Photo Friday

I really should've posted this 2 weeks ago but since the man was one of the biggest procrastinators on the planet I think he'd understand:


12 years and 13 days ago, my father lost his battle with lung cancer. Miss Thing was 4 and Sparky was only 6 months. Dad had just turned 60 ten days before he died. And no, he was not half of a gay couple. The other name is my uncle, his youngest brother, who never married and at this late stage (he's 66) probably never will.

There is a funny story about the Corinthians quote at the bottom of the headstone (which I got on sale, by the way). In case you can't read it, it is "In a word, Be Strong". That side of the family is Catholic - Irish Catholic, no less - although my father and subsequently myself never followed the faith. Yet we would go to mass on "special" occasions when it was expected, or when my grandfather asked us to. Inevitably (it seemed) one of the readings would be St. Paul's letters to the Corinthians. Then it would start:

"Why didn't they write back?" Dad would stage whisper.

"What? What are you talking about?"

"The Corinthians. They never wrote back. St. Paul spent all that time writing to them, but they never wrote back. Why?" And he'd chuckle while we rolled our eyes and, smiling, told him to shush before he got us into trouble. He did this every. Single. Time.

Fast forward to his funeral service, held at the funeral parlor. I have no idea who arranged the priest - whether it was someone else in the family or the funeral home - but as Gabe and I sat up front and cried, the priest... well I couldn't tell you what he went on about for most of the time. Until he announced he would read a passage from... you know what's coming, don't you? St. Paul's letters to the Corinthians. Gabe and I looked at each other, then up at Dad in his casket and then tried desperately not to laugh. Behind us our Uncle Bob suddenly had a coughing fit. Dad got the last laugh after all.

So when it came time to get the headstone, I was determined to have something from the Corinthians on it. When I showed this passage to Gabe, he thought it was great. Why? "Because 'be strong' is two words, not one. He'd love it."

Miss you, Dad.

Tweaks

If you stopped by earlier today and saw yet another new template, but then came back to the old one and wondered if someone had slipped some mind-altering drugs into your coffee, I apologize. My bad. The only way to tweak my template is to change to a standard Blogger one, make the changes I want, then copy and paste the new widgets into my old template and reload the whole thing. It really makes me long for the time when Clive is finally one year old so I don't have to update his age once a month.

So what's new? Only a couple of things:

I added a labels option to the sidebar. Since I have a lot of them, I found a hack that enabled me to up them into a roll up menu. Not as cool as the toggles on the Archives option, but at least my labels section isn't longer than my entire blog.

I've rearranged my blogroll to reflect the different blogs I read. Up first are blogs written my members of my family or friends. Not that many of you aren't my mates, but these are people I've known before they started blogs, or before I knew they had one. Next up are the blogs written by parents. I don't want to label them MommyBlogs or DaddyBlogs because they are so much more than that, but family is a big part of what they write about. Thirdly we have Wicked Pissa Blogs, a throw back term to my New England heritage where I've included some very funny and awesome bloggers. Last but certainly not least are blogs by fellow Yank expats Down Under or resources for those wanting to be. If you're somewhere you don't want to be, or if you're linked to me but not on my rolls, please let me know (I'm looking at you, Mr. Roth!).

Touched

Just want to thank everyone for their thoughtful comments on my ongoing teenage drama. For a bunch of people who have never meet me in real life, you're all so very sincere and feeling that you really mean what you write is very moving. If any of you who aren't living in Australia ever want to come and visit Brisbane, or if you're elsewhere in Oz and want to come to Brissie, you'll have a place to stay (as long as you don't mind sharing the space with some gym equipment).

And for my family and friends who do know me, your comments mean just as much. You have to listen to this all the time and to continue to send good thoughts my way instead of "shut UP already" is awesome. I'm really touched. You already know you have a place to stay with us, so the offer goes without saying. And Hermit's L'il Sis - no I never would have thought that of you. When I mentioned it to the Hermit his response was "Really? She did that?" So you had him fooled too!

And so you know that I'm doing better, I'll give you something fun to read. A couple of weeks ago, in a generous moment, I let Sparky buy a "Best of the 90s" CD. He's been torturing me ever since with this song:

I can't tell you what this song does to me. Makes me want to gouge my intestines out with a wooden spoon. I feel going into a diabetic coma whenever he plays it. I can't even write proper sentences! Worst part? Her Majesty LOVES it! Actually, the worst part is that line from "Ken" - "Kiss me here, Touch me there, Hanky Panky." It's wrong, so so wrong on so many levels. Especially when you consider Ken was never anatomically correct.

I feel really dirty now...

Still Standing... Barely

Sorry about my prolonged absence, including missing Photo Friday and for the first time ever, the Saturday Skinfest.

I'm fine - more or less. The ongoing soap opera concerning Miss Thing's school work (or lack thereof) continues and it has left me pretty drained. I'll give you the really short version since, quite frankly, I'm tired of the whole saga. Last Monday she meet with the school guidance officer to work out a study plan. From that afternoon she has refused to discuss any aspect of the plan with us to the point of leaving the house to spend the night with a friend when we insist. I finally had to call the guidance officer myself to get an explanation on how the thing was set up. Miss Thing is desperate for a resumption of her "normal" life, attempting to carry on conversations about anything and everything else but the elephant in the corner and I'm just not up for it. I don't ignore her or anything so drastic, but I'm not going to pretend this whole episode isn't happening.

I called my mother Monday night to tell her what was happening and to let out a little frustration, and more than a few tears although I didn't have the complete breakdown that had threatened a few times, and told her of my mental exhaustion. I will never forget a conversation I had with my grandfather back when Miss Thing was nearly 5 and I had thrown the Bastard out of our marriage for good. "You're going to have your hands full with this one," he said to me over a cup of tea at his kitchen table. Oh how right you were, Pa. Right now, I don't think I can do this anymore.

I've tried very hard over the past 12 years to give Miss Thing the best that I could. I refused to take my abusive ex-husband back after he walked out (so you know it's not just bitterness that earned him the name Bastard), sucked up my pride and went on welfare, worked part-time and went to nursing school full-time (graduated with honors, by the way) so I would be able to support her and Sparky, imposed on too many family members and tried everything I knew to help soothe the hurt that lingers when one's father ignores their own daughter. I've excused outbursts of rudeness and disrespect from her over the years because (I told myself) she wasn't out doing drugs, being promiscuous, stealing, beating up old ladies or hundreds of other things "bad" kids do. At least she was at home, in school and wanting me to be a part of her life.

Then Monday night, when she refused to discuss how we would help her stick to her new plan, or even show us the study plan, when she screamed at the top of her lungs that she "hated it here" and "didn't want to live here anymore", I felt as if the past 12 years had meant nothing. I had been given a big "Fuck You" by my teenager, and any emotional reserves I had left to deal with the ongoing drama got sucked down the drain. I simply had nothing else. So when she dropped a packed bag onto the kitchen floor and announced she was going to a friend's, I simply asked how she was getting there. I'm sure she was taken aback by my lack of theatrics, as previous announcements had been meet by either anger or backing down on my part, and she spent the next hour or so on the phone wandering from room to room before she slowly gathered her bag and walked out the door to meet her ride (despite the dramatic "I'll walk" answer to my earlier question).

Never fear, she came home the next night after more drama in the City and hasn't "moved out" since. She still, however, refuses to talk about her school work.

And yes, this is the short version...

It's tough enough caring for an always on the go 4 year old, a "don't ever put me down" 8 month old and a 12 year old boy just hitting puberty. Not to mention the Hermit, who might be tired of coming home from a long day's work to a wife who has no time for him. It's also not fair to them to have a mother/wife so drained by the teenager who has yet to figure out it's NOT all about her that there's little left for them. But it's easier said than done. Despite a great night out with Miss WTF and DarkSideDeb on Friday to see Sicko that helped to recharge my batteries, plus dinner with the Hermit on Saturday to celebrate our anniversary (7 years) I'm not 100%. Hell I'm not even 75%. This crap has even left me physically ill, as I'm the only one suffering from a cold and such itchy eyes that I want to scratch them out. I didn't go near the computer at all, nor did I even want to write this weekend, and writing is one thing that normally makes me feel better.

I do feel a little better now, actually. So thanks for reading (if you've made it this far) and letting me virtually vent. I try my best to keep things on schedule this week and get my life back to what passes for normal.

Match Report Monday

So it's not even close to being Monday anymore. I can't possibly bullshit my way out of this one, except to say that Miss WTF did do the report on Monday. So technically (as Sparky likes to say) it was written on Monday, even if I haven't posted it until now. Besides, Match Report Monday sounds so much better than Match Report Wednesday. Lots of continuing drama here at Chez Mooselet concerning Miss Thing, so I'm a bit behind schedule with the blogging. Never fear, here with the lowdown on why MRM has been missing for so long, I bring you Miss WTF:

Round 14, Division 1
Date: 20 August 2007
Where: Purtell Park, Bardon
Who: Wests Panthers v Banyo Demons
Score: 6 - 24

Another loss to finish the season with, but to be honest, the score line does not reflect just how well the boys played... Yet again! Down on player numbers due to illness, the 15 healthy boys we had hit the field running. Their defence was outstanding for the first 20 minutes. The Banyo team were a massive group of boys and for our lads to hold them out for so long shows a great amount of character. Well done boys!





Unfortunately, Banyo put on a few too many good tries and we were gorrrrnnnnneeee. Their massive forwards running on to the ball at full pelt were just too hard to stop. The score line could have blown out but the boys did really well to contain them. (Plus that one try by our Jarrod - shorter and skinnier than most, that's him in the middle picture - was fantastic - Mooselet)

That’s the on-field action. On the sidelines it was a different story altogether. It was getting feisty and nasty... WOOHOO!!! There was banter that turned into scathing attacks which resulted in one of the Banyo parents (who was running as a touch judge) turning around to our coach and telling him he was going to take him out the back and flog him. LOL!! (Yes, I did notice poor Mumfies quickly hide her Match Official Bib under a towel under the pretence it was raining - Mooselet)

It’s only under 12s football mate, settle down.

So, our record for the season stands at:

Games played: 15
Games won: 0
Games lost: 12
Draws: 1 (that’s what the official stats say but I don’t remember it!) (Cos it didn't happen - that thrashing we suffered in the trials against Pine Hills was listed as a draw. No wonder we got stuck in this division - Mooselet)
Byes: 2
Forfeits: 1 (That would be the week we had 6 healthy boys - Mooselet)
Points: 5
Points scored: 116
Points scored against us: 342
Position on the ladder: 7th from 7

Not exactly the stats you’d like to see against your name but, them’s the breaks when you play in a division that is a little above your skill level (Thanks a lot QRL!).

Hopefully, next year, we can rid the team of the king of arseholes, Captain Feathersword and his nasty, feral arsehole of a son. Hopefully we will have a coach that is fair to all players and is easily approachable. Hopefully, everything possible crossed, the boys will learn to play as a TEAM and stop bickering and barneying. Then perhaps they’ll start to have a bit of fun with it. It is a GAME after all. It really has been a tough season for all involved, and I, for one, am glad to see it’s flabby arse walk out the door. (Seconded! I want fun match reports again... or any reports again - Mooselet) Next year, as they say, is a fresh slate. Here’s hoping it’s a bit more successful for the boys, the parents and the club.

Hold your heads high though boys, most of you did yourselves proud under difficult circumstances. Perhaps we’ll see you next year, perhaps we won’t (Oh please dodgy Captain Feathersword’s son, please!). Master WTF is still undecided so we’ll see. (Sparky is willing to give it one more year given the changes that have been promised. I hope Master WTF comes back as well - Mooselet)

Thanks to all of you for your continued support on Mooselet Musings. It’s been a chore pleasure :-)

What's That Sound??

I'm up very late, and about to go to bed, when I hear a strange sound on my roof. It's a sound I haven't heard in a long time.

RAIN!!! Not a lot, but it's RAIN. Better still is the forecast for tomorrow (ok, today):

I'm located within the little red circle.

Forecast for Sunday
Rain at times. Moderate to fresh SE winds.

Sure it's the last footy game of the season for Sparky, but it's RAIN! The forecast gets better:

Monday        Rain periods               
Tuesday       Rain periods               
Wednesday     Showers            
Thursday      Showers                    
Friday        Showers                    
Saturday      Showers

Will this signal the beginning to the end of the drought? Oh hell no. Won't do bugger all for the dams, but it's nice to have some on the grass and ease the fire danger a little bit:

Photo from The Courier Mail of a grass fire in Brendale, about a 8 minute drive from my place, on 9 August 2007

OK, I'm really going to bed now...

Saturday Skinfest

I know, miracle of miracles I'm actually posting the Skinfest on Saturday. Someone get a harp, quick. Miss Thing is home from her ski trip and has collapsed into bed, leaving the computer free for a precious few moments. So I thought I'd get to it.

First up is Mark Gasnier from the Dragons. I called him a tosser in tonight's game against the Cowboys, which he is. But he's a beefy tosser:

Up next, the nearly overly muscular bordering on anorexic, at least in this photo, Karmichael Hunt. If the Broncos had his services last night, we may have just beaten those Bulldogs:

For the guys, I give you another picture of the former Miss Australia and Miss Universe Jennifer Hawkins. She's so hot she makes the wombat (or is that a warthog? oh, who cares) look cute:

More skin next week.

Photo Friday

We all have pictures of either our kids or ourselves in this classic pose:

If you're saying no, you're kidding yourself and your parents are just waiting for the right moment to spring it on you. The child featured here, in case you couldn't guess, is Her Majesty aged approximately 16 months.

The Talented Master WTF

Miss WTF's son, whom she refers to as Master 11 but that'd just get too confusing here as Mumfies refers to her son with the same name - it's common in Oz to refer anonymously to ones children as Master/Miss (insert age here) - so I'm dubbing him Master WTF, has put together a couple of stop animation wrestling videos on YouTube:

You can see the others, two early claymations works, here. Stop by and show Master WTF some love with a comment. Now the boy is less than a third of my age and I know I'd never be able to do something like this, so I'm duly impressed.

Shoo

Go away
Give me a chance to miss you
Say goodbye
It'll make me want to kiss you
I love you so
Much more when you're not here

Miss Thing left Saturday afternoon for a week long ski trip with her Year 11 class. I know what you may be thinking - there's skiing in Australia? Yes there is. You may also be thinking why did I let her go after all the grief of the previous week? I've tried the whole denial of privileges thing with her and it's gotten me absolutely nowhere. I wanted a week free of teenaged drama and angst, free of fights between her and Sparky, free of phone calls and text messages needing rides to and fro. I needed to regain some sanity. I dropped her at her school Saturday afternoon after her netball game (lost by 1 point - dammit) for a week with classmates on the slopes of Perisher Blue in Jindabyne, NSW and looked forward to the peace.

The child hasn't left me alone since.

I should be grateful that my teenager wants to talk to me. How many parents out there would love it if their teen wanted to include them in their daily life instead of being constantly shut out and feeling like a mushroom (kept in the dark and feed shit)? Lots, I'm certain. So I feel guilty when I look at the caller ID on my mobile, see that it's my daughter and for a moment I consider not answering it.

I know she has friends - I've seen her MSN contact list and her MySpace page. When my phone rings 95% of the time it's for her. She had to change her mobile phone cap plan because she kept exceeding her limit. So why the need to call me every day? Before the trip I was eager to hear all her stories and see all her photos when she came back. Now? Not as eager - I've heard half of it already.

Is that horrible of me? Is it wrong to want to be left in peace for a few days, especially after The Drama? Should I be grateful instead of being a tiny bit resentful? Am I an awful parent or a normal, if slightly burned out, one? Someone clue me in.

Lyrics "Leave Me Alone (I'm Lonely)" by Pink

Red Tape

I cannot tell you how unhappy I am with the US Consulate right now. I could scream, except it would wake Clive up and then where would I be? Not sitting here, I can tell you that.

It was all so simple back in 2003/04. When I had to register Her Majesty as a US citizen and obtain her passport, I contacted the US Consulate in Syndey (there is no office up in Brisbane) and posted all the forms off to them along with the money order for the cost. A couple of weeks later I received her US Birth Abroad paperwork declaring her a US citizen, and a few weeks after that her passport. If I knew then what I know now, I would've reapplied for new passports for Miss Thing and Sparky.

Fast forward to 2007. In an attempt to make the US a safer place*, it has been decided that all passport renewals for minors must be in person, with both parent(s) and child being seen. Not necessarily for adults, mind you, but for kids. Someone explain that one to me! Then the rules were changed so that applications for US citizenship for children born to US citizens overseas had to be submitted in person by the parent(s). Please remember that 's', it will be important later. Rather than fly my brood to Syndey to get new passports for all and citizenship for Clive I got myself put on the waiting list to be seen when they made one of their "we'll get there when we feel like it" trips to Brisbane. That time is next week and I was rewarded with an appointment.

I gathered all the paperwork, filled out mountains of forms, supplied the original documents as well as the photocopies (guess their photocopier is only used for the really important stuff), got pictures taken and sent the required funds (don't even ask - it was a lot) off to Sydney. This morning I had a voicemail waiting for me when I got home, telling me there was a problem with Sparky's application.

It seems the court order I sent giving me full custody of Miss Thing and Sparky and allowing them to stay in Australia indefinately is not good enough for the US Consulate because it is labeled "Temporary Order". Never mind it states "until further ordered by the court" and that no further order has taken place. Never mind that the court order was good enough for the Australian government to get us permanent residency followed by citizenship just this year. Never mind that their name is not on any State Department watch list disputing custody. There is no issue with Miss Thing because she's 16, but it's not good enough to get Sparky his US passport.

I was advised to go back to the Massachusetts family court and get clarification on how long this order is good for. I guess "until further ordered" just isn't clear enough. I said I wasn't willing to do this - it would take months, not to mention the money it would cost to engage a lawyer to do it. I was asked if I wanted to withdraw Sparky's application and wait until he 14 (in 2009) when this would no longer be an issue. It was tempting to do that, but what if we get the opportunity to go back between now and then? He has to enter the US on a US passport despite having Australian citizenship - we all do, even Clive who doesn't even have US citizenship yet.

So I asked what I needed to get from my ex in order to allow Sparky to get his passport now. You'd think that would've been the first option, but then if you thought that you wouldn't know my ex very well. There are many reasons I refer to him as the Bastard and it would be very much like him to refuse to sign a form to allow his own son to get his passport because it would hurt me. Or simply not get around to it. Or forget. Or allow his disability (he's been diagnosed as bipolar and unable to work since our split) to get in the way of filling out a form. Pick a reason.

But I sucked it up and sent an email with the form attached asking for his assistance. I am the bigger person, after all. The bigger bitch, that is. I'm hoping his wife - the woman he left me for and whom I silently thank for taking him off my hands every time I'm forced to deal with him - will step in and fill the form in, get him to sign it and get it back to me. I won't have it before my appointment, but the Consulate will hold the application for 90 days.

The Consulate agreed to this course of action and said they'd see me and the Hermit next week. Wait! Why does the Hermit have to come? There's no issue of custody with Her Majesty and Clive. I was informed that both custodial and non-custodial parents have to give permission for minors to obtain a passport. OK, I can vaguely see the logic in this but was still annoyed. Couldn't I just have the Hermit fill out the same form as the Bastard? Well, yes but it had to be witnessed by a notary public. What about a Justice of the Peace? A JP was good enough for all our Australian citizenship paperwork, and I happen to know a JP or two who wouldn't charge me 3 figures to do the 2 minute job. Nope - had to be a notary and they are notoriously expensive in Australia, not to mention hard to find. I was ready to pull my hair out when I phoned the Hermit, recently returned to work and only firing on a couple of cylinders after his illness, to tell him to mark off time on his calendar next week.

The US makes life difficult for their citizens who choose to live overseas. I don't expect them to have services in every city, but I do expect that if they want things done in person they'll make it easier for their citizens to see the proper officials. It's the only Western country that makes its citizens file taxes every year even if they don't earn a dime in US income, or any income for that matter. It perpetuates the myth that dual citizenship isn't allowed - you don't know how many times I've answered that question for fellow Yanks living here asking about it, or how many hits my blog gets from people looking into it. Registering to vote in federal elections can be difficult, depending on the state you last lived in.

Someone help - I'm suffocating under red tape!

* This is my own interpretation. I'm sure there's an official explanation about it somewhere, but I call shenanigans.

Trivia Night

It could be that I never got out very much when I was younger, but I don't remember ever hearing of trivia nights that weren't held around someone's kitchen table playing Trivial Pursuit back in the States. Or at least not in New England. But here in Brisbane they're common place. Schools and clubs hold them as fund raisers, and some pubs have them as a regular weekly feature.

So just what is a trivia night? I suppose it could be considered Trivial Pursuit on a mass scale. The ones that I have attended involved a team of 8-10 people, each paying anywhere between $15-20 each, competing for various prizes against other teams answering questions in various categories from sports, music, tv, general knowledge, current events, automotive, books and just about anything else the organizers can think of. Money raised goes to whatever organization is holding the event; I assume pubs that hold free ones look forward to the increase in revenues when they're held. This past Saturday I went to Sparky's footy club trivia night, held at the Broncos Leagues Club (what's a leagues club? That's another post entirely):

This is my third Wests trivia night in four years (I missed last years due to previous commitments) and as always it was a good time. The Hermit, true to his name, stayed at home. Truth be told he's been pretty sick and I felt a tiny bit guilty leaving him with Her Majesty and Clive but the need to get out crushed that guilt pretty quickly. Friend and neighbour Patsy, also in need of a night out despite her daughter's ankle injury earlier that day, joined me, Miss WTF and fellow footy dad Running Man (who was very late owing to family commitments of the "Dad pick me up from work" type, but we were glad he could get out) at our table, along with a couple of good mates of Miss WTF. Because we fell short of the 8-10 team members - this flu is wreaking havoc - we joined forces with another table having the same problems. Mumfies was also there at a neighbouring table, being too cool to sit with us. It was disappointing that more parents from our team didn't show up to support the club, but see the above flu comment.

I came back to the table from selling raffle tickets to raise money for the Miss Junior Rugby League competition Miss Thing had been in to discover our team name had been decided on. Most people are pretty clever, which is why I'm never one to come up with the name. Ours? "Far Canal I Know This". Say it out loud and a little quickly... now you get it!!! Don't we sound like fun?

The questions are read out loud whilst being flashed up on the big screen, and each table is given answer sheets to record their answers. Round 1 was Mug Shots. We were given a sheet with 20 pictures of various famous people - pop stars, politicians (I got Henry Kissinger - it pays to have a Yank at the table), sportsmen, etc. - and had until intermission to get as many as we could. Round 2 was Movies and TV. Being the intelligent folks we were, we chose this as our bonus round (double points) and did pretty well. I think Round 3 was sports - there were a LOT of car questions so I kinda tuned out as my knowledge of cars is limited to which pedal to depress and where to put the fuel. I'd had a couple of drinks by this point, so I honestly can't remember what Round 4 was - general knowledge maybe.

Did I mention that there's a lot of drinking going on at these things? Miss WTF and I had gotten there early so we had a drink at the bar before heading over to the pokies where I won $70. Woot! Then we headed in to the actual event, where we had more drinks. Since I don't drink often it doesn't take much to affect me. One double Smirnoff Black Ice and a Ruski later (I like vodka and my alcopops) things were getting a little fuzzy 'round the edges.

At the end of Round 4 sheets were exchanged with neighbouring tables for marking - just like you did in grade school! We were firmly in the middle of the pack, which wasn't bad for us. I wandered off to peddle more raffle tickets to help pay for Miss Thing's dress, not telling people that the Miss JRL crown had already been rewarded and not to our candidate. While I didn't raise enough to cover all our costs, every bit helps.

I sat back down and knocked back another drink before the start of Round 5, titled "Mind Games". Being a woman I thought I'd be pretty good at this, but it alas it was not to be. The round turned out to be math problems!!! Not just any math problems, but word problems! You know the type - the ones where they mix in symbols and numbers and you need to figure out what numbers they symbols represent. Or if Mary is 80 and her daughter is 39 how many years ago was Mary 3 times her daughters age. I can't do these when I sober, never mind when I've been drinking.

Round 6 was the Observation Round. Again, not so good when the drinks have been flowing freely. Miss WTF was pretty good as this round as she's a veteran of the trivia night and knows what types of questions will be asked. This video was one that was actually shown (WARNING - NAUGHTY LANGUAGE TO FOLLOW):

The question was "How many steps were there leading up to the house?" You went and watched it again, didn't you?

Round 7 called Questions Without A Topic. I have to confess we were able to get some answers courtesy of my Internet enabled mobile phone. Thank you Google! I don't feel bad confessing this as we didn't take any of the prizes on offer, so I merely saved us from embarrassment. Honestly, how else were we supposed to know how many watts are in a horsepower? Round 8 had something to do with audio clues - again, I'm a little fuzzy on the details. I'd had a couple more Ruski's by this point, but I remember arguing with Miss WTF over the title of an Alanis Morrisette song we had to identify.

In the end we didn't win squat as a team but had a good time. We retired back over to the main bar and pokies to continue our fun and so I could clear my head. I had to drive home, after all. I spent a hilarious 15 minutes watching Miss WTF attempt to send a text message to someone on her phone whilst lecturing me on the evils of gambling, losing her train of thought and then starting all over again. Had a nice chat with Running Man about things as he watched the tennis and I sobered up a little more. Won $5 on Keno and again laughed with Miss WTF as she got the guy behind the counter to pick numbers, laughed even more when she chose her lucky number 69 and nearly had to dig my eyes out of the back of my head when the woman next to us loudly declared that when we won the three of us (Miss WTF, Running Man and myself) would go off and perform said number. Miss WTF explained that we weren't together in that biblical kind of way in any pairing, but it came out as "related" which put a whole new spin on it that makes you want to shower. We got odd looks.

I finally got home well after midnight to find everyone had survived in my absence. I missed the text Miss WTF sent to me at 1:34 am that must've taken her 20 minutes to compose as it contained large words like "appreciate". All in all it was a great night - except for the food, of which there wasn't enough - and I'm looking forward to doing it again next year. It's an aspect of Aussie culture that I've fully embraced.

Saturday Skinfest

I keep thinking I should rename this feature the Weekend Skinfest, or the Sunday Skinfest given that I can't seem to manage to get it posted on Saturday. But then I think no, that keeping it the Saturday Skinfest will keep me motivated to get it done before the end of the weekend. And Saturday Skinfest has a better ring to it. So bear with me, I'll get myself organized eventually.

Braith Anasta is one of those players who qualifies for the "next down" rule here on the Skinfest. Personally, I don't find him attractive from the neck up, but I admit his rating goes up when considered from the neck down. I like a little manly chest hair:

I'm not sure why I can't resist posting pictures of Sonny Bill Williams. He's okay from the neck up, so the previous rule doesn't apply. But I hate his team the Bulldogs and personally I think he's a wanker. And yet, I'm drawn like the moth to the flame:

I thought I'd give you boys a taste of what an Aussie beauty queen looks like. Meet Miss Australia and Miss Universe 2004 Jennifer Hawkins:

More skin next week!

Photo Friday

I'm finally starting to feel better. I can at least get some oxygen in through my nose. All this mouth breathing is leaving me really chapped. The Hermit is now very ill, however. His fever has broken but he's been on the couch for the last two days. At least he just wants to be left alone when he's sick - I can do that!

Miss WTF sent me some vintage photos of Brisbane some time back, and with the news that our dams are at record lows (below 17% for those who don't want to read the article) I thought I'd post one to remind us that it will rain again someday and when it does we should enjoy it:

This is, I presume, the Brisbane Flood of 1972. Someone will correct me if I'm wrong. (And I was - imagine that! It was 1974. Thanks all!) It's pretty sad that I think we'd all welcome a devastating flood if it meant we'd get water in the dams.

Thanks

I just want to say thank you to everyone who commented with support and words of wisdom on my previous post concerning the scholastic troubles I'm having with Miss Thing at the moment. It's great to know so many people care about what happens and so many of you reached out to remind me I'm not the first or only parent to go through this.

It's not the fact that she may not be destined for university or college. I've always accepted that while Miss Thing is no dummy she's not headed for Mensa membership anytime soon. If she wants to do something that doesn't require a degree, that's fine. Neither one of my parents had a degree, I have a mere associates degree (although I'm working on the bachelors) and I don't think anyone thinks less of us. I also know plenty of people who have more than one degree and they're still the biggest dickheads to walk the planet. My problem is the thought that she may not complete high school. I consider completing high school a pretty basic and needed accomplishment and the fact that it's in jeopardy is what has my knickers in a knot. I don't think I'm being unreasonable or elitist in that line of thinking.

And I know that there are many parents out there who would wish they had my problem to deal with. There are so many worse things she could be into, far greater troubles than the possibility of failing high school that I should count my blessings. Believe me I do - it's what has gotten me through all the previous years of difficulty with my high maintenance first born. But those reassurances can sometimes wear a little thin, which is what happened Monday afternoon. My defences were down and for a while I just didn't care that there are worse things that can happen - what was happening now wasn't trivial. It still isn't, but it's slowly gaining it's proper perspective.

So thanks to everyone, especially Jeff and Charli who shared their own difficult times with their son. I will post an update in a couple of weeks once Miss Thing has had her appointment with the guidance counsellor. Until then, on with the show.

At the End

Two things have conspired to send me swinging at the end of my proverbial rope. One was fairly minor in the scheme of things whilst the other is pretty major and is still not resolved.

First the minor one. I don't think it would've upset me so much if I was feeling better - which I'm not. Damn this flu. Anyway, there was a story in the Sunday Mail (our local rag paper) that the Hermit felt compelled to point out to me over dinner.

"I don't know what you're complaining about. This woman here has 9 kids, another on the way plus she goes to university and works."

I glared at him over my rice. "You don't like your testicles very much, do you?" Luckily for him he was joking about my "complaining" and I knew it. Unfortunately after dinner I read the article for myself and felt completely inadequate.

What have I been bitching about? Why can't I manage to get anything done when this woman has more balls in the air than can be found in a rugby league change room? Sure she doesn't go to bed til midnight sometimes, and she's up at 4:30 in the morning to share a cup of coffee with her husband before starting her day, but so what? She's just doing what needs to be done. Why can't I do that? Why do I have problems just taking a shower some days? There's obviously something wrong with me, I thought miserably.

Normally I'd get over myself pretty quickly, but this time I just couldn't. As I said, I'm pretty run down. Then came the knock out blow yesterday. I received a phone call from Miss Thing's school. Report cards for last semester have been pretty slow in coming out but they wanted to know if I was free the next day, Tuesday evening, for an appointment with one of the guidance counsellors. A feeling of dread began to creep up on me. How much strife was Miss Thing in?

"Well, according to the report I have in front of me, she's failing 4 subjects." Four subjects, out of six total. She's not taking astrophysics or anything like that. She taking fairly basic subjects, with the one truly difficult class being philosophy. As my father would have put it, she was failing Basket Weaving 101.

Needless to say, I was devastated. My state of mind was not eased when I got her print out that afternoon. She was getting a 2, or in the old style a 'D', in basic math, physical education, modern history and philosophy. With the new standards here in Queensland, a 3 or a 'C' is the minimum passing grade. Her efforts were labelled 'satisfactory' but with the underlying theme of 'if she were to put in more effort, she'd pass' in the teacher's comments.

I've never had a feeling of such defeat before, of wanting to give up, like I had that night. I've had more talks than I could possibly remember with Miss Thing about her grades, about her need to work harder than others may have to just to get a satisfactory grade, about how this year, Year 11, would be so difficult yet so crucial. She would really need to buckle down, to take responsibility for her studies. Her future was in her hands. She swore that she understood, that she was ready and that she wouldn't let me down.

And then she went and did the opposite of everything we talked about. Blamed her teachers, her school, her lack of support, me and the Hermit for her problems. She didn't spend as much time on MSN and MySpace as I thought. Her work in class was good but teachers gave too much weight to exams. I was putting too much pressure on her. I wasn't supporting her enough.

I spoke with the guidance counsellor tonight and got another shock when I was told unless her grades made it up to that magical 3/C point she could be asked to leave school next year. The counsellor offered to make an appointment for Miss Thing to help her work on a study plan, an offer I gratefully accepted. What else could I do for her, I asked? Where had I gone wrong?

She was a nice woman, telling me that I had done all I could. Teenagers think they know everything, and Miss Thing was no different. She needed to take the responsibility for her own grades, but the school wanted to help her get back on track before it was too late. And it wasn't too late. Even if she were to fail, there were other paths to university she could take if that's what she wanted. Keep positive, be supportive.

I left feeling only slightly better but still unconvinced it was all going to be okay. That was reinforced when I got home and told Miss Thing about her appointment and the plan. What good were study plans? What difference would more study time make? It was too much pressure - didn't I think she felt bad she was failing? I got tears and drama and shouting - more of the same really.

I'm not certain where it all went to shit. I've done the best I know how to do by my children and then this happens. It has the effect of making one feel like your best isn't good enough, that no matter what advantages you try and give your children if they don't want to take it then they won't. I find myself envying parents whose kids don't need to be browbeaten into studying, into responsibility. In the past I've comforted myself with the knowledge that Miss Thing is, at heart, a good kid. Right now, that knowledge isn't helping me. My daughter is poised on the edge and I don't know how to help her make the decisions that will keep her from going off it.

This is cosmic payback for what I put my own parents through when I dropped out of college to marry the Bastard when I was 20. I can truly appreciate how they must've felt and I'm horrified with myself now for putting them through that.

So now it's fast approaching midnight. During the writing of this I've soothed Her Majesty back to sleep as she continues to sniffle and cough her way through sickness, settled Clive who was awoken by all the coughing and thanked God that at least Sparky is away on school camp so I have one less drama to deal with. I'm trying to regain my equilibrium and my sense of optimism that led the Hermit to nickname me Miss Happy when we first met but I haven't had much success. I can sense rather than see my black dog sniffing around the edges of my existence and I don't want him settling on the stoop; I've dealt with him enough over the past 12 years to know he's tough to get rid of.

Saturday Skinfest

The worst thing about this flu is not just how it makes me feel physically - which is like I've been hit by a bus - but mentally. I've been in a rotten mood since yesterday and I know it's because I'm so run down. I'm trying desperately to remain my usual optimistic happy self but I'm losing the battle. I'm grumpy, snappy, dour and just a bitch. I don't like being this way, or at least not for as long as I have. So I'd best start feeling better soon or else I'll drive my family to tears.

Not even wins by two Queensland teams, the Cowboys and the Titans, could make me feel better. Probably because I tipped against both of them because they've sucked eggs lately. Still, I feel guilty now and so this weeks Skinfest will feature the captains of said teams. First up, Johnathan Thurston. I've always said it's from the neck down that matters on the Skinfest, not the neck up:

Next we have Gold Coast captain Scottie "Too Hottie" Prince:

Mitch McDad, daddyblogger and unwilling celibate husband extraordinaire, had a birthday this past week. Since I gave Harmonica Man his very own picture on his birthday I thought it was only fair I do the same for Mitch. He requested someone with "personality". How about Denver Broncos cheerleader Lindsay McBride, who would invite television personality Oprah Winfrey and Mötley Crüe bassist Nikki Sixx to dinner? Oh and she's got big boobs too:

More skin next week!

Photo Friday

When I went to Miss Thing's competition last weekend, it meant that Clive and Her Majesty stayed home with the Hermit. For the record, it was the Hermit who declined the chance to go out thereby earning him a night in with the ankle biters. Here's what Mamma's Boy Clive thought about the whole deal:

Photos Updated

I've finally updated the Miss JRL photo album, adding the pictures Miss WTF sent through a few days ago. Here's a taste:

You can see the rest here, if you're so inclined.

We're all still pretty crook. Sparky keeps losing hearing when his congestion gets so bad it backs up into his ears, Her Majesty has another fever, Clive is cranky as ever (but sleeping better - silver lining and all that), the Hermit missed a day of work this week (this is the man who went to work the day after both his knee arthroscopies), Miss Thing is leaving a trail of tissue wherever she goes and I have the feeling that I'm suffocating unless I take copious doses of Sudafed and nasal spray. This is the worst flu to hit Brisbane in 6 years; Sparky's footy team has had to forfeit their game this weekend as they just don't have enough healthy boys.

So until we start on the road to recovery, posting may be sparse. But I promise I'll have the Skinfest up this weekend - that should help make me feel better.