It's Oh So Quiet

Sweeney and I went to Christchurch on Saturday, to see his Nana. At his request, we spent a bit of Sunday at "the twisted bridge", that runs between Avonside Drive and River Road. For whatever reason, he really digs that bridge.

It was a lovely weekend. Apart from a terrible incident at the Northlands mall, involving a balloon animal in the shape of a motorbike, a rubbish bin and a boy with red hair, it was splendid. I came back to real life on Tuesday night. Sweeney's still there, hanging out for the rest of the holidays with his Nana.

And from the Department of Things You Never Thought Would Turn Up on This Particular Blog, what about that rugby, eh?? Piri Weepu winning the game against Argentina almost by himself?? Sonny Bill and his nifty offloads?? That try from Brad Thorn??

And can you believe that there are wikipedia entries for these chaps??

If New Zealand makes it to the final - and I'm sure they will - I'll take Sweeney to the Fanzone at Hagley Park to watch it with the rest of the population of the South Island. It'll be rowdy, for sure.

But in the meantime, this house is about 500% more tranquil than usual ...

The Doctor Is In

I've been having myself seen to, and am feeling rather splendid that it's over.

The procedure itself was no big deal. They do a lot of them, the doctor told me, and they get through them pretty quickly. Normally you're out the same day. I would've been out the same day if I hadn't had to wait for seven months for the procedure - in that time the single polyp had grown enormous, and my body had decided it could do with a twin polyp, too. So, to be sure, to be sure, I stayed in hospital for a little, and it was really rather lovely. I felt like Superman - I was the only patient I saw who was actually walking, for a start, and, what ho!! Here's lunch!! Oh, and a cup of something hot!! And baked fish for dinner, with sponge and custard for afters!! And a rack of silly women's magazines!!

To say nothing of the fabulous nursing staff, and the beds that go up and down, and the pain medication that just kept on coming, and the people who appear out of the mist with mops and cloths and plastic aprons to clean up everything.

On the other hand, I could go on all day about how angry it's made me that I had to wait so long for this to happen. The amount of money put up by the taxpayer to subsidise the medication to manage my body for seven months could've been saved. I would've been home yesterday, and the girl who came in to ED with a crippling urinary infection would've been able to get into the ward at dinner time last night, rather than at 5am this morning.

I would've had actual dominion over my own actual body for the last seven months, rather than feeling like a time bomb most of the time. Yes, waiting lists are a feminist issue. Government policy that removes from me the control of my own body?? No, thank you.

The woman in the bed next to me has been diagnosed with ovarian cancer. Instantly, she and her family were sorting out private treatment options. That's a real shame, don't you think?

But anyway, thanks Wellington Hospital!! You look beautiful, too, by the way ... 

Burnin' Up

Sweeney's rattly cough never quite went away, and now I find his chest infection is back, and he's got a little ear and throat infection, too. Poor little guy. He mentioned a sore throat two days ago, and I put it down to a spot of hayfever, because I've got a sore throat and I reckoned to myself that it's hayfever.

Of course, it's not hayfever. We've both got our chest infections again, but not nearly so brain-wrenchingly bad as previously. I had a glass of wine after the funeral on Thursday, and woke up the next day with throbbing in the hangover portion of my head. It went on all day, then through the weekend, and on to today.

Of course, it wasn't a hangover.

So, we're all loaded up with medicine and it's going to be okay. Sweeney's got a bit of a temp, and I may have to hook him up and run the lights off his flaming core.

In other news, it looks like the run of perfect weather may be over. Which isn't so bad, because it makes the rattly coughs feel a bit more appropriate, seeing as it's windy and rainy and kind of wintery and all.

In other, other news, I'm knitting up a storm, getting my shizz together for the Christmas ornament swap. More on that later ...

Dear John

Today Sweeney and I went to a funeral for our friend John. He was 83 and had been ill for some time. John was a lovely man, always up for a chat, always smiling.

It was a great funeral, with a lovely get-together afterwards. One of John's sons was my partner for several years a long, long time ago, so most people there, I hadn't seen for aaaages.

It was sad but nice, and I look forward to seeing a bunch of them again over Christmas.

Sweeney handled the looong service rather well, although we did nip outside for fresh air a few times to break things up a bit. He went a bit mental at Makara cemetery, had to go for a long, long run, then a long, long sit under a shady tree. We popped in to Karori cemetery on the way back into town, then back to Peter and Ginny's for the get-together, where he found an attic with Lego AND Playmobil. And this was AFTER he had lemonade to drink.

In other news, I'm watching Zombieland right now. I'll never, ever let Sweeney watch it, what with the swearing and the carnage, but it's terrifically funny. That cute little girl from Little Miss Sunshine's sure grown up ...

All Right Now

Yes, it's been a little while. Sorry about that. I've had a viral respiratory infection, followed by a bacterial chest infection, and frankly, it's knocked me right off my perch. Off my perch.

But now I'm nearly back to normal, apart from three or four tubercular-sounding coughing fits a day.

In no order of importance, here are a few snippets from the last two weeks:

• Sweeney fell over and banged his cheek on the step one night. It swelled up and looked nasty, but after half an hour with a cold cloth and a cuddle, it all came right. In the morning I asked him how his face felt, and he said "dirty";
• I haven't been to yoga for two weeks. Every time I do a downward dog, I nearly pass out with oxygen deprivation;
• we moved offices. Now I work in the swankiest, most expensive office space in Wellington. We have all brand new cups and glasses and cutlery. The lights dim when the natural light increases, and vice versa. The lift has no buttons. Yes, really;
• I have an exam on Tuesday. I really don't feel like studying, and being sick took two weeks off my schedule;
• tickets are booked for me, Sweeney and Harper to head to Christchurch and beyond in November; and
• Dad made macaroni cheese last night for dinner. Awesome;
• the first blooms have come out on the Dublin Bay at the front of the house. Just beautiful;
• Mum continues to live through ongoing aftershocks in Christchurch;
• Sweeney, Harper and I went to Bela's fifth - FIFTH - birthday party, just as The Illness was coming on. I was a sub-optimal guest - no wrapping on the present, no revving the kids up, no glugging back litres of fizzy wine - but the boys had a really good time. Harper was excited the night before about cake, and Sweeney just loves Bela's dolls' house.

Writing that was exhausting. Zzzzzzzz.

A Little (K)night Music

Sweeney dressed up as a knight for his teacher Mo's last day party at preschool the other day. She took a photo of him in his outfit. He loved thrashing about with that inflatable sword so much, it had several slow leaks by the end of the day.

In other news, last week I went to a work event, drank about 10,000 drinks and felt bad for four days. Yoga and good eating went out the window. This week, I resumed my regime, but I still feel like this ...

Maybe not so much in the nose department, but you know, unwieldy and enormous.

And that's us pretty much up to date.

Time in a Bottle

Of course everyone knows about the earthquake. It's all over the news here. My mum - Sweeney's Nana - is fine and the house is okay. Her neighbours are okay. Everyone I know there is okay.

Elsewhere, beautiful buildings and gorgeous roads are broken. I got all choked up watching a video of some demolition today. Part of Christchurch's appeal for me has been all the things that have stayed the same since ... forever.

So I've made a list of the bits that if I had my way, would stay in a little capsule for all time. Some are in bits now, I know, but whatever ...

1. Avonside Drive. Fantastic stretch of road for riding your black, one-speed bike with a basket on the front;
2. the Staff Club. Now a private, shattered home. I walked past it at least twice a day every day of my first year at varsity;
3. 151 Fitzgerald Ave. Mum and Dad brought me here when I was brand spanking new. I don't remember living there, but I like that it's been there for me to drive past. It's one of the few places I lived in in Christchurch that hasn't been turned into a carpark or infill housing;
4. Kosta's Souvlaki Bar. I've never liked any other souvlaki ever.
5. the Museum. Still love that same street scene they've had since ... forever. And the mummy;
6. the Botanic Gardens. The fountain. The cactus house. The beds of yarrow. The ancient trees. The duck pond;
7. Dux De Lux. Last time I went there, the Sports channel was playing in one bar and there was a queue of teenagers to get in. But I remember long summer evenings in the courtyard, the crush on Saturday nights, the delicious cafe. And the first time I met Martin was at the Dux, after he and my boyfriend had got themselves into a horrible state and needed rescuing;
8. the Gladstone. A great band on every Friday night, or a rubbish one that one of your friends played in. Rheineck-squelchy carpet. It got pulled down years ago;
9. the beaches - Taylor's Mistake, Sumner and Brighton. Christchurch beaches are the awesomest beaches in the world;
10. 377 Marine Parade. Best house I've ever lived in. Across the road from the beach. Crazy terraced garden. Fold-out table and chairs in the kitchen. I got my first bike the Christmas we lived there, and I spent most of the summer riding up and down the coastline.

Anyhoo, there is no time capsule, and a good part of my list is changed forever. But the main thing is that Mum's okay. Love you, Mum!! Love you, Nana!!

Look Away Now

I had a tooth taken out on Monday, and it's forced me to spend most of the week looking like this. Not really, I was reading a different book until yesterday, and I've been drinking Coke Zero as well. But I've been wearing these pyjamas, and there is swelling ...

It's taken me by surprise, let me tell you. I've had all my wisdom teeth out and never before has there been anything to report afterwards. No swelling, no residual Panadol-resistant pain after the injections have worn off, nothing.

My face is still large, and I need to prepare mentally to eat anything, but I feel much better now, thanks. And I can actually smile again. Yesterday was the most feeble I've felt in a really long time.
Dad's been great, making cups of tea and rustling up victuals. Thanks, Dad!!

Although if you could stop that skillsaw noise from the neighbours, that'd put the top of my head back in place. More healing, I think ...

Lazing on a Sunny Afternoon

After the power cut on Thursday, our servers at work were fried on Friday. Some of us could do virtually nothing for the day. So I lost a day and my deadline didn't move out and then I got a new piece of work to do by the end of May, and my other project needs more of my time until the end of May, soooo ...

I figure I'll be looking at these things quite a bit for the next few weeks:

My telecommunications centre ....

My view ...

The stationery cupboard - more like a walk-in wardrobe ...

The only colourful thing in here ...

The patch of afternoon sun where my feet go ...

*sigh*

In other news, I made it through today without a piece of chocolate caramel slice from Mr Bun. And you won't believe how good the fence is looking. Dad and Joe have been plugging away at it this week, and it's nearly there. Photographic evidence will be provided at the weekend.

And congrats, Sweeney's-cousin-Victoria, on your first game of netball going kind of entirely to plan. Rules are for amateurs!! Throw that ball wherever you feel like!!

And also congrats, Sweeney's-cousin-Katie, on emerging from the tyranny of 13 months of braces!! Nuggety!!

All I Want Is (Someone Other Than) You

What's in the kid these days?? We have our usual bedtime chat about, I don't know, whether a giraffe can drive a car, or why it just isn't possible for Blessing's dad to have been coloured blue ever, and somehow, SOMEHOW, he steers it into talking about his own dad. This stuff is fraught with landmines these days. It exhausts me, to be honest.

When Martin died, Sweeney just seemed to roll with it. He seemed to accept without question what was happening, all the hard things that were happening. Now he's getting kind of stroppy about it. "Why have I just got you??" he asked tonight, after a long, circular conversation about whether we could go check if his dad's eyes were still closed.

I'm so sick of having to tell him his dad is actually dead, over and over. Having to be kind about it. Feeling kind of stroppy that I have to do this at all. Like I said, it's a minefield.

In other news, we went to Frank's birthday party yesterday, at Staglands. One day we'll go back and actually look at the animals and not just run like madmen around the tracks. Met some nice new people, met up again with some more familiar faces from the kids' parties.

In other, other news,I'm thinking of orange cupboards in the kitchen. Maybe it's the ancient Penguin copy of Cold Comfort Farm I'm reading every chance I get right at the moment. Maybe it's the bowl of gorgeous oranges on our bench. Maybe it's all the lovely orange tops Sweeney's wearing these days.

Who knows?? So, Sweeney's having deep, confusing, yearning thoughts about his dad, and I'm thinking about paint. My mission this week is to get Sweeney's mind onto paint.

Birdland

This morning I cleaned out the preschool's budgies' cage. Fruity and Loulou - for those are their names - squawked and screeched and flapped their moulty wings even more than usual while I did it.

I feel a little sorry for them. They're birds, but they live in a cage. Their day job is to hang out at a preschool - albeit a nice one with children who take notice of rules and don't do anything terrible to them - but it can't be very relaxing. On the weekends they get taken home to children's family homes and subjected to being photographed and documented for the preschool's book about them.

The number of families who offer to take them home at weekends has dropped off enormously in the last few months. I think it's because budgies are just no fun.

I mean, where's the warmth?? The cuddles?? You can't commune with them hardly at all. They don't run along the beach with you, they don't catch the ball when you throw it to them, they don't curl up on your lap and purr so loud you have to turn the telly up.

We've had them here since mid-December, and I feel a bit bad that in order to keep them safe from the cat, they need to be in a corner of Sweeney's room, with a view of a wall and some of a curtain. And a windowsill, but they can't actually see out of the window. I know this because I had a fit of empathy and actually worked it out. I put them outside whenever it's sunny, but we were away for five days and I couldn't add that to Libby's petsitting duties. Gods help her, she vacuumed up five days of their dander from our house, which was phenomenal on its own.

When they're outside, blackbirds and thrushes come really close to them and I wonder if they mind. They clearly mind it when I come near them. They huddle together at the far end of the cage. Even if I'm feeding them, and especially if I'm sticking a hose into their cage and cleaning the last four days' poohs off its floor.

Cool your jets, SPCA - the hose was hardly on at all.

Fresh New Year

My sister sums things up quite well, so this format is a total copy of her summing up of 2009.

What did you do in 2009 that you've never done before?

In no order ...

• bought a Dominos pizza;
• visited a hospice;
• lived on instant coffee for four days;
• went for dinner at Capitol, Metropolitan and Floriditas. Not all on the same night;
• listened to Sweeney sing Jingle Bells, ABC and Row Row Row Your Boat around the house;
• sold shoes;
• had kids at my house for a sleepover;
• took budgies home from preschool for the weekend;
• took my child to see a band at a bar with squelchy carpet;
• read Robert Heinlein.

Did you keep your New Year's goals, and will you make more for 2010?

Actually, I mostly nailed it. I just want to keep working on it, maybe with some expansion in some areas.

Did anyone close to you die?

Yes. And yes.

What countries did you visit?

I went nowhere. Not even in my mind.

What would you like to have in 2010 that you lacked in 2009?

Where to start? In no order ...

• a Proper Job, with actual $$ and all the secure feelings that brings;
• a pruned willow tree at the bottom of the garden;
• a new oven.

Hmm, those last two are definitely tied up with that first one. Handy.

What date from 2009 will remain etched upon your memory, and why?

All the dates around Martin going into hospital and hospice, and then dying. They're all in stone.

What was your biggest achievement of the year?

I didn't end up in Debtors Prison or the loony bin. Sweeney isn't cutting himself or drinking absinthe.

Anticipating that next year's achievements will be a little less Dickensian.

What was your biggest failure?

Not always being as gracious as I could've been towards people who were just being nice.

Did you suffer illness or injury?

I resolved to guard my health in 2009, and apart from a few wild colds and a niggly back that niggles me if I don't pay it attention and stretch it in the mornings, there's nothing to report.

What was the best thing you bought?

It's a tie between Sweeney's preschool fees and the five new tyres on the car.

Whose behaviour merited celebration?

Everyone who:

• had us over for dinner;
• looked after Sweeney while I worked;
• looked after Sweeney while I did something along party lines;
• contributed anything - cash, clothes, food, hugs, kind words - to our household;
• listened while I got stuff off my chest;
• laughed at my stupid jokes, especially when they were inappropriate and I deserved to be muzzled;
• refrained from treating me like a halfwit and/or lunatic when I exhibited halfwit and/ or lunatic behaviour. We're really lucky to have the people in our lives that we do, we are.

And you all know who you are.

Special mention goes to Martin, who, in 2009, was an ace dad for Sweeney, turning up and turning it on right up to just before the end. He came back to me as a lovely friend and confidant again. And we did have an almighty celebration already, thanks. Oooh, my head.

Whose behaviour made you appalled and depressed?

Nobody's. Well, maybe a few people, but never for more than a nanosecond or two. 2009 was the year where I really tried hard to block that sort of stuff out.

Oh no, I've got one. Those people in that squalid flat in Kelburn - if you're reading this, then be ashamed. Be very ashamed. Of yourselves.

Oh, and our MPs, for supporting legislation to make pseudoephedrine prescription-only. I personally will be appalling and depressing to anyone who encounters me with a head cold, if I can't access pseudoephedrine asap.

Enough said.

Where did most of your money go?

Squandered it on keeping us fed and in an actual house.

What did you get really, really, really excited about?

Sweeney being toilet trained. I still can't believe it.

What song will always remind you of 2009?

True Faith by New Order

What do you wish you'd done more of?

Reading actual books. Jane Eyre, The Mayor of Casterbridge, Tu, The Moon is a Harsh Mistress. The Time Traveler's Wife made me wish someone would poke my eyes out, but there you have it.

What do you wish you'd done less of?

Reading online. I can't tell you what piffle there is out there, waiting to suck me into its piffly vortex.

Did you fall in love in 2009?

2009 was the year where I really got the hang of blocking that sort of stuff out.

What did you want and get?

A Proper Job, and to survive with my wits intact until I got it.

I just made it. Phew.

Silent Nights

Hello, you may remember me. I used to write here a little bit. My hard drive bit the dust. Back up and running and now I'm racking my brains thinking what anyone would possibly want to read about here.

So I'll do a little Hot/Not Hot:

Hot

• Christmas day was choice - choice people, choice kai, choice presents. Sweeney spent the day in full Spiderman regalia, including undies. Choice;
• having three days off in a row after the frenzy that was the week before Christmas;
• Patricia Grace's Tu. I'm so actually reading it;
• Prairie Home Companion on the National Programme. Somehow all that dour Minnesota-ness about snow and Lutherans is a real signifier of summer for me;
• seeing Sweeney hang out with his families on Christmas day - especially his Dunedin cousins and auntie and uncle - what a nice bunch of people;
• Wonky Donkey. Haven't enjoyed reading a book about a terribly disabled, musically tasteless animal with giantism and a chirpy countenance so much ... ever;
• having Mum to stay. She brought trifle. Hope she makes another one ...

Not Hot

• the squealy noise coming from my front passenger wheel;
• this latest batch of weather. Not hot at all;
• the spuds I served up for dinner last night. Took ages to boil, then they went instantly grey. Epicurean, indee ...;
• One Red Dog tonight. We went there for dinner just after 5pm and left at 5.35pm, without even getting a glass of water. Loads of staff about, and only a fine spray of punters, but no-one coming for our order or anything. We scarpered to The Craftsman, which was kind of fabulous, as it turns out. Bad, bad dog ...;
• hayfever. And buying hayfever medication, only to have all symptoms disappear;
• Little Dorrit's over. Oh, stink.

I'll leave it to Wonky Donkey to sign off. Hee Haw!!

The Heat

What's Hot:

• We had spaghetti bolognese-type dinner tonight, quick to whip up, easy to insert veges into, and Sweeney actually ate all of his. It took him a while to get going, but once he was into it ...;
• It's going to be sunny on Saturday;
• The two P5 parking spaces the council has finally installed outside Sweeney's preschool;
• Sweeney's current fave book is Dr Seuss' I Wish That I Had Duck Feet. Lovely;
• My Jodhpur boots from Minnie Cooper were a bit worn down on the sole, and Sandy not only resoled them, but added on an extra layer of something that makes them tougher and, I think, more comfy. Thanks, Sandy!!;
• I have just another hoop or two to jump through, then I really will have a Proper Job lined up and ready to go. Oooh-err.

What's Not:

• It's really rather chilly here tonight;
• I've been knackered all week and have hardly read anything or done any chores beyond the bare minimum to keep us dressed, fed and kind of clean;
• the Chorus/Telecom vans that take up the P5 parking spaces outside Sweeney's preschool every morning;
• my Capos from Minnie Cooper may have to be retired after nine years of faithful service. Resoled and reheeled multiple times, but now the actual leather has sprung a teensy split and may not be salvageable;
• I'm so anxious about getting confirmation of the Proper Job, I can hardly stand it. Blerg.

More hotness and notness is available from Loobyloo. Always a splendid read.

The Weight

Two weeks ago, Dr Jan told me that I was her seventh cervical smear patient for the day, and I really struggled for something to say in reply. In my defence, I was struggling to prevent Sweeney from wandering into the curtained area and catching sight of something nasty at the same time.

I know the odds of having cancer are teensy really, but I still felt pretty chuffed to get my letter today, telling me my results were normal. Crazy, no??

Who'd be a GP? I remember when Martin was having gastric banding procedures at the hospital, and one of the nurses told us that they did "down-the-throat jobs in the mornings, and up-the-bum jobs in the afternoons." Who'd be a gastroenterologist? What's the most awful type of doctoring, do you think? To study your bum off for all those years and then every work day consists of tumours or cysts or pus or poohs, or telling people terrible news about their bodies and lives - surely you'd question your choices at some point.

A friend of mine, Sally, has just got the news, five years after getting through treatment for breast cancer, that some microscopic cancer cells have been found, and she's up for more surgery and more radiotherapy. She's relieved that the week of not knowing what was happening is over, and she's positive that she's going to come through okay. Her prognosis is good. Go, Sally, go, go, go!!

In other news, the prognosis for my vacuum cleaner is not good. It's only 18 months old, for god's sake, and this morning it made a small bang! sound and then ... nothing. And I still have the northeast corner my bedroom to remove three years of dust balls from ...

Oh, and Kimberley showed me last night that she can do the Crane now. Inspired me to up my yoga game. Also want to drop 10kg by my birthday. Watch this space ...

Sitting Round at Home

Got a call this morning from my mum, telling me that my Auntie Vonnie was on the telly. She's a lovely woman, eighty years old and just got her driver's licence. Awesome. She embroiders and knits and gardens, and probably a multitude of other great things, like a crafty demon. I know she makes a mean oaty biscuit.

Anyway, she came off sooo nice. Awesome.

Sweeney's had a runny tummy all week. The doctor and the internet assure me that there's no reason to need reassurance, and it really looked like it was sorted yesterday, and he went back to preschool and had a great time. When we got home and were negotiating about what to have for dinner, I realised it wasn't sorted. It's still not sorted. He's pretty chirpy, though, inbetween episodes of foulness.

Have you been watching Glee?? I've been looking forward to it for ages, then last week was the first episode and Sweeney talked all through it. This week, he's talking all through it, but with a really quiet, piercing voice. And someone from a research company called in the middle of it. At least I got to see their version of Gold Digger, and Sweeney's really enjoying the singing and dancing, if not the narrative.

Dad's been here this week and did some great jobs around the house. Replaced the light bulb that blew who-knows-how-many-months ago. Sorted out replacement doorkeys to replace the three that I lost in the space of 24 hours. Made bacon sandwiches for our dinner. Stayed home with Sweeney when he was really off his game.

Anyway, back to how Sweeney's sick. Weeks ago, Liisa got me a ticket to see The Buzzcocks at Bodega tonight. I've been getting pretty excited. I try to get in a night of drinks and adult company and non-family-friendly behaviour in once a month now, but with the plague in our house, I've decided to flag it. So I'm feeling a little sorry for myself right now, missing out on seeing them when I've been nuts about them since I was 16, so I can clean up Sweeney after his runny tummy hits, and then he drives me mental with his quiet-but-piercing chatter.

And it's the first Friday night in ages that I haven't been completely knackered. Celebrating by teaching myself to crochet.

Party on.

Distant Sun

Good grief. The weather has been pants for forever. I've had a headache for three days, and last night some extra-special Stabby Pains started happening in various bits of my body. I've staved off actual flu all winter, but maybe my luck's run out. I crashed out early, dreamt George A. Romero dreams, then lay awake from 11.30pm to 3am, hearing Sweeney sneeze in his sleep. This morning, he's still sneezing and refusing to blow his nose. I've put off all the things I had to do today, because lying around feeling listless and low-grade grumpy feels so much more acceptable right now.

Day Six of toilet training. It's been a bumpy ride at times. The teachers at preschool are being fantastic about, well, showing both me and Sweeney a good approach. There've been some accidents, and there've been times when I've had to harness every shred of self-control to keep the top of my head in place. To be honest, I'm not convinced that I've done the right thing. Feels like all I've done is put him under a microscope and caused toileting to be something we talk about all the time. In any event, preschool and I have agreed to persevere for a couple of weeks before changing course.

In other news, the elderflower cordial will be done steeping today. Apparently it's sensationally refreshing in hot, summer weather. I can't wait - for the cordial, the sensational refreshment and the weather.

The Sweetest Thing

Okay, maybe this is mental, but so what. Yesterday was Father's Day, and I called my dad and thought about him a whole lot during the day, and we went to lunch with the O'Neills and spent time with Martin's dad. Of course there was no Dad-type action for Sweeney, apart from us hauling out some photos of him and talking about him for a bit.

Last night as we drove home from the M-Z's house, the moon was full and waxy and seemed very close. Today when I woke up, I felt propelled out of bed, looking for something sweet for breakfast. The feeling didn't go away, but I resisted eating an entire loaf of toast and marmalade. Later I found myself in a bakery in Karori, grabbing an insanely sweet raspberry bun. They're amazing - they have the pink icing, as expected, but inside is a lake of raspberry syrup, too. It's an outrage against pancreases everywhere.

As I drove back towards town, after several changes of mind, I stopped in at Martin's new address and sat under a tree weighed down by birds to eat the bun. Well, half the bun. I left half for Martin. Or, if I wasn't being mental, I mean, for the birds. Partly because we used to split lots of things like that, and partly because it really was hysterically sweet. He loved sugary baked goods a whole lot.

When I picked up Sweeney tonight from preschool, his teacher told me they'd been drawing their families today. Sweeney drew his dad. Here he is ...

Should I be concerned about this? That everyone else drew their mum and dad and pets and so on?? And my kid drew the member of his family who's actually dead? I like that he remembered Martin's beard, though.

Ever since he got home, Sweeney's been making bridges out of everything. Laying his fork down on his dinner plate and calling it a bridge, then firing his peas across it. He's just announced that he's made a bridge out of a piece of elastic on his pyjama pants. What an imagination he's got on him right now ...

Alice Doesn't Live Here Anymore

Sweeney's great-grandmother, the indomitable Alice Grace Godwin, aka Granny, has died. We love her a lot and we're pretty sad about this in our house. She was Sweeney's dad's grandmother, his mother's mother, and if she'd kept on for a few more weeks, she would've been 94. There's nothing shabby about 93, though.

Some points to note about Granny:

• she got her house painted last year, and toddled off to the bakery every morning to provide morning and afternoon tea for the painters. They were rightly chuffed;
• her grandchildren have always been in awe of her;
• she lived in her own house, on her own, until just a few weeks ago;
• she adored her grandchildren and her great-grandchildren;
• her grandchildren and her great-grandchildren adored her;
• she always asked if I was busy at work. I always said yes;
• she loved puzzles, crossword and otherwise. Martin and I used to take out a Golden Kiwi Crossword when we visited her;
• she demonstrated outrageous selective hearing. I'd be near-hoarse with projecting my voice to her from an inch away, and she'd not hear me. Martin would be across the room and say something hilarious under his breath and she'd snicker away to herself;
• she wasn't a chatter, but she liked a good giggle;
• she was always up for a cuddle with Sweeney.

I can't say that I knew her terribly well, but I thought the world of her, partly because I saw how Martin and his family, and her loyal clutch of friends, thought the world of her. I admired how she was an amalgam of sweet and steely. One of the worst things about Martin's death, apart from the death itself, was seeing Granny and realising she couldn't hide how hard this was on her.

These two deaths have made me hope that there is actually an afterlife where people are relieved of the Cares of the World. I think these two could do with a bit of relief, and they always liked each other's company.

Anyway, here's my favourite picture of her. It was taken while she was recuperating at the Home of Compassion, from her umpteenth hip replacement, when Sweeney was about 7 months old. Martin and I sat back and watched the two of them play and giggle together for ages.

It was awesome.

Out of the Blue

You know, I love Sweeney and all, but crikey, he's a whopper challenge to me, the past few days.

Yesterday I picked him up from preschool, and he was so whiny in the car that I was inspired to pick up some wine at the supermarket. He chose that we'd go to the white supermarket, not the yellow one. Then he complained that he really wanted to go to the yellow one.

When I say "complain", I mean he bellowed, with tears, all the way from the car to the supermarket threshold. Then he hit the deck and a nice woman told me that her son did this for twenty or so minutes at a time.

Luckily, the wine section is very near the entrance, so I got him through the turnstile and could watch him yelling at me and crying as I selected. Then reselected, because my original selection made Sweeney cry harder. The manager asked me if everything was okay. I told him Sweeney really wanted to be at Pak'n'Save and he disappeared.

I figured I'd just ride it out and force a banana into him in the car, but he tried emptying things off the shelf at the checkout, so I had to make him sit in time out as a grillion slack-jawed, obviously childless winners in the game of Life made tsk noises in line around me. The checkout girl looked me deep in the eye and told me she hoped I'd have a good night and I really wanted to believe her, what with the blizzard of noise erupting from near the floor behind me.

Then I knocked the top off his banana as I peeled it, and that meant he couldn't eat it and could Go On About It for Ages.

Anyway, we got to the M-Zs for dinner, he had a big fuss made of him by everyone and ate delicious dinner, then he watched some Tom & Jerry with the kids until it looked like his eyes were on fire. He found Jean's Polly Pocket doll's house and played with it at the table, and gave me lots of cuddles during dinner, so that I didn't really mind that he should've been sitting on his own seat.

So I woke up thinking that I was a god for getting through an ordeal of that sort the night before. We parked up and watched cartoons to kick off the day, took ages over breakfast and Kimberley and Harper came for a visit.

Nice. Then it all went skewiff and we were embroiled in the same scenario as the night before, except that it went on all day and wasn't nearly so hysterical.

Long story short, he was in bed by 6.45pm and I felt rubbish about how the day had gone. I really look forward to the weekend, I plan visits to friends, interesting things for us to do, and the last few weekends have been bumpy like this.

Then I watched Out of the Blue on telly. Splendid. I was on holiday in Dunedin a few years after the massacre, and we went to Aramoana for a day of playing cricket on the beach, paddling and eating under a huge tree. Beautiful.

Anyway, the film made me stop in and give Sweeney a cuddle until he woke up slightly and said "stop it Mum, I'm sleeping".