December 2012 Archives


Dear Finn

If this blog were a pet, it would be a neglected, mistreated and very sad one, and its plaintive howling would have the RSPCA banging on my door. So in the nature of all sad and howling things it's all about learn to sing or die. It's evolution, baby.

To recap:

I started this blog on your first birthday, as my brain (and memories contained therein) was slowly destroyed by short sleeps, strong gins and the constant repetition of washing chocolate paste off walls, clothes and floors. At least I hope it was chocolate paste. I stopped writing this blog at the end of 2010. Not sure why, perhaps there was a little bit of loss as to what there was left to say, perhaps a wee bit of boredom, but mostly I suspect the appearance of your brother and your sister and your triumphant morphing into some sort of triangle of devilishness had much to do with it. With three small chocolate paste wielding evildoers there was not much time left for blogging, and by then the PC was mostly taken up by your growing addiction to anything screen. Youtube and Burnout Paradise mostly.

But life of course continued on. I did not blog about your first day of school Finn or Holly. I did not blog about your trip in the ambulance Tas, when I thought your teeth had gone through your chin and your grandparents were blithely sailing around Moreton Bay. I did not blog about your two trips to the ED Finn, nor your Dad and I getting married, nor your addiction to Minecraft. I did not blog about many small and menial details of our lives, which is probably the most unfortunate bit as that is where the fun is, and probably the stuff that my addled brain is most likely to erase.

But here we are. We have spent the last three years in our beautiful house in Brisbane. We have painted walls, planted a garden, drank many a wine, had many a dinner party and entertained a host of friends. The neighbourhood had BFFs, dogs, a park and Henry. We loved that neighbourhood and that house.

So of course, we left it, and moved to Sydney. Two weeks ago today.

Last weekend we went to a Kirribilli park under the Sydney Harbour Bridge, just across the harbour from the Opera House to listen to Christmas Carols and to watch the sunset. It was stunning and quite surreal. Sydney is full of these sorts of iconic structures and I find it hard not to be a gawking tourist. There were of course many other gawking tourists as well, including those ones I find rather hard to understand, those ones who like to take photos of you three, when they have no idea who you are and seem to not need to. They even like to pose in the photo with you. Maybe they like the smell of chocolate paste. You amusingly loudly asked why that lady was taking photos of you, your Dad replied because you're all so beautiful (I suspect it might be the blond).

We seem to have packed a fair bit into our first two weeks. Mountains of polystyrene and cardboard have travelled to our door, been thrown around, stomped on, cut up, drawn on, used as cubbyhouses, thrown off the balcony, and moved upstairs to be discarded. Somewhere underneath that mountain was the actual item far a bookcase, coffee table, TV, entertainment unit, kettle, toaster, rubbish bin, coffee press, mattress, computer desk and vacuum cleaner. Your Dad was able to pass many of these off as birthday presents for me, since they arrived on my birthday which was also last week. 121212. Henceforth known as World Appliance Delivery Day.

You have made instant friends (as only 7, 5 and 3 year olds can) with an 8 year old boy upstairs. He is also mad keen on Minecraft, Skylanders and throwing cardboard boxes off balconies. It was one of those eyes meeting across a crowded Creeper-infested MacBookPro type things. Heavenly.

You have been to your future school and tried on your future uniforms.

Tas has been to an orientation at his future preschool and you rapidly determined that many of the kids had older brothers and sisters who possibly also liked Minecraft and would probably enjoy throwing things of balconies. You wanted their numbers for playdates for more eye meeting heavenly Creeper-infested joy.

Today, Mayan be the end of the world as we know it, but I still need to get some stuff done. With a Dad as addicted to mailorder as yours is, there are many trips to the post office. There was much wailing about boring, need a rest, tired of driving around, why? whyyy? WHHHYYY? the extent that my inner strength folded up and slunk away. I've decided that those mothers that leave their kids home alone aren't the terribly neglectful creatures I thought they were, they're the smart ones. They knew damn well if they took their kids with them to the pokies, they'd be there for hours, when in fact if they leave the kids at home, they can lose their grocery money in 1 hour instead of 4. And what a peaceful hour that would be. Practically a holiday!

But enough of this fairytale holiday dreaming.

More important than anything, me, moi, your genius and loyal fan Mum, managed to buy mosh pit tickets to Bruce Springsteen in Brisbane in March. Yippee. We are going back to see our friends, our neighbourhood, your cousins and possibly our house. As much as I love this iconic laden land of ours, I can't wait to see Brisbane again.

As always, ever loving you and always here.

PS I would've included some photos, but I need a re-tutorial on how to do the scripty html thingo to embed them! Next time.