Toddler swim classes and the management of fear

A Bear is approaching 18 months and she's well into swimming lessons. They happen on daddy day, so I'm also learning; about fear, complex project management, and the joys of walking home in midwinter wearing wet boardies under trackie pants and thongs.

If this sounds a bit ambitious and wanky like those programs for teaching your toddler orchestral composition, or rocket science, or 1st year university subjects, then let me explain. She's not actually learning the butterfly; the classes are designed to make little tots comfy in the water and teach them some very basic survival skills- don't breathe underwater, get in backwards, get out quickly if you fall in.

She's doing well. Bear is proving to be a derring-do risk-taker, and throws herself into most challenges with enthusiasm. Good and bad there obviously. Most of the other kids are older, and she handles being splashed or pulled along underwater better than many of her peers.

But each class sees her go under at some point, unplanned. It's just part of playing in the pool, you don't stop watching- closely- ever. She trips and goes under, my heart stops, I explode out of the water in her direction (even if, as in most cases, she's about 2 feet away) and haul her out and up into the air with both hands. She just blinks and blows the water away from her mouth. I put her down slowly and feel my heartrate zip up to 200 then back down again over the next 10 seconds or so.

Bear on the other hand is only fazed when the big dufous kid, sweet as he is, who should be in a higher class but isn't up to it yet, unintentionally thumps her into the water. It's happened twice, I'm getting antsy.

Late at night as I try to sleep I replay the events over and over. Staying sane (if I'm that, we could argue it) involves staving off the candid observation that at all times my reaction is the only thing preventing the unthinkable. That despite the supportive setting, the lifeguards, the specialist infant teachers, myself and the other parents, this is water, and it takes lives. Very quickly.

So I want her to learn, and be confident.

I will never forget the green of the swirling water as I fell into the crocodile-infested Morehead River in Papua as a 3 year old. The moments where I just hovered there, under the water, clueless, thinking 'I'm about to drown' until the boom and the hand grabbing my hair and the relaxation of knowing it's all ok, mum got me before the denizens of the depths.

Parenting- fear and fun wrapped up like a blindfolded schuss down Argentiere.

And then there is the matter of your schooling

The Melbourne thing. School scrambles start at 1, that is, if parents want to have options at 12.

This is an intractibly difficult question for us. Beloved and I both had lousy experiences of school, and I struggle with the impression nearly all of them are big old industrial institutions peddling mediocrity while lining up the next generation of worker bees.

We both prefer the idea of public. Neither of us has many good memories of our experiences at the tail end of school where we were bundled off to toffhouses. And there is the ideological ideal of giving all kids a similar basis to start off in life.

But education for its own sake is not prized in Australia and we simply don't trust providence to ensure our nearest school will give Bear a good grounding in literature, music and art, the sciences and history. In fact it appears optional for primary schools to even offer another language.

Beloved got sent to boarding school in part because music wasn't properly taught at her public school. At my cheapo catholic school history was poor, while the arts generally were all but non-existent. And uniqueness was never prized, always hammered back into place.

The toff schools weren't much better, especially not on the last point. And then there was the childish nastiness they inculcated, whether by subtle intent or effect- too many brats, too many parents who couldn't care if the entire world died tomorrow as long as they have a beemer.

So nothing's ideal, and therefore everything's on the table to be considered on its merits. The problem being that if we want to have options, she has to go on the lists now, or it will all be a moot point if come year 7 we look around and see that our nearest public school has no decent arts program, teaches no languages and has a resident gang sporting faux-hawks infecting the front entrance.

So she'll probably end up on a couple of lists, and we'll keep a hopeful eye on the local public, and time will tell...

Obama to Clinton to Obama- settling on the world's candidate

So she won West Virginia, her call to the angry white man met with a response from thousands of duelling banjos. A step forward for team Hillary, but a plus for the Republicans if Obama ends up the final Democratic candidate.

I started out wanting Obama to win. Then I fell across towards Clinton after my readings led me to the impression that she may have better capacity to lead development of effective policy, and is at heart a genuine social liberal.

Race and gender almost balance for me, I want the best candidate. Although for striking symbolism I think a black male leading a largely-white western democracy has far less precedents.

But I don't like where Clinton has gone. I think it's clear she's played the harder ball against the person in this process. But worse, by doing so much damage to Obama amongst the equivalent of Australia's 'Howard battlers' (but less educated and better armed) she may have left a poison pill with her party.

This is to a fair extent a consequence of the primary system, and having 2 very strong candidates staying, if not neck-and-neck, at least neck-and-shoulder. But so much more rides on the outcome of the real election than individual career aspirations.

Others are saying this already, but I have a further concern.

We, the rest of the world, are desperately waiting for a different US foreign policy to unfold. And I'm not convinced Clinton will deliver, even if she comes good on the domestic front.

We don't want palpably ill-conceived invasions like the one she supported in Iraq. We don't want the US contemplating genocide as it tussles with Iran. We do need a US that offers wise counsel to its close ally Israel, as opposed to the chirpy backing Clinton gave their last venture into Lebanon. We need some notional adherence to international law from the country that co-wrote most of it.

We don't want more of the same. I don't know how much of her chest-beating is rhetoric, but I am genuinely concerned that more of the same is what she'll give us.

Of the 3 contenders, only Obama has actively demonstrated a commitment to do things differently.

He's the world candidate, and once again he's got this irrelevant alien in his corner. Sorry Hillary, respect you a lot, but I think it's time to do a deal.

Take my baby bonus and spend it on something useful

We don't need it. Sure we'll take it if you throw it, who wouldn't, but we won't vote against you if you confine it to those who are truly struggling. Or better yet, scrap it entirely, and pump it into the services we all need.

I didn't realise what they meant by child care crisis until we had Bear. There is a child care crisis. It's actually sheer places, not just publicly-funded places, but all places. Some people can't get a place, full-stop. Battlers need it so they can get back to work. Isolated parents need it so they get respite and their kids socialise. Professionals also need it, the posh need it, in short, a win-win.

Then there's schools, transport, urban renewal, safety. In short, fixing this country so it's worth growing up in. Better, not worse, in 10 years' time.

See, it doesn't take a celebrity love-in to generate some policy ideas...

Groundhog day in unFairfield

When you think you really might win an auction, and buy a house, you can't help but imagine your life there. We came back, we saw, we imagined, then we were conquered.

In Fairfield, but an unorthodox layout and busy street were the reasons cited for the low price (in Fairfield this means anything under $700K). We picked over it and saw in the study a 3rd bedroom, in the high fence a buffer against the street, and in the layout enough usable spaces to accomodate a Bear and 2 exotic felines. Apparently we weren't alone.

The silence on this blog has matched a silence on the house front. I've been living the family life, getting by, ignoring the bigger projects and ignoring a misery that longer-term readers know kept us frustrated for months back around the time of Bear's birth. But house prices have been floundering on paper, with some bargains going in the suburbs to our immediate north, so we thought "why not us"?

Why not indeed? Why not us to win the lottery while we're at it?

I've bid at auctions before and not felt all that stressed. It's true. But this time was different, with the build-up, the real sense that we might get it, after such a hiatus from the market, and the imaginings: walking Bear to childcare rather than a 20 minute round trip, exploring the real bush parklands just 15 minutes away, coffee in the delectable local strip, the spot in the garage where I'd set up a bench and bag and become fit again, the corner of the large yard where Bear could have a cubbee house...

There were too many people. The auction we'd watched earlier that day had rocketed beyond the boundaries of fiscal reason. The omens were bad, and we were once again flumoxed.

$20,000 beyond our outer limit, the deal was closed for some sleazy looking professional bidder.

We drove around in a daze for a while. Watched Bear in a park, saying little. Went home. Sat. Slept.

Sunday was a better day.

"I am the feeling which became a daughter"

The mind boggles! For lovers of LOLCATS, enjoy this Engrish masterpiece:

CAT PRIN - The tailor for a cat you know....

Lady to Ladette - a girl learns to fart on cue

I think I have taught a Bear to fart on cue.

She was standing in the bath a few days back when a wet ripper split the silence. I of course cracked up laughing, so she chuckled. I then decided applause was called for. She took on a concentrated affect, and lo and behold, another one. More reward conduct from myself of course!

The next eve when I got home Beloved was holding her, and Bear immediately did a wriggle and let out a couple of charges in quick succession. Then yesterday, in the wading section at Northie pool, she immediately squatted down and a series of streams of bubbles (no doubt toxic) came up behind her head.

I am so proud. In fact, as I sat around with the mummies in swim class a few minutes later I bragged about her new skill acquisition lest any of them not understand that my girl is truly advanced.

This type of information is the big news in my life. Perhaps knowing most people aren't sitting around waiting to hear this is the reason I've blogged so sparsely recently.

Next episode may feature burping and saying "ahhh".

Teddy Bear Picnic?

Or gathering of oddball writers and allsorts?

Despite throwing out grumpy comments on friggbook due to not receiving a specific invite, I will probably take my loved ones, Beloved and Bear, to the gardens today to meet a blogger or three.

Details at Duck's.

We won't make it until probably close to 3.30 so if you're going down and want to meet a Bear, hang around.

I suppose I missed out because I rarely blog; indeed, the chance of more than 20 people reading this is now slim. Blogging is something that does rely on regular input, and that has become extremely difficult.

Hence today's gathering may be a bit of a goodbye to the blogging world, and an attempt to maintain the personal connection with the interesting people I've met even as the site pulls back the sheets, puts on the reading lamp, and prepares itself for bed.

First days of the new for my girls

Up well before 7 this morning. Put the coffee on the stove top, prepared a Bear's brekky. Got a girl up, while her mum frantically lurched from one side of the bathroom to the other.

Today both their lives changed. Beloved went back to work, and Bear, having been for a few short visits to get the feel of the place, spent her first full day in childcare.

I waved them off. Bear was waving and smiling from the back. It breaks your heart.

She went well, apparently, though neither sleep nor food were high on her agenda. But when Beloved picked her up she was fusty, and she took a long time to go to bed. She was a bit upset.

So I'm told anyway, I didn't get out of work until 6.30, I haven't even laid eyes on my girl since the morning.

There has to be a better way...

Queen of slang, my daughter is nang

The Bear is at the cusp of noveau-English. As discussed below, she uses nang-nag to capture the essence of being, the power of infinity. Either that or she's pointing out something more mundane like a poo that needs flipping (they're kindof like vege patties now, so when changing nappies we just carry the whole lot to the toilet and 'flip' it in!).

Now it is confirmed, nang, the base word, means cool.

My girl is clearly uber, what can I say?

Other words making the rounds include "dat" (while pointing at a cat) and something approaching "dadadad". Yes, she's started doing this while indicating in my general direction.

Today I came in tired, a bit depressed. Slunk into the couch, smiled at Beloved while Bear continued her feed. When she'd finished she sat up, saw me, sat up a bit straighter, clapped her hands, smiled and said something along the lines of "dadadigdablanangnangdaad".

Picked me up like a chairlift.

Twists of the knife: Hitchens on Bhutto

Both contrarian and iconoclast, Hitchens is someone I don't always agree with, but always enjoy reading. Even as he mourns Bhutto's assassination on strategic grounds, he reaches forward and twists the knife into her character, reminding us that most of what most of us have read about her hasn't probed much further than her Oxbridge education and gender, paired with pictures of this light-skinned stylishly-dressed beauty guaranteed to enhance her mainstream Western appeal. Dark haired Diana of the East.

He notes that the moderate icon played a role in fuelling extremism. As with the CIA's support of the Mujahadeen, the following smacks of short-sighted idiocy:

"...when she was prime minister, she pursued a very active pro-Taliban policy, designed to extend and entrench Pakistani control over Afghanistan and to give Pakistan strategic depth in its long confrontation with India over Kashmir."

Someone say something about coming home to roost?

For me her obsession with righting her father's wrongs brings to mind the great lame Megawati, a bit of an icon alongside her father's memory in Suharto controlled Indonesia. Neither Megawati nor her bapak had much to offer the country in the long run, and I do end up wondering why a country of umpteen million gets stuck with the privileged children of its previous blights coming back after power like it's a private dominion.

I suspect there's truth in Hitchens' assertion that:

"...the PPP, a supposedly populist party ... never had a genuine internal election and was in fact—like quite a lot else in Pakistan—Bhutto family property."

Then there are the nukes, and the corruption allegations. And her family's gift to world peace:

"...the two main legacies of Bhutto rule—the nukes and the empowered Islamists—have moved measurably closer together."

Rest in peace m'dear, your death only slightly less tragic than those of the innocents in the crowd.

But you're no Mother Teresa. Damn, Hitchens has tarnished that icon too.

Those would be stars

In the dark we stand, looking back down the track to her great grandpop's house. 4 generations dined there this eve, celebrating 85 years, a lucky man, a skillful shot, a dogged survivor. We are all grateful he saw off Kokoda and Borneo. That he married a fine lady, whose nickname became Bear's middle name, and built a family on a fine piece of dirt.

We stand on that dirt, in the dark, the voices of the others fading as they enter the other house behind us. I hold Bear close, she works a piece of my neck between her right fingers, holds my upper arm with her other hand. It is so dark, dark like it never gets in the city. But I can see her wide-open eyes in the starlight.

"Those are stars. Twinkle twinkle indeed, the real thing" I tell her. She takes in everything, silent, amazed.

Much is pitch black, but the outline of the tops of the trees can be made out. Above them, the rich spray of unfamiliar stars. Down the track opposite great grandpop's there's a weak reflection from the water of a small dam. In other directions are hills, precursors to the Snowys, and in closer the vines; Chardonnay, Pinot Noir, and Sauvignon Blanc all have their genesis on this land. Like the trees, they can be made out in places, but as black-on-black adjustments to texture and shape.

No cars, voices, music or humming appliances. No bogans shouting at each other randomly. You realise how penetrating the background noise of the city is when you get out this far. Here the frogs and crickets are a different medium altogether, as loud on the ears, maybe, but softer on the soul.

We stand for several minutes. A normally fickle and restless Bear remains fascinated, her eyes still wide, her breathing even and slow. I am in awe too, of the place, the dark, the quiet. And of the little ball of wonder in my arms, this tiny girl who puts such faith and trust in me, to be sitting so calmly in this alien darkness.

I kiss her head. She has coined a new word on this trip; "nang-nang." Nang-nang, her Uncle (beloved's sister's beloved) has deduced, means infinity- everything entirely, expressed as an equation of nang.

I am a grumpy old man in some respects, have been since about the age of 7. But standing there in the dark I realise that Bear's capacity to make me completely happy, content and at peace with the world, just by being herself, is nang-nang.

Being a home dad is as easy as...

Mud crab tying. A sport in the NT. Someone with several beers in them has to tie a live mud crab without hurting or damaging the poor critter. Unlike mud crabs, children don't generally sever fingers. However the moment Bear feels the change table touch her back she summons up an incredible amount of torque, arches up onto the tip of the back of her head, reaches diagonally across and behind her head with her right hand until she has a vice grip on the back of the table, then yanks, pulls, and squirms until the nappy is on and sealed. Ten minutes or so later. At which point she relaxes, sucking her thumb calmly...

Being a wicket keeper. Not that I could ever catch a ball. How about a heavy skull? The answer is- don't stuff up dad or it'll be off to the GP again. Today's example, she's hauled herself up to standing position by the couch, holding on as she is wont to do. She stands there, as per usual, me dangling a couple of feet behind, half an eye on her, waiting for the usual process whereby she tries to lower herself back down and I gently assist. Suddenly she simply lets go with both hands, no warning, and falls directly sideways with her head hurtling towards the floorboards...

Being a hypnotist. Whose method involves an intuitive mix of low-pitched (or very high falsetto) songs, patting, holding at just the right point on the upper arm while rocking, and a high speed re-tuck under the sheet that would make a drill sergeant proud. This arvo it was the re-tuck, amazingly effective on occasion.

Being one of those bright-jacket-wearing, shouting, pointing, traders. Trying to watch something small and squiggly while fiddling with crap in your hands, all the time knowing everything you have is on the line. Picture being in the kitchen, her food, my coffee, 2 cats getting underfoot, and somewhere, always moving just out of line-of-sight in the living room, a Bear with a passion for climbing and eating.

So yes being home dad's surprisingly straightforward... and yes, my hand slipped under the nape of her neck about 2 inches from the floor. Bear life, I say, Bear life. But it's heaven to be here instead of wedged into my cubicle pushing through files at work. On such a nice day. Speaking of which, it's park time...

Yes yes yes yes yes!!!

Eat it. Lap it up. Those of us on the side of good may lap gently, savouring.

Those on the side of bigotry, small-mindedness, and a complete lack of conscience...

Those who lied in public, in the media, on the web, about the reasons for going to war, or for persecuting boatloads of desperate people...

Those who trashed everything we've fought for in this nation from the Eureka Stockade to Mabo...

Those who sneered, and oh how they sneered, at anything passing for intellectual thought wherever it tried to manifest on our continent...

Those who pretended the earth was flat, and denied that which was incontrovertible, refusing to sign up to the future...

Those grubby little self-serving rodents who worked so hard to trash the concept of egalitarianism wherever it lingered...

Eat it. Take it all down, swallow it whole. It's been a long time coming and we won't forget the breathtaking nastiness you brought to the table as you ruthlessly attacked the very notion of civil society and tore us decades into the past.

Oh, how it tastes. The Pommery is pretty fucking nice as well!

Here's cheers to the true believers!

Here's cheers to the lefty blogosphere!

Here's cheers to armagnac'd for predicting that Workchoices was a bridge too far way back when they brought it in... and cheers to my, Jeremy's, Guy's fears of the past few days proving to be baseless- some things you'd rather be wrong about!!

Here's cheers to the future, because we aren't in the '50s any more!

Here's cheers to K-Rudd, man of the hour!

...And here's a whopping CHEERS to Maxi, because, no matter what the last few postal votes bring, you've delivered the the sweetest, most blissful, humiliation, and served it on a plate to the rat....

c'MON Australia...

Don't let me down.

Just take the plunge.

It's time.

Heading off to the hustings. Knew it would be close, as the late polls are showing. The world my Bear will grow up in may be fundamentally altered by the last minute impulse of a few thousand people today.

c'MON people...