so much to say so little time

There's so much I want to tell you all. But all I can say is this...

I dreamed up these little angels for our Christmas party table toppers. Then I made 6 of them and I adore them.

We hosted a Christmas party for 34 family members for our Great Big Family Christmas.  We have an enormous backyard but every time we hold a backyard function it rains. This time, thunderstorms were predicted.  So on Saturday when tBG and I were erecting the first of three wall-less marquees I convinced him that we would be wise to play table tetris indoors and see if we could have the party inside.  We moved the furniture into our bedroom and had seating for 36 people in our dining room and lounge room.

I went overboard on the Christmassyness of the decorating and I loved it.

That's my desk over on the right, when I'm blogging, that's where I sit :)

 Everyone had a lovely time at the party, it's so nice that we all get along so beautifully - such a blessing. And it rained cats and dogs - so praise be that we managed to fit everyone and everything inside.

We're off to Italy in 2 sleeps. Backpacks packed, waterproof hiking boots purchased and broken in, 16 kg spare luggage allowance to buy lots of pressies and bring them home. Praying that Fiumicino airport doesn't get closed and that no more of Pompeii collapses.

For the next little while I'll be off enjoying our we-didn't-manage-to-have-a-baby-so-we'll-have-a-fucking-great-holiday-instead jaunt. I hope you all have good Christmases and that 2011 fulfils all your deepest desires.

Merry Christmas and Happy New Year to everyone!

Her birthday

Today was one of my mother-in-laws' birthday. I have had the pleasure of three mother-in-laws, all of whom I love. My ex has a lovely mother with whom we happily lived for a while. Then there's the Big Guy's mothers. His Mum, who is a kind mother-in-law and his second mother (step-mama), a most excellent mother-in-law.

Today should have been her birthday, she should have turned 64. Will you still need me, will you still feed me when I'm 64. Instead we've spent the last three days planning her funeral.



On Sunday morning we got the phone-call. As everyone knows, calls at 7:30am on Sundays are always bad news. And it was. We got to the hospital by 8:30am and then we waited. And waited. And prayed. And soothed. And loved. And finally at 5pm, I kissed her warm forehead and asked her not to be dead.

:(

I don't talk much about our step-families. That's plural because tBG's parents divorced when he was a teen and they both remarried.  Each of tBG's step-parents had teen children of their own and both tBG's Mum and Dad managed to extend their families and open their hearts to their step-children and blend quite beautifully. So when tBG and I got together, there was no question of us not blending happily and well, of course we would and so we have. All family occasions are big blended affairs and everyone gets along so well - even the Xs (mostly).

My MIL was an open-hearted woman, a wise and kind woman, a generous and practical woman. She was down-to-earth and funny and always up for a drink or a laugh. She cared adoringly for tBGs father when he died slowly of motor neurone disease in 2007 and she'd not healed from that loss yet (none of us have). There were 16 people in the hospital loving her when she died, all of us torn and devastated and disbelieving. How can she be dead? Why does death come unexpectedly? Why the fuck does it have to happen at all? Funeral is on Friday. The Great Big Extended Family Christmas is happening at our house in 3 weeks and there will be a huge hole where she should be.

Books and places

Jenn's post today was a simple one about her day reading. But reading it brought up so many memories for me. Jenn's been reading LM Montgomery's Emily of New Moon and I remembered my childhood desire to visit Prince Edward Island and see where Anne (and Emily and Rilla and all the rest) lived.  To tread the ground my fictional friends trod on, see their sights, feel a snatch of their lives.  I had a list as a kid, of character's places I wanted to go to.
- Prince Edward Island (because of Anne)
- the Hudson Valley and the Catskills (because of Trixie Belden)
- the Lake District (because of Swallows and Amazons)
- Berlin (because of Emil and the Detectives)
- Sweden (because of Emil and the Soup Tureen)
- the Norwegian countryside (because of Mrs Pepperpot)
- the forests of Finland (because of Finn Family Moomintroll)

When I got older, I expanded my character's-places list to include TV and film friends.

- Crabapple Cove in Maine (because of Hawkeye Pierce)
- Monte Carlo (because of Herbie goes to Monte Carlo)
- Rome (because of La Dolce Vita)

One of those dreams is coming true in 5 weeks. Italia, sto arrivando!


Editing to add: if you don't already read Allie at Hyperbole and a Half, today is a perfect day to start - I LOLed so hard I cried while reading her latest post :D

Bugbears about grief

Elizabeth Kubler-Ross was wrong.


That's it, that's my bugbear and I'm so incredibly sick of reading/hearing/talking to people who truly believe that there are predictable patterned stages to grief and that acceptance is the final stage.

Shut the fuck up people.

But sorry if I've just been rude to you, I don't mean to be rude per se.

The final stage to my grief is just plain coping. Resilience sure, but never acceptance.  Why the freaking hell did secondary infertility happen to me and why the freaking hell haven't I gotten pregnant yet.  There is NO acceptance in my heart or body.  I want a baby with my husband, I can't have a baby with my husband and I will never, as long as I live, accept that.  I will, however, cope.

I will also attempt to trick the universe.

See Universe, see! I have "gotten on with my life" ... I have "given up" ... I am "relaxed" and I am even drinking beer I'm so relaxed, which is helping me to relax EVEN more! So what do you think of that eh? How's about you come along now and foil my careful coping plans with a surprise miracle pregnancy.

Anyhoo, Mind Hacks agrees with me and so does the research.

"Evidence-based Findings

1. Not all people experience grief in the same way
2. Some grieving people do not report feeling distressed or depressed
3. Some people experience high levels of distress for the rest of their lives without pathology
4. Repressive coping may promote resilience in some people
5. Resilience, growth, and/or positive emotions may be associated with loss"

10%

200 applicants for the Masters.

50 interviews for 20 positions.

I got one.

Yay!

And...

Eeeeeek. It's going to be a lot of work.


In other good news at my house, work wants to make me a research fellow, which means more money for less work. And paid leave.

Most awesome.  In fact it's beyond awesome, it's beyawsome.

It's beer o'clock at our house

I have developed a fondness for beer! Who would have thought it? Not me, because vino has been my drink of choice for about 10 years now, but I've started getting ill from it - I think it's the acidity, but whatevs, I'm lovin' the beer. Especially this beer, it's soooo yummy.

OK. Update time for teh crazy shemozzle of teh Ph.D in crazy.

So, you'll all be pleased to know that the admissions officer for the Mas.ters and the post-grad research admissions officer have been communicating. Because of moi!!! You see, the website that bosses potential students around and corrals them into the appropriate online/hardcopy applications wuz WRONG. And no one knew this 'til poor ol' me applied for the WRONG thing in the WRONG form because the CAPTAIN-WRONGY-PANTS webpage told me too. (Possibly that's enough virtual shouting.)

I submitted my spiffy application for the Ph.D/Mas.ters combo just like the page told me too, with exactly the right eligibility requirements it told me I needed. But the day after the applications had closed (for every post-grad course across my state!) the AO emailed me to tell me that I wasn't able to apply for it, I needed to apply for a standard Mas.ters first, get straight As and then apply for PhD candidature at the end of first year. Oh, and no scholarship for the Mas.ters because it's coursework, not research. I couldn't understand how I had missed the vital eligibility requirement stating that I had to start a Masters first until I went to the webpage to check and found that I'd read it right the first time - according to it I just needed first-class honours to apply. Which I had, so howdy doody to that. I got back in touch with the AO and explained my findings and he said "Ooooh, it's a new course, I'll have to check that out!" Which he did, but his reply was still the same. Masters first, webpage WRONGO.

I could keep relating the back-and-forth exchanges, which involve a couple of prissy women with too much power and cats-bum mouths, but I'll stop there because of the boring awfulness of those exchanges and the result is what matters.

I have applied for the Masters course (late, but that's ok, they're letting me do that because of their wrongnosity). My potential Ph.D supervisor said he'll just pay me the cash he would have used as a top-up scholarship so at least I'll get $20,000 for first year. After which if I excel (eeeeek, I'm sick of excelling, the pressure is unbearable and a B is not a bad mark in the real world) I can apply to change over to the Ph.D, get the proper moola and sally forth. He also said that he's the one who decides whether the topic is suitable because he's the supervisor and he says it is, so there. He also said he'll get the Dean of the Faculty onside so it'll probably be fine.

So it's turned out to not be all terrible awfulness. Just kinda messy and shemozzley, but finalised for now.

And as for my Mama, her appointment with the GYN specialist is on the 1st December and she'll get a plan of action there. Her abdominal/low back pains are possibly colon-related (colitis or diverticulitis maybe) so she's off for a colonoscopy Friday week. I hope they figure it out because she's sick of the pain and sick of feeling crap.  Thanks for the kind thoughts.

In other news we have a chickeh who lays soft-shelled eggs (Sparkles we think). They're usually broken when I go to check the egg box, but today there was an intact one.  They're very weird to look at, they feel so very strange and we can't figure out how the chickeh manages to squeeze them out with breaking them on the way down the vent.

Good egg- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - Bad egg

no bloody PhD for me

Stupid university website with its misleading course information.

Stupid Psych Association with their stringent and dumb requirements for exact PhD topics that have to fit right in with Masters' groups.

Stupid no scholarship for first Masters year.

Stupid everything.