Weekly gay bashing

While I'm posting, a couple of days ago I swear I read that Howard was proposing to pass laws rendering illegitimate any children adopted by gay couples overseas. Anyone heard more?

I see this one sneaking up, suddenly being out there, suddenly being rubber-stamped by the ALP, and I'll be in the biggest crisis of my loyalties since Tampa. I have never been able to discern a single, rational thread within any argument put forward by those who verbally abuse, are intolerant of, or want to restrict the rights of anyone with a slightly non-mainstream sexual orientation. Where are the right's libertarians when you need them?

A Bear, a Bear Market- what's to do but stay put?

We made a decision tonight, and in the resolute spirit of that decision I hereby proclaim: the house search, for now, for at least a sanity-restoring little while, is over.

We came, we saw mostly crap, we attempted to conquer by bidding exhorbitant amounts of money on more than one occasion. This has not worked. It is not, for now, meant to be.

The sense of disappointment is modest, but the relief is a rush like coming to the surface of a pool after holding your breath. To have been earning well, yet in constant fear of money, of being broke, has been just plain lousy.

Searching, in itself, was interesting. I've developed a fascination with the design of the humble family home that I wouldn't have predicted. They can combine the artistic and practical, there is no other human concept like them. And we've learned a good deal, things to watch for, how to do it better next time, whether in 3 months or 3 years.

But the first thing we've learned is this- until we can buy something that isn't an unrenovated latrine in a suburb we want to live in then we are happy to contribute to the landlord's super.

He's a lot nicer than the bank manager.

A Bear agrees. I discussed it with her. Perhaps I'm allowing my own preferences to cloud my interpretation of her response, but what I heard was 'yes daddy, I want you to be fiscally free to go part time so you get to know me before I'm in kinder'.

Thanks Bear, noted, agreed. Sweet little cherub, we already have everything we could ask for in this world.

How to be a perfect parent

...the accumulated wisdom of my observation of others and receipt of their generously-offered advice...

Buy a $1700 pram that Choice says is unsafe for kids. Sneer at anyone without one. That'll make you look smart.

Don't wake baby up if she is sleeping past her usual getting-up time, that's just cruel, waking a baby. Like flailing them with a cattle whip, but far worse.

Don't sing them songs you like, or anything with more than 2-3 words or notes. If you do you are just being selfish. Everyone knows kids exposed to complex music and melodies grow up musically retarded. It says so in this book right here by Dr Foncilot Krunt who lectures at UCLA.

Take lessons in parenting from wound up tightwads who shout at their kids twice per minute.

Your kids need a big backyard more than they need you. Commute an extra hour, you're only working 10 hours every day and missing bathtime at the moment.

Still on the music thing, here's further proof, if only they hadn't been exposed to so much adult music in early childhood Prince, Mozart, and Bjork might have become famous musicians, instead of. Stuff.

If a baby cries there's something wrong with them.

A bit of chub on their cheeks at 6 months and they are going to be fat and have body image related unhappiness. On the other hand having rude relatives who call people fat will not ever give a girl body image issues.

... and final wisdom dawning...

People who make uninvited rude comments are always the last to work out why they don't get many visits.

Grouchy rants aside, a Bear is doing very well, she has a huge smile and the biggest eyelashes around her great blue eyes that a proud dad has ever seen. Beloved and I are well. Still sans house. C'est la vie....

Hey Hitler, wanna run a Synagogue?

This is why I'm all but won over to the view that the UN is wholly corrupt:

Western countries and human rights organisations were outraged yesterday by the choice of Zimbabwe to chair the UN commission on sustainable development.

Apparently this acid-in-face statement was made by the nations of Africa, who had the vote. Which shows us 2 things:

1) That one of the main reasons Africa is so impoverished is its unbelievably incompetent and corrupt leaders; and

2) The extent to which flagrant racism is acceptable to and even endorsed by the UN and much of its membership when it happens in a 'non traditional' context. That is, not involving white-on-other. Something that's to the detriment of everyone from Darfur to West Papua.

My response, as Howard or Downer, would be to reduce my contribution to UN projects until the commission is reformed or wound up.

Happy 1st Mother's Day

There is nothing more beautiful to me than you, my wife, with our child. Bear feeding, with her little hands fusting around, that uppermost hand working little circles on your skin, fingers opening and closing, you holding her with infinite patience as you do day in, day out.

The look on a Bear's face when she's on your shoulder, relaxing, waiting for a burp to come, after being fed. A look that says I feel loved, completely and utterly.

The patient care with which you wash our Bear, carefully, thoroughly. Most nights alone, me still peering out of a Connex window with the Nano on shuffle.

Peering in when a Bear's been inconsolable, crying her lungs out, and seeing you patiently bent over the cot with your head down, gently patting a Bear with one hand and holding her on her side while letting out a slow shusss, the uncomfortable and highly particular method that works. Works with patience and love and a mum with a bottomless reserve of strength.

Oh I still admire the sheer determination that drove you from waters breaking to holding our little Bear just 5 hours later. You're tougher than nails. Sometimes you scare me. I'm the one who carps on about episodes of androgens but I know if anything ever threatened our Bear you'd tear them apart with sheer force of will.

Thank you. From Bear and I. We love you more than we can ever show.

Every day I'm glad, no, more than glad, fucking ecstatic, that I have started a family with you. Thank you so much for our beautiful child.

Happy Mother's Day.

Is that it? Not even a K.I.S.S?

A few workshops and an Asian Languages program.

Yeah! That's reclaimed education as a core Labor issue.

No doubt in voters' minds- we're for the smart country.

All they needed to remember was to Keep It Simple Stupid:

Education. And. Health. Are. And. Must. Remain. Labor's.

Currently, the Libs are ahead, on appearances at least, on education. They're both crap on health. How's this happened? How's it either good politics or good policy?

Dollar sweetie must be wrapped.

... I'm adrift. Thank God I've got Beloved, Whirlyjig and the Catst, I'd go insane otherwise.

To Zoe and Copperwitchy

Blogger as usual is being a piece of unmitigated crap, so I can't link, but they're both in my list over there >>

Zoe, love to the little fella, may those hips align and be nice to your bundle of love. Bear sends hugs to her potential future husband.

Coppermum, you remind me that however long a Bear lasts in this world, I'll enjoy and treasure every moment. Hugs to you too from our corner of the burbs. He's a handsome boy, your lad. It's the journey that matters, the smiles you gave him are the best things, the real things that make a life worthwhile.

Damn.

Bless you both. Bless all mums, including she on the couch downstairs patiently supplying the evening breastacchino to buggles. I must, once again, depart...

Buggles Vignettes

Waiting, on a poo, for to carry it home (sung to Waiting on an Angel, with feel). Over a week now and there've only been 2 small, moussy excretions. A Bear is mighty constipated. The potential energy welling within is fearsome.

Conversations extend. In particular she makes lively noises when I sing to her. Dorky shoulder movements to accompany the songs go down a treat as well. Her bald, goatee'd dad standing over her dancing like Pete Garrett and singing 'Girls Just Wanna Have Fun' prompts quasi-giggles.

When her face pulls into a smile I lose it. When I leave in the morning and she twists almost 180 degrees to watch me, with an anxious look on her face, I lose it. There have been some late starts recently.

I usually miss bath time. Total contact per day is about 20 minutes in the morning, 5 to 10 of them with her off the boob and playing, and about 30 or so minutes late at night when she's feeding while half asleep.

We allowed her out of either of our sights for the first time since hospital. There was an incident where the nurses took her out to weigh her or somesuch. I nearly had cardiac arrest with images of her being dropped, exchanged for another similar looking bub then sent interstate, having organs removed and sold on Ebay etc. The nurses did NOT succeed in removing her for a nanosecond after that.

We waved goodbye, as her extremely trustworthy (and indeed trusted) uncle and aunt wheeled her off in the pram. I walked back inside. I started walking around in circles while beloved patted me on the arm. Then it all just came out and I didn't stop bawling hysterically until about 3 minutes before they arrived back. From a 10 minute trip to the shops.

Sanity is just a construct.

I trust a few people in this world, but I know no-one loves my Bear the way beloved and I do. Still, she was fine. I've let her out of our sights since, I'm chilling. Not quickly.

I realise my mum has always been critical. I'm listening to renditions of what has happened during the day while she, beloved and Bear are hanging out at home. My first reaction is 'So?' The reason is I've gotten used to such constant digging. It's probably shaped me in ways that aren't wonderful. Words are had, criticism subsides.

Mao has become exceedingly affectionate. Minh-Minh however has taken to sitting at the top of the stairs, on the ledge in the visitors' room or on our bed when we aren't in it. She waits, giving us looks. When I pick her up she purrs instantly, it's a switch being flicked. As with a Bear, I wish I had more time for my furkids.

Still a bit of a nutter- watched Insight, some verminous trash were peddling falsehoods in defence of advertising, especially sexualised advertising, aimed at young girls. I hurled invective at them and made all sorts of rash promises to have every one of them locked up before a Bear hits the tweens. Offered beloved my unwelcome ideas as to what I would do if some West Coast player sledged me with graphic, paedophilic comments about family members. I think my suggested response involved use of thumbs and permanent incapacitation. And why did the tribunal throw the charges out after only 10 minutes? What sort of monkeys think they can make a decision on something where evidence is in contention in 10 effing minutes?

A Bear cares not. She slumbers. It is time she enjoys a (just before) midnight snack. I will have a single malt and watch my girls, at peace with the world.

Kevin takes bridge out behind dithering Johnny

A potential masterstroke.

Allow me to jettison all humility. Way back a few eons ago I predicted that the IR laws might just be the bridge too far that ends the Howard dynasty. The arrogant attack on the people who've delivered him power over Labor.

Well this could be the counterpoint that completes the melody. Infuriating to the hardcore unionists, no doubt, but a timely move that will almost certainly win Rudd more votes than it loses.

After all, who's a hardcore left winger on IR issues going to back between the final 2? Howard? Even the Greens don't really stake this out as priority territory, they can see what being too close to the CFMEU does for Labor's forest policy.

Rudd may have wanted this confrontation in any event, to assert himself and make clear that he, and not Combet, is running for PM. He may also be planning to pick up where Crean left off and work at bringing the power of rank and file party members closer to that of the old guard.

Or he may not.

Because the strongest reason for setting out a moderate, centrist policy on IR is to blatantly take the option of retreat away from Howard.

Howard has been preparing the ground for such a move, talking of being open to change, of 'listening', acknowledging his problems in the polls. He'll have realised by now that Workchoices was strategically unwise, and he doesn't like the idea of going out on a loser.

So there he was, bridge too far, starting to edge backwards and "whoosh"; Kevin's landed and it's too late.

Centre ground. A reasonable policy. Unfair dismissal in small businesses but only once you've proven yourself. Secret ballots- whatever could be wrong with that?

Knight takes Rook.

So I get a few minutes to blog

And blogger doesn't work properly, no editing tools, everything moving at 2 nanseconds per decade.

Thank you blogger, fuck you very much.

Does a bear shit in the woods (or just all over mummy...)?

As was described to me today over the phone while I pored over the administrative crap that seems to dominate my job at the moment, a bear shat. She let rip. An explosion in a sewerage processing plant. A world of choc for mum and bear to share.

She'd been funny for a day or so, eating too little, not sleeping enough at times, not pooing enough, several times in a row. We worried; could she be sick? Is it something we did? Something mum ate? Something dad fed to mum? Is it bird flu? The bubonic plague?

But I didn't think she was ill. Although she was more pensive (or something looking like 'pensive', perhaps pent-up's more like it) than usual this morning, during my daily 5 minutes of lap time before I am wrenched from my loved ones by the irresistible pull of 8.30 Epping line, she seemed alert, her skin and eyes seemed fine, she still spoke... adwu... argool.... ewou...

And it would seemed her message was simple: stand back, I got something brewing. The explosion got past her nappy, past her legs, onto beloved, beloved's clothes, furniture. Her bowels announced their arrival in the world of serious movement. And we were proud.

What a good little Bear!

The Bear Regency

Another grand Saturday looking at houses with Bear. Really, she's such a good girl. While the process is slightly testing on her parents' patience, Bear quietly slips off into dreamland in her capsule and stays that way while dad carries her around and works his maligned muscles manoeuvring her through doorways and around the legs of fellow house inspectors.

"Does this floor need a restump or did the earth just do a little shift?"

*blissfully sleeping Bear*

"Oh, pink and white tiling in the kitchen, how tasteful!"

*blissfully sleeping Bear*

"Nice to see the neighbours have 3 V8s, we'll have to have them over for bookchat..."

*blissfully sleeping Bear*

So it goes.

We've moved north from the Northcote Hub, hill, knob, whatever one might call it, slid up along the slats of temperate Thornbury, and now, along no doubt with everyone else who doesn't have a spare $600,000 wedged in their arsecrack, we are undertaking recon missions into hitherto uncharted territory- Preston above Bell Street, Coburg, Pascoe Vale South, Regent.

A level of geographical precision takes hold, as Preston becomes a hierarchy of preferences from South Preston West to North Preston West to Preston Proper not-too-close-to-Northie. Regent West trumps Regent Ressie. Coburg North and Pascoe Vale Proper get excluded.

Bear looks out the window at alternating period homes and butt ugly townhouses springing out of every spare crevass. The decision's yours, she implies, just get on with it. Mao and Minh-Minh concur...

Proximity to cafes and shops becomes at once more relevant and harder to achieve, because when you have a Bear and two energetic catlings to cultivate the fact that a 3 bedroom fully renovated period home with a nice garden in Regent is the same price as a small rickety townhouse in Northcote, 10 minutes down the road, is hard to resist.

Bear sits next to me, waiting for hugs, so it's adios for now...

Gorillas don't hug their babies

Who died and appointed all the experts in the world of child rearing?

Which ones? Dunno, the ones that write all the rules. Like the ones that mean you have to put the baby down half the time, make sure she's in her cot when she sleeps, et sarte.

Clearly babies have evolved to be suited, at optimum, to being in a room by themselves in a cot. You don't see Gorillas holding their little ones constantly do you? No, good, moving along.

I mean, could it just be possible that between the rituals and enforced separation and parents who have to go to work at 8 and arrive home at fucking 7 and spend a total of about 10 minutes every day with the daughter they'd cut their own leg off with a blunt saw for and mothers at mothers' group with $3000 prams who'd probably let go of them if they saw a pile of cash and all the other bullshit that's evolved into the standard, could it be possible we see an inkling of why politicians end up having to vie for power by kicking the downtrodden for the edification of the empathetically retarded moral majority?

Could it be? I don't know, I know nothing anymore, 'cept I'm not happy with the status quo and a huge readjustment of my concept of what constitutes reasonable hours of work looms as quickly as my negotiating power can be harnessed.

She sleeps now, a bliss bomb. Last night, the most beautiful thing.... at 4am she cried, and I went to her, and she sounded different, so I called out to beloved and she came too, and when we were both standing over her little bear stopped, and looked at us, eyes wide open, and started to speak... nothing cogent, but the message was clear: here, now, is where I want you both.

I'm putty whenever I think of her, I'm going to be stuffed at discipline, but I think I figured that out and blogged it ages ago.

Still well up at the work safe ad. Still nowhere near tired of the sound of her voice, even when screaming or crying.

And I miss you all, don't get to read much blogosphere at the moment, feel free to update me on your news right here if you've got any...

Poke out my eye pod

Well I sit down for the first time in eons with a few minutes to blog, and, and, I decide to update my new I-POD at the same time, and, and, it puts some bullshit nonsensical message up on the screen about not being able to update and the computer doesn't 'recognise' it is there, and, and, so now I'm trying not to get pissed off at an inanimate object and a few hundred geeks in the US who make millions and don't give a toss about the pain in the arse their gadget can be.

So I need a few more moments of calming and self-distraction before writing something useful.

Don't call David Jones Corporate Paedophiles!

David Jones aren't into Corporate Paedophilia. They play no role sexualising children, or using sexualised images of children in advertising. And just to prove it they are suing the Australia Institute. For a detailed discussion see LP, but I'm just worried about the damage it could do their image to draw attention to their advertising practises in this way. Surely no-one out there will see the contentious images, or clothes David Jones sell to little children, and draw the conclusion that they are purveyors of corporate paedophilia, right? Anyway, just to help this great Australian company succeed, I thought I'd contribute my modest google standings to their campaign by making the point clearly here: David Jones do not indulge in Corporate Paedophilia. Never. Corporate Paedophilia, not DJs, not ever.

Reports that Jeremy will run the Oz Institute's case pro bono remain, at this point, unconfirmed.