<?xml version='1.0' encoding='UTF-8'?><?xml-stylesheet href="http://www.blogger.com/styles/atom.css" type="text/css"?><feed xmlns='http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom' xmlns:openSearch='http://a9.com/-/spec/opensearchrss/1.0/' xmlns:georss='http://www.georss.org/georss' xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6995633351744775430</id><updated>2012-02-16T04:03:36.954-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Thoughts and Wonderings ...</title><subtitle type='html'>Things on my mind.  Things I notice in the media.  Things I'd like to be on others minds.</subtitle><link rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://georgiasthinkingblog.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6995633351744775430/posts/default?max-results=100'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://georgiasthinkingblog.blogspot.com/'/><link rel='hub' href='http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/'/><author><name>George</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><generator version='7.00' uri='http://www.blogger.com'>Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>24</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>100</openSearch:itemsPerPage><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6995633351744775430.post-4706233529892554604</id><published>2010-01-25T18:24:00.001-08:00</published><updated>2010-01-28T15:33:00.484-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Australia Day</title><content type='html'>Quote of the day (Will): &lt;em&gt;Can somebody stand behind me? Quick, I've gotta fart and I don't want to waste it.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;There are milestones all around today.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I have been noticing for a while that Euey is a child now. Not a baby. Not a toddler. A child. A boy. In fact, a boy who is off to kinder this year and school next year. Today though, it really hit home that they have both hit that stage. They can now both play like kids, take direction and are really helpful. Finn seems like such a little tiny baby in comparison (especially now, as he sleeps off his nasty head cold, sucking his thumb).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Will is outside cooking an Aussie Day barbie - this is a skill he has mastered as of today, which is an excellent milestone to mark his one year anniversary as an Australian citizen. &lt;em&gt;I love it. I love being in charge of my kingdom&lt;/em&gt;, he says. In a complete turn around, I am inside, cooking the potatos.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Will has been sending the kids in with requests and comments - ask Mummy for a plate; give this (small burger bit) to Mummy and tell her it's a starter. In they both came, dutifully handing over the burger and stating quite seriously I&lt;em&gt;t's a starter&lt;/em&gt;. They're not just repeating what they're told either, this new grown-up-ness comes with answers that I can't really argue with. About 10 mins after coming in and grabbing a '&lt;em&gt;couple of forks'&lt;/em&gt; (which was actually three because he needed '&lt;em&gt;one for each of us&lt;/em&gt;'), Euey was back, getting two more forks. I asked how come all the forks kept disapearing outisde and he replied: &lt;em&gt;Cause Aoife lost hers and I lost mine so we're getting each other another one.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I have to go, the meat is done and the kids are eating it all!&lt;br /&gt;Ahh, I feel so Australian. Lamb on the barbie. Cooked by the man. Salad by the woman (that would be me). All we need now are lamingtons and pav for dessert.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6995633351744775430-4706233529892554604?l=georgiasthinkingblog.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://georgiasthinkingblog.blogspot.com/feeds/4706233529892554604/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6995633351744775430&amp;postID=4706233529892554604' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6995633351744775430/posts/default/4706233529892554604'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6995633351744775430/posts/default/4706233529892554604'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://georgiasthinkingblog.blogspot.com/2010/01/australia-day.html' title='Australia Day'/><author><name>George</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6995633351744775430.post-6394428238394634627</id><published>2010-01-17T03:00:00.001-08:00</published><updated>2010-01-17T03:28:22.077-08:00</updated><title type='text'>The 80s</title><content type='html'>I feel a little like I'm in a time warp.  It is 2010 right?  Read on if you were pre-teen in the 80s ...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I have discovered, along the way, that fashion goes in cycles.  I first took note of this sometime in late high school.  I heard Mum asking Charlie if she wanted a maroon woolen striped jumper (very 70s) and Charlie's &lt;em&gt;NO!  That's hideous&lt;/em&gt;.  Then Mum's knowing reply: &lt;em&gt;Well, I'll just put it away, obviously a bit early&lt;/em&gt;.  About 6 months later Charlie sidled up to Mum's bedroom ... &lt;em&gt;Mum, you know that maroon fitted jumper, did you happen to keep it?&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So I get it.  I understand that, hideous though they were (and still are in my opinion) ra-ra skirts, high waists with big belts, skinny jeans (ok, not so bad on the right person), side pony-tails (side pony-tails, really??) - basically everything 80s except shoulder pads  - are all back.  Hideous but comprehensible. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;What I didn't expect was that television shows apparently also have fashion cycles.  My kids are now watching (and loving) Inspector Gadget ('Spector Gadgek'), Scooby Doo, The Care Bears and ... leave the best 'til last - The Mysterious Cities of Gold!  Awesome.  No more computer games barely disguised as tv.  No more killing sprees.  No more ahh-ya, dinky-donk what-the-hell-are-they-talking-about bullshit shows.  Back to the basics.  Now all I need to find on good ol' Foxtel is Mr Squiggle and I'll be in tv heaven!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6995633351744775430-6394428238394634627?l=georgiasthinkingblog.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://georgiasthinkingblog.blogspot.com/feeds/6394428238394634627/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6995633351744775430&amp;postID=6394428238394634627' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6995633351744775430/posts/default/6394428238394634627'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6995633351744775430/posts/default/6394428238394634627'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://georgiasthinkingblog.blogspot.com/2010/01/80s.html' title='The 80s'/><author><name>George</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6995633351744775430.post-4298266807331637381</id><published>2009-08-09T06:10:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-08-09T06:12:40.590-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Doer</title><content type='html'>I have a vegetable garden.  It has a wooden border that we can take with us when we move (yes, this is likely in the near future, we have to get near a good school for the kids).  It will grow for us spinich, silverbeet, rocket, leeks and snowpeas.  I am hoping it will teach the kids to love greens.  Is that wishful thinking?&lt;br /&gt;Pics soon. (I promise.  I'm a doer remember!)&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6995633351744775430-4298266807331637381?l=georgiasthinkingblog.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://georgiasthinkingblog.blogspot.com/feeds/4298266807331637381/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6995633351744775430&amp;postID=4298266807331637381' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6995633351744775430/posts/default/4298266807331637381'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6995633351744775430/posts/default/4298266807331637381'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://georgiasthinkingblog.blogspot.com/2009/08/doer.html' title='Doer'/><author><name>George</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6995633351744775430.post-73609491605304440</id><published>2009-07-14T19:29:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-07-14T19:40:37.054-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Not a doer</title><content type='html'>I'm wondering if I'm a Gana not a Doer or if I really do just have a severe shortage of time in my life.  I have fantastic ideas.  Big projects I'd love to do, even small projects I'd love to do but never seem to have the time for.  I'm hoping, if I write them here, at least I won't forget them when I do have time to do them.  Or, if I never find the time, at least I won't forget I had the idea.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;ul&gt;&lt;li&gt;Organise a street party to get to know the neighbours.  After a few attempts at conversation with the next door neighbour (who has three kids similar to ours in age) that were completely shot down, I figure I better stretch my horizons a little.&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;Organise the Heidelberg West community to rally and support the re-building of a new playground that was burnt down only months after completion. (Yep, this is a Big Project.  I have no idea where to start with this one.)&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;Plant a vegie garden with the kids.  This is one I will definately do when we own our own house, but really, what's stopping me from doing it now?&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;De-clutter the house.  I have started this project, but I think it may be a work in progress for the rest of my life.&lt;/li&gt;&lt;/ul&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6995633351744775430-73609491605304440?l=georgiasthinkingblog.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://georgiasthinkingblog.blogspot.com/feeds/73609491605304440/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6995633351744775430&amp;postID=73609491605304440' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6995633351744775430/posts/default/73609491605304440'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6995633351744775430/posts/default/73609491605304440'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://georgiasthinkingblog.blogspot.com/2009/07/not-doer.html' title='Not a doer'/><author><name>George</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6995633351744775430.post-4148874949934106616</id><published>2008-06-03T16:21:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-06-03T16:26:22.074-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Media Callousness</title><content type='html'>There are some images that are inherently private.  Everyone knows that, right?  Apparently the media do not.  Lately there have been so many examples on Australian tv that I am starting to think we need a movement.  The public need to rise up and shout &lt;em&gt;No, we do not need to know everything!  Do not invade our privacy in the name of ‘news’&lt;/em&gt;.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The pictures I’ve seen have mostly been of grief. &lt;br /&gt;China: relatives on their knees having just been informed that their family members, though alive, were trapped in buildings too dangerous to enter, so the search was being called off.  The picture cut from the women before they were told, already showing signs of distaste at being filmed, to the same women after the news, in total shock and attempting to hide their grief from the camera. &lt;br /&gt;Australia: victim of a horrific boat accident grieving the loss of his friends while being carried off to an ambulance. &lt;br /&gt;These people did not ask to be on tv.  It was obvious (by their hands covering their faces) that they did not want to be on tv at a moment like that.  Exactly how does it aid the public’s understanding of disaster scenes to witness such invasions of privacy?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The latest episode was not as graphic, there were no pictures, but it was equally heartless and unnecessary.  This morning on Sunrise, a current affairs breakfast show, there was a discussion about reports that Angelina Jolie has had her twins.  So-and-so entertainment news in the US is reporting she has, this-n-that other entertainment news reporting she hasn’t, you get the picture.  Toward the end of the segment the presenter mentions Jolie’s due date was announced as August, then laughingly says ‘I guess we’ll have to wait for the million dollar photos to be sure’.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;August.  That’s right, they were having a light-hearted discussion about whether a Mother had just given birth to twins 2 months prematurely.  Without even a mention that this may be a complete disaster for the twins and their family.  No consideration that if those ‘reports’, that apparently provided for such an entertaining debate, were true then there is no guarantee the twins will live, let alone live healthy non-hospitalised lives.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I complained.  By email and by phone.  I hope more people disgusted by such callousness will complain.  Maybe then the media will get the idea that the public doesn’t have a right, or a desire, to know everything.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6995633351744775430-4148874949934106616?l=georgiasthinkingblog.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://georgiasthinkingblog.blogspot.com/feeds/4148874949934106616/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6995633351744775430&amp;postID=4148874949934106616' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6995633351744775430/posts/default/4148874949934106616'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6995633351744775430/posts/default/4148874949934106616'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://georgiasthinkingblog.blogspot.com/2008/06/media-callousness.html' title='Media Callousness'/><author><name>George</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6995633351744775430.post-19489689658632974</id><published>2008-02-01T02:51:00.001-08:00</published><updated>2008-02-01T03:21:20.292-08:00</updated><title type='text'>New Year Resolutions</title><content type='html'>&lt;p&gt;Hmm. I think there are too many things in my life. I am a collector. A collector of things and of things to do. The things make for clutter (and many many full shoeboxes) and the things to do, I'm coming to the realisation, make for nothing done that well. A Jack of all trades, master of none, that's me. I realise this every time I read &lt;a href="http://www.cribchronicles.com/"&gt;bon's blog&lt;/a&gt;. Not only does she write prolifically, but it's always interesting, thought provoking and often heart wrenching. Writing is what Bonnies do betht you might say (but you might be wrong, 'cause I'm betting she's also pretty good at Mummying, Wifeying and I know she's great at Teaching). Anyway, I digress. Back to me. I do many things, none of which I ever seem to have time for. What I've been trying to figure out is why I never have time for them. Is it because there are lots of them or is it because I'm useless at time management? Do I waste time? I think, truthfully, the tv wastes a lot of it for me. I don't turn it on, but once it's on I seem to have a real problem not watching it. Even if it is something as stupid as Next Top Model.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So because I never seem to have enough time I feel I don't do anything well enough. I don't write enough posts. The posts I do write are usually just a couple of tidbits of Eulish or a whole heap of photos. I do okay at the keeping-track-of-the-kids side of things, but the producing-thought-provoking-pieces-of-writing bit lets me down. I must say, I think more reading would help on this side of things, but again, more reading is something I don't seem to have enough time for. Mostly I read the Bulletin on the toilet, but seeing as that &lt;a href="http://news.ninemsn.com.au/article.aspx?id=108987"&gt;Australian Institution &lt;/a&gt;has shut up shop I may be doomed to complete ignorance of the world outside &lt;a href="http://www.whereis.com/whereis/getMap.do?nref=homeMap"&gt;Bundoora&lt;/a&gt;. Which leads me to another thing I don't do so well, keep up with current affairs. This one I can not blame entirely on not enough time. It has always been something I forced myself to pay attention to rather than was actively interested in.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;There are numerous other 'things to do': scrap booking the family photos (Euey's album, Aoife's album and the family album, plus keeping all the digital photos in some sort of organised manner); creating and updating family trees for both my sides of the family and Will's side and putting them on the family website I created (currently missing large branches); correspondence with numerous friends in far away lands (also not so up-to-date); keeping baby books for both kids; researching potential jobs for when I finally finish this damn law degree; researching potential areas of interest for a potential honours thesis; sewing; facebook; and lots of little organising things that will hopefully give me more time to do the other things but often just end up eating away at the time I have got.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So. What to do? I don't want to stop doing any of these things. And besides, I have done this all my life, this doing of too many things. So I need to figure out where I'm wasting time and stop doing it. Tv is the obvious answer. If anyone has any ideas on how not to watch a tv when it's on (that don't involve turning it off or defenestrating it) they would be greatly appreciated.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So, does not wasting time end up on my list of New Year Resolutions? Nope. You see, I have never made resolutions before. I always thought they are just promises you make to yourself and then end up breaking, so I didn't bother making them in the first place. This year I decided I would make two small, simple, doable resolutions. Not wasting time, when you don't know where you're wasting it, or even if you are, is not a small or simple resolution, so this is what I resolved:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;1. Do the dishes before I go to bed.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;2. Write more snail mail (it's fun to receive, much more personal and the kids can help)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt; So far I'm doing well on both counts. I've done the dishes every night (and WOW does it make a difference to my mornings) and I've sent 4 letters. Although I'm not sure either will help with my lack of time problem.&lt;br /&gt; &lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6995633351744775430-19489689658632974?l=georgiasthinkingblog.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://georgiasthinkingblog.blogspot.com/feeds/19489689658632974/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6995633351744775430&amp;postID=19489689658632974' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6995633351744775430/posts/default/19489689658632974'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6995633351744775430/posts/default/19489689658632974'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://georgiasthinkingblog.blogspot.com/2008/02/new-year-resolutions.html' title='New Year Resolutions'/><author><name>George</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6995633351744775430.post-7314740297864413189</id><published>2007-12-14T04:39:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2007-12-14T05:27:32.717-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Chrissy Questions</title><content type='html'>&lt;p&gt;&lt;span style="color:#006600;"&gt;I've been working.  Yep. And loving it.  But it doesn't leave much time for much else (especially after the washing, dishes, lunch making etc).  So I have just read the couple of blogs I try to keep in touch with and came across this list of questions on &lt;/span&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.daffado.blogspot.com/"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#006600;"&gt;Catha's&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="color:#006600;"&gt; blog.  Sounds like fun.  I am a HUGE Christmas fan.  The antithesis of Scrooge.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#990000;"&gt;1. Egg Nog or Hot Chocolate? &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;span style="color:#006600;"&gt;Ahh. Questions written by a Nth American I see.   A good cold beer for me thanks (or some of Cath's Dad's punch if I'm lucky enough ... and brave enough ... and not breastfeeding).&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#990000;"&gt;2. Does Santa wrap presents or just sit them under the tree?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;span style="color:#006600;"&gt;Puts them unwrapped in the Santa Sack.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#990000;"&gt;3. Coloured lights on tree/house or white?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;span style="color:#006600;"&gt;Lights on house for the first time this year.  I've always wanted to do it but couldn't be bothered rigging up the electricity.  This time, as I pulled the lights out I tripped over an extension cord, so up went the lights on the varandah.  Oh yeah, they're coloured.  And the ones on the tree flash differently when you press the button, and they're coloured too.  And the ones over the door are white and the other ones are white but have little Santa covers on them (does that count as white or coloured?  What a weird thing to ask anyway?  Do people have a real preference on such things?).&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#990000;"&gt;4. Do you hang mistletoe?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;span style="color:#009900;"&gt;Wouldn't even know where to get some.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#990000;"&gt;5. When do you put your decorations up?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;span style="color:#006600;"&gt;Not before December, but as soon as December starts I start gathering my thoughts and trying to find a tree.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#990000;"&gt;6. What is your favourite holiday dish? &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;span style="color:#006600;"&gt;Ham.  The ham that you can only buy around Xmas.  Cold ham on the bone.  I have already bought and eaten my first leg of ham this year.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt; &lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#990000;"&gt;7. Favourite Holiday memory?&lt;/span&gt; &lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;span style="color:#006600;"&gt;My memory sucks. I love holidays while they last though!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#990000;"&gt;8. When and how did you learn the truth about Santa? &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;span style="color:#006600;"&gt;I have a vague memory of being in Mum and Dad's bathroom when it happened.  Told you my memory sucked.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#990000;"&gt;9. Do you open a gift on Christmas Eve? &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;span style="color:#006600;"&gt;No.  Of course not.  What a question.  Is Christmas Eve Christmas? No!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#990000;"&gt;10. How do you decorate your Christmas Tree?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;span style="color:#006600;"&gt;With balls, lights and tinsel?  How else do you decorate a tree?  This year the balls, lights and tinsel all start about 2 feet off the ground so Aoife can't eat them.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#990000;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;11. Snow! Love it or Dread it?&lt;/strong&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;span style="color:#006600;"&gt;I'm sorry, I just can't rival this answer from Cath so I have to copy/paste it.  I haven't laughed so hard in a while - part in the writing and part in recognition of the picture the writing painted.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;span style="color:#006600;"&gt;never much thought about it at christmas time ("6 white boomers" for me, no "i'm dreaming of a white christmas") until a few years ago when i was in korea for my first potential white christmas. in truth, it ended up being just plain cold. yeah there was snow... but snow isn't as romantic when it's been turned into brown sludge by the traffic and there's some korean dude at the bottom of the hill trying to dig his car out of the ice with his shoe. this year, i'm pretty much dreading it. but i'll be ok... sigh...&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#990000;"&gt;12. Can you ice skate? &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;span style="color:#006600;"&gt;Yep.  Not well.  Not like a Canadian.  Not backwards.  But yep, I can get around and have fun.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#990000;"&gt;13. Do you remember your favourite gift? &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;span style="color:#006600;"&gt;Refer above.  I tend to like anything that's wrapped up and a surprise so there's been lots of favourites.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#990000;"&gt;14. What's the most important thing about Christmas? &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;span style="color:#006600;"&gt;Family. (Presents are a  very close second).&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#990000;"&gt;15. What is your favourite Holiday Dessert? &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;span style="color:#006600;"&gt;I used to hate Chrissy Pudding 'til the Christmas I was first pregnant.  That Christmas I hate 3 helpings and I haven't looked back since.  Although, even when I didn't like it I still loved the tradition of putting the sixpences in it.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#990000;"&gt;16. What is your favourite holiday tradition?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;span style="color:#006600;"&gt;Handing out the presents from under the tree.  It was usually me and one or two other of the cousins who did it. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#990000;"&gt;16.5 What is your least favourite holiday tradition? &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;span style="color:#006600;"&gt;Who has a least favourite holiday tradition???  That is just a weird concept.  Everything about holidays is fun, and if it isn't it certainly doesn't become a tradition.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#990000;"&gt;17. What tops your tree? &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;span style="color:#006600;"&gt; This year it's a really funky reindeer.  Usually it's some dodgy handmade vague star-shaped affair.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#990000;"&gt;18. Which do you prefer giving or receiving? &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;span style="color:#006600;"&gt;Both.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#990000;"&gt;19. Favourite Christmas Song?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;span style="color:#006600;"&gt;There's one floating around on YouTube about a Holden Ute to the tune of Dashing through the snow.  I'm not a fan of Christmas music on the whole, but that one is gold.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;span style="color:#006600;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt; &lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;P.S.  Will has just located the song and informed me it's to the tune of Jingle Bells, which happens to usually have 'Dashing through the snow' as a first line - told you I wasn't really big on Christmas music.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6995633351744775430-7314740297864413189?l=georgiasthinkingblog.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://georgiasthinkingblog.blogspot.com/feeds/7314740297864413189/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6995633351744775430&amp;postID=7314740297864413189' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6995633351744775430/posts/default/7314740297864413189'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6995633351744775430/posts/default/7314740297864413189'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://georgiasthinkingblog.blogspot.com/2007/12/chrissy-questions.html' title='Chrissy Questions'/><author><name>George</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6995633351744775430.post-5254370398510982962</id><published>2007-11-03T20:49:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-11-03T20:50:27.766-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Sponser Will for Movember</title><content type='html'>As an official Mo Sista I invite you all to click on the widget and sponser my Mo Bro to raise money for Men's depression and cancer.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.movember.com/au/donate/donate-details.php?action=showrego®o=148131&amp;country=au"&gt;&lt;img src="http://static-live.movember.com/assets/images/members/widgets/widget_sistas_final.png" alt="Movember - Sponsor Me" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6995633351744775430-5254370398510982962?l=georgiasthinkingblog.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://georgiasthinkingblog.blogspot.com/feeds/5254370398510982962/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6995633351744775430&amp;postID=5254370398510982962' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6995633351744775430/posts/default/5254370398510982962'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6995633351744775430/posts/default/5254370398510982962'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://georgiasthinkingblog.blogspot.com/2007/11/sponser-will-for-movember.html' title='Sponser Will for Movember'/><author><name>George</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6995633351744775430.post-7587740655319633170</id><published>2007-09-18T05:20:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2007-09-18T06:09:15.772-07:00</updated><title type='text'>City v Country</title><content type='html'>I grew up in the country. I spent afternoons after school in the orchard. My first job was driving the &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;ute&lt;/span&gt; from tree to tree as we picked the pears in the small orchard (the one at home was small enough so we didn't bother employing pickers, the main orchard was 2 miles down the road). I was eight. I crashed the &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;ute&lt;/span&gt; into a tree because I was driving so slowly and such a short distance that the instructions didn't place much emphasis on the brake. I was shown the &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;accelerator&lt;/span&gt;, told how to slowly let off the clutch then told to put my foot on the clutch and take it off the accelerator when I wanted to stop. I'm sure I was told where the brake was, but my memory is of taking my foot off the accelerator and wondering why the car kept rolling slowly into the tree.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The car crashing is just one of many memories I'm sure I wouldn't have if I grew up in the city. This is my dilemma. I really want the kids to grow up in the country. So does Will. But I have to wonder if the childhood I had can be got for my kids. Is it still possible to drive around with a few kids, a dog and a whole heap of &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3"&gt;yabby&lt;/span&gt; nets in the back of the &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4"&gt;ute&lt;/span&gt;? Or get pulled down the road on your &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5"&gt;roller skates&lt;/span&gt; by the dog (a road where the the speed limit is 100 k/hr and that's considered a minimum). Or ride your bike 6 miles home when you're in Primary School? I think not.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;However I think new laws and changing social norms are not the real things stopping my babies having the childhood I had. It is the lack of two things: my grandfather and a farm.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Without a farm you couldn't learn to drive at 8. You couldn't make 'drag tracks' for the 4-wheeler motorbikes. You would have nowhere to pull people around on skateboards without wheels behind those motorbikes. You couldn't drive a tractor. You couldn't earn your &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6"&gt;pocket money&lt;/span&gt; putting &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7"&gt;pheromone&lt;/span&gt; sticks on trees or counting C&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8"&gt;odling&lt;/span&gt; Moths. There would be no Italian farmhand to share his salami sandwiches with you. You would have no idea how hard, or how fun it is to wrestle a sheep to the ground. Or how cool it is to see a lamb be born. Or how stinky insides of sheep become when they're left in the sun.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Without a man like my grandfather you would be unlikely to find yourself waist deep in a drained dam catching big fish by hand. Or careering round a bend in the back of the &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_9"&gt;ute&lt;/span&gt; at some speed that's &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_10"&gt;waaay&lt;/span&gt; too fast. Or going to pick Prickly Pears from the local Cactus Pear trees. Or being called Lucky, Happy or Shithead rather than your name.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So, is it worth uprooting our family to move to the country? Leaving behind the friends we are slowly gathering because they too have kids? Starting that process of making a network of 'family friends' all over again? Without a farm (I &lt;em&gt;will not&lt;/em&gt; become a farmer) and without Brucie what does the country have to offer?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I guess you don't have to own a farm to eat fruit straight from the tree. You can still go &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_11"&gt;yabbying&lt;/span&gt; in the local channel. If you are country enough you can probably learn to drive at 12 or 14 on the back roads. There's still lots of trees. Lots of places to ride your bike. You still have to have friends over for the whole night 'cause it's too far for them to just stay an hour. Yeah, I guess it will be worth it. Besides, making friends is easier in the country right, cause everyone is friendly!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6995633351744775430-7587740655319633170?l=georgiasthinkingblog.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://georgiasthinkingblog.blogspot.com/feeds/7587740655319633170/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6995633351744775430&amp;postID=7587740655319633170' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6995633351744775430/posts/default/7587740655319633170'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6995633351744775430/posts/default/7587740655319633170'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://georgiasthinkingblog.blogspot.com/2007/09/city-v-country.html' title='City v Country'/><author><name>George</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6995633351744775430.post-6131217968512086586</id><published>2007-08-22T20:06:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-08-22T20:56:07.957-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>So I was reading this article in &lt;a href="http://bulletin.ninemsn.com.au/"&gt;The Bulletin&lt;/a&gt; the other day - well actually it was over about 3 days cause that's how long it takes me to finish anything in the 'leisure that doesn't include kids' category - anyway, the article was about Facebook, and parts of it got me a little mad. Not much, just enough to make me put my two cents out there.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Why is it that people can't accept Internet communication as 'real' communication? Email is snail mail's poor cousin. An ecard is what you send if you haven't got your arse into gear to send a 'real' card. Blogs don't rate as high as newspapers or magazines (although the content is often much more insightful) and Facebook is apparently "as much about obsessing over the dull details of my life as it is about connecting with others". Well here's how I see it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;People choose. People choose which method of communication they use and how often they use it. Online methods are no better or worse. Nor do they have to replace the 'old' methods, they can just be added as options. Personally, I'd rather receive a 'real' card for my birthday so I can put it on the mantelpiece for a week (or 6, depending on when I get around to recycling it!). I do love getting letters, but would rather receive bi-weekly email updates than once-a-month out-of-date snail mail.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;As for Facebook, well as far as I can see, it's just a communication gold-mine. I post photos to keep everyone up-to-date on the kids growth spurts, drop a little line to my close friends every now and then, catch up with cousins I haven't seen in years and just keep an eye on everyone else. What it means to me is information. Knowing what everyone is up to keeps them closer. Having a young family when most of my friends have dogs means that I don't get to see them very often. When I do, I spend most of the time catching up on the 'big' things I've missed (new job, latest dodgy boss story, holiday news) and never get down to the nitty gritty. I don't know what their day-to-day lives are like. I miss that. If all of my friends were on Facebook (many are now) and just posted little updates on their wall every now and then I could read the day-to-day stuff and be able to have 'real' conversation when I do see them.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I am a communicator by nature. I remember nearly all my cousins birthdays and ring or send cards. I keep friends. I am still in contact with people I haven't seen more than once or twice in the last 10 years. My longest friendship has now been running 27 yrs and 7 months - since I was 30 days old. What I love about technology is it makes this possible. It doesn't mean I don't send cards (and even the odd letter) or ring, it just means I also send emails, Facebook messages or have online chats in between the cards, letters and phone calls. It increases and enhances my communication.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Most of all, this instant communication means I get the day-to-day stuff that tells so much about a person. In the spirit of day-to-day stuff I am going to start a Meme (if I've remembered the term correctly). Check it out on &lt;a href="http://www.bubbaupdates.blogspot.com/"&gt;Bubba Updates&lt;/a&gt; and have a go.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6995633351744775430-6131217968512086586?l=georgiasthinkingblog.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://georgiasthinkingblog.blogspot.com/feeds/6131217968512086586/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6995633351744775430&amp;postID=6131217968512086586' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6995633351744775430/posts/default/6131217968512086586'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6995633351744775430/posts/default/6131217968512086586'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://georgiasthinkingblog.blogspot.com/2007/08/so-i-was-reading-this-article-in.html' title=''/><author><name>George</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6995633351744775430.post-2509783941814820310</id><published>2007-07-06T05:42:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-07-06T06:02:24.846-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Gearing Up</title><content type='html'>Get ready everyone.  Or should I say no one?  I'm not sure, but considering how long I've been away and how small my readership was before I went, I may well be writing for no one.  But I will write anyway.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I am gearing up.  Tonight I've looked at my reading list for next semester, which gave me a small heart attack.  $450 worth of books for 2 subjects.  That's a bloody lot of money for a few mashed up trees.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm not sure I'm ready.  Ready for study? Yes.  Ready to put my &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;bubba&lt;/span&gt; in childcare for the first time at a mere tiny weeny little 6 months?  No.  Ready for my little man to go from 1/2 a day in care to 4 1/2 days? No.  I miss them already.  I catch myself picturing leaving them and realise I'm squeezing the life out of them (literally, I have to loosen my hug).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;These feelings don't &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;surprise&lt;/span&gt; me anymore.  Before &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;Euey&lt;/span&gt; was born I thought I could birth him in mid June and return to study the next semester in August when he was 6 weeks old.  When he was 6 weeks old I realised how stupid that thought was.  He was TINY. TINY I tell you.  There was no way I was leaving him - I &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3"&gt;didn&lt;/span&gt;'t care who with, I didn't want to be away from him.  When I left him at childcare for the first time at 6 1/2 months I did very well not to cry.  I hated it.  He was balling when I left and cried when I got there to pick him up (I guess the emotion of having Mummy back was just too much).  Of course he grew to love it, but those first couple of months were really crap.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You see, having kids has confirmed something.  I am first and foremost a Mum.  I would love to stay at home with them 'til the last one went to school.  I wouldn't be bored (all the time).  I wouldn't get frustrated (okay, sometimes).  i would love every minute of it (well, enough of those minutes to make it worthwhile).  But it is not practical.  I have to finish my degree before they decide I've taken too long and boot me out.  I have to get into the workplace so we can stop being a one-income family.  We have stuff we want to do.  Holidays, new cars, buy a house.  Important stuff.  Compromise is a shitty thing I have decided.  We did this kid thing now cause we wanted to.  So I could have more time with the kids cause I was studying.  It worked.  I wouldn't take it back.  I do have more time than if I was at work.  But I it's still a compromise.  I don't have every waking moment with my &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4"&gt;bubbas&lt;/span&gt;.  And that SUCKS ARSE.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;P.S. Get ready for some law-theme thoughts and &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5"&gt;wonderings&lt;/span&gt; as in a few short weeks they will be consuming my every brain cell.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6995633351744775430-2509783941814820310?l=georgiasthinkingblog.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://georgiasthinkingblog.blogspot.com/feeds/2509783941814820310/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6995633351744775430&amp;postID=2509783941814820310' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6995633351744775430/posts/default/2509783941814820310'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6995633351744775430/posts/default/2509783941814820310'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://georgiasthinkingblog.blogspot.com/2007/07/gearing-up.html' title='Gearing Up'/><author><name>George</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6995633351744775430.post-3026458884143320111</id><published>2007-05-12T03:53:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-05-12T04:14:27.992-07:00</updated><title type='text'>What's on your fridge?</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://www.daffado.blogspot.com"&gt;Daffa&lt;/a&gt; posted a few pics of her fridge. She has a theory that your fridge may be the part of your house that gives the biggest insight into your life and person. I think she may be onto something there, so here's my fridge ...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_vF2IU0QJ8uY/RkWeAOykfmI/AAAAAAAAAYI/xqV2mQ50Gbo/s1600-h/DSCF6467.JPG"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5063627082855382626" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_vF2IU0QJ8uY/RkWeAOykfmI/AAAAAAAAAYI/xqV2mQ50Gbo/s320/DSCF6467.JPG" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;Right hand side: Local 'EasterFest' ad ripped out of the local news to remind us to go (we forgot) - held up by one of the magnets from Euey's magndoodle and a magnet outlining immunisation schedule.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_vF2IU0QJ8uY/RkWeA-ykfnI/AAAAAAAAAYQ/TUBAcOzbbmc/s1600-h/DSCF6468.JPG"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5063627095740284530" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_vF2IU0QJ8uY/RkWeA-ykfnI/AAAAAAAAAYQ/TUBAcOzbbmc/s320/DSCF6468.JPG" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p align="center"&gt;Left hand side: More immunisation reminders and shedules, library book receipt to remind me to take them back (they were 3 weeks late when i finally did), timetable of Tiny Tot sessions at local library.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_vF2IU0QJ8uY/RkWeBOykfoI/AAAAAAAAAYY/U8VPlBZFsIM/s1600-h/DSCF6470.JPG"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5063627100035251842" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_vF2IU0QJ8uY/RkWeBOykfoI/AAAAAAAAAYY/U8VPlBZFsIM/s320/DSCF6470.JPG" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt; Front: Writing from when my brother had the fridge while we were in Korea (Tunzafun?!), pictures from the plastic apron I made Euey's high chair cover out of, flyer for local Primary School Fair, picture of us with shaved heads from Thaliand, magnet with timetable of home games of the Melbourne Demons (Australian Football League).&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;Top: The fruit bowl, basket full of medication and other random shit and the Pucca clock from Korea are always there, the other stuff just accumulates (Will's footy magazine, cooler for a baby bottle, packet of re-writable dvds).&lt;/p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I am tagging &lt;a href="http://www.cribchronicles.com"&gt;Bon&lt;/a&gt; for this one as I have heard about a cutsie lunchbox being spotted in one of her photos and I'd love to see if she has any other Korean remnents lurking on her fridge.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6995633351744775430-3026458884143320111?l=georgiasthinkingblog.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://georgiasthinkingblog.blogspot.com/feeds/3026458884143320111/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6995633351744775430&amp;postID=3026458884143320111' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6995633351744775430/posts/default/3026458884143320111'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6995633351744775430/posts/default/3026458884143320111'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://georgiasthinkingblog.blogspot.com/2007/05/whats-on-your-fridge.html' title='What&apos;s on your fridge?'/><author><name>George</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_vF2IU0QJ8uY/RkWeAOykfmI/AAAAAAAAAYI/xqV2mQ50Gbo/s72-c/DSCF6467.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6995633351744775430.post-7671309465172654238</id><published>2007-05-11T04:47:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-05-11T20:45:06.683-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Mother's Day</title><content type='html'>Catching up on the news this evening and a discussion on Mother's Day in &lt;em&gt;The Australian&lt;/em&gt; caught my eye. The original &lt;a href="http://www.theaustralian.news.com.au/story/0,20867,21708556-7583,00.html"&gt;article&lt;/a&gt; claimed that not only mothers mother. That limiting Mothers' Day to mothers hurts women and children. What about nannies, next-door-neighbours and the women who 'get the kids to footy or netball training'? ask the authors. What about children who don't have a mother but want to recognise someone who mothers &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;them, aren't&lt;/span&gt; they included?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://blogs.theaustralian.news.com.au/coverington/index.php/theaustralian/comments/only_mums_mother/"&gt;Caroline Overington&lt;/a&gt; rails against the idea that mothers are no more special to their children than the lady next door.  She says:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;em&gt;Mothers know what mothers are. They are people with a piece of their heart always on fire. They are people who would give up the last scrap of food in a famine; the last drop of water from a tap; the last blanket in a storm. Take their children from them and you will soon find them walking incessantly in circles; pulling holes in their jumpers, tearing hair from their scalp. &lt;/em&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I &lt;em&gt;LOVE&lt;/em&gt; this summation of motherhood. But I think both authors have missed the point.  On Mother's Day, given half a chance, children will recognise whoever they feel is a Mum.  We don't have to artificially broaden the definition of Mum so that every women who goes near a kid is included.  Nor do we have to limit it to just Mums.  It will just happen.  The kid of a single Dad who goes to the lady next door every day after school will give her a kiss on the cheek and a cheeky 'Happy Mother's Day &lt;em&gt;Mum&lt;/em&gt;'.  The kid who's in day care 'cause Mum and Dad have to pay the bills will hug their carer extra hard that day.  Kids everywhere will buy or make cards for Mums, &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;Grandmums&lt;/span&gt;, &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;Stepmums&lt;/span&gt;, Fostermums and whoever else they want.  And this year I will ring Anna, &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3"&gt;Euey's&lt;/span&gt; Good-Mum and he will say '&lt;em&gt;log-&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4"&gt;oo&lt;/span&gt;* Anna&lt;/em&gt;'.  I hope that will become a tradition.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt; log-&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5"&gt;oo&lt;/span&gt; = Love You.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6995633351744775430-7671309465172654238?l=georgiasthinkingblog.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://georgiasthinkingblog.blogspot.com/feeds/7671309465172654238/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6995633351744775430&amp;postID=7671309465172654238' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6995633351744775430/posts/default/7671309465172654238'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6995633351744775430/posts/default/7671309465172654238'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://georgiasthinkingblog.blogspot.com/2007/05/catching-up-on-news-this-evening-and.html' title='Mother&apos;s Day'/><author><name>George</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6995633351744775430.post-8070851776845866518</id><published>2007-04-05T16:25:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-04-05T17:44:16.333-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Bon's interveiw.</title><content type='html'>&lt;em&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;Bon&lt;/span&gt; has kindly invited me to join the interview game.  Thanks &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;Bon&lt;/span&gt;.  And GREAT questions by the way!&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;strong&gt;1. &lt;/strong&gt;you've done a fair bit of moving around and trying new things, and now you're settled back in the homeland. if i told you that you and Will &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;and the&lt;/span&gt; bubs could all move anywhere in the world for a year, all &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3"&gt;expenses paid&lt;/span&gt;...would you uproot again and go? and where would you choose? and why?&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Can I take a few liberties here? Thanks.  I would move you, us and Jen, James &amp; Zoe to England, and the six of us would live for a year together with our &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4"&gt;bubbas&lt;/span&gt;.  The all expenses paid would be extended to your family and theirs and we would all have a year of fun together.  That way the kids could get to know their cousins and some of our closest friends all in one year.  Come to think of it, hang the all expenses thing, why don't we all look for jobs in London and do it anyway?!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;strong&gt;2. &lt;/strong&gt;you have the opportunity to star in a fabulous indie movie and pick &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5"&gt;your romantic&lt;/span&gt; lead...with whom you will then go film on location for a month.who do you choose? what does Will think?&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'd love to star with Jack Nicholson, but really, who wants him as a romantic lead??? Richard &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6"&gt;Gere&lt;/span&gt; would be my pick. Location for a month? I reckon Will would think 'Damn, couldn't she have picked someone cooler? If I'm going to spend a month in this place why couldn't she have picked someone I could talk to?' (You see if this were an ideal world and I was a movie star I wouldn't go on location for a month without Will and the kids. Call it a cop-out, but it's true.)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;strong&gt;3. &lt;/strong&gt;what's the thing you've done in your life that you're most proud of?&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My first thought is the kids. But to be proud of something I've done I must not just do well at it, it must be something that at some stage I wanted to give up. Something so hard that at times I felt like throwing in the towel. Becoming and being a mum is physically hard, emotionally stressful and sometimes just downright difficult, but there has never been a time where I wanted to give it all away. Maybe in the very early days with &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7"&gt;Euey&lt;/span&gt; I would have loved to give him to someone else for a day, but only &lt;em&gt;one&lt;/em&gt; day and I'm sure I wouldn't have been able to stay away the &lt;em&gt;whole&lt;/em&gt; day.&lt;br /&gt;I guess then, it must be law. I am proud of being accepted to study law. I'm proud that I'm getting some good results despite juggling study with kids. I'm proud that I haven't given it up as a bad joke. I'm proud that I've managed not to let the kids suffer. And I'm proud that I've allowed myself to see that I am not letting the kids suffer and that my results are good in the circumstances. I guess I'm proud that I'm allowing myself to be proud.&lt;br /&gt;It was hard at first putting &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8"&gt;Euey&lt;/span&gt; in childcare, and really hard when I had to move him from 3 days to 5 days (although not all day, only 4 or 5 hours). I felt like I wasn't getting enough time to do well at Uni and also wasn't giving &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_9"&gt;Euey&lt;/span&gt; enough of me. It took a long time to get over feeling like I was in the middle of a tug-o-war. I don't get all As, or even all &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_10"&gt;Bs&lt;/span&gt;. It is the first time I've tried my guts out and still got the occasional C. I hate that. I hate Cs. Cs are failure to me. &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_11"&gt;Euey&lt;/span&gt; having his nap and lunch without me and spending enough time in care to develop a great relationship with his carers was, at first, failure to me.&lt;br /&gt;I'm proud that I can let myself accept that if I want to do both I have to lower my standards. And that's &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_12"&gt;ok&lt;/span&gt;. It's not worse, just less. And the less means more in other areas. Studying while I have the kids means I see a lot more of them than if I went back to work. I could wait 'til they were older, then study, then work, but that would mean we live on one income for a lot longer, and that means less 'stuff' and no holidays. Unfortunately stuff is necessary, and besides, I like it. And holidays are necessary or Will would never get to see his family (they live in England). As for the uni marks, well they may not be as good as I want them to be, but by the time I'm looking for a job I will have so much life experience that someone straight out of Uni doesn't have. I think I will be a better prospect for employers because of that. And I won't have to take time out of my career to have babies. You see, there is a positive in every negative, and it is recognising that that makes me proud.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;strong&gt;4. &lt;/strong&gt;has there been a 'road not taken,' along the way, in any sense?something you didn't do that you wish you had?&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I hate to say it, but no. A few things come to mind, only to be discarded straight away. Study law first instead of wasting time with a BA? No, then I probably wouldn't have ended up in Korea, where I met Will, made some really close friends and discovered a love of teaching. Actually study my BA, rather than get pissed every night and just scrape through? No, god no, imagine all the fun I would have missed out on. You see, as trite as it sounds, I like my life (a lot) and anything done differently wouldn't have got me here, right where I am now, where I'm as happy as Larry.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;strong&gt;5. &lt;/strong&gt;paint us a picture of your finished family, if you were an &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_13"&gt;Angelina Jolie&lt;/span&gt;-type and money was no object. how many more kids would you add &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_14"&gt;to your&lt;/span&gt; ideal family? would you birth them all or adopt? if so, from where?what gender(s) would you choose for your next child(&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_15"&gt;ren&lt;/span&gt;) if it were all &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_16"&gt;up to&lt;/span&gt; you?&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Will and I always discussed adopting a child. We worked with some orphans in Korea and through a friend who was an orphan came to understand the lowly place in Korean society that they occupy. Made us want to 'rescue' one. My Dad's response was always 'once you have your own child you won't want anything else'. Now that I do have my own children I see what he means. Looking at the physical features of a tiny &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_17"&gt;bubba&lt;/span&gt; and seeing yourself or your partner is a wonder I still can't get over. But that doesn't mean I don't want to adopt. Maybe. If money was no objection then almost &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_18"&gt;definitely&lt;/span&gt; yes. But only one. I don't think I want more than 4 kids. And I want one more biological child. But does that mean the adopted one would feel left out?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;See &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_19"&gt;Bon&lt;/span&gt; taking away the &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_20"&gt;parameters&lt;/span&gt; in which decisions like this are made just makes it all too difficult. As it stands now we are considering one more child. I don't care whether it's a boy or girl as I have one of each now. The factors that will help us decide are money and time. We would want the 3rd to be spaced the same as &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_21"&gt;Euey&lt;/span&gt; and &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_22"&gt;Aoife&lt;/span&gt;, about 19-20 months. If we are financially secure around the beginning of next year we'll go for it. In an ideal world it wouldn't be a question, the 3rd child would happen. Beyond that I'm not sure. It's too far away from reality for me to be able to decide.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6995633351744775430-8070851776845866518?l=georgiasthinkingblog.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://georgiasthinkingblog.blogspot.com/feeds/8070851776845866518/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6995633351744775430&amp;postID=8070851776845866518' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6995633351744775430/posts/default/8070851776845866518'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6995633351744775430/posts/default/8070851776845866518'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://georgiasthinkingblog.blogspot.com/2007/04/bons-interveiw.html' title='Bon&apos;s interveiw.'/><author><name>George</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6995633351744775430.post-8826810247231420341</id><published>2007-04-05T04:27:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-04-05T06:11:16.550-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Follow up on Mummyblogging</title><content type='html'>Do you know that I can't help but type Mummy with an 'o' every time I type &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;mummyblogging&lt;/span&gt;? Obviously everyone I have read who discusses the notion is from North America. (Just a little aside.)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.cribchronicles.com/"&gt;&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;Bon&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/a&gt; commented this:&lt;br /&gt;'&lt;em&gt;i know you were never a handbag and makeup girl, nor i, but i wasn't sure where you were positioning yourself in the conversation about community after &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;Euey&lt;/span&gt; was born? did you have it? lack it? notice it?&lt;/em&gt;'&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Her comment just reinforced what I already knew. I tried to cram &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3"&gt;waaay&lt;/span&gt; too much into that post. I have been reading about &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4"&gt;Mummyblogging&lt;/span&gt; and it just brings up so many issues for me. All of which I tried to discuss in a few paragraphs. This time I will stick to the question. Thank you &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5"&gt;Bon&lt;/span&gt; for taking me back to high school English, where essays were easy 'cause the teacher gave you a question to answer! I need to remind myself (when I find time to post) that I cannot try to catch up on the whole conversation in one post. As I don't post every day, or even every week, I will have to content myself with discussing part of each issue.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6"&gt;Euey&lt;/span&gt; was born I was the only one of my group of Uni friends to be married or have children. I got married 2 months before he was born (I'll post a photo later, it's kinda funny!) and it was the first wedding of our group. I had no community of parents. Will joined me up to the ABA (&lt;a href="http://www.breastfeeding.asn.au/"&gt;Australian Breastfeeding Association&lt;/a&gt;), which was great for parenting tips, but they were a bit '&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7"&gt;mumsie&lt;/span&gt;'. They had meetings where they made soap and the conversation very rarely strayed from the day-to-day events of parenting. They were a lovely group of women and when I run into them in the supermarket I feel like I'm meeting an old friend, but I didn't have much in common with them.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My community developed from my Mum's group. The Victorian &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8"&gt;Governement&lt;/span&gt; has a great system of 'Maternal and Child Health Centres'. When a new mum leaves hospital the hospital contacts their &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_9"&gt;neares&lt;/span&gt; centre and the centre drops in on the new mum within the first 2 or 3 days. After that you take your baby for check-up appoints every week for awhile then every month 'til they're a year. The centre starts Mums Groups every 6 weeks or so, connecting a small group of first time mums with other mums who have a similar aged baby. We met at the centre once a week for the first 6 weeks, then it was up to us. We were lucky. We all clicked and organised to meet at &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_10"&gt;eachother's&lt;/span&gt; houses every week. We still meet weekly now, nearly 2 years later. I am the only one to have had another baby, but 2 others are pregnant. It is slowly building into what I think will be a life-long friendship group, but we have yet to make the step to meeting as families. The dads still don't know each other well, if at all. That is the next step, and I'm going to try to take it soon (scary for me, making new friends, there is always the fear of rejection, but that is a post for another day).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So that is the background to my in-the-flesh community. To date only one of my close friends has a baby (now 8 weeks old) and she lives in South Australia, an 8 hour drive away. I am becoming close to mum's group. I still see my non-mum friends, although now that &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_11"&gt;Euey&lt;/span&gt; is not content to just sit in a pram while I have coffee it is getting less and less. I hope they start having babies soon before we grow apart. It is one thing to keep living your life with a portable little newborn, but when a toddler is introduced into the mix it's just gets plain hard.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This new online community I have found and am slowly becoming a part of is very different. I am made to think more and feel more involved in this community than with even my oldest friends. I think this comes from two things; shared experience and regularity of contact. My uni friends see each other often. They go swimming together on Saturday mornings, they play netball during the week and they live close to each other. They have evenings free to meet for coffee or go for dinner. When I see them as a group their conversations continue from when they last saw each other a few days ago. They're really interested to hear what I've been up to and I them, but I still feel left out. I leave wishing I could see them more often, be more involved in &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_12"&gt;thier&lt;/span&gt; lives, know what they do each day at work, who they talk to, who shits them and whether they have a reasonable boss.  Work and friendships are the main issues in their life.  Family sometimes seems like the only issue in my life!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I never feel like that in the world of blogging. It is the perfect community for a group of people who need to time their conversations around nap time. I can read half a post, pause to play cars for awhile, come back and the conversation hasn't moved on without me. Then I can finish reading, make lunch, attempt to think and eventually get back a couple of hours later when &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_13"&gt;Euey&lt;/span&gt; has been asleep long enough so I have formulated what I want to say.  Then I can take my time to say it exactly how I want (well, theoretically, actually I just throw it on the page most of the time cause there are a million other things I need to be doing while &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_14"&gt;Euey&lt;/span&gt; is &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_15"&gt;alseep&lt;/span&gt;).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Not only can I talk in my time, but the conversations are about things close to my heart.  Talking about &lt;em&gt;parenting &lt;/em&gt;is different to talking about &lt;em&gt;kids&lt;/em&gt;.  It is not just 'Johnny is talking now and this is the latest amazing thing he said' but 'wow the development of language is really interesting, isn't it?'  Nor is it 'I love being a mum'; rather its 'this is how becoming a mum has shaped me as a person'.  Since I was a &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_16"&gt;pre&lt;/span&gt;-teen I have been working toward being a good parent.  It is what has driven me, what I have been working toward.  My career is a secondary thing.  I love studying law, and I'm sure I'll enjoy being a lawyer but a mum is what I've always wanted to be.  That's what I would have answered in Careers at school if it had been an acceptable answer (women's lib, while I wouldn't change it, has a lot to answer for sometimes).  This is the first community I've found where I can discuss such an important part of my 'thinking' (except with my own mum, with whom I've spent countless hours discussing parenting, and of course with Will).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So that, &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_17"&gt;Bon&lt;/span&gt;, is what I was trying to say about community, and how it relates to &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_18"&gt;mummyblogging&lt;/span&gt;.  &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_19"&gt;Mummyblogging&lt;/span&gt; is important because it provides that community for mummies.  It is not just inane &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_20"&gt;kiddy&lt;/span&gt; bragging because the people who are involved are intelligent, conversation-deprived, &lt;em&gt;thinking&lt;/em&gt; people.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;On the term '&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_21"&gt;mummyblogging&lt;/span&gt;': &lt;br /&gt;I discussed this with my mum, an avid rally-going feminist from the sixties, and she was MAD.  She thought the term &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_22"&gt;mummyblog&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_23"&gt;demeaned&lt;/span&gt; us and &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_24"&gt;lessened&lt;/span&gt; the importance of what we have to say.  If &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_25"&gt;mummyblog&lt;/span&gt; refers to the fact that part of our blogs are devoted to tracking the development of our children, her line of thought is that the term should be &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_26"&gt;kiddyblog&lt;/span&gt;.  Without having thought about it before hand I guess this is the separation I made when I first started my blogs.  I started two.  One for updates on the kids and this one, for me to think and wonder.  I made that separation.  I &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_27"&gt;consciously&lt;/span&gt; sought to give myself an arena where I could talk about things other than the kids.  This was not because I think the &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_28"&gt;kiddy&lt;/span&gt; stuff is not important but because I wanted to force myself out of my comfort zone.  But I am not the one devaluing what mums have to say.  If anyone is I'm sure it's not mums.  The picture I get of those doing the devaluing is of men, probably traditional, 9-5 men.  But that, I think, says more about my own stereotyping than anything else.  When all is said and done I think &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_29"&gt;mummyblogging&lt;/span&gt; refers to content.  &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_30"&gt;Mummybloggers&lt;/span&gt; discuss, from what I've read (and that is not much so please feel free to correct me) issues of parenting, education and family values.  These are all things that a lot of people in society would agree mums are experts on.  I believe that ideas coming out of such blogs on such topics would be taken seriously. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I have always been an optimist though!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6995633351744775430-8826810247231420341?l=georgiasthinkingblog.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://georgiasthinkingblog.blogspot.com/feeds/8826810247231420341/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6995633351744775430&amp;postID=8826810247231420341' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6995633351744775430/posts/default/8826810247231420341'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6995633351744775430/posts/default/8826810247231420341'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://georgiasthinkingblog.blogspot.com/2007/04/follow-up-on-mummyblogging.html' title='Follow up on Mummyblogging'/><author><name>George</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6995633351744775430.post-4742323701459257933</id><published>2007-03-30T04:47:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-03-30T06:24:26.796-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Mixed Bag</title><content type='html'>Mixed bag indeed.  I have many thoughts roaming around in my head.  It's been awhile.  It feels good.  Both kids put themselves to sleep tonight and hubby is off at the football, so I have been on my first real blog exploration. (I just have to add that hubby does not make a habit of heading to the footy and leaving me with the kids, he does waaaay more than his fair share.  We were planning to go as a family, but it's raining - Hallelujah - so I elected to stay home in case we couldn't get seats under cover).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Can I ramble?  Oh so many tangents.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Why hallelujah about the rain?  Because we're in the middle of a drought.  Melbourne is on water restrictions, as is pretty much the rest of Aus land.  And the rain is the good sort, real drenching rain, not the useless drizzle of a normal Melbourne winter.  And it has come three days in a row now.  And it seems to be over the catchment areas.  And my grass is green.  It hasn't been green for many months now; we're not allowed to water it anymore.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Footy, btw is &lt;a href="http://www.afl.com.au/"&gt;Aussie Rules &lt;/a&gt;footy.  Great game. Go the &lt;a href="http://melbournefc.com.au/"&gt;Dees&lt;/a&gt;.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So, where was I?  Oh yes, thoughts.  Thoughts in my head.  This blog land is doing my brain good.  Working it out.  Out of its narrow focus of kids, kids and how the hell am I going to get some vegies into us all today?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I've been delving around some sites, and have to mention a couple I've enjoyed so far.  Mrs Chicken of &lt;a href="http://haloscan.com/tb/lynsalyns/114307857104675199"&gt;Chicken and Cheese&lt;/a&gt; had one I loved.  I think it was a while ago she posted about&lt;br /&gt;'Personal grooming and other thoughts', but being new to this blogging thing I'm not sure.  And now I've closed the window and am not sure I could get there again. &lt;a href="http://gingajoy.blogspot.com/"&gt;Gingajoy&lt;/a&gt; and &lt;a href="http://badladies.blogspot.com/"&gt;Her Bad Mother &lt;/a&gt;are well worth a read and i will definitely be visiting &lt;a href="http://blogrhet.blogspot.com/"&gt;BlogRhet&lt;/a&gt; again to feed my brain and push it into thinking again.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You see, I started this blog on a whim just to see if I could push myself into thinking again.  I started another for friends and family, to update them on the kids, and figured I'd start one just for me as well.  It took me a while to get going, but now I'm on a bit of a role.  I've just had a comment from Gingajoy, someone I've never met, my first stranger-reader.  It feels odd, but strangely welcoming.  Like I am becoming part of the community that I have become aware of through Bon from &lt;a href="http://www.cribchronicles.com/"&gt;cribchronicles&lt;/a&gt; (an actual live friend who I met in S. Korea).  I also feel somewhat embarrassed by my blog address and name.  Compared to many out there I am not really thinking or wondering much or well at this point.  But, that is the point, to get back into the swing of things.  After all, I will return to study next semester (August) and it would be nice not to have to spend the first 3 weeks of semester getting my brain above first gear. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I am off to bed now.  Enough ranting for the moment.  Thank you &lt;a href="http://www.gingajoy.blogspot.com/"&gt;Gingajoy&lt;/a&gt; for your welcome into this (mad) world.  I hope, now that I have discovered it, I have the will power to resist the lure of the computer.  I tend to get stuck on my laptop to the detriment of the kids learning / playing time with me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Night night&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6995633351744775430-4742323701459257933?l=georgiasthinkingblog.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://georgiasthinkingblog.blogspot.com/feeds/4742323701459257933/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6995633351744775430&amp;postID=4742323701459257933' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6995633351744775430/posts/default/4742323701459257933'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6995633351744775430/posts/default/4742323701459257933'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://georgiasthinkingblog.blogspot.com/2007/03/mixed-bag.html' title='Mixed Bag'/><author><name>George</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6995633351744775430.post-7329885482006298427</id><published>2007-03-29T05:26:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-03-29T14:14:44.885-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Mummyblogging</title><content type='html'>It's late. Late means past 10 o'clock these days. I've just dream fed Aoife and would be ready for bed myself if I hadn't been blog browsing and decided I need to add my two cents worth. Maybe just one cent, after all, it &lt;em&gt;is &lt;/em&gt;late.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Mummyblogging. The debate / discussion is summed up really well by gingajoy at &lt;a href="http://blogrhet.blogspot.com/index.html"&gt;BlogRhet&lt;/a&gt; in the title of (I make an assumption here) her post 'Mommyblogging: Communal Activism or Self Centered Blather?'.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Self-centered? No. There is a strong argument that parents lose the ability to be self-centered as they are continually focused on someone else.&lt;br /&gt;Blather? That would assume it's foolish and not useful. Quite the contrary, Mummyblogging provides a wealth of knowledge to the new mum.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My (somewhat jumbled) point is this:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Mummyblogging &lt;em&gt;is&lt;/em&gt; based in &lt;a href="http://blogrhet.blogspot.com/2007/02/mommyblogging-communal-activism-or-self.html"&gt;detailing the daily routines of parenting&lt;/a&gt;. This is because becoming a parent is all-encompasing. It takes over your life. You &lt;em&gt;care&lt;/em&gt; about the details. They are not mundane, each detail is an amazing event. Mummyblogs are a way of sharing the joy in the details with a community that understands and has details to offer.  What's more, the details are amazing. Objectively, not just subjectively. Watching a child &lt;em&gt;learn&lt;/em&gt; is unbelievable. If you watch your children carefully you discover how language develops, you begin to recognise the logical steps of physical development and you &lt;em&gt;learn&lt;/em&gt;. Learn patience, learn how to speak concisely and exactly, learn, above all, how amazing the human race is and why we are at the top of the food chain. To discuss this is not blather.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#990000;"&gt;6:51am the next day ...&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;On the usefullness of mummyblogging:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Having a child changes you. Changes your identity. Or adds a new one. Problem is, that new identity takes over. 'I' becomes 'we'. Handbags become nappy bags. 'I' like being 'we' and we never had a handbag before I had children. I spent a lot of my life waiting to be a parent. I worked towards it like others work towards a career. It did not come as a shock to me. But many women did have handbags. They went to work, they wore make-up, they had an identity that didn't involve kids. Becoming a parent was a shock to them, and in the process of that shock they lost the community they were involved in, the workplace.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;p align="center"&gt;&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_vF2IU0QJ8uY/RgwrDxAd1dI/AAAAAAAAAUg/KLEzF9JKoaU/s1600-h/Hassled+Mum.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5047456626070377938" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_vF2IU0QJ8uY/RgwrDxAd1dI/AAAAAAAAAUg/KLEzF9JKoaU/s200/Hassled+Mum.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;Mummyblogging provides a community for the stay-at-home mum. It allows discussion with other adults. It provokes thought beyond what to put on the kids toast. It is like a conversation you can take up and put down at will. It is exactly what the intelligent stay-at-home mum needs to stop her turning into this:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;p&gt; &lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;...&lt;/p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The communal activism discussion will have to wait. I need to read. To learn more before I blather on about that issue. I think I'll check out what some other mummybloggers have said. :)&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6995633351744775430-7329885482006298427?l=georgiasthinkingblog.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://georgiasthinkingblog.blogspot.com/feeds/7329885482006298427/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6995633351744775430&amp;postID=7329885482006298427' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6995633351744775430/posts/default/7329885482006298427'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6995633351744775430/posts/default/7329885482006298427'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://georgiasthinkingblog.blogspot.com/2007/03/mummyblogging.html' title='Mummyblogging'/><author><name>George</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_vF2IU0QJ8uY/RgwrDxAd1dI/AAAAAAAAAUg/KLEzF9JKoaU/s72-c/Hassled+Mum.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6995633351744775430.post-7201257266072484868</id><published>2007-03-26T18:50:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-03-26T19:04:59.234-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Playing Now</title><content type='html'>Here is the reason I had to mutate the meme.  These are currently the 7 most played songs on my computer:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;1. The wheels on the bus&lt;br /&gt;2. Hokey &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;Pokey&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;3. London Bridge is falling down&lt;br /&gt;4. Row row row your boat&lt;br /&gt;5. Fly away Peter, fly away Paul (I guess that's not technically a song, so ...&lt;br /&gt;5. Five little ducks&lt;br /&gt;6. I'm a little teapot&lt;br /&gt;7. &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;Ging&lt;/span&gt; gang &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;gooly&lt;/span&gt; (&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3"&gt;gooly&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4"&gt;gooly&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5"&gt;gooly&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6"&gt;watsit&lt;/span&gt;)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7"&gt;Euey&lt;/span&gt; loves music.  It seems indiscriminately, except for a slight leaning toward heavy rock or a lone piano.  However, being musically and kinetically challenged I find it difficult to make up actions to go with most songs, so we end up dancing to the kids songs.  This is better than &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8"&gt;Euey&lt;/span&gt; learning to dance like me!!!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6995633351744775430-7201257266072484868?l=georgiasthinkingblog.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://georgiasthinkingblog.blogspot.com/feeds/7201257266072484868/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6995633351744775430&amp;postID=7201257266072484868' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6995633351744775430/posts/default/7201257266072484868'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6995633351744775430/posts/default/7201257266072484868'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://georgiasthinkingblog.blogspot.com/2007/03/playing-now.html' title='Playing Now'/><author><name>George</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6995633351744775430.post-1998836612113405926</id><published>2007-03-26T04:07:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-03-26T05:25:47.093-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Memes</title><content type='html'>I have learnt something new. Something besides how to get a toddler to come when you call (much harder than teaching a dog to come, believe me), or how to exist (not function, just exist) on nowhere near enough sleep. This something is a meme.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.cribchronicles.com/"&gt;&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;Bon&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/a&gt;'s recent discussions on blogs, blogging and all related content has &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;intrigued&lt;/span&gt; me. I have ventured to a few blogs via hers and have been so caught up I've been afraid to do it again. See I am something of a computer addict. It takes up a lot of my time and I have on occasion found myself putting &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;Euey&lt;/span&gt; in front of the &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3"&gt;tv&lt;/span&gt; so I can have some &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4"&gt;Internet&lt;/span&gt; time. This worries me. An hour here or there won't hurt him, but blogs suck me in. I can browse a single blog for hours, and there are at least 20 links just on &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5"&gt;Bon's&lt;/span&gt; site. Each link has that many links and so on until I feel like the man coming from St Ives.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;However, this meme word kept popping up so I decided to do a bit of research. It turns out I am not just blog ignorant, but generally ignorant. Meme is not the blog term I imagined. Adopted by the blogging world I'm sure, but originally the subject of a scientific work by Richard &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6"&gt;Dawkins&lt;/span&gt;. A name I've heard (as have I heard the title of that work, 'The Selfish Gene') but know nothing about.  A meme (according to the ever-accurate &lt;a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Meme"&gt;&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7"&gt;Wikipedia&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/a&gt;) is 'a unit of cultural information'. A &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8"&gt;memeplex&lt;/span&gt; is a group of memes.  As &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_9"&gt;Internet&lt;/span&gt;-happy as I am this is the point I resort to real knowledge and take a trip to the library.  As much as I support the idea of knowledge-sharing (like &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_10"&gt;Wikipeida&lt;/span&gt;) I just don't trust that everyone knows what they're talking about.  I'd rather go to the source.  So I will leave this meme post with a 'to be continued' once I've located and read The Selfish Gene (or at least part of it or I'll never be back).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Before I go I'll leave my 7 songs, which is the meme that inspired this post in the first place.  I have no &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_11"&gt;iPod&lt;/span&gt;.  Will has an &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_12"&gt;mP&lt;/span&gt;3 player but I don't use it.  I have a Korean &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_13"&gt;mP&lt;/span&gt;3 player the software to which I have lost which means it's useless.  My music is mostly in the archaic format of &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_14"&gt;cds&lt;/span&gt; would you believe?  So here are the top 7 songs that shaped me* (in random order, it seemed the only fair way considering the difficulty I will have limiting my list to 7 - which, &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_15"&gt;btw&lt;/span&gt;, is a very random number).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;1. The man who shot Liberty Valance - Gene &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_16"&gt;Pitney&lt;/span&gt;.&lt;br /&gt;2. Crying - Roy Orbison.&lt;br /&gt;3. Papa don't preach - Madonna.&lt;br /&gt;4. Coat of many colours - Dolly &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_17"&gt;Parton&lt;/span&gt;.&lt;br /&gt;5. Man of colours - &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_18"&gt;Icehouse&lt;/span&gt;.&lt;br /&gt;6. The walls came down - Travelling &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_19"&gt;Wilburys&lt;/span&gt;.&lt;br /&gt;7. We are the world - Michael Jackson &amp; Friends.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;* I think, although will get back to you after reading the book, that this is an example of a meme mutating.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6995633351744775430-1998836612113405926?l=georgiasthinkingblog.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://georgiasthinkingblog.blogspot.com/feeds/1998836612113405926/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6995633351744775430&amp;postID=1998836612113405926' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6995633351744775430/posts/default/1998836612113405926'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6995633351744775430/posts/default/1998836612113405926'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://georgiasthinkingblog.blogspot.com/2007/03/memes.html' title='Memes'/><author><name>George</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6995633351744775430.post-1151189792579107837</id><published>2007-03-23T03:42:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-03-23T04:18:46.521-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Bravery defined.  My friend Bon.</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_vF2IU0QJ8uY/RgO1cDKkY3I/AAAAAAAAAUY/016TOlZ2dwE/s1600-h/Finn%27s+Urn.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5045075501075686258" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_vF2IU0QJ8uY/RgO1cDKkY3I/AAAAAAAAAUY/016TOlZ2dwE/s200/Finn%27s+Urn.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;There are some things a person should not have to live with. There are some people who do; with dignity, grace and incredible bravery. This photo, like so many other of &lt;a href="http://www.cribchronicles.com/"&gt;Bon's posts &lt;/a&gt;brought me to tears. This is O discovering his brother's urn beside Bon's bed.  How does one live with something like that beside their bed? How can the small comfort of having that little urn so close overcome the immeasurable loss? How does she keep going? &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Bon, I miss you and love reading your blog.  Even though it makes me cry.  You are possibly the bravest person I know and I just wanted to publicly thank you for sharing.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6995633351744775430-1151189792579107837?l=georgiasthinkingblog.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://georgiasthinkingblog.blogspot.com/feeds/1151189792579107837/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6995633351744775430&amp;postID=1151189792579107837' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6995633351744775430/posts/default/1151189792579107837'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6995633351744775430/posts/default/1151189792579107837'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://georgiasthinkingblog.blogspot.com/2007/03/bravery-defined-my-friend-bon.html' title='Bravery defined.  My friend Bon.'/><author><name>George</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_vF2IU0QJ8uY/RgO1cDKkY3I/AAAAAAAAAUY/016TOlZ2dwE/s72-c/Finn%27s+Urn.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6995633351744775430.post-5897755193475624903</id><published>2007-03-11T03:42:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-03-12T15:43:46.945-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Pushover?</title><content type='html'>Someone close to me asked me today not to breastfeed at his party because he thought it would freak his friends out.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Someone close to me. I've never even been asked that by a stranger in a shop. In fact I've never had anything except positive feedback for breastfeeding in public. I feed anywhere I happen to be and have never felt ashamed. I've never even thought of it as an issue &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;before&lt;/span&gt;. It's just so natural.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I was so shocked I actually didn't know whether I was being unreasonable in being hurt and angry at the request. I didn't really respond cause I didn't know what the response should be. Now that I've had time to process it I think I should have told him to get &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;F'd&lt;/span&gt;. In the words of my sister, "there are laws against that sort of thing"!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So really, my thoughts and &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3"&gt;wonderings&lt;/span&gt; are this: Why am I such a pushover? Why didn't I just tell him where to go when he said it? I am always like that with friends and family, not really willing to rock the boat. I'm not so bad with strangers, more willing to let them know how I feel. Why the difference? I guess because I don't have to see the strangers again, so if I upset them or make things awkward it doesn't matter.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4"&gt;Hmm&lt;/span&gt;, one to think about I guess, as I'm not sure if it's a good or bad thing. It's interesting though, cause I'm sure if you ask any of my friends they would say I'm never shy to let people know what I think.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Enough thinking and wondering about myself for now.&lt;br /&gt;Bye.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6995633351744775430-5897755193475624903?l=georgiasthinkingblog.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://georgiasthinkingblog.blogspot.com/feeds/5897755193475624903/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6995633351744775430&amp;postID=5897755193475624903' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6995633351744775430/posts/default/5897755193475624903'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6995633351744775430/posts/default/5897755193475624903'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://georgiasthinkingblog.blogspot.com/2007/03/pushover.html' title='Pushover?'/><author><name>George</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6995633351744775430.post-2483651624605741091</id><published>2007-02-15T16:37:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2007-02-15T16:45:46.164-08:00</updated><title type='text'>In Response to Valentine's Day Scrooges ...</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_vF2IU0QJ8uY/RdT-dgJ0srI/AAAAAAAAAMs/5lIoVCg7dkk/s1600-h/Scrooge.gif"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5031926466480485042" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_vF2IU0QJ8uY/RdT-dgJ0srI/AAAAAAAAAMs/5lIoVCg7dkk/s320/Scrooge.gif" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;Valentine's Day is just a commercial excuse to wangle money out of consumers, right? Wrong.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;Valentine's day, as &lt;a href="http://daffado.blogspot.com/2007/02/crazy-little-thing-called-love.html"&gt;you&lt;/a&gt; said, is just like any other holiday. Father's Day is not the only day I tell Dad I love him, it's just a special day that's just for him. On Mum's Day we have a tradition of a Mother's Day picnic. It's not that we don' let our Mums know how appreciated they are on any other day, just that on that particular day we organise something around them. I don't only eat chocolate on Easter any more than I only give Will a little gift on Valentine's Day. But you have to have 'a day' to make it special. You can't go organising picnics and buying flowers every day. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;That's why we need one special day where we do something extra special, something above and beyond what we normally do to express our love. To all those Valentine's Day Scrooges who think it's just commercial bullshit, I challenge you to find a way to express your love on that day without buying anything. It's the sentiment, not the expenditure that counts.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6995633351744775430-2483651624605741091?l=georgiasthinkingblog.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://georgiasthinkingblog.blogspot.com/feeds/2483651624605741091/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6995633351744775430&amp;postID=2483651624605741091' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6995633351744775430/posts/default/2483651624605741091'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6995633351744775430/posts/default/2483651624605741091'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://georgiasthinkingblog.blogspot.com/2007/02/in-response-to-valentines-day-scrooges.html' title='In Response to Valentine&apos;s Day Scrooges ...'/><author><name>George</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_vF2IU0QJ8uY/RdT-dgJ0srI/AAAAAAAAAMs/5lIoVCg7dkk/s72-c/Scrooge.gif' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6995633351744775430.post-3023973390470365160</id><published>2007-01-26T02:56:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2007-01-28T02:26:47.253-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Ceasarian v Nasty Natural</title><content type='html'>From the number of enquiries I've received it seems it's not only me wondering about this one. Which is worse, a natural birth gone wrong or a &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;Cesarean&lt;/span&gt; perfectly executed?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Going into the &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;Caesar&lt;/span&gt; I didn't think the recovery could be worse than my recovery from &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2" onclick="BLOG_clickHandler(this)"&gt;Euey's&lt;/span&gt; birth. When I was told I'd had a 4&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3" onclick="BLOG_clickHandler(this)"&gt;th&lt;/span&gt; degree tear after &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4" onclick="BLOG_clickHandler(this)"&gt;Euey's&lt;/span&gt; birth my first question to the doctor was 'How many degrees are there?'. I wasn't all that pleased to learn there are 4 degrees of tear and 4&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5" onclick="BLOG_clickHandler(this)"&gt;th&lt;/span&gt; is the worst. It is a tear from A to V. So it's pretty understandable that I thought 'major abdominal surgery' (as the midwives kept putting it) would be a breeze. It &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6" onclick="BLOG_clickHandler(this)"&gt;aint&lt;/span&gt;! As far as I can see, they are both bad, the difference is in the timing and the activities.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7"&gt;Caesar&lt;/span&gt; was the worst for the first 2 days. I couldn't get out of bed for a day, then day 2 the move from the bed to the shower nearly killed me. Even by day 5, when I went home, it wasn't looking so good - the walk from hospital room to car made me realise that all the 'walking around' I'd been doing in my little hospital room didn't cut it in the real world. Now, a week later, I'm doing okay. I can get out of bed without screaming on the inside and my meds are purely over the counter.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The tear was bad too, but for the first 2 days they had me on a morphine drip! After that I was on &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8" onclick="BLOG_clickHandler(this)"&gt;Panadene&lt;/span&gt; Forte for about a week, and my god did it hurt to walk and pee. I had to sit on a cushion with a hole in it for at least 2 weeks. It ached to walk for months.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I think this time I will be mobile, in terms of walking, much sooner than with Euey. It is the other activities that are a problem. I'm only just beginning to understand that the tummy muscles I thought didn't exist actually get used an awful lot. Pushing, lifting and sitting up out of bed all won't be easy for awhile.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So which would I prefer? Neither of course! Ideally, if there is a next time, I'd love a natural birth with as little intervention as possible.  But considering the first two, that's highly unlikely. I guess it comes down to this:&lt;br /&gt;I elected for a Caesar this time because there was a high likelihood I would tear again and then be incontinent. If that risk still stands 'next time' then I will elect for Caesar again. It doesn't matter what the recovery time is - wearing nappies* is not a risk I'm willing to take!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;* that's &lt;em&gt;diapers&lt;/em&gt; for my Nth American readers :)&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6995633351744775430-3023973390470365160?l=georgiasthinkingblog.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://georgiasthinkingblog.blogspot.com/feeds/3023973390470365160/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6995633351744775430&amp;postID=3023973390470365160' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6995633351744775430/posts/default/3023973390470365160'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6995633351744775430/posts/default/3023973390470365160'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://georgiasthinkingblog.blogspot.com/2007/01/ceasarian-v-nasty-natural.html' title='Ceasarian v Nasty Natural'/><author><name>George</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6995633351744775430.post-5664502467766210398</id><published>2007-01-17T13:33:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2007-01-17T14:03:09.532-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Not wondering much ...</title><content type='html'>The only thing I'm wondering at the moment is whether I can actually cope with having two kids.  Considering the imminent arrival of Dot (&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;tomorrow&lt;/span&gt;) and the method of that arrival (&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;Caesar&lt;/span&gt;) I fear it may be awhile before I'm actually thinking or wondering much. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It is not a myth that your brain turns to mush when you're pregnant and raising small children.  And it is not simply because you're so busy running around making &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;sandwiches&lt;/span&gt; and breast feeding that you have no time to think.  I have discovered that when I actually find time I still cannot make my brain work to the same capacity as it used to. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm sure my legal text books are harder to understand than they should be.  I can't do simple math and find myself not even trying.  I go to parties (not all that often!) and bore myself silly because I can't make interesting conversation.  I am often just happy to sit without thinking.  Just sit, nothing else.  My mind completely blank.  I find this odd.  Having the ability to just sit and think nothing is still not something I'm used to being &lt;em&gt;able&lt;/em&gt; to do, let alone actively &lt;em&gt;wanting&lt;/em&gt; to do.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My mother tells me that you get your brain back when your last child is about 3.  &lt;em&gt;If&lt;/em&gt; we have a third (and that will be the last) then by my reckoning that means I will be able to post on Thoughts and &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3" onclick="BLOG_clickHandler(this)"&gt;Wonderings&lt;/span&gt; towards the end of 2011.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;See you then.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6995633351744775430-5664502467766210398?l=georgiasthinkingblog.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://georgiasthinkingblog.blogspot.com/feeds/5664502467766210398/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6995633351744775430&amp;postID=5664502467766210398' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6995633351744775430/posts/default/5664502467766210398'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6995633351744775430/posts/default/5664502467766210398'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://georgiasthinkingblog.blogspot.com/2007/01/not-wondering-much.html' title='Not wondering much ...'/><author><name>George</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry></feed>
