Beatrix: Can I have a drink, fatty woman?
Me: (sings to self) Fatty woman; walkin’ down the street, fatty woman; girl who likes to eat…

(Daddy has taught her not to play at the dinner table at his house. She catches him playing/ fiddling with something at the table and…)
Beatrix: Now you have to listen to yourself! (pause) Because you’re an adult.

Beatrix: Did you do a poo or a wee? (to my friend Anneka after exiting the bathroom)

I wouldn’t be any kind of mother if I didn’t say; vote for MY baby for the People’s Choice Award, she’s the cutest and most awesomest. And if she wins the vote from the Bonds judges, we get flown to Sydney, put up in a hotel room and fatty becomes the next face of the Bonds winter campaign! I’m not holding my breath though, she’s a redhead and most people are biased arseholes!

Anyway, please take the time to register your vote for Indiana! She’s the People’s Poet! She knows your heartache! She’s representing the little man! Or the redhead man! Or the fat man! Or most importantly, if she wins, she’ll be stocking her own closet full of new Bonds gear — so she’s representing the poor man! Voting closes October 15th (and the winner is announced on October 20th) so please VOTE FOR HER! You can find her page at;

http://www.bonds.com.au/bumpsandbaby/pages/BabySearch/09/viewentry.aspx?id=3919

One day I’ll make a real blog post again, probably after we get back from my sister’s wedding in Queensland and I have a mental breakdown looking after the girls on the plane. Watch this space.

Following in the steps of two of my friends (who shall remain nameless) I have decided to join good ol’ Oasis Active. At first I thought “this’ll be hilarious”, then I thought “this’ll be an interesting social experiment” and now I just think “Jesus, I have finally reached my threshold of lame”. Now, of course no offense intended to my lovely friends who joined, because both of them are completely gorgeous people and really, would have no problems securing a “real world” person, but this website has enhanced all the things I feel are bad things about myself. The self advertising portion being one that I cannot stand. I hate profiles written by guys who are the first to say how shit they are, but then I can’t handle the ones where they tell you they’re your dream catch and they’re ripped and gorgeous. The only slight cute, human looking one ended up being a weird American cowboy who wanted to sneak into my house after 5 minutes of talking to me, asked way too many questions about sexual preferences and cup sizes, and is apparently currently touring Australia in search of syphilis (which I’m sure he’ll find the way he’s going.) Why are there no normal men available anymore? And to those who have one — where the hell did you find him?

I sent the exact same email to Yo Gabba Gabba again. It’s been like 11 days, and they’ve been updating their blog, I’m sure someone’s read somethin’ by now. The stealing was enough to shit me pretty bad, but what seems like apparent IGNORING is really what’s annoying me now. I wish I was an arsehole so I could get all up in their grill, but actually after looking at my Creative Commons, you can only set it for an individual country — mine being set for Australia. Surely to God, that’s a bullshit loophole that isn’t morally right. I’m really disappointed that an organisation I’ve pimped out to so many other parents has just completely fucking dismissed me. I’m giving it two more weeks and then I’m writing a new improved ALL CAPS LOCK angry version of my email.

Edit; I just got a response;

email removed due to complaint (i’m allowed to write that, right?)

The jerks from Yo Gabba Gabba have completely ignored my email, apparently. I’d call for a boycott but unfortunately we just get way too much entertainment out of that show.

Beatrix: Michael Jackson has a lady voice and a man voice.

Beatrix: We’re both wearing dark sunglasses! How jolly.

Beatrix: I love your toenails.
Me: My toenails? Thanks.
Beatrix: And I love your fingernails. I love your whole skeleton. I love everybody’s skeleton.

Beatrix: I’m such-ely (sic) brave, Mummy.

Me: Mummy’s sister has a baby in her tummy, just like I did. Isn’t that exciting?
Beatrix: Wow! What’s it called?
Me: Well, we don’t know if it’s a boy or a girl yet. We have to wait and see. Do you know any good names? What about boy names?
Beatrix: Finny.
Me: Finny? Okay. What about girl names?
Beatrix: Um.. Hamstring.

Beatrix: (screams) SHIT-FUCK!
Me: (rushing in) What’s wrong?
Beatrix: (matter-of-factly) I said “shit-fuck”.
Me: Yes, I know you said…um, yes, I heard you. Why did you say that?
Beatrix: The couch was being naughty.
Me: What did it do?
Beatrix: It was eating my leg.
Me: Oh. Okay.

Beatrix: Can we watch Seinfeld?
Me: Okay. Do you know their names? (pointing) That’s Kramer.
Beatrix: Kramer.
Me: That’s Geo…
Beatrix: George.
Me: Good! That’s Elaine.
Beatrix: Elaine.
Me: And that’s…
Beatrix: I know.
Me: Do you? What is it?
Beatrix: Cherry Seinfeld.

Beatrix: Excuse me, Mummy?
Me: Yes, Bea?
Beatrix: Girls have two bottoms.
Me: Yes, that’s right.
Beatrix: Boys only have one bottom. And a silly bottom.

More as they happen. Unfortunately that’s all I can remember right now.

I’m in the process of re-training myself to use my camcorder, because I’m aware that I’m missing a lot of cute Indi moments, and some absolute pearls from the mouth of Beatrix. Unfortunately this involves teaching myself how to use the new iMovie (okay, not so “new”, but I’m used to the OS X.1 version which is built for kindergarteners) and it’s taking a lot longer than I would have liked. But, in doing so, I found a lot of old footage of Beatrix that I can now upload to glorious Flickr! I also found some hilarious high school footage that must be uploaded and edited at some point, but for now, I invite you all to check out my gorgeous kid at age 2.

http://www.flickr.com/photos/beatrix_honey/3850966923/

More at Flickr.

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Screen shot of yogabbagabba.com’s news section.

Things like this really bother me, which is probably saying something about my control freak nature… because I’d usually enjoy a situation where, say, Bea is featured on her favourite website, like above. But the bastards stole my photo! Directly from Flickr! And cropped it so it looks like a totally different photo! I’m not saying that it’s a piece of photographic genius (it obviously isn’t) but Jesus, gimme at least some credit or ask before using my shit. And you can’t tell me that it’d be hard for them to get a photo of a guy in a Brobee suit. It’s *their* goddamn character. The Creative Commons I have pasted underneath ALL of my photos explains exactly how I would like my photography used and credited, and my profile states that I don’t like photos of my girls being used without my PERMISSION. Sure, I’ll probably get 100 people on Facebook telling me to get a life and take down my photos if I don’t like it, but the point is that I have the right to share my crap with my family and friends, and it’s just common fucking manners to ask. And really, it’s not that hard to ask. I check my account like every few hours, it’s not like you have to wait long for a response. I mean, it’s Yo Gabba Gabba! Of course I woulda said ‘yes’! So, basically, from this you’d all better gather that if you take my stuff I’m gon’ split yer skull. ASK!!

End.

I am a very bad and lazy blogger. I’ll often tell a story completely half arsed and forget the actual interesting portion of it making it completely boring and useless, or I’ll just forget to post whenever something interesting happens and leave my blog full of massive holes interspliced with updates about how awesome my iPhone is. Well, firstly, my iPhone *is* awesome. But more importantly, the last few months has seen the arrival of Indiana Lux (named after two pop culture staples; Henry “Indiana” Jones and Lux Lisbon) turn into normality, and I am now happily settled in what I can fairly confidently call a “routine”. Sure, on the days that Beatrix is with her daddy, we go back to bed about 3 times a morning until we get up at noon, but you allow yourself to do that on the days you can… so that you can cope on the days you can’t.

Here’s what we know about Indiana so far. Her hair changes daily from brown/auburn/red. She is a round, rolly polly child of May. Her smile is bigger than her entire face. She sleeps for 5 to 8 hour stints each night. Her cheeks are busting like she’s hoarding chestnuts for next winter. She completely adores her sister and lights up whenever she enters the room. She enjoys being in her pram so much that she’ll often miss a feed by 2 hours because she’s fast asleep. (I’d probably enjoy being in a $1700 yuppie Bugaboo pram too.) She is an absolute delight, and it makes me feel ridiculous for ever questioning whether or not I could ever love her as much as I love Bea.

Unfortunately, Facebook and Twitter were probably invented with me in mind, because I like staying in touch and letting people know what I’m doing with complete minimal writing effort; hence 50 updates a day about really riviting stuff like the Child Support hotline being complete crap. I will, will, will get back into the knack of using WordPress, and mostly because I like the idea of looking back at the first months/years of my kids lives and seeing what I was thinking or feeling, and how much I’ve grown. Already in the years since I first started blogging I’ve noticed tremendous change and strength emerge in myself through being a mother, and I hope my attempt to keep this blog alive serves as a reminder to this; if not to anyone else, then just me!

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