Last night Inigo slept all through the night, with no night waking, no needing a feed, and no screaming. At all.

That was the third night in one week. Not consecutive nights, but what the hell. Three nights of unbroken sleep, three miraculous nights I didn’t have to drag my sorry carcass across the hallway, and then back to my bed to hope that I could get back to sleep.

It’s been almost five months (since he started crawling) of horrible nights, and I am hoping against hope that these three nights represent an increasing trend.

In fire news, both Paige and Andrew are still safe, but apparently today is going to be another bad day.

Service is The Rent We Pay For Living

Today I went to an ABA meeting to learn about how to become a breastfeeding counsellor or community educator (the people that give talks at Child Health Centres, ante natal classes, etc.).

During the early days of my breastfeeding journey, the support of the ABA was invaluable. Firstly, having done the course that they run for expectant parents gave me the confidence to know that I was doing my best, and that I would be able to succeed if I persevered. Secondly, when things were still not going well after 6 weeks of struggling, I knew there was backup available when I needed it. And when I did contact them, the support and information I got was exactly what I needed to hear at the time, and I will appreciate the time the counsellor took to help me out ’till the end of my days.

I’ve been thinking about furthering my education for a long while now, but wasn’t sure what I wanted to do. I have an interest in far too many things to be able to narrow it down to a particular field of interest, and I’d need to be passionate about whatever I study to make sure that I actually do the homework! The course is structured so that all study is self directed, there are no exams, only assignments, and there are training sessions run once or twice a month where modules are examined in detail. Kids are welcome at the training sessions, and you can do the training at your own pace. And when you finish, you have a government recognised Certificate IV, the same as if you had studied at TAFE, and useful as “Prior learning” if you decide to do further studies in a related field.

So this opportunity is a bit of a no-brainer. I get to give back to an organisation that has given so much to me and my little family, and I get to ease myself gently back in to the rigours of formal education.

My latest lust object

Since My Adorable Husband bought me the lens of my dreams, I have decided to start saving up for the “Last Kitchen Gadget I’ll Ever Need”. Of course, I will find other gadgets to covet, but this one should keep me enthralled for quite some time.

Kris linked to an aussie online shop that sells kitchen gadgets, and I found it.

The Kitchen Aid, in Caviar. Click on the picture in the link to embiggen, and see sparkly detail.

Not black, that is just black. The Caviar is SPARKLY black.

So much more useful, to have an appliance that sparkles, don’t you think?

More %$*&^#@ Fires

This time, it’s personal.

My friend Paige (one of the sweetest, most caring women ever to walk this earth), and her family, furry and otherwise, have been evacuated. Of course, they are all terrified.

And my darling Andrew C. (as opposed to my darling Andrew M.) is also in the area. Last I heard, he was heading home from the city to see if he still had a home to go to. He promised to text as soon as he knew anything, and I am still waiting to hear. Mind you, he still hasn’t RSVP’d for a wedding that was four years ago, he has a bit of a reputation for being unreliable.

Anyway, he promised me that he understood that he was more important than stuff, but I am still very afraid.

Paige lives in Belgrave, Andrew in Belgrave Heights. From the look of the map, Andrew and Paige back onto the same gully, on opposite sides. I don’t think I’ll sleep much tonight.

Squish a Litterbug


When I see someone throw rubbish out of a car window, I get very cross.

If it’s a cigarette butt, I get extremely cross.

If it’s anywhere near the bush, on a hot day, I go thermonuclear. It’s really not very pretty, and I have had to be talked down from following these people home and putting prawn heads in their curtain rails.

But now I have a better solution.

Call the Environmental Protection Authority!

131 555 (pollution reporting, environment information and publication requests) for the cost of a local call within New South Wales (mobiles excluded) or (02) 9995 5555.

They sent the offender a warning, and if a second incident is reported, they will be fined. Of course, I’d prefer there was some form of physical torture involved, but a fine is a perfectly acceptable starting point.