I added Kevin07 (official labor space) to my friends. I wonder if he will add me?

Both my girls want to shave their heads for cancer next year. I've told the youngest she maybe wants to get another "cause" as the eldest kinda did this first so it's her "thing" now ... and she said maybe she'll fundraise for RSPCA or something, but she is only 6 and the glamour of it has got to her I think. We'll see.

Baby is scheduled for sclerotherapy surgery on the 27th September.

I hate myspace, it's full of malware and teenagers.

Regardless of which, I had a baby, he's got lymphangioma. My other blog has hundreds of details, if any of you readers wants to know more, message me.

*crickets*

Yep that's what I thought.

Jeez, it's been a while.

Just putting some stuff in here in case anybody, you know, READS this shite.

Here are the main things that have happened over the last 8 or so months I've been absent from here.

- We moved back to Perth, ie civilisation or smaller city version thereof. Albany is too cold.

- I am halfway through my degree. Unfortunately it's a bit like that crossing a lake by halving the remaining distance thing, in that I keep reducing the amount of units I'm doing each time. I'm down to one, which I guess is good because I can't possibly drop any more.

- I got pregnant. Yup, that right there is the main reason I have dropped down to one unit. Which, while it was a deliberate choice, was probably kinda dumb, because now I'm back at the main city campus which has not only a tavern but a friend of mine who works there and I can't drink. Oh well.

- My girl of the head shaving fame has grown back a lot of it, only ... a different colour. Referring back to the pictures from the event, you'll see she was blonde, or strawberry blonde if you want to be precise and technical. Now she's a red-head. Which kinda matches her freckles and lack of eyelashes but means serious sun watchage. Stupid whiteys.

Well it's 4:30 in the morning and the only reason I'm up is because of acid reflux, one of those many physical joys of pregnancy, and I'm only here because this time of the morning does strange things to a person's head and because I've visited all the other sites I normally browse when bored.

So see you in another 8 months, I guess.

Well, she did it.

She was bemused and slightly deer-in-headlights beforehand, like it was all moving too fast for her. Once the shaving started, she was all smiles and cheekiness. And when it was over, she had a little moment of shock and uncertainty looking at herself with no hair. Once she had a beanie on she was pretty happy again, she even stuck the lopped-off ponytail into the back of the beanie and said "Look, I fixed it. It's like it never happened(Creepy twilight zone voice)"

The school was resoundingly supportive. The Principal also shaved his head ... and his beard ... and his moustache ... the kids thought that was hilarious and it broke the seriousness of having no hair a little for Miss Eight.

We have raised quite a bit but have not yet reached her goal. I am amazed and proud of all the people who donated that don't even know her. That kind of generous community spirit not only bodes well for people in need, but provides fantastic support to people like Miss Eight who would take a step out of their comfort zone to raise awareness. Your message to her by donating is, what you have done is right and good and worthwhile. You have shown that you believe in her. And for that I simply cannot thank you enough.

The newspaper took more photos. When they come out I'll let you know. And, just because, here is the link again.

I got the bulletin telling me of the untimely stabbing of poor Anna Svidersky. I was also informed that if I ever forward anything I have to forward this, because otherwise I'm heartless and shallow and "she deserves to be remembered".

Has anyone looked at the rate of death lately? Anyone? As far as I know, its something like five people per second. Maybe that's just the US alone. Imagine what it is worldwide.

Every single person who dies was special, a vast majority of them leave behind feelings of shock, sadness, mourning and loss in others. Every one of them was, in their own way, tragic. Every one deserves to be remembered.

Yet where are their forwards?

How is a young girl getting stabbed by a schizophrenic more tragic and untimely than a soldier copping a bullet, a firefighter dying on the job, an office worker crushed in a collapsed tower, a father drowning in flood, a mother losing their battle with cancer? What gives this victim the right to our time over them?

It's a fabulous news story, that's what. I know everyone who forwarded this had the best of intentions but what you're actually doing is succumbing to mass media and its predictable formulae. A pretty high school photo and a shifty looking, grainy prison shot. A nice, popular, attractive girl and a dirty madman. Sane and caring versus "paranoid schizophrenic" child molester. Beloved productive immigrant murdered by incurably criminal citizen. I know this is real life but it couldn't have made a better story if Hollywood collaborated on it.

I am deeply saddened by her murder, but there's no way I can say I understand what her parents and friends are going through and I won't pretend that by forwarding this I'm somehow making it better. Everyone's grief, EVERYONE'S, is the saddest, deepest, most painful experience in the world, and yet no-one can ever know what another's feels like. That's why grief is so lonely.

If there was one thing I could change about the world at this point in time, I think it would be to make people think, REALLY think, about what they pass on. Maybe, if everyone weren't so busy forwarding tragic stories they'd be writing letters to the government demanding more focus on understanding and controlling mental illness. Maybe, if everyone weren't so accepting of the media's spoon-fed ideas of right and wrong there'd be less injustice in the world. Maybe, if people actually contemplated what "She didn't deserve to die" REALLY MEANT, they'd understand what they were implying is that somehow, others do.

NO-ONE deserves to die.

I will not be bullied into forwarding things, no matter how honest, no matter how tragic, no matter how emotionally blackmailing. I will forward what strikes my fancy, and what might make a difference, and what might make others laugh. I will try my hardest not to contribute to the oversensationalisation and stereotypes that tell people what and how they should think.

Yes, R.I.P. Anna. But the rememberance and mourning belongs to her family and friends, because you can't remember someone you didn't know. And trying to, somehow cheapens the whole human experience for me. And that's what's really tragic.

An anonymous person has donated online. I have no idea who you are or where you know me from ... but thanks

We're doing really well and the date is closing in ... two weeks left and Miss Eight is starting to get a little edgy, I knew she would.

Also, we have baby guinea pigs again. They are nearly the most absurd things on the planet. They are born fully capable, they eat, walk, talk just like the grown ups, and can make their own babies between four and six weeks of age. Being born so capable though, means that you have to fit a lot of ready into something that can come out of a very small opening. So what happens is, when they are born, they are a head. With legs. Nature has looked at them and decided, its really important that you are born able to eat and walk, but it doesn't matter what you look like. You can grow the body after you're born.

One of the babies looks like a toilet brush.

My little fundraiser is in the local newspaper. So were her friends, and I can't be splashing their innocent little faces willy nilly over the evil, ever-watchful internet ... so I may ... have ... changed it a little. Enjoy. And THANKS *huggles* To a fantastic somebody who donated to her via the link I gave ... she is thrilled.

Look, I know the link gives you her full name and where she lives and all that, but just allow me my little foibles, ok? I like the word foibles.

So, she loses the hair in three weeks. Click here to donate if you possibly can, and much love and karma and maybe a gushy email or two will come your way.

This is my daughter.



She is 8 years old. Look at her hair.

For about a year now, she has wanted to shave it all off. The reason is because about a year ago, she saw a poster advertising The World's Greatest Shave. She asked me what it was about and I explained as best I could. She wanted to do it right then and there, but I told her we'd missed the date, and she could do it next year, if she wanted, if she remembered.

Well, she remembered. And I am sticking to my promise.

I know she'll cry, and I know she'll get looks in the street. But who am I to stop a little girl with a big heart, in the name of looks?

She is shaver number 86666, and I would ask that if you ever donate to anything, to donate to this. The money goes to helping families affected by Leukaemias and Lymphomas, and research into causes and cures.

For my international readers who propbably don't see the point, I'd just like to remind you of the impact Australian medical research has had on the world. Australians provide 2.5% of medical research with only 0.3% of the world's population. Australians developed the cervical cancer vaccine, invented the bionic ear, provided the basic theory behind immunology, discovered the cause of stomach ulcers and refined penicillin into a practical drug.

Also, she'd get a kick out of knowing people in other countries are supporting her.

I don't expect overwhelming response, and even if you don't donate, I'd love to hear from you. I will be updating with progress reports and pictures as time goes on.

Thanks for your time.

1. The car door will cost $1250 to fix. This apparently includes dismantling, panel-beating, and fully replacing the hinge and hinge-set. All of which will apparently take 15 hours of work. At the moment it is just an ugly dent that makes a squeaky noise when you open and close the door, so if all quotes are this bad, I guess Jellybean will have to wear her battle scars proudly.

2. Out of four baby finches, two are dead and one is very ill and being hand fed to try and save its life. They got air sac mites, which sometimes finches get. Apparently.

3. I have decided what this blog is for. It's for bitching and whinging. And using the word "apparently".

My arms are still shaking a little bit.

Ahh, the joy of car ownership. It's like having a kid, really ... in a way ... wondering if they'll be safe, listening for every little change that might indicate a sickness, spitting on a finger to wipe away a bit of dirt so they'll be socially presentable ...

Only difference is, when a kid less-than-seriously damages themselves, they tend to heal themselves. Cars you have to pay obscene amounts of money to have fixed.

Husband's car is being lent to a family member without a car of their own, so my car is the family vehicle. '97 metallic green Mazda 121 Metro shades. My little jellybean, as the old lady I bought it off calls it, and I will keep calling it, because adoption law says now that adopted children have a right to their previous lives ...

Husband is going to drop the kids off at school and go to work. I say goodbye at the door and wander inside. Seconds later, I hear a very loud expletive from the driveway. To be honest, I thought "Oh no, he's run over my cat." I ran outside and Husband says, "I did a very stupid thing." He had started reversing before Miss Five had shut her door, and the edge of it scraped against the brick pillar. He stopped and leaned back to shut her door. He couldn't reach her door from inside so he opened his door to shut it from the outside. As he was leaning out his foot came off the brake, still in reverse, and his now-open door collided with the brick pillar, accordioning the hinge of the driver door into the side-front panel and rendering it unable to be shut.

Miss Five looked like she was on the defensive, ready to fight if she was blamed. Miss Eight had tears in her eyes, she loves Jellybean and knows her mum does too. I just stared. We had to force the door shut so he could drive to school/work, amidst much loud metallic grinding noises and bent panels changing shape. I cringed, and Husband looked pitiful, saying "I'm not happy about it either." I just said " ... Climb out the passenger door so you don't have to open it again." and waved goodbye in a detached kind of way.

My poor little car. I suppose I should be thankful it wasn't my cat, but I'll do that when my arms stop shaking.