Zzzz...

Yay! We've night-weaned Una and this has cured the night-waking. Or at least the night-parenting. She still wakes, but she just thrashes about moaning for a minute and puts herself back to sleep. I feel like a successful parent in control of my life. Don't worry, it's only a brief but pleasant illusion brought on by the sweet sweet natural drug: sleep. I wouldn't exactly say I feel like a new woman but I feel like me again, and that's all I could ask for.
And it's going to be twenty degrees today. And tomorrow is the last day of winter. And we're going to K-Mart to buy Fred a new pillow and Fred and Una get to pick one schleich animal each (Fred tells me Una would like a cat.) Fred had her first pony ride on Saturday on a roly Shetland called Mickey, and on Monday Martin took her to see Curious George with free tickets sent to us by Quickflix after our free trial. Martin says the movie is highly recommended for little kids, and he enjoyed her enjoying it but there's not much in it for adults - no ironic subtexts or witty asides. No scary bits (which is great for Fred but the lack of scary bits does often mean there's less tension for adults). Curious George was not part of my childhood or Martin's, and Fred hasn't encountered the books yet, but they're clearly going for an instant nostalgia feel in the movie with the bright but muted colours. I wonder how people who loved the books as children will relate to the film. It sounds like it hasn't really been made for past fans but for a generation of new ones, in which case, as often happens for the post-dvd generation, the movie may well supersede the books. Sigh. Being a book-lover, this always makes me feel a little sad but I think I am probably projecting values of my generation (some of my friends had VHS players in mid-primary, we didn't get one will I was well into high school. I knew one girl with a BETA. Snigger.) onto children of today who will be much better at switching between mediums and making sense of and drawing meaning from the fragmented narrative. And I am glad that Fred could have a cinema experience that was pure enjoyment for her.
Fred's favourite book at the moment is Tashi by Anna and Barbara Fienberg, illustrated by Kim Gamble. It's been an excellent introduction to the idea of a chapter book with two short chapters that can easily be read in one sitting. I can't wait till she's ready for longer books.
Una's is Woof woof: baby flip-a-face by SAMi. Lots of delcious books to look at on the publisher's website (Blue Apple Books). Nice site too.

I'm sorry, are my neurons keeping you awake?

What is it about this age? Una was awake for two hours (two separate hours) last night, for about the seventh night in a row. Is it teething? Is it her neurons firing? Is it social, developmental, hormonal? Is it separation anxiety? Is she worried that, what with being the centre of the universe and all, the world will end when she goes to sleep? Who knows? I am too tired to care. Lucky she's cute or I'd be posting her to Berlize in my waking hours. Lucky the post office isn't open at night. I pondered this neat feature of the universe at 3am when I was up drinking my milo.
Meanwhile, this is cool: The Tenth Dimension I'd like to go and live in a nice cosy alternate infinity for a while, one with no gravity and all the milo you can drink.
And if you really have time to murder and are close to lack-of-sleep induced pyschosis like me go and log into the forum and read the posts about space and time aloud in a kath and kim voice. For some reason it's really really hilarious (I can lend Una out for the night if you need help inducing pychosis).

Blue's Clues

We went to the library today and among other things, we borrowed a 'Blue's Clues' dvd. Fred doesn't watch television, though she does watch dvds, partly because Martin and I don't watch tv anymore and partly because our ABC reception is so bad and that's the only channel in Australia that airs decent kids TV. Anyway, so we borrowed Blue's Clues which has the dual benefits of being good, entertaining kids tv and quite funny for the grown ups watching it.
So when Martin told me a few months ago that Steve died of a heroin overdose I was, understandably, quite upset. A girl at uni told him.
A quick search of Google today reveals that Steve is, in fact, alive and well (and apparently he's also neither a porn star or drug dealer...)
So why do people spread such rumours? Why this inherent distrust of people (especially men) who host children's television? What does it say about society's views of, amongst other things, male childcarers (there are two at Fred's creche) and hands-on, stay at home dads? I can't remember hearing similar rumours about Noni or Bonita or the various Miss Janes on Mr Squiggle.
We also got Microcosmos. For over a year Fred's absolutely favourite movie was Travelling Birds. She still loves it. So we'll see how she goes with the insects. I hope they aren't too scarey. Even Cinderelmo has been banished because of a slightly snarky step-mother type figure.
I also borrowed, for me, a novel called Property. The gorgeous voice drew me in on the first page, though I don't think it will be an entirely comfortable read. But considering I have been reading lovely Noel Straetfield books acquired at the Darebin Library Book Sale (paperbacks 50c, hardbacks $1), I thought it was about time I read some adult fiction. I do have some Anne Tyler waiting for me but I'm saving it up for special.

1

In 1 month and 1 week and 1 day Una will be 1 year old.

Book Design

Chad Beckerman sent me the loveliest email today. He is the very talented man who designed Undine and Breathe in the US. The designer of the Australian books is the clever and extremely prolific Ellie Exarchos. It's been very interesting seeing two different designers come up with very different books in response to the same material. I love Ellie's Undine because it's so beautiful and gentle and magical but I really adore Chad's Breathe because it's so exciting and dramatic. The Undine on Chad's cover is also more my picture of Undine than the one on the Australian Breathe. I am looking forward to seeing what each of them does with Rise.
Here are some of my favourite book covers:

Wabi Sabi 2

Zakka, Wabi Sabi, Suki

After a brief writing exercise for my masters class in which we had to convey an emotion through writing about an object (see below), I began thinking about framing a piece of writing around the Japanese notion of zakka. Wikipedia defines zakka as: "'the art of seeing the savvy in the ordinary and mundane'. On one level the zakka boom is just another in a series of consumer fads, but on another it's plugged into something spiritual. Cute, corny and kitsch is not enough. To qualify as a zakka, a product must be attractive, sensitive, laden with subtexts."
Lots of the craft blogs I like to look at are preoccupied with this mysterious Japanese way of thinking about Stuff, and I in turn find it fascinating that so many Westerners are drawn to it (and can't help wondering what might be lost - or gained - in the acquisition of the concept of zakka into another culture).
Another term I came across was Wabi-sabi. Wabi-sabi is an aesthetic concept concerned with finding beauty in the impermanent and the imperfect. The threefold rule of wabi-sabi ("nothing lasts, nothing is finished, nothing is perfect") is a rule to live by for any artist. Like many others, this concept has resonated with me. Suki (I found mention of it somewhere but cannot locate it right now) is similar, but instead of the impermanent or the broken, suki sees beauty in the eccentric and idiosyncratic.
I do not have a spiritual life. Yesterday I was thinking about this. I don't hanker after a godlike figure. But I do like the idea of a structure of spiritual rules, of a folksy gathering on Sundays in a lofty space with singing and possibly finger sandwiches after. I think for me to feel absorbed by spirituality it would have to think a lot about these sort of resonances.
I am not sure quite how I am going to craft this into a longer piece, but here is the fragment from class (the emotion was expectation).

It’s a baby’s felt slipper, hand-stitched. Not pink or blue: it’s clotted cream with a chocolate trim, complimenting the other ornate objects (a pale shell, a hand blown vase) on the low table in the main living room. It’s puffed up, breath-filled, conjuring the shape of the plump, pinkish, lolling foot that will inhabit it. It’s soft. There’s another.