Winter in Melbourne

Not often we have frosts here -- especially in a bayside suburb, but this was a few days ago. Frost everywhere. And me, who likes to be snug in bed -- I'm not a morning person, not even for writing -- was up getting ready to have the family over for Princess Sleepyhead's birthday. But it's always worth nicking out for a few minutes to photograph the swamp.

Chaos continues

Today I have a sore hand -- as a result of a dog bite. My dog. She had a brown paper bag in her mouth, and I tried to take it off her. I didn't realise it had food in it, and she didn't want to give it up. So she had a go at me. Now, had she had her collar on, none of this would've happened, but she ate her collar on Thursday while I was at work. True. All that was left was the buckle. Friday, Sir Talkalot saw the remainder in a -- well, that's probably too much information. Anyway, the bite wasn't too bad, but one tooth had pierced the skin and gone in quite deeply, so I rang the hospital to see if I should update my tetanus shot, and they said I should come in and get it looked at as I might need prophylactic antibiotics.

When I went in, the nurses asked what kind of dog I had, and were all surprised because Golden Retrievers don't usually bite. And they don't usually, but ours has been quite funny at times about her food. Only ever about that. One asked if there had been any changes in the house recently, and I said we had got a new pup. She asked how long ago, and I said three weeks. And she nodded and said that would be it. And I was about to say that we'd all been careful to make a big fuss of the dog, when it occurred to me that this wasn't about jealousy, but about becoming territorial over food. At first, they shared a food bowl (not deliberately -- we feed them in separate bowls as they get different foods, but one will always go to the other bowls), and if the pup wanted something of the dog's, the dog would stand back. But this has changed recently. The puppy has started attacking the dog to get something off her -- a bone, a chicken wing, whatever. The dog put up with this once or twice, and then went beserk. We had to pull them apart. It was their first altercation in three weeks, and we thought the dog was going to really hurt the pup. PS was in the hospital with me, and I started talking about this, and she said that the pup had tried to take the bag off the dog. Life is just like fiction -- it makes so much more sense when you can see the motivation. Of course, it isn't always so obvious in life, but yesterday it was.

I feel like I have had my share of doctors lately. Between my allergic reaction, visits to the gynae, hip specialists for Princess Sleepyhead, the GP for referrals, I seem to still be as immersed in the medical system as I was when I was working in the lab. Only now I'm on the wrong side of it all. In my hutch, I have a letter from the hospital the other night re the allergic reaction, which I'm supposed to take to the GP. I know he's going to refer me on to an allergist. I have a referral that I've had since last November to get my eyes checked out for glaucoma, as my dad has it, and it's heredity. I have a referral for PS to see a new paediatrician, because hers is booked out to November, and we should go shortly. I feel like all I'm doing is seeing doctors. I suppose I shouldn't complain because it's all pretty minor stuff in the scheme of things. It's just that all these appointments take up time -- time spent in the waiting room is time I could be writing. I'll often read, but sometimes there's lots of noise and distractions, especially if I'm accompanying a child.

Like greased lightning!

My children do not move like greased lightning. Sometimes I understand this, but sometimes it leaves me mystified. Last night we went to see the local theatre company production of Grease. Both children love the movie; both are into theatre -- and both said they wanted to go. During the day, however, I reminded Princess Sleepyhead that we were going and she said, "No-one told me about it", which clearly wasn't true. And then she stated that she needed to do an assignment. This astonished me, because never -- never, never, never -- has she ever said she can't go to something because she had an assignment to do. Admittedly, we have a heavy schedule this weekend -- the theatre, today I've been at a marketing seminar, and she has to go to singing rehearsal; tonight we have to hike (not literally) over to the other side of town to see The Gadget Man's father for his birthday, and tomorrow is PS's birthday, so GM's mother, her husband, and my parents are coming for lunch. This will involve some cooking but, more time-consumingly, hardcore cleanup time. But PS has never before dragged her feet because she has an assignment. Usually, it's a matter of us having to yell at her to do her work.

The truth is that had I let her, she would've stayed home and watched "Big Brother Friday night live" on TV. Or put her music on upstairs and thumped around. Or read. But my mother had bought the tickets, and I didn't want to start a war with her, so we fell into our regular roles: me as screaming harridan; PS as recalcitrant child. We got to the theatre a few minutes late, as we did on our previous venture, but luckily the production hadn't started.

But it makes me wonder why I bother? I don't need the stress. The angst. Why do we put so much time and energy into our kids when they clearly are often ungrateful? At the seminar today, which was about marketing your work, they talked about how much easier it is to get people to spend money on their children than on themselves. How true, I thought. We rarely take holidays -- can't afford them, but our children do all these activities, and half the time they grumble and complain, and I'm left asking myself why we really are doing this. But if I suggest they quit any activity, they're horrified, and say no way. Sometimes I just don't get kids at all.

Office worker

Why is it that cats like offices so much? Actually, mine doesn't frequent the office bench so much -- she's more likely to be found lying on top of the heating duct, soaking up all the heat. Or in the lounge room, in front of the fire.

My friends' cats, however, are typists extraordinaire. They paddle across keyboards like puppies in a pond. Okay, a bit much alliteration there. Anyway, having a new puppy means I'm doing lots of photographing dogs, so here's one of my cat instead. Yes, she is in my office, just to the left of my computer. This is the window I daydream out of -- a very handy feature for a writer.

Internal weather

A few weeks ago, our office was at 27 degrees C. We asked them to turn the heating down because, to use a favourite term of my mother's, we were spifflicating. I'd dressed for winter, but in only one layer, which was somewhat unfortunate -- especially because everyone else was busy peeling off layers. So it was with some amusement that yesterday we noted the office temperature was 14 degrees. From one extreme to the other. The classrooms weren't much warmer. My students were complaining -- and they had on coats. I had a thin, skivvy-like top and a warm vest, but my arms were freezing. Usually, I feel the cold in my upper arms, but yesterday it was my wrists.

As if I needed confirmation that it has been a cold winter, the gas bill arrived yesterday, and, boy, did it arrive. And, really, I'm not sure if it's been that much colder than other winters, but we've been so spoiled by the mild winters of the last few years that we've forgotten. I'm not going to say roll on summer, though. I'll take the fourteen over the twenty-seven every time. But next week, I'll remember to take a coat!

Swamp

A while ago I discovered a blog where this American guy took a photo of his street every day, and speculated about the different cars there. I don't know why but I found this idea incredibly appealing, and sat for half an hour or so and looked at about six months of photos. Maybe it was the photographer in me interested in the different lighting and different moods. I thought at the time that I'd like to do something like that with the swamp at the back of my house. I love my swamp, and I love the fact that, because it's tidal, it can look quite different. Most of the time the part out the back of us is dry, but sometimes it is partly underwater, or almost fully submerged with little islands dotted all around the place. On rare occasions, it looks like a river. While I'm not going to bore you all with an everyday picture, I am going to post occasional swamp photos, just for the fun of it. Fun for me, that is.

Movies

Two days ago, I took my kids off to see the new Harry Potter offering. I must confess, I haven't read all the books -- something I'm planning to rectify one day. The problem for me was that I was reading them aloud to my kids, and the slow pace forced on me by this meant I couldn't allow myself the luxury of being in the novel, which is what usually happens to me when I'm reading. I am looking forward to some time when I can just sit and read them, one after the other, but up till now have waited till the whole series is out. I hate getting really involved in a series and then finding out the next book is not published. Quite often, it means that I'll never finish that series because by the time the next book comes out I will have forgotten all of the nuances of the previous book and will feel bound to reread them, which usually means I go onto something else as well. Anyway, this all means I have passed the point of having read what I'm watching on screen.

My two kids, the day before we went, had taken themselves off to see Bridge to Terabithia -- ironic really that, after not going because they wouldn't get up, they got to see it, and I didn't. Sir Talkalot said he loved it, and Princess Sleepyhead said it was crap. This doesn't necessarily reflect on the movie, as much as politics. Her brother was extolling the movie's virtues, and if he loved it then she had to hate it. So he said Harry Potter wasn't as good as Bridge, and she said it was much better. Don't you just love family dynamics?

For me, the most fascinating part of the movie was finding out more about the relationship between Snape and Harry's father. I was waiting for Harry's reaction to this revelation -- as it was a revelation to him as well -- but this never really happened. Can't help wondering though whether it's in the book, in which case it's something to look forward to. And I hope it is in the book. I hate it when writers have a really big revelation to a character, and then don't follow it up with the character's emotional response. I imagine Rowling has dealt with this, because I think she's very strong on her characters and on what they're feeling.

Snape has always been one of the most interesting characters -- not so much in the first book, but the more I read/see, the more I can see his complexities. On the one hand is his antagonism towards Harry, on the other is that he often seems to help Harry in some way. Now, when I read on, I'll be looking more carefully at his character interactions with other characters whom I dislike, like Malfoy. More reading, and looking at Rowling's character relationships is something to look forward to.

How to win (with the school hols)

Today, I promised to take the kids to the movies to see Bridge to Terabithia. All they had to do was to be up and ready by 11.50 am. Not too big an ask, I wouldn't have thought. But I decided it's hols, and I'm not going to stress about it or nag them; they could get ready at their own pace. And they did. One was ready at 12.15, and the other at ... wait for it ... 3.50, almost in time for the singing lesson booked at 4.

But I was happy. No stress. I wrote 3560 words. Now, I'm feeling a bit more virtuous. Tonight, I could do more, but I have to finish commenting on someone else's manuscript by tomorrow afternoon -- and if I get it done tonight, it means I can write in the morning when the kids are still asleep. Oh, joy!

Sunday

Sunday, Sunday, and tomorrow I'm back at work. And my husband, the Gadget Man starts a new job. And how much writing have I done so far these holidays? Not enough. Lots of editing though, so that's something. But it doesn't give me that same sense of achievement -- perhaps because although I enjoy it, it doesn't leave me with more words on the page. I have written a bit of a short scene today, so I might have to finish that before I go to bed. (I am feeling quite virtuous though, because I cut out another few hundred words and finally broke through the 188 k barrier, even if I only just got under it.)

Today sheared away into lunch out with my parents, and my brother and his son who had flown down from Sydney to go to the footy. And then picking up my daughter's friend who is staying the night. And dropping my son off at my mum's (he was at a scout barbecue at lunchtime, so missed lunch out). And cooking dinner. How can so much of the day evaporate? How different -- and much more valuable -- is time alone with the computer? My main problem is that everyone gravitates towards the study, and hangs around, and it's really difficult to write when three people are having a conversation with you, and they don't take not only subtle hints but direct orders. Ah, well, if only I were my main character, I'd ... no, perhaps I'd better not go there. But they would listen to him. Believe me, they would.

I still have one more week before I'm back teaching, but in that time I have to write an editing test, finish the manuscript I'm reading for someone else and listen to (and perhaps edit) a couple of tapes for our online unit. Hmm, and work, and go to writing group, and run the kids around to the activities that don't stop in the hols, and, most importantly, fit in some writing -- quite a lot of writing, actually. I'm starting to sniff the end of the rewrite, and that usually encourages me to go faster.

School holidays

School holidays, during winter, are a nightmare. Kids lolling all around the house, fighting, driving me nuts. I want to write. My son sees my sitting at the computer as an invitation to come and chat. I tell him to go away, and he looks hurt. The rain, though I'm extremely happy to see it, has them housebound, unable to go out and play. Though they don't seem to go out "and play" anymore, anyway. My daughter has her music blaring, and thumps around above my head (her bedroom is over the study) like an elephant on a rampage. I want to write. I want them to be quiet, live harmoniously, not disturb the neighbours with their yelling and screaming -- or make me yell and scream like a harridan. I want to write. My fingers itch for peace, for the feel of reins and a warm horse's neck as I segue into the world of my characters. But my son's constant chatter keeps me here. The new pup's whingeing keeps me here. My husband's growling at the kids keeps me here. Too many barriers to the fictional dream.

Night is mine. When the kids go to bed. But more and more I find their time encroaches on mine. My time is squeezed into the after-midnight hours, and these days I find that time leaner and leaner, because I live on the edge of sleep-deprivation. Something has to give, but one thing's for sure: it's not going to be my writing time!

Let sleeping dogs lie: Georgia, our Golden Retriever and Luna, our Toller pup