were a bit trickier to find, as obviously the Thais are a bit less fastidious than airline-food-regretting-jetlagged-westerners. Eventually though I put my foot down after walking for 20 minutes in the midday heat and said I didn't care where we stopped but if we didn't get something cool to drink soon I was going to melt on the pavement.

So we followed some office workery looking people as they exited their skyscrapers and found a little group of restaurants hidden in a courtyard and ordered soup and noodles. By this time I was wide awake and chatting and cheerful and asking Bingley about where we should go and what we should see next while he looked like this.

After realising that his lack of enthusiasm had nothing to do with being a grumpy miserable bum, and everything to do with the fact that he actually was a zombie, I decided to take pity on him and we walked back to the hotel with the plan to jump in the pool.

The pool was on the 21st floor and overlooked the city. A fact that we enjoyed as we sat on the cabanas and felt very smug. Though we did notice, as we had when we had driven in that there were a lot of sandbags everywhere. This hadn't really registered properly (see: jetlagged) but as we lay out there being smug Westerners, it occurred to me to actually read a news report about Bangkok where we discovered that Bangkok was preparing to be inundated. That day. This could have been a very bad thing, but being as we were safe and high we instead did terrible crass things like swimming in the pool for a few hours. We did see the irony in it.

After the swim, we were both well woken up and looking forward to the main reason we had decided on the Banyan Tree Hotel - its famous roof top bar. We went back to our room to get ourselves prettied up so that we could enjoy sunset on the roof with a few beverages.

New Chanel Lipstick from Galeries Lafayette, Paris

Being a little while off sunset, we decided to avail ourselves of the club lounge and drank the complimentary beverages and a million and one tiny canapes on spoons, sweet and savoury, feeling like we got our money's worth out of the room upgrade. I also enjoyed staring at my pretty shoes and bouncing them around as we excitedly anticipated the roof.

The path up to the Vertigo Grill and Moon Bar involves taking the lift to the top floor and then ascending 2 flights of stairs (one indoor and one outdoor) which was a good test in 5 inch stiletto heels with a few complimentary wines under the belt. By the time we reached the top there were already a few other tourists milling about, and we were shown to the couches behind the bar, but decided we liked the secluded table in the corner better as we ordered mojitos to celebrate.

The bar was amazing. If you have clicked on this link because of references to the Vertigo Bar/Grill then I can tell you that it was absolutely worth it, the view over Bangkok just indescribable. At the time we got up there, it was mostly just grey and humid, playing havoc with my carefully done hair. But as we mellowed in our chairs, the sky began to illuminate. First the clouds turned impossibly pink, then the lights of the city came on like little neon stars.

Bangkok by twilight is not quite the same as Paris

Mojitos and fairy light cities way down below

The bar

The restaurant with the bar in the background. This is my photo and if my dodgy skills can make it this good you can imagine just how spectacular this is in real life.

After we'd eaten our fill of complimentary snacks (the honey pumpkin chips were amazing. I want them right now) and sipped the last mouthful of drink, we changed out of our dressed up clothes and I took off my Louboutins and put on some short shorts and sensible trainers so that we could go explore by night. Although quietened by the floods, Bangkok still had a crazy energy that you just couldn't help but be caught up in.

This is Bangkok for me.

It was hard not to feel self conscious a little as we walked around. The impending floods had obviously devastated tourist numbers, and it wasn't until we happened on the seriously Western shopping centres that we saw any other tourists. As we wandered the night markets it was all about the locals, fresh food and "big eyes". Stalls with Hello Kitty plastered on everything, buckets of fresh produce, so many clothes, random boxes of spices. It was everything that the Canon ad had promised, as we bartered for some clothes and thought about eating. But we were simply too tired after a few hours and decided we would need to take a taxi home.

OHS officers must faint away when they visit Bangkok

Being brave and spontaneous (some would say fool hardy) I was fascinated by the tuktuks that wheeled through the intersections at dangerous speeds, cutting each other off and honking their horns while the grinning drivers flashed brilliant white teeth. One cocky boy with a bit of bumfluff on his chin grinned at me winningly and asked "you want tuktuk?" and named his price. Now I know that in most SE Asian countries you are supposed to barter, but we were tired, and just didn't feel up to it. Plus the price he'd asked, the wildly optimistic price? It was less than $10. Now I know there is fun to be had in bartering, but for a dollar either way? I was happy for him to have it. And so we jumped into the most pimped up tuktuk I'd ever seen and careened into traffic.

Disco lights, baby!

Feet jammed in because that was the closest thing we had to a seat belt

Warp speed

Not sure if we'd make it out alive. 

Having offered to pay his king's ransom of a price, our tuktuk driver was keen to impress us. He zoomed faster than anyone else. He didn't brake. He cut off other drivers and smiled as he passed them. The disco lights above us flashed pink and purple with every acceleration as we zipped through traffic at terrifying speeds. Cars seemed to liquefy beside us, so quickly were we moving. It was without doubt one of the most fun things I have ever done in my life. There is nothing quite like the sensation that you're cheating death as we hurtled around corners and finally to the street outside our hotel. We offered to jump out there, but there was no way our genial driver was having us walk - we had paid good price! So he insisted on taking us all the way in to the valet parking bay and then helping us out of the back (which was handy, as even though we were exhilarated, our legs didn't work so well). We couldn't stop grinning. We were jetlagged, tired, discombobulated and in a land that was like a crazy snowglobe all shaken up and lit with mirror balls, but that somehow made it all the more fun. It was a giant welcome banner, Welcome to Bangkok.

Leaving, on a jet plane...

I might have mentioned, just once, or maybe twice, that for my 30th birthday in exactly one week and one day, that I wanted to be in Paris. I have always wanted to go, in a completely irrational, illogical, soul pulling way, but that indescribable pull has been strong in recent years. I want to be there sure, but part of me needs to be there. Playing monument bingo and eating macarons along the Seine. And turning 30 seemed such the perfect punctuation mark. Such a good reason. Bingley has never been to Europe and we will both be 30 at the same time.

I have been planning this trip whimsically for years; little ideas stored neatly and some haphazardly. Then a few months ago, after the squee inducing moment of purchasing flights, came the completely overwhelming and magical feeling of looking at apartments and hotels and not only dreaming, but choosing. Of getting to decide where I will wake up on the first morning of my forth decade. I had a tatty 2c exercise book from Kmart that I scribbled in ideas, and addresses and webpages. I doodled little pictures of croissants and glasses of red wine as I methodically and then often chaotically looked up places to go and visit and see. Recording faithfully details like opening hours and secret entrances. Because those sorts of things are important.

I would ambush Bingley, after we'd tackled the children and squished them in bed, about what did he want to see, and do? Where did he want to visit? And he would look at the manic glint in my eye and shrug and smile and tell me he didn't care. Which was both infuriating and perfect, because I got to pick all of it. Then tell him occasionally of the treats he had in store. Printing off receipts and stapling them into my little exercise book. More pencilled in thoughts and suggestions.

I would come home from work sometimes, after 8pm, on a day I'd left home before 7am, and would crash on the couch, open a webpage of castles in the Loire valley and would feel my pulse jump and my whole body tingle, because we. are. going. there. I booked a castle to stay in for a few nights, probably in a cupboard, but I don't care, because I. am. going. to. sleep. in. a. CASTLE.

Every hour of bone crunching overtime I endured because it was more money to go see some of the things I've dreamed of for so long. It's like Disneyland for adults except I'm replacing overpriced Hot Dogs for foie gras.

And then I came home last night, tired after work, with a waxing appointment and hairdressing appointment to squeeze in, and just wanted to sleep. I couldn't think about Paris and Loire and all the other best bits. I could just think about sleeping, because I had hit the absolute wall. And as I drifted off to sleep, curled up under the blankets with a slightly sniffly nose, Bingley bounced on the bed, stroked my hair and reminded me that I have no more work for a whole month. A WHOLE MONTH. And tomorrow my friends, I am getting on a plane, for that trip that we booked 6 months ago, and I am so excited I can barely breathe.

And because I'm quite possibly the luckiest not quite 30 year old in the world, today we also pick up our brand new car. A shiny, red, European designed and built, proper grown-up car. With leather seats and more gadgets than you can poke a stick at. And three zillion airbags (I counted) and a partridge in a pear tree.

26.5 hours until take-off!!

Rose coloured glasses

I was desperate to write these last few days, but was stymied by Telstra, the balrog of online communications, and was instead left to simmer in a steaming pot of words this last week or so.

It is now 24 days until Paris and I am so excited it feels as if I am living beyond my own skin. My palpable anticipation seeping out in an electric haze, my aura lit up by a million invisible photons frissoning with pent up joy and want. I do anticipation better than anyone I know; can hold onto that clear eyed excitement and wonder for months; can imagine; can dream and can taste the sounds and the smells that are coming my way. And never ever be disappointed by the end result. I am a holiday and Christmas junkie for this reason.

I am also awfully tired, in an exhausted, hollowed out shell, but that which is left of me, it is effervescent.

I bought new cheap sunglasses a little while ago, and while they are not quite rose, more gold tinted, wearing them makes all the world glow. It's almost magical, the way they transform an already exceptional day into superlatives. It makes me squeak occasionally with satisfied joy, at just how beautiful they make the world. Greens are so much more green, the sky takes on an embellished hue and at the periphery hums a sweet anticipatory gladness that just takes my breath away.

Beauty has come back into my life. After a year of trembling greyness and frayed edges, I am honestly beginning to feel like me again. I feel calmer, more peaceful. Some of the new lines that crept their way across my face are relaxing again. I can write again, and draw. I can see colours and not just monochrome. It is so wonderful that it can and has made me cry. Happy tears that the little imaginative girl who wondered at the enormity and the sheer potential of life is again hopping around excitedly in my chest and making her little girl plans. Spinning castles in the sky.

As I lie back here, on a balmy Spring night, crisp around the edges as the wind nips at my toes a giant golden moon is rising over the lights of the city. A moon full of promise and allure, that makes me want to do strange things and dilates my pupils until only the finest rim of gold remains. And in that ethereal light that bathes a city that bustles on unknowingly I feel it bubbling under my skin, the pure joy of being alive. And I've missed it so very very much.

24 days

Papillon

I was effusively happy today. Ebullient. Infectiously cheerful... I drove to work in the sunrise and the warmth saturated my skin just as I was waking up. It felt so good to be warm and warmed. Wrapped in my purple coat and surrounded by periwinkle sky.


My mind was dancing today, little flashes of colour and idea and promise fluttering around me all day. When I am happy it feels as if all that is joyful in my life gambols around me, dancing in swathes of light that make all of me light. I bounce when I am happy, almost unconsciously. My hair, my eyes, my toes. And I love that my Pixie Possum does as well.

When the Possum sees me in the afternoons, it is mere seconds before I am earnestly slammed into with a full body hug. He is now a writhing mass of little muscles and pudgy toddler belly, but his delighted afternoon baby cuddles cheer me up the second I walk up the stairs. Not that I needed cheering tonight, as all of me was alive as I pushed through the front gate. Elated and excited. Happy and satiated.

It felt all day as if little butterflies were buffeting me, each with a message; brief, beautiful and luminescent. I felt as if all things were possible indeed as if all things were necessary. I felt for the first time in such a long time that every part of me was happy. From the tip of my fingers to the tip of my nose that the Possum kissed as I bundled him up into a mammoth hug.

Nothing could touch my happiness. Nothing could marr it. No work task was unwanted, no raised eyebrow able to taint what for some reason was just a beautiful day. I felt the Gleam today, it came and played with me, flashed about in a showy rainbow everytime I tried to concentrate on work and laughed that I had ever doubted. My fingers itched for a pencil or coal and canvas and I had to remind myself not to sing aloud, as the Gleam called me over the margin.

I read the Monkey her story tonight and when she hugged me, her curls over her eyes and her stretched out limbs wrapped around me she told me she loved me and that I seemed happy tonight. And I was.

Christmas 2010

Christmas always starts on Christmas Eve for me. Since childhood it has been tradition and is a day steeped in cinnamon and brandy and that sharp tang of anticipation. I have never before spent it at work, and it was hard to remember (as I wrote the date repeatedly), that it was actually the fabled date of my youth. That longed for day for all of the very long year wherein that magic suspension of time and space betwixt not Christmas and Christmas hangs.

The week leading up had been hectic: late night, last minute shopping. Dinners with friends and frantic tidying as the waterlogged, housebound children wreaked havoc. The solstice marked with a lunar eclipse that I happened upon, not knowing what it was - marvelling at the ghostly clouds of the oversized crescent moon as it grew before my eyes. The change from red to milky then ghostly white as she rose into the sky on the clearest night I can remember for weeks.

Staying up late to cut out the girls dresses by the glow of the twinkling Christmas star and the fairy lights, satiated by the reflection off the shiny floorboards. Waking up at dawn to dress for work and trudge through the rain to finish another full day before coming home to prepare yet more in a manic frenzy. Friends would laughingly tell me it was "just another day" while Bingley, becoming wise now in his 4th decade refrained from all but a questioning eyebrow as I pieced together the Christmas dresses before realising I had lost my standard sewing foot AND my bobbin.

The girls hopped around on Christmas Eve with so much innocent delight that it made me feel vindicated in all of my late night efforts. Coming home from work tired I pushed it all aside as we laid the table with our wedding china and sparkly crystal and turkey and stuffing and all things good. The girls ate though they were excited, bouncing in their chairs and clinking goblets together delightedly saying "cheese" instead of "cheers" while the Possum inhaled his turkey. 

The Elfling collected a plate after dinner and filled it with things for Santa - digging through the bottom of the drawer of the fridge looking desperately for a carrot for the reindeer and choosing a beer for Santa - all of which she laid out for him by the tree. It was standing there in the light of the tree with the Santa sacks laid out hopefully, the stockings hanging by the window and the little golden Wedgewood plate filled with treats that I suddenly felt the prickle of tears behind my eyes at the sheer hallmark perfection of that moment. I tucked the girls into bed where the excitement hovered over them in a shimmering cloud as we read one of the Christmas stories from the stash, and they Elfling knitted her eyelids shut, willing sleep to come so that it would be morning soon.

As per tradition I turned on the Carols in the Domain and sang softly as I sat at my sewing machine, the whirring keeping time with the ancient hymns as two bright dresses formed under my hands. And then with a jingling of bells, Santa has there and the sacks were stuffed with mysterious wrapped packages and Bingley helped to assemble the scooters and the little ride on 3 wheeler and the blackboard. I hung the completed dresses by the bulging stockings and looked at the loveliness and sighed. It was so pretty it hurt my eyes. My heart bubbling like warm champagne as it frothed around my veins.

I curled into bed next to Bingley and it was my turn to squeeze my eyes shut and wish for sleep so that tomorrow would be here: the room not entirely dark as the muted glow bounced its way around the room, reminding me that Christmas was right next door.

We woke in the darkness of Christmas morning to hear the Possum in that limbo between falling back to sleep and waking, and being far too early for the latter I tiptoed into the kitchen and mixed a bottle of formula, stroking his forehead as he sucked and fell back asleep. Smiling as I walked past the room of loveliness and curling up in bed, unable to sleep.

Dawn tickled around the window frame around 5 and not long after came the unmistakeable sounds of the girls waking up. The delighted, awed, hushed cries as the girls walked into the lounge room had me tearing up in bed, listening to the surprised delight as the Elfling realised that Santa and his reindeer had eaten their treats. The thud as the new scooters were exclaimed over with thrilled squeals and ridden up and down the hallway. The Monkey debating about whether or not she could open her presents yet, and guiltily satisfying herself with opening her sack and seeing the wrapped booty within, exclaiming to the Elfling to check hers too. 

Bingley and I lay in bed and listened to it - the sweet symphony of childhood and appreciation and sheer radiant joy - and he laughed as I cried a little bit, because if nothing else I am a sook. Finally overcome, and knowing they were not to open anything until everyone was awake, they tentatively came into our room and pleaded to be allowed to wake the Possum. Their faces glowing in the half light - the Elfling especially looking so beautiful it made me ache, the innocent happiness making me grateful all over again that I get to be her mother.

We allowed them to open their stockings while they waited, knowing the exquisite torture of waiting and delayed gratification as we lay in the new day, celebrating when so many days it has not felt like a celebration - grateful that today I want to be nowhere else, but with my family, listening to the raptures over finding new undies in the bottom of a stocking when they were sure that there was nothing else to find.

Eventually I allowed the girls to check, surreptitiously, if the Possum was awake. Stealthily they opened the door, tiptoed over to his bed and bellowed that it was Christmas, disconcerting a peacefully sleeping Possum who rubbed his eyes and looked tearful at this noisy interruption to sugar plum dreaming. The exuberance of his sisters causing him to retreat into the safety of our arms until he had woken up enough to appreciate what was going on - which at that point was a veritable orgy of paper ripping as the girls were unleashed on their Santa sacks.

It's all a bit blurry from here, as presents were exclaimed over, and alternately dumped into my lap to open as the girls jumped about like mini Christmas sprites, eager to pass out as many presents as they opened and cajoled the Possum to start ripping into his. I smiled as I opened the pyjamas I'd asked for, and thrilled a little bit at the silly Eiffel Tower bag they came in, as if they'd been made especially for me. But it was the very very heavy oblong gift that made my heart do that tiny gleeful butterfly releasing jump as I opened it.

It is a massive coffee table style book and they had had an older edition of it at the place we stayed a few weeks ago. I had sat there in the corner but the window that ran with rain and the cool grey light and pored over this book. It is travel-lite. It is not a dissertation into travel or in depth. It is the readers' digest of travel books, but I loved it. I loved that it had every country, with pictures and little facts and maps. How I love maps. It made me want to get out a little packet of post it notes and place them all the places I want to visit until I realised the futility of this as I want to go everywhere.

To many books like this are pointless - I can upload more information and more full screen pictures than are in this book to my lap in seconds. But owning it made me as thrilled as I was as a child to receive the latest Roald Dahl book, or any other of the most cherished books of my childhood. It is *mine* and it was sitting, heavy and beautiful in my lap, smooth shiny pages under my fingertips, that smell of new books and just the promise of it all. That yes I will go there. And there and there and there. Bingley often buys me nice things, but this is the first time that he got it completely, irrevocably perfect.

I sat in my chair for a long time reverently turning the pages of my book as the girls, finally finished with all their gifts tore around the verandah on their scooters, the Possum joining in on his little trike. Bingley busied himself in the kitchen making poached eggs on toast with Christmas ham and I bundled all the ripped and torn paper excess to be recycled as garden mulch and spoke to relatives who had been woken by the joint cries of excited children and a surprise cyclone that had crossed the coast that morning.

The rain did not dampen our spirits as we headed up to my Mum and Dad's place, the Possum and the Monkey falling asleep on the way as the rain beat a steady rhythm on the roof. Arriving to smiles and hugs and all the other Hallmark cliches as we dashed inside with the big washing basket of gifts, all strange shapes and sizes, the wrapped umbrella in the middle looking silly tied with a bow.

We chatted with Mum and Dad as Mum laid out platters and checked the turkey buff as it filled the air with it's juicy scent and I decorated the pavlova as is my yearly tradition.

Then the last of the relatives arrived and the orgy of gift giving continued - watching the surprise and delight of those receiving the perfect gift and the polite cheerfulness of those who didn't. I was especially proud of the Elfling, who on realising that she liked a gift the Monkey had been given instead, picked up her fallen face and smiled delightedly at me before giving me a cuddle.

Then lunch and cocktails (or mocktails for the little ones, who thought that the maraschino cherries floating in their sparkling apple juice were the last word in magnificence) and far too much turkey. Ridiculous cracker jokes that make me laugh out loud and paper hats. Tiny plastic gifts that the Elfling and Monkey collected up and played with for half an hour together, bemused by their junkiness but loving them anyway. The Possum pulling his own cracker with an expression of simultaneous terror and determination that still makes me chortle days later.

Putting together the mini fusball table after lunch, when not a single extra morsel of food could be forced into groaning stomachs and the heated games thereafter. The wii sports tournaments fought in the living room while I crashed out on the couch. Eating pavlova even when there was no room and the gluten free trifle. And maybe a couple of celebratory chocolates.

The girls were so well behaved all day I wanted a medal for parenting brilliance (as if I had anything to do with it) and the Possum was his usual sunshiny self. It was such a perfect day that I thought I would burst from it, filled with food and love and cheer and happiness.

We drove home into the soggy night and loaded sleeping children into their new pyjamas and bed and smiled. And smiled. And smiled.

Christmas 2009

Christmas was a highly anticipated event here at Chez Elemental. There was much food to eat, much wine to drink, stockings and santa sacks to lay out and the distinct whine of the Ryobi as Bingley and his Dad tried to get the swingset completed in time. I finished in good time and wrote on here while sipping away, jumping out of my skin a bit in preparation for how excited the kids would be. The big ones anyway, because at 6 months old, Iwasn't expecting anything more than the general sunny cheerfulness of the Possum. I underestimated the appeal of gifts and wrapping paper though, as my baby boy was well into the spirit the second his eyes clamped on his new parking garage!


The girls were in an orgy of paper ripping and ooooohs and ahhhhs over their gifts. The Monkey had to be persuaded several times to keep looking in her Santa sack and stocking, her eyes big and round as surrounded by loot she found yet another book or pair of undies. And I swear I have never seen a child as excited by a box of pencils in my life. The Elfling being a veteran knew the score and soon had both her packs emptied and piled around her. She was most excited by her new pram and by her Christmas outfit that I made for her, complete with fairy wings (I covet an overlocker, and sewing seams when you're a wee bit tipsy is even harder than it sounds). She certainly looked angelic in it.

As did the Monkey in hers


But the biggest hit of the day, far and away was the swingset. We, being extremely unlike us, were organised this year, and planned, with the our co-conspirator parents to buy a set of swings this year. The plan being to both give the kids something to play with AND to have the convenient side effect of getting them out of the house. We researched, found and purchased the swings and they came in two large flat pack boxes a week or so ago. Obviously "some assembly required". But before we could do anything about the assembly, we needed somewhere to put the swings. Since moving in a few months ago, the yard has been very low on the list of priorities, but with Christmas approaching and a need to swing a mattock and get dirty Bingley, cleared a patch of yard, topsoiled it and ordered some lush Sir Walter to go over the top.


It's a truly lovely grass. Big blades, soft, doesn't require much mowing and doesn't seed. It's heavy as hell though, I could barely lift most of the pieces with my weak girly wrists and much of the task was left to Bingley.

Not that I was slacking. Being unable to lift the big pieces I was left to cut and create the tesselation of small pieces to fit the holes and let me tell you, that the root system of Sir Walter will give you a decent work out. The girls thought the grass was the Best Invention Ever (tm) and could not stop running on it as we laid it while the Possum sat up and grinned at everyone and everything while scrunching his toes in the grass.


Finally it was all finished, and we could all run around on it before giving it a good water.


Which we didn't actually need to do, as literally within seconds of the last piece being put in place, it started to rain and nearly a week later I don't think it has stopped! We actually need to buy a mower now as the grass has already sprouted in a verdant lush green over the whole area. But back to Christmas, when we told the girls to come outside to see their present their eyes were very wide, before they gleefully threw themselves at the swings.


Bingley didn't quite manage to finish them, but the swings were up and useable and the girls used their imagination for the rest. (We completed them on boxing day)


After breakfast of ham and eggs and tomatoes and toast on the back verandah, we headed up to Mum and Dad's place where we feasted again on turkey at the table and popped crackers and wore silly hats and revelled in a further orgy of gift giving. The highlight of the day was actually the Wii that Mum bought for Dad, with competitive games of bowling and baseball being fought in the lounge room on their 52" plasma screen. I still love my board games, but am willing to admit that I may have been a bit dismissive of Wiis - they're lots of fun! (And I'm not just saying that because I am a Wii Bowling prodigy!!)



By 7pm that night we were on our last legs, and though they tried hard, the kids were all tired and getting cranky. So we loaded back in the car and I popped my new Radiohead cd in the player and let the modern lullabies soothe them all to sleep as I chatted sleepily to Bingley for the 90 minute drive home. Pulling into our driveway and seeing the fairy lights out the front, the Christmas tree glinting through the windows was the strongest feeling of home and family I've ever had. We carried our sleeping bundles upstairs and as I tucked them in bed I felt so very full and happy. Christmas has always been my favourite time of year, but this year it just felt complete.

Hope yours was wonderful too.