Space

The girls spent two nights at the end of the school holidays with Nana and Pa. I squeezed in two movies (one on my own while Craig went to a band - he's just always that much cooler than me), dinner out, a cocktail party, brunch at a cafe, a book, a lot of quilting and a bit of sewing. I even found time to miss the girls. And I lost an hour due to day-light-saving.

Scenes from the Weekend.

My oldest girl is big enough to read the newspaper,

My youngest is still little enough to show you her belly button.

Ruby made bickies (and pom poms);

Grace made something out of blu tac and a button (and pom poms);

And Nina made pom poms and spent most of the weekend in a world of her own which required ballet clothes.

Our local council refuses to provide 'green bins' for garden waste and instead requires us to cut everything up into box size pieces for collection. It's a bit annoying. The scorched earth of our front garden will soon be planted out. It only took a year longer than planned.

We finally put in a lemon tree. I can't believe I've lived more than 15 years without one. One day I'll be able to stop swiping lemons from Sheryl and Bruce next door.

Craig trimmed the jacaranda, though we won't be around to see it flower this year.

The playroom fluctuated from messy to messier.

And the weather was kind enough to dry the woollen blanket I scored for $9 at the op shop. My kids are always asking for an extra blanket on their beds.

It was a very quiet weekend. I started and finished a book I had been eagarly awaiting. I was almost reluctant to start, knowing that I'd be unable to stop and swept up into its world. I'm a bit of a sucker for a well-done dystopia.

I did a lot of reflecting on big and little things and reached some conclusions that helped to settle my mind. It is difficult, sometimes, to keep perspective and I think I wrangled a few things back into their proper place. Mostly it is a case of recognising that what seems overwhelming rarely is, and that there are very few things that are actually important.

Pottering

Life seems to be geting busier. I suppose it is the inevitable consequence of having four children and those children getting older. Now we have netball and soccer and tap dancing on weekends. There is often a birthday party, or two to attend. Sometimes dinner with the in-laws. Maybe a footy match to go to. The school musical is coming up for three nights in August, and then there will be the fete and quite a lot of very big things going on at work. All of which is ticking down to our big and exciting adventure in November. With less than four months to go, the list of things to be done (passports, visas, renting out the house, fixing the ceiling fan etc) feels more overwhelming than it is. Every so often I am seized by a small spasm of panic: 'oh god, I have to draft those interrogatories by Wednesday!'

It really did smell like violets.

Miniature patchwork quilt

Mousie Brown sleeps warm in the shadow of the Eiffel Tower

So this weekend I sewed.  Some bags for the kinder and something bits and pieces for the fete.  Nina joined me to make a (miniature) quilt.  Ruby baked a cake and made perfume.  Lily and Grace painted their nails and made a mess.  Craig covered books in mylar. As an antidote to panic, I recommend pottering about.

Stress Release

Things have been particularly hectic lately, so getting outdoors for a picnic is a good way to relax.

It is especially nice if a friend joins you.

Or two.

If you can identify the biscuits* from the teddy's satchel, chances are you went to an Australian primary school

 in the 1970's.....

Kitty has a white bread ham sandwich and a bottle of milk. Chances are she went to an Australian primary school in the 70's too.

These little folk have been keeping me pleasantly distracted when real life threatens to overwhelm me.

They are made from old wool jumpers and new wool felt.

Their satchels are just big enough to contain supplies for a picnic.

I'm thinking of adding some books, too.  What do you think a rabbit would read?  Alice in Wonderland maybe.

I even made up a pattern for the coats.

It's been chilly in Melbourne this week, so I knitted scarves too.

 I've no doubt there are more productive uses of my time, but few that would be as enjoyable.



* If you guessed the biscuits were a jam fancy and an iced vo vo, you probably also remember when 'God Save the Queen' was our national anthem and Countdown was on at 6.00pm on a Sunday. You may have coveted an ABBA lunch box (or owned one), worn terry towelling clothing, slipped, slopped and slapped and understood that bit of graffiti on Balaclava Station that read 'scratch out Fraser, the seven year itch'. Or you might just be very good with biscuits.

Romance

drawing by Ruby

Recently I wrote a romance novel for fun. There was a competition which spurred me on to do it, though I'd tossed the idea around in my mind vaguely for several years. My heroine is a lawyer who is working on a pharmaceutical class action. She is not me. She does love to sew but she's not me. She rides her bike to work but she is most definitely not me. She falls in love with her boss and they win their class action, he declares his undying love and they go to the pub. Quite an Australian ending I thought, except for the bit about winning the class action, as anyone who has ever run a personal injury class action in Australia would know (bitter? me?).

I got exactly nowhere in the competition, nor did I deserve to, but it was a most enjoyable and educational experience. In my brief foray into the world of aspiring romance writers I discovered what I suspect must plague every writer or artist of any description; a complete lack of any ability to judge one's own product. In my actual field of endeavour - the law - there are relatively objective parameters of success. Winning a trial is a good indicator that you haven't stuffed things up really badly. Discussing cases with colleagues and finding that others share your view on a matter, debating issues with counsel, analysing a legal point and finding your opinion validated by a judgment all give you indications that you are on the right track. I imagine that if I took on case after case and kept losing, or if I routinely missed the issue, or asked the wrong questions or overlooked a crucial point of law, I'd probably realise that I was not much chop as a lawyer.

But how do you know if you are a good writer who just has to weather the rounds of rejection before your talent is recognised, or if you are simply a hack and should leave well enough alone? (I ask this as a rhetorical question, I'm not proposing to quit my job and attempt romance writing as a career). I wrote this book and I liked my heroine (who is not me) and I adored my hero, who was dedicated to social justice and spoke fluent Italian. However after finishing the novel, and reading plenty of genre fiction and some of the other competition entries, I could not for the life of me tell if mine was on the side of 'kind of okay and shows promise' or on the side of 'stick to being a lawyer and never ever enter this realm again'. I really couldn't tell. A few friends said nice things, but frankly, of course they would.

I'm taking all the positives out of this experience - I learned a lot, I really enjoyed the process, and I can now say that I've written a novel (though to be honest I cannot imagine the occasion when I actually will). I discovered that it is not easy to impart crucial plot information in an interesting way. It can be difficult to avoid 'he said' in conversations, but annoying to have your characters constantly 'snapping' 'riposting' and 'opining'. Writing the actual romancy bits, the kissing and so forth, was quite bizarre. And trying to stick within the conventions of genre fiction but to transcend cliche was a challenge. To real writers, of real, published books, in whatever genre, I tip my hat. It's a hard job with lean rewards and I'm very glad that someone does it and that that person is not me.

En Zed

I'm still loving our playroom

For the second time in as many years we won't be in town for the AFL Grand Final.  Luckily I don't give a toss about the happy team at hawthorn nor do I cheer cheer the red and the white, so it's not particularly distressing.
Grace is singing 'Feel the spiky spiky cactus'. I assume it's her own composition.  Lily has just rock climbed up the face of the desk drawers and collected a handful of travel books, none of which is for the country we are visiting.
'You can chase me up and down the hall if you want' Ruby offers Lil.  This will absolutely, without a shadow of a doubt, end in tears.  I'm letting them stay up later than usual, even though we have to be up very early, because they are so excited I know they won't sleep.
'Nina told Lily to attack me.' complains Ruby.
'She started it.' says Nina 'She breathed in my face'.
I need a holiday.
See you in a week or so.

Things your father makes you do

Pick out little white stones wedged into decking.

Coming Undone

It turned out that it wasn't Goliath that undid me, but my own bike.  Or rather falling off my bike and buggering my knee.  It was so exactly what I did not need in the middle of a two week trial that I gave in to a few moments of panicky self-pity "oh how am I going to possibly cope with four kids and a huge workload and people depending on me and a terminally ill client and and and...."

one of the many reasons I love my mum

And then I mostly got a grip, with only intermittent returns to self pity, and remembered that even when things are at their most difficult, I am so extraordinarily lucky: for my dear friend who is an emergency department doctor and got x-rays and investigations sorted for me, for my mother who came over and minded the kids and did my ironing, for my father-in-law who drove our unfamiliar-to-him car into the fog to pick me and my bike up, for my colleagues who brought me ice packs and cups of tea and zucchini slice and walked slowly to keep me company as I hobbled pathetically to court, for Craig who went out in the midst of a crazy day of his own to buy me this rather lovely (though not entirely practical) walking stick, for Grace who made me cards and presents, (and brought them to me as I tried to sleep) and for my immense good fortune in living in a country with health care so I don't have to worry that this piece of bad luck and timing will have anything more than a temporary impact.

As for Goliath, he and I both live on to fight another day, which, inevitably and exhaustingly, we will do.  In the meantime I am looking forward to finishing this bout and getting reaquainted with a few things I've been missing - like sewing and proper cooked meals and talking to friends and, oh yeah, my kids.  Missed them too......