I love wedding photos.

Part of the reason I love them  is because I loved my own our own wedding so much that it is a reminder of our day; the planning, the lists, the creation, and the completion of a cycle- all things that I love.  Couple that with me us being the centre of attention for a whole day, and it’s a winning formula. But more than that, our wedding day was designed to be one of inclusion and fun and love and playfulness, and that is the feeling that stirs in me whenever I look at someone else’s wedding photos.

I love to look into the eyes of the bride, and see her happiness, as it always goes beyond the arc of her mouth: it permeates all of her.  In the curve of her neck, the glimmer of her skin, the gloss of her hair.  She carries a glow with her all day and into night, and the people who love her will come close to bask in it a while, and murmur sparkling diamonds in her ears of how breath-taking she looks, how joyful, how in love.  She will store up those diamonds for years to come, and perhaps they will give her confidence in things new.

The secret thing I love to do at weddings is to watch the groom.  In the moment when all are straining forward to catch the very first glimpse of the bride as she comes into view, I have my eye to the viewfinder, ready to snap the look on his face, when he sees his bride-to-be for the first time.  I am a spy, catching a moment of raw emotion.  A voyeur, watching a private moment, unmasked.  It is such a special thing, to see that look of pure love, laced with longing.

By far my favourite thing is the capturing all of the little moments: the groom with a wisp of a joke that makes her laugh and lean in to him, her best friends making a sparkling toast, the flower girl and page boy clasping chubby hands, a close up of the discarded bouquet.

So many signs of love.  So much hope.  So much promise.

What is your favourite wedding moment?

…From The Ashers xxx

Hi everyone… Well you know what time of the week it is: time for the Hits…

1.  The last day of school!  Hooray.  I’m saying that now, because I think we all know that by this time next week this very first Hit might be the reason why the Friday blog will be re-named Shitwave Alison.  But for now, I’m excited… Today is the Easter Festival of Fun at school, which will be followed closely by the Noosa Carnival of Crying, as Coco gets her blood taken ready for cross-matching and a transfusion next week.  (Happy holidays Kid: here you go, have some needles and a stay in hospital.)

2. On the back of that whinge, of course a massive hit for us is BLOOD DONORS.  You guys rock.  You do it even though you don’t have to.  You do it even though you’d probably rather not.  And in your doing it, you keep my kid alive.  So thank you.  More than I can ever say or repay.

If you don’t already donate, or if you haven’t done so in a while, you can check out your eligibility online here, or call 13 95 96

3.  The best chocolate shop going around…Chocl’arte.  It’s at the Harbour at Tewantin and the ladies there are unreal.  They made me up packs for the teachers with an Easter Theme.  (I’m such a doofus I forgot to take pics of them all before we gave them out, but here’s the one for Liam’s drum teacher.)

YUM

If you are a Noosonian, pop in and have a squiz.  That Harbour is a great spot to have a cuppa and a little gifty-style shop.  Just beautiful in the morning, with the added bonus of an ALL WHITE shop.  If only we didn’t have two little dirtbags living here…(and then we have the kids too..)

4.  This sign:

This week has been a bit full on, with the impending sense of doom transfusion, so sometimes it’s good to have things in your inbox or your camera roll, that make you smile.  I took this pic on holiday at Evans Head, where I said Bon Voyage to my buddy who is off on a “trip around”.  I don’t know when she’ll be back, (hopefully only a year), and bittersweet as it was, we had a ripper of a time, and even managed a bit of Veuve to split up in style.  Anyway, seeing all of those high pedestrians makes me laugh.  Good times.

5.  One of my Interweb mates, Eden.  I love her and I love her beautiful, honest writing.  She has had some bumps lately, but it sounds like she is getting some of her mojo back.  Anyway, I’m advertising on her blog this month, so hopefully some of you are reading this due to that.  If you are, welcome!  Kick off your shoes and stay a while….

And to my RRs, if you aren’t already an Edenophile, pop over to Edenland and have yourself an experience of beautiful writing.  Take tissues.

So that’s it… Happy Weekend everyone… 

What are YOUR hits?  Don’t be shy…

…From The Ashers xx

***As usual, a boring disclaimer… This is not a sponsored post… No chocolate was harmed or given as a freebie in the making of this post.  WHEN? WHEN WILL I GET FREE SHIT?

As you know, I is well fancy, and I might have mentioned to you once or a thousand that I had dinner with Jamie Oliver last week. Which is amusing to me mainly because I hate cooking and most things to do with cooking.  Other than the eating bit.  I’m fine with the eating.

Which is why I decided to score myself, and some lovely ladies who lunch, a ticket to go and get fed by one of the judge-chefs from My Kitchen Rules.  I have watched the show enough times to know he is the ‘mean one’ and so I was gleefully rubbing my hands together (maniacal laugh), thinking of all the things I was going to find wrong with his cooking, and then write them up here on this blog for all to see.  I’ve dined with JO, remember.  So I’m basically a food critic, yeah?

Problem 1:  Colin wasn’t doing the cooking.  They were his recipes, sure, but the Berado’s dudes were cooking them.  So there went that blog idea.  Fkit.

So I thought I could still make some funny about him anyway.  Because he’s the mean one, right?  So that means open season, doesn’t it?

Problem 2:  When the dude got up to speak, he was blushing.  And kinda cute (that makes it hard for me to be mean right there- call it a character flaw of mine).  And we all* know I’m a sucker for an Irish accent.  Then as he spoke, we found out that he wasn’t the mean one at all, he was really very charming and candid, and grounded, with a wife and family, and the same concerns about making a living and a life that we all have.  He told us how he went on the show to promote his brand and his restaurants, at a time when friends of his in the industry were being forced to shut their doors due to the global financial concerns.  He told us about how hard he works, and why he is a chef (Yep, it’s a passion for food), and told us a bit about his creative process.

One thing I especially liked was how he claimed all of the recipes in his new book (which he just so happened to bring about a hundred copies of along, ready for signing) are the result of mistakes.  Of things he tried, found to be wanting, made some variations and eventually resulted in something tasty.  (I suspect the fennel icy-poles in the book are still in the development stages.)  I think that’s a great reminder.  I still don’t give a shit about the cooking idea, but I like it as a metaphor for other stuff in our lives.  Mistake>Edit>Correction>Success.  Or something like that.

So all in all, in a week of two chefs, it was a funny one for this little food-bogan.  I met Jamie Oliver and he was exactly like he is on telly.  Casual, a little scruffy, funny and just like one of my mates.  Just like I thought he would be, in fact.  I met Colin Fassnidge and he was nothing like he is on telly, and so probably has to spend a whole lotta time not reading stuff about himself on the socials, and explaining how he isn’t like that actor at all.  So basically, the opposite of how is presented.

I know who I’d rather be.

Perhaps there’s a lesson in that…?

“Be yourself.  Everyone else is taken.”  -Oscar Wilde

PS I forgot to say, Colin let it slip who wins this season of MKR… I can tell you, but I will require recompense.**

*Well maybe YOU didn’t, but the entire staff and patronage of PJ O’Brien’s circa 1997 does.  (And now so do you.. Don’t say I never tell you anything.)

**I may be lying, but you will have to hand over the moula to find out.

…From The Ashers xxx

This morning the kids were getting ready for school, doing their basics, and I was busy with my busyness.  We have eggs for breakfast every.single.day here, so I have a bit to do in the mornings, what with that, and making lunches, and making myself look like the radiant SuperMum you see before you, and oh, checking the internet incessantly to see if any of you have shared any of my posts.

We had already had one lot of tears when Liam’s April Fools Day joke was, in fact, just him ambushing Coco and shooting the shit out of her with this (thanks Uncle Darren):

The AK47 of Nerf (feet included in pic for scale)

It probably wouldn’t have been that much of a drama, except (of course) one of the bullets hit her in the eye.  From the sounds of it, it ruptured the membrane of her left eye, and there was Aqueous Humour leaking out all over the floor.  Imagine my surprise when I found that 1. There was no interstitial leakage and 2. There wasn’t even a mark.   I may have told her to have a cup of concrete (I had internets to be checking, remember).

Anyway, as you would envisage I was pre-occupied with getting on with my busyness (Internet popularity checking) when I heard Liam downstairs calling up, in a kind of shady sounding voice: “Go on Coco, DO IT.”  It didn’t sound much like a voice of a child who wanted to be heard by his mother.  And it didn’t at all sound like the voice of a child who was considering his best choices, evaluating the consequences and then making them.  It sounded like a child who was trying to get his sister into some kind of strife.

So I tore myself away from my important tasks and found Coco sitting on this:

Some shitty pool toy

At the top of these, preparing to have a little ride:

The stairs… 14 of them… Onto tiles at the bottom…

Of course I yelled at Liam, yelled at Coco, and then everyone cried.  I then popped the stupid pool toy, and everybody cried some more.  Except me; I felt invigorated in the most sadistic and satisfying way.  (I was sick of that pool toy.)  So, so much for being a Brainiac and ‘The Third Smartest Kid‘.  Turns out, our kids are friggin’ idiots*.

The End.

*Some of you may remember this little beauty entitled “Liam’s Revenge”.

See point one.  Seems the claims of “I don’t even know what revenge is” may be spurious.

How was your First of April?  Did you prank anyone?

….From The Ashers xxx

I’ve had a week of watching and listening to people do their “things”.  You know, that thing that they love love love to do, so much that they will do it without pay, or at least without much pay.  The thing that makes them wake up early in the morning or stay up late at night.

Funnily enough, the “things” that many of them were doing were stuff I hate: exercising, inspiring others to exercise, cooking, dancing, public speaking, completing tax returns*.  So even though I think they are idiots, because those things are clearly annoying, and should be put off at all costs, I’ve been getting a kick out of listening to what they like about their “thing”.  Seeing what happens to their faces when they tell me about their thing.

If you read my blog from yesterday, you’ll know that I had less sleep than usual last night, and I can feel that my shoulders have crept up a little bit, as I plan and wait and limp through this next week or so, with an impending sense or doom, until Coco gets her transfusion.  Today is my day off, my Maintenance Monday (stealing your term here BabyMac), where I get some dinners cooked for the week, maybe do some lunch-box baking, clean the house, make those phone-calls, pay some bills.  All the things it’s just easier to do flying solo.

Today by 11am I had sat in on school assembly, been to the shops, done two loads of washing, put away the dishes, got dinner prepped, and vacuumed upstairs, when I realised: none of this crap is my thing.  Not a one.  (Unless you count crossing things off lists, because that is definitely my thing.)

Sorry Maintenance Monday, but you suck.

Instead, I am going to do my thing for a while.  Which of course is: move out to here:

My “office”. Catches the breeze, it does.

Drink one of these:

A little pod of goodness, right there

And write this.

Because, this is my thing.  And I love it.  Thanks for coming on over, and reading along on my thing.

What’s your thing?  When did you last do it?

*I shit you not.  My accountant actually likes doing that.. And I know another weird accountant who reads this blog (and shall remain nameless at present until she reveals herself in the comments section below), who does it on the weekends.  Shocking ‘eh?

…From The Ashers xx

I am writing this post in the middle of the night, because we have gotten to that time of the quarter when the bags of blood are looming, and I can no longer pretend that the kid won’t ever be getting another transfusion.  I know she will, and I know it is soon.  Her skin is golden and the whites of her eyes are almost green.  She has had some tantrums.  Once, when she didn’t want to leave a party, another because I hadn’t bought her an umbrella.  Minor slights that usually wouldn’t bother her, are blown out of all proportion.  There is yelling and stamping and slamming of doors… And that’s just me.

We know the behaviour is a result of a haemoglobin so low most of us wouldn’t even be able to leave the house, and yet we can’t excuse or gloss over it, because this is her life.  This is what she has to learn to handle for the rest of her days.  And someday, hopefully far off in the future, we won’t be here to explain her colour, her fractiousness, her fatigue.  In that someday, people will turn their backs on a person who acts like a diva for no apparent reason.  So we need to make her able, and not enable.

I have been by her bed for a lot of this evening.  Listening to her breathe, and breathing her in.  Smelling her sweet, strange smell and wishing that she could stay innocent of what comes next.  Measuring my breath with hers and willing her to take in large doses of oxygen for the few red blood cells she has circulating.  Patting her gently as she tosses and turns.  Tickling her legs and arms where the itchiness is becoming too much, to save her from scratching herself to blood.

You would think that her current state would make her bones tired and her sleep deep, but instead it seems to rob her of rest, and create a state of irritation.  Irritation of skin and of personality.  Perhaps it is the bilirubin scraping her insides, or her blood cells trying to claw their way to the surface of the marrow.

Perhaps it is just that she knows what I know.

It won’t be tomorrow, and maybe not even this week, but at the moment, we are limping along.  Tonight I will sleep with one ear and one eye outside her door, listening to the tossing of sheets and of fingernails on skin.   And of prickly sleep-talk.  And of breath.  Most importantly, of breath.

Because soon, it will be time for those bags of blood.  Soon.

 ….From The Ashers

If you are able to give blood, please do: Coco, for one will need some soon.

Call 13 95 96 or contact the Blood Bank online