Where’s your Fred at?

Well I don’t know about any of you, by my little Fred is on the verge of walking. At the tender age of 7 years old it looks like we will soon be able to answer that oft-asked question ‘is he walking yet?’ in the affirmative. Which is a ridiculously cute sight to behold seeing as Fred is the smallest 16 month old in the world. Ever. To see this tiny, skinny little man take unsteady strides across the room whilst dribbling excitedly is right up there in my top 5 ‘don’t eat the cute baby’ moments.

He’s quite a vocal little chap with his first word being ‘ball’ followed closely by ‘stairs’, ‘toast’, ‘duck’, ‘moon, ‘panda’ and ‘otter’. Blame Baby Einstein for those last two. These animals have been introduced to him on the ‘Neighbourhood Animals’ DVD… and I often wonder the devastation that will be inflicted when it dawns on him that Pandas and Otters will never be a part of our neighbourhood. But then I don’t worry too much as it no doubt pales in comparison to the emotional damage caused by a mother who begs him to ‘EAAAAT, Please Eat’ three times a day and a father who is unable to talk to him with out reducing every work into ridiculous babble (e.g. ‘Monkey-Munk, lets go-sie change-sie a nappy-nap and put you in the bath-ie? Yes? Yes?).

In the past month there has been a serious challenger to throwing the ball as ‘most beloved recreational pastime’. And that be in the form of books. Which (besides the stubbornness and quick-temper) is probably the first sign my personality coming out in Fred*. There is nothing that will quell Fred’s bleating like a good book; there is very little cuter than seeing him try to drag a book larger than himself, across the room, to throw demandingly at the closest adult. And if you caught him in those quiet times when he is flicking through one on his lonesome, happily babbling away as he ‘reads’, I’m sure your heart would bleed like mine. It’s a killer.

(*Yes, Yes – we are aware that Ball vs. Books = Dad vs. Mum …AND that this could be a ‘phase’ and he will probably be smoking a crack pipe by 5 and never open a book again).

Well, that’s enough about Fred. More about ME (it being my blog and all). I’m doing well. I have officially entered the third trimester and can see the end in sight…. which is causing me no end of stress!! And no, not for the obvious reason (ie. The world of pain I will enter) but rather because there is absolutely no stability, no certainty in our lives at the moment. We are desperately trying to sell out house in the middle of a ‘Credit Crunch’ and move into a rental property in a extremely competitive market where anything viable is snapped up in seconds…. All the while the clock ticks and Number Two gets closer and closer to introducing him/herself. I have drawn a line in the sand and told Dave that we must have moved by the end of the first week of June. I am so large and so exhausted already that I don’t feel like I can handle the stairs on this house much longer or the rigorous cleaning required to put your house on show … let alone having the strength to move house when the time comes. I have aches and pains I cannot remember in my last pregnancy and the added demand of ‘Monkey-Munk’. So Dave and I find ourselves touring the prospective new neighborhoods all weekend and I spend my days online looking at property or talking to agents. No doubt it will all come together – it has to – but right now I just can’t help but bite my nails.

It of course does not help that Dave and I do not see eye-to-eye in what sort place we want to move into (surprise, surprise). I seem unable to understand the value of an extra few thousand pounds a year and he seems unable to understand my terror at spending a London winter stuck in a room that is 3.5m x 4.2m with two children, manky carpet and stenciled wallpaper.

Watch this space.

This is me being a proper Aussie cooking ANZAC biscuits this past weekend. I burnt them slightly and made them too thin, but it’s the first time I have ever made biscuits and that fact that Fred enjoyed them has to say something.

because thats the way i roll

A few months ago (dear god! are we almost in May already?!?) me and two of my canadians, Graeme and Buffy, went to see David Mamet's 'Speed-The-Plow' at the Old Vic near Waterloo Station. This is the theatre for which Kevin Spacey is the Director and this particular play starred Keyser himself and a personal fav of mine - Jeff Goldblum. It was awesome, they were awesome - Conclusion: theatre is awesome.

There is a theory which says that people start to look like their pets, a theory which could be applied to me and Dave (Dave being the animal of course. Think of him as a little Jack Russell). Although I like to think of myself as someone who enjoys an evening watching the stage, I must admit that the last few times I have been in that situation*, I have found myself checking my watch towards the end of the first act or searching the program for a finishing time at intermission. Not for lack of actually enjoying what I was watching, but rather because my attention span is increasingly Dave-a-sized, meaning that it's not too far off that of a rather excited puppy. So it was refreshing to see such a sharply-written play, starring such fabulous actors.. which lasted a blinding hour. Perfect!!

(*not to be interpreted as more than three times in the past three years in London)

We went as a surprise for Buffy's 22nd Birthday, and it delighted Graeme and I, NO END, to pretend to her that we were going to see Alien vs Predator: Requiem. To the point where the the hours of analysis as to whether it would be a triumphant Alien or Predator have taken a deep-seated hold of my imagination, and I find myself embarrassingly keen to watch the movie. So with Dave away in India this weekend, I think a post in the next week detailing a few epic Predator battles is on the cards (I can feel the traffic on this site increasing 10 fold in anticipation).

Anyhoo, here's a post-show photo of Graeme and I with the Speed-The-Plow Brochure at The Stage Door pub behind the theatre (source: Beth Conacher). Although a decidedly hideous photo of myself, I cant help but love it due to the subtle but hilarious manner in which I am flaring my nostrils. In fact the series of photos taken from this night were pure comedy gold and involved such classics as coins in eyes, mock punches and homey-g poses. Those privileged friends of Buffy can see them on her facebook.

I lie! I lie!

OK. So I spent a bit of time yesterday on updating this blog (parts of which had been languishing since the mid-80s) and re-introduced the 'What I'm Reading' picture on the right. And to be honest, The Road by Cormac McCarthy is not actually what I'm currently reading. Truth beknownst, I finished it almost three weeks ago. BUT it just happens to be the BEST book I have read in a long time and a book I just can't. get. out. of. my. head. I think about it so much, I might as well be reading it still. So I thought it only fitting that on my return to the blogosphere I give it some dues for a few days. Big it up for the few of you out there who actually still look on here and coindicently find yourself between books and in need of a recommendation.... Not likely, eh? Ahhhhh bugger it! The TRUTH is - like EVERYTHING on this blog- It's for me! All me! I'm my number 1 fan and no-one delights in seeing what I'm up to more than MEEEEE! So if I log in here and see that I'm reading The Road then it will make ME happy. Because even though it is by far and away the bleakest novel I have ever read (though strangely uplifting) I am very sad at the fact that having read it, I will never get to discover it again.

So if you get the chance, read The Road. It's short, captivating and beautifully written. It won the Pulitzer Prize in 2007 (A Big Deal) and was one of hte few books selected that year for Oprah's Book Club (Even Bigger Deal).

Here's a photo (or three) of Georgia and Pete getting 'papped' in Adeliade recently. Whilst G is obviously a stand-out, it's Pete's expression I find increasingly amusing..

more than i can chew?

it dawned on me today that when Number Two comes along, there is some expectation that I begin a new blog for him/her. Not particularly from any of you lot as I'm pretty sure you stopped looking at these blogs a long, long time ago - but from myself. As a first-hand knowledge holder of what it's like to be in 1000 less photos than your bigger sister, it wouldn't really be fair to Number Two to not give them a blog. Which leads me to conclude that I might need surgery to remove that finger.

that being said, it has dawned on me during the writing of this post that I am sick to death of referring to this miracle of love in my belly as 'Number Two'. It seems cruel and altogether far too amusing. Not in a scatalogical way, but in an Austin Powers way. Tee Hee. So I think we should all help me convince Dave that the envelope which details Number Two's sex should be opened (And no, holding it up to the light doesn't work). His email is david.ligertwood@essentiallygroup.com

Doing this would also save me a lot of time in looking through those baby names books. As naming Fred was hard enough, we simply cannot find enough names we like - let alone agree on - to whittle it down to a final list or two. Middle names are sorted, last name is a given, but inspiration for that all important first name eludes us. Which has given rise to some rather amusing conversations these past couple of months. For example, we have considered calling him/her:

Pip Ligertwood (by far the male name which we find most amusing)
BigBird Ligertwood (... and the oscar goes to 'BigBird!!')
Amy Ligertwood II
Colon Ligertwood
Johnson Ligertwood
David David George Coutts Ligertwood
Jesus Ligertwood
Adolf Ligertwood

Which whilst a bit cruel, probably ain't too far off the genuine list of names that Dave wrote out for consideration:

Leroy Ligertwood (which sadly, we both actually liked....)
Reggie Ligertwood (at which point I suggested Jughead)
Larry Ligertwood
Hank Ligertwood
Gordon Ligertwood

From which we can conclude that a) Dave won't be naming Number Two andb) Dave is in denial at possibility of him having a daughter.

Anyway - all this being said, this is probably the full extent of name-chatter I will put on this blog seeing as we have also decided to keep our final choices to ourselves. It's no fun when you tell someone a name you are genuinely considering and they 'veto' it (as though it's their decision!!). We figure that when the day comes and we all tell you, y'all be to be too polite to do anything other than tell us how clever we are!

Did I mention that it FULLY snowed last Sunday. Like fluffy snow for hours and hours? And that last Sundy it was my Birthday! That it SNOWED on my BIRTHDAY. Pretty special (considering i haven't seen snow in London since last winter). Lesson: God thinks Heather Anders is SPECIAL.
This a photo of me and Fred at Doonie and Kate's wedding chosen for no other reason that I look pretty.

an example of bad blogging

in an effort to get back into all this im going to do a stream of consciousness thing.

i can crack an egg whilst holding a baby on my hip. That means I'm doing it one-handed, people.

i tried to figure out what I wanted for my birthday this year and came to the conclusion that I want nothing. Seriously. Normally id dribble over the prospect of some new clothes or shoes but when your body is steadily inflating to the point of mu-mus and orthodontic sandals, whats the point? Mind you - I can always depend on a few of my obsessions for guidance such as CDs (elbow, hot chip) or a book (cormac mccarthys blood meridian). BUT - I literally dont want or need anything else... I just cant think. Maybe a tart tin as id like to start baking tarts. Or a MacBook Pro. Hahahahaha.... No harm in putting that out there. Oh or a book of babysitting vouchers. Or Mary Poppins. Oh dear god, I would kill for Mary Poppins.

London is seriously awesome. Its nice to be back. Yesterday was 17 degrees and the fact that summer is around the corner is enough to make me wet my pants a little. Well, lots of things these days make me do that(like laughter) , so its not saying much. Mind you being the size and speed of a pregnant whale during the heat is not something I am looking forward to.

The return itself to London was a nightmare. Not only did Fred power-chuck on the flight home (aint nothing quite like sitting in the smell of vomit for 14 hours) but we returned home to find the painting of our flat only half finished and therefore everything we owned piled into the centre of one room and covered in dust. Which would have been deal-able if three of our windows hadnt shattered in a mini-hurricane that swept through London when we were away, thereby allowing the minus 3 degree weather to freely circulate the flat. Which, again, would have been deal-able if the boiler was working. Yes, we had no heat and it was a public holiday and no services were up and running. So in our bleary-eyed jet lag all we could do was go to bed. Suffice to say, that first night of us all huddled under 3 duvets in the middle of the room was a long one. Tears were definitely shed.

BUT almost 2 weeks on and things are pretty much back to normal. We've worked our arses off to get the flat ready for sale and can now sit back and relax a little bit. Was particularly challenging trying to get the windows fixed (we need council approval to use a cherry picker! Argh!) and I came down with a bug for a few days which saw me vomiting and as weak as a kitten. Here are the pretty photos of all our hard work.

i cooked minestrone (a la jamie) and rhubarb crumble last night. Both were pretty good. And I cooked so much of each that it looks like they are tonights dinner as well. And tomorrow nights.

Thats it. for now Im currently spending all my computer time looking for rental properties in Dulwich, so must get back to it....