when they are good, they are sufferable, but when they are bad, they are vermin


Excuse me, but I have the rather urgent need to vent.

People who do a five minute walk through tour and then make snap decisions, should be snapped in half themselves and their pieces scattered on a motorway.

May all those self-indulgent parents who told their child that they were wonderful for merely drawing breath; and may all those parents who don’t give a shit about their feral children and never taught them any values or manners, may you all rot in hell before coming back as a teacher in your next life, if there is one and get to teach your kid; otherwise just burn in hell. Twice.

“Don’t leave your bag in the doorway”


“Because someone will trip over it.”

“It’s not my fault if they are stupid enough to fall over it.”


Treat others as you would like to be treated, or I will surely break your arms and legs off.

Argue about the literal meaning of a proverb over the metaphor one more time and I will ram your arms and legs where the sun don’t shine and post you home to mother.

Why should class be fun? Why can’t you just pay attention for 40 minutes and learn something for once in your damn life.

Can I put up an Easter reading suggestion display with the slogan “Don’t be a wasted space, read a book for once”?

May the subject coordinators who create dodgy lesson plans for teachers to present, be locked into an eternal Groundhog Day of teaching that lesson. May you be eaten alive at the end of each day. No exit clause.

Would someone for f-ing sake build covered walkways between our classrooms so that we don’t end up with 152 sopping wet students in the library at lunch time.

Sometimes, sonny boy, you just don’t get to negotiate or argue every point, sometimes you just need to shut up and do.

Don’t give me the finger because you don’t know how to merge on the highway. I see your finger and raise it one as well.

Stop trying to rearrange the front of my car and attach my car to yours by changing  into my lane without allowing enough space between our cars.

“Put your phone away”

“It’s my mum”

“Tell Mum that Mrs FD is trying to teach you right now.”

“But she wants to know ,,, whether to wash my blue blouse or my pink; where I left the remote; whether she can borrow some money…”

“Tell Mum to send a text that you can answer after class.”

Total disbelief as an expression from student who continues conversation with parent.


Enough with the rain already, we need to dry out.

I am a goddess why are my feet in the bloody trenches?


Augie meets the locals

Dog augie typeAugie Dog was in another part of the house when he started to bark. Augie is a very quiet, if boisterous puppy and rarely barks, so when he does we seek a reason. I walked into the living room and he ran to my side and barked. I started to wonder if we had a snake or a lizard in the house but could see nothing.

Wondering if his alarm was being caused by something outside as he seemed to be looking towards the lving and dining floor to ceiling windows I walked to the patio but still couln’t see anything.

As it is flooding and aware of how animals alert people to natural disasters, I started to wonder if an inland tsunami was about to hit us. I returned to the dining room and it was then that I saw what had Augie Dog so agitated.

DUCKS. Ducks on our lawn. It is so soggy I can only guess that even the ducks are looking for somewhere drier! They were just below the crest of our hill slope and so I wasn’t able to see them until I was in the right position. Augie Dog knew though.


This is not Augie and not the duck. Our dog and ducks are better looking.

This is not Augie and not the duck. Our dog and ducks are better looking.


My first thoughts were, how cute that Augie was excited by the arrival of ducks. It was only later that I realised that Augie was actually up to no good and following his natural instincts as a retriever dog. He wanted to retrieve the ducks!

a stage of opportunity and strength.

angry sod calm

The Grandma bubble of happiness lasted until period 3 of school today, when one of my year 11 boys decided he would try to use his size and loud mouth to try to control the class and bully me. He got sent to the responsible thinking room to think about his behaviour. He has to write his own behaviour plan before he is allowed to negotiate his return to my classroom. Little pisher.


It’s raining again and the locals are nervous. I don’t blame them as many of them are still cleaning up from the Australia Day flood in January. If it rains throughout the night I doubt whether I will make it to work tomorrow. We stocked up on milk, bread and dog treats on the weekend, so should be right for a few days. Hopefully it won’t flood at all.

I was reflecting on the past year and this is what I reallised we have experienced over the previous 12 months :

My mother became ill and needed to go into care

My siblings and I had to clear our parents home of 57 years and sell it.

I started a new job.

We sold our house in the city and moved to the country.

A daughter moved to the opposite side of the country.

Our first grandchild was born.

We got a dog.

We experienced another flood (luckily not as a vicitm).

Now, talk to me about ageing and change…

bag on head

Aging  is not lost youth but a new stage of opportunity and strength.
Betty  Friedan

sleeping beauty

Evelyn Rose 24 Feb 2013 004

Petite Fille is now a whole day old! She looks even more beautiful, now that she has lost her “just hatched” appearance. She had a restless first night, but slept soundly through our visit today. I won’t get to visit her until next week now, as I will be working all week, but we have plenty of time for kisses and hugs, a lifetime in fact.

Isn’t life just wonderful?

Action stations


Daughter1 has been admitted to hospital for an induction tomorrow morning.

This is the first time in her life that I am not by her side and I feel so restless and nervous. She has a husband now and so Mum gets to sit on the side lines, and I have to say that it is a very odd experience to have her in hospital with possible complications and not have a role to play until summoned.

I never realised until now what my own mother must have felt when my sister and I had babies, and we both had complications and she had to wait to be told what was happening. It is not in anyway a welcome role.

Hopefully it won’t be a long wait…

My year of lalalala bliss.


At one stage there was a plethora of blogs along the theme of my year… my year cooking with Julia Childs, my year not buying anything, my year of being Martha Stewart (obviously not the year she was in jail); my year of following Oprah’s advice. I think you get my drift.

Australia is in an election year, and the idea of doing a year without watching Australian news is becoming a very attractive idea. The tradition for Australian elections is that we all have an idea of when the latest date for the election can be, so we can expect it anytime before that date. It can even be years early if certain conditions prevail, such as when an easily persuaded, alcohol loving, needy Govenor General is involved. So, with a vague idea of when the election will be, one day we wake to the news that the Prime Minister has called on the Govenor General and the government has gone into caretaker mode. The big day is set. On average we have about 6 weeks of media saturated electioneering.

Except this year. This year our Prime Minister has already nominated the date – a Saturday in September, conveniently between a couple of different football grand finals. So instead of a few weeks of torture, this election is streching over months. Perhaps Julia Gillard saw how Obama turned the election around by having a long run at the voters and hopes it will work a miracle for her. We do like to minic the Americans after all. Hence my consideration of a year, well at least several months, without participation in the political discourse.

I have already made up my mind about which team gets my vote, not so much because I think my choice actually deserves my vote, but this time around, more that I detest the idea of a sneaky little two faced bigot being our Prime Minister. I don’t think my vote will stop that happening though, but at least I will have the right to moan about the lttle git when he is elected.

The negativity, the lying, the betrayal of social justice, on both sides is more than my delicate nature can take. Then there is the lack of critical thinking of the great unwashed, who particiapte in their own subjugation.

Not that I want to avoid world news, or what in happening in my local area. I think my choice is to sit on the couch, fingers in my ears, eye shut and lalalalalaling whenever a politician appears on the television screen. Otherwise I might just pop a pooffoo valve and that would not be very lady like for a goddess.

I just wish they would stop playing the politician and discuss the real issues. Not the issues they manipulate for their own agenda, nor the issues the media beats up to fill the 24 hour news cycle, but the issues that mean something to we, the people. Education, health, job … not politican’s expense accounts, or who has done more 3 minute sound bites for the six o’clock news over the last year. I don’t think I will miss seeing them in a variety of yellow safety jackets and hard hards, or white coats and hair nets, or sitting in mining trucks.

Whatever the outcome I know I am going to be disappointed. Long may we debate the behaviour of the politicians, but you know what, we, the people, are the ones who elect them. We send them off to be narrow minded and bipartisan on our behalf. If we enable them to behave like badly behaved children then what more can we expect?

Perhaps not watching, listening or reading about their performances won’t change history, but it will lower my blood pressure and maybe even lengthen my life span. For once ignorance may well be bliss!

Sunday morning coming down

sleep and tea 1959

We live on over an acre of land, as do all our neighbours. Behind our property are acres and acres of rural land. So, on a Sunday morning I think it is fair for me to consider that slipping out to the clothes line on the back garden terrace in my pjs is a fairly safe bet. Nope.

No sooner did I start pegging clothes on the line and four men appear at the boundary line between our property and the neighbours, not 10 metres from where I stood in my magnificent cotton pjs. I ignored them and they stared at me.

They were there to lop a very tall tree that the neighbours were concerned might fall on either of our houses. It had already dropped a branch on their house before we moved in. It was a beautiful tree but safety first, and honestly we both have so many trees and will no doubt plant more trees that one tree will not change the planet’s climate.

The tree was nicely positioned to fall on our bedroom if it did fall our way, so I went inside and told Mr FD that while it might suit my agenda if a tree crushed him to death in our bed, it may not suit his, and perhaps it might be time to rise and shine. Notice a recurring theme, dear readers? In most of my tales of home, Mr FD is in his bed…but no blog post is long enough to “discuss” that issue, so we won’t go there.

Mr FD grumbled something about wasn’t there better things to do at 8am on a Sunday morning, but I reminded him that we now lived in the country and most “real” men had been up and working for several hours. He chose to address the rest of his conversation to Augie Dog, who had the sense to move to a safer position in the hallway.

I dressed and went back outside to take a few photos. There were four men, one young, one so old he walked with a stoop and two mature baby boomers. The team didn’t instil confidence, and of course they had the young one up the tree.

Tree cutting 2013 148

When I left to drive to the city the sound of the chain saw and the cracking of branches followed me down our drive. Mr FD had informed me that the neighbour was going to save the wood for our winter fire so I left with the vision of a rustic artfully crafted wood pile waiting for me upon my return.

I drove to the city to spend the day with Daughter1, still on Baby Wait. I always enjoy the part of the journey through the countryside. Today I passed a bull manning up to do his duty with his cow lady love, only to see him  rejected. It was Sunday morning and maybe she thought it was her one day of rest!

Later in the day I drove home anticipating our wood pile, only to be met by the sight of a jumble of leaves and branches over the grass at property edge as well as hanging down over our retaining wall and covering our compost bin. A work in progress I hope, otherwise Mr FD better man up and start a little sawing and stacking!

They also didn’t chop the tree down. They lopped off all the branches and left it looking like a cross between a totem pole and a ladder for Jack to use instead of his bean stalk. Another work in progress, or they lost the heart to cut it down? Maybe the tree will fight back and blossom again…