Get your screen resolution right

Last Sunday, Mr de Elba gave the message at a church in the Lockyer Valley.  His slideshow was preceded by a professional-looking title page bearing the title of his topic: "Blessed are the Poor in Spirit."

Unfortunately, the tech people had the screen resolution wrong and the right-hand side and the bottom of the slide were chopped off.

As his title displayed on the screen, it read, "Blessed are the Poo."

Which just goes to show, you must always pay attention to your screen resolution.

Earthquake to flippancy?

I have a flippant thing to post, but it seems wrong to put it straight after my post on Smith, living in Haiti.

I keep praying for the people of Haiti and they remain on my mind. 

Please bear this in mind when I put my flippant post up tomorrow.

Hoping and praying

Every time a country goes through a natural disaster, my heart is heavy for the people.  I don't know them, I haven't had them on my mind until the news of the disaster, but my heart is heavy anyway because they are all precious people - special to somebody, if not to me personally.  So very special to God, too.

But this time, following the earthquake in Haiti, it's different.

Joseph's little sponsor child, 4½ year old Smith lives in Haiti.  He lives near Port de Paix (not near Port au Prince, as I first thought) so he's further from the epicentre, but we have no way of knowing if Smith and his family are okay.  I have felt alternately hopeful and sick with worry for him.

I suspect it will be weeks if not months before we find out.  God knows, but we don't.  And that's hard.  In his recent letter to us he said it was "a gift from above to have you as friend."  It nearly makes me cry.

We are praying for him and his family - that they are safe and well, and that his country people have access to food, clean water, blankets and hygiene.  Please join with me.

33

Today is the twelfth.

Twelve.  12.

We could add those up.

1+2 = 3.

Three.  Nice number.

Three children, for example.

That's pretty awesome, wouldn't you say?

Put two of them together though ...

33.  Wow.

I've never been 33 before.

But I am now.

It doesn't hurt as much as I thought it would.

This birthday has been wonderful!  I had so many lovely friends and family members who sent cards, presents, emails or texts, and also to Hippomanic Jen and Swift Jan who gave me a virtual birthday party!

My parents-in-law looked after the children tonight so Mr de Elba and I could go out for dinner.  We started by heading to the pool to do some laps, and then had a lovely Italian meal - pasta and risotto with gelati for dessert.

Mr de Elba is a pretty good present-giver.  He has been enjoying my home-made pizzas so decided to get me a pizza stone.  I unwrapped it at about 8:00am, and had a pizza on the table for lunch.  This included time to knead and rise the dough, and get some groceries.  Here is the pizza - it's no longer on the stone in this photo, but on the cutting board.

The base was perfect!  This time I used roasted pumpkin, red onion, blanched spinach, capsicum, pepperoni and ricotta.  Delicious!

Among the other lovely presents was something you might be interested in ...

Ta-DAH!  My very own domain name!

This means that now you can find my blog at http://www.killingafly.com/.  No need to mess about with "dot-blogspot", nor with "friendlyblackandwhitedog" which was chosen without much thought back in 2007.

Please update your bookmarks!  And stand back and admire the simplicity that is http://www.killingafly.com/!  Now to keep working on my new template.  Want a sneak preview of something that may not even be the same when I finally decide on what I want?  Here is a post divider that I made (imagine it minus the black border, if you can):

Well it is past 10:00pm (the hour of my birth) and although this makes no sense, I will take that as my cue to logoff and go to sleep.  Thankyou all for helping make this a great birthday!

Conversations at the end of the lane

Mum and I went to the pool yesterday.  I was taking advantage of a time when everyone else in my house was asleep except Nat.  I told Mr de Elba where I was going and snuck out so Nat wouldn't notice.  Upon returning, I was greatly "noticed" by Nat and the now-awake Anna-Lucia, and their disappointment upon seeing that I went to the pool without them and enjoyed myself hugely was a real downer.

So instead let me tell you about the fun Mum and I had doing laps.

At one point, an older man ambled towards some seats and proceeded to undress down to his swimmers.  Unfortunately for us, they were "Speedos", also known as "DT's" or "Budgie smugglers."  If you don't understand exactly what style of swimwear this is, check out the term on Urban Dictionary and see if there's a description that may help you understand.  Unless you have delicate sensibilities.  The Urban Dictionary is no respector of delicate sensibilities.

These particular Speedos were predominantly white.  Oh my, avert the eyes.  The gentleman came to swim in the lane next to the one Mum and I were doing laps in. So in order to pay him back for wearing his white budgie smugglers, we treated him to absurd conversations every time we finished a lap together.

Me: Yes, you were right!  There was only one bobby-pin down there!  I thought it was more!

Mum: No, there were two of them there!

Me: Really?  I thought there was only one and the rest were rusty spots from bobby-pins in the past.

Mum: No, there were two, and this time you have to tell me whether the two bobby pins and the linked paperclips on the bottom of the pool make an equilateral triangle or an isoceles triangle.

Me: Okay.  Off we go.

And then after the next few laps:

Me: Equilateral!

Mum: I thought so!  Now your next question:  See all that stuff on the bottom of the pool that looks like snail poo?

Me: Yes, I saw that!

Mum:  Well, can it really be snail poo?

Me: Err, no idea.

Mum:  Okay this time have a really good look.  And if it's not snail poo, tell me what you think it is.

Me:  Oh, I'm gonna have no idea.  Okay, off we go again.

And then next time:

Me:  No idea.  Probably snail poo.

Mum: Well, I thought it might be little pieces of the rubbery grout between the tiles.  Maybe it's come out and curled up on the floor of the pool?  That'd look a bit like snail poo.

Me:  Maybe you're right.  Anyway, I spent the time thinking, and I've come up with a solution to your tandoori salmon problem ...

And on and on we went.  I'm guessing most people say nothing, or they talk about swimming.  Meh.  How boring.

Talking Carl

Here's a great iPhone App.

He's red, he has a huge mouth and he's called 'Talking Carl'.  He copies everything you say in his cute little growly voice.  He giggles if you tickle his tummy and he yelps if you poke him in the eye.

The game usually starts with a little voice pleading, "Daddy, can I please talk to Carl on your iPhone?"  And then we load him up and it's on:

Anna-Lucia: Hello, Carl!

Carl: Hello, Carl!

A-L: Hello, Carl!

Carl: Hello, Carl!

A-L: (giggles)

Carl: (giggles)

A-L: I am Anna!

Carl: I am Anna!

A-L: No, I am Anna!

Carl: No, I am Anna!

A-L: No, I AM ANNA!

Carl: No, I AM ANNA!

A-L, angrily: Your name is 'Carl'!

Carl: Your name is 'Carl'!

A-L: No, your name is 'Carl'!

Carl: No, your name is 'Carl'!

A-L: NO, YOUR NAME IS 'CARL'!!!

Carl: NO, YOUR NAME IS 'CARL'!!!

A-L: Ooh, let me tickle you!  [Tickles Carl's tummy.]

Carl: Ooh, let me tickle you!  [Giggles.]

A-L: No, I will tickle you!  [Tickles.]

Carl: No, I will tickle you!  [Giggles]

A-L: Okay Carl, I will poke you in the eye.  [Poke.]

Carl: Okay Carl, I will poke you in the eye. OW!

A-L: [Poke.]

Carl: OW!

A-L: [Poke. Giggle.]

Carl: OW! [Giggle.]

A-L: [Poke. Giggle]

Carl: OW! [Giggle.]

There's something weird about a two-year-old poking the life out of an animated character's eye just for the laughs.

Ramblings of the Sleep Depraved

This will be quick because I am trying to be ASLEEP before 9:00pm.  This is my second attempt.  Last night I realised I'd probably FAILED when the clock said 2:00am and I hadn't slept a wink.  Since my last post on bad sleep, Joseph has slept like a little angel, but I will not tell you what sleeping position he has adopted in order to achieve this.  No, I won't.

He was a bit restless last night, and I don't think I was ready for it.  I ended up sitting in the rocking chair, gazing unblinkingly into the darkness, mentally writing my obituary.  I'm not sure why, it could be in response to the fact I'd just hissed at my baby that he would be going to sleep that instant, for my next journey into his room would be to kill one of us, probably me, and I would be making him watch.

Anyway.

My obituary.

I found that when I'm sleep depraved, I get really pessimistic.  I can't see any good in anything.  (Probably not the right mood in which to enter one's child's room with a half-baked plan to kill one or other of you.)

My obituary went something like this:

Givinya de Elba's early life was unremarkable, as were her teenage years and adulthood.  She struggled in vain to get her children to sleep well as babies, and hated having milk sucked out of her.  She couldn't sing, couldn't run, couldn't sew and couldn't have cared less.  She never wrote anything of note.  Oh there was a blog or something.  She died at her own hand, driven to despair by her young son's crying.

Ridiculous.  Joseph didn't actually cry last night, he just had periods of moaning as he inched around his cot, periodically bashing his head into the bars.  My two big children 'slept through' from 8 months and have been pretty good sleepers since.  And hey, I HAVE milk there, so what's the big problem getting it sucked out of me.  Besides the obvious, of course.  If I could sew, I'd spend lots of money on fabric, if I could sing I'd get put on every church worship roster and if I could run, my boobs would get saggy.  -er.  Saggier.

But no: in the darkenss, it was all moan, moan, moan.

Pretty amazing, the things you think when you're sleep-depraved.

Now off to bed for me.  I have 20 minutes to shower, dress, read, pray and fall asleep so I make my 9:00pm deadline.  Hopefully I won't be so sleep-depraved when milk is demanded of me tonight and hopefully one day I will feel awake enough at 5:00am to walk the dog before the children wake up.

And I promise that if Joseph has another bad night, I won't even start thinking.  The brain does not deserve to be unleashed until 8:00am at the earliest.

Smiles, Encouragement and the Garden

1. Smiles  It's funny, isn't it?  For the first few weeks of your baby's life, you can't wait until they smile.  Then they get to that age when they start giving the first little smirks and you hold out for every single one.  And then your days are full of this:

2. A Special Type of Encouragement  I am messing around with my blog template, trying for a fresher, cleaner look.  And I know from when I was pregnant with Joseph that the orange-yellow-green theme can make a gestating woman terribly nauseous. 

The other night I spent hours playing around in Photoshop and then inside the HTML code of my blog and I did some exciting new things, surprising even myself!  Mr de Elba looked at it, paused for too long, and slowly said, "I would have made it this tall," indicating about a third of the height of my new header. 

Bowled over by that withering barrage of praise, I went to bed.  But I am still working on it!  ("The template or the marriage?" you ask.  Well, the template involves less negotiation, but the marriage doesn't involve HTML code.  I wonder which is easiest?  I know which is more worth the effort!)  Here's a dead fly to keep you going until I change the template for good:

3.  Gardening!  I am enjoying my little garden!  The fun of growing tomatoes...

...the promise of planted seeds (shallots here)...

...and the manic chaos of a border collie chasing a tennis ball.

It's great being outside.

My New Christmas Jumpsuit

Hi. I'm Joseph.

I had a lovely time on my first Christmas.

People gave me some lovely toys and clothes.

Grandma gave me this cute little jumpsuit. I really like the patterns.

I'm just not sure about the positioning of this mushroom, that's all.

Sand in my Swimmers

There's sand in my swimmers.  That's a good thing ... isn't it?

Sand in my swimmers usually means I have had an AWESOME time at the beach (one of my all-time favourite places.)  This time, I'm not so sure.

I've loved swimming at the beach (usually at the Sunshine Coast) since I was small.  My Dad would take me out deep and wait for The Perfect Wave while I lay on my tummy on our inflatable raft, and then The Perfect wave would come and he'd give the raft a huge push and ... !! Wow!

I can't describe the joy and exhilaration I felt as my raft skidded over the water as I rode it right to the shore.  Up I'd hop, grab my raft and head back to Dad, who was busy squandering his own personal swimming time on finding more Perfect Waves for his little girl.

I remember catching the three Most Perfect Waves of my life at Kiama when I was a teenager.  The water was rough and choppy that day, so it was only because of Dad that I could actually catch any waves at all.  The first part of the ride was spent with me up on top of the crest of the wave, wondering if the wave would slip out from under me and leave me behind.  But then, as I pushed the nose of my raft (or board, by that age) downwards, I moved to the front of the wave and fell flat downwards the meter or so to the water below (bump, bump!) and continued to be pushed along by the lower part of the wave, all the way up the beach.  And there was my Dad, squandering his own swimming time so he could cheer me on.

I swam with Mr de Elba at the Sunshine Coast when we were engaged and I swam with him again on our Honeymoon.  I swam with him when I was pregnant for the first time.  We always caught as many waves as we wanted to. 

All my life, I've stayed out in the water so long that my lips went blue and I got sand all through my swimmers.

Swimming at the beach is a little different now.  I have just come home from three lovely days at the Sunshine Coast, staying with Mr de Elba's sister and her family.  I thought my three children loved the water, but this time, I noticed a distrubing trend.

The Pool:

The Beach:

The water was perfect!  So warm, so inviting!  But my firstborn required a lot of encouragement to get into the water, my secondborn kept moaning "Can we go home?  I don't yike the beach!  Its not quiet!" and my thirdborn put on his Scared Eyes and started crying when he felt the water swirling around.

I remembered my own dear Dad* who squandered his own swimming time on finding Perfect Waves for his little girl, and this time at the beach, I squandered my own time doing the same for my little boy.  And it was wonderful.

Mr de Elba did arrange for a few minutes of child-free swimming time for me though, and I dashed off quickly before he could change his mind (or I could hear any of my children crying!)  Bless His Heart! He knows what I love!  Could I ride in three good waves?  I was desperate to try.

I caught one wave, and rode it nearly to the shore.

Then the clouds came over and it got choppy and rough. 

I got dumped by one wave.

Then I nearly got killed by about ten waves.


Then the surf patrols found some sharks and closed the beach.

Still, there's sand in my swimmers.  That means I had fun ... doesn't it?

---------------------------------------------
* Speaking fondly of one's parents in the past tense can sound like they are deceased, as I discovered during proof-reading.  In this case however it is not the situation.  My own dear Dad is still available for riding in more waves, which I hope to do with him one day.