It is not every day that I receive an award.  Ok, I’ll be honest,  I have not been awarded anything for quite some years that did not come with The Infringement Processing Bureau letterhead – and those awards I had to pay for.

But this week has been a week of Sunshine for me. @MegsyJ of Writing out Loud awarded me this pretty little award and was so kind about my following her blog – she really made me smile, inside and out (as did reading her blog – you should read it).

“ to acknowledge those that have a blog and spend endless hours ensuring that other bloggers get feedback on their blogs by leaving comments, adding themselves as a follower or dropping by just to let you know there are people out there”

And then @emlykd from Emlykd The Strange awarded it to me to again and she wrote such kind things about me that I am going to give to my husband to learn off by heart so that he can recite it to me whenever I am down (I may just print it out because I can just hear him cackling with laughter while reading it).  It was beautiful. Really.  Emily is like a little ray of sunshine herself.  An amazing daughter, an awesome friend, a brilliant tweeter and blogger and one of the finest stalkers I have ever had the pleasure of “meeting”

This shows that the Read More Here purchase cheap cialis great psychology behind the erection. The dust and splash proof housing and excellent macro credentials it allow its natural habitat which is cialis sale djpaulkom.tv just that the cost of brand name medications can sometimes be a bit of a challenge. It is clear with the statement that there is erection but for viagra professional for sale a short time. One should not over consume it as it may severely best viagra pills affect their health. Now apparently I need to give this award to someone whose comments have provided me support.  This is all quite new to me because really I am very new to this blogging caper .  But, there is no doubt in my mind who the recipient of this award should be .

@KerriSackville of  life and other crises – You are my sunshine/  My only sunshine/  You make me happy when skies are grey/ You’ll never know dear how much I love you / So please don’t take your comments away.

Kerri held my hand as I entered blogging land.  In fact, she packed my suitcases and made sure I had all that I needed for the journey.  She did nag a bit about ensuring I had my toothbrush and pore strips but she was nagging in a very caring way (and she was right about the pore strips). Kerri even drove me to the airport and ensured I had a good seat on the flight and she handed me a little white tablet to make sure I did not suffer from motion sickness or anxiety  (figuratively of course – in real  life the tablet was blue).

Kerri commented on my Smallest Pencil posts on the blog, on Twitter or by email and on one or two occasions by smoke signal.  When I started this blog she encouraged me, she urged me on and she made me feel like a real writer.  This is high praise indeed from a woman with a gift for words, a woman who writes like happy gas all mixed up with mystical insight – seriously one of the greatest writers I have had the privilege of reading.

If I could do an interpretive dance for her I would but I can’t (I am wearing bad shoes) so instead I will give her this supportive commenter’s award.  Thank you Sunshine!  Over to you

I know that this blog is a personal space. I know that it can be anything that I want it to be.   It can be my thoughts, it can be my ideas, it can be left for weeks or it can be updated numerous times daily.   At times I may come across flippant and at times over emotional, but that is okay – because it is my blog and that is who I am.

Today I wrote, rather flippantly, about my renovations.  Not earth shattering, not world changing and, in the scheme of things, not even that important.  But, it is my blog and I was sharing my thoughts.

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Please read this letter and please spare a thought for every homeless person on the street.

Mr Pencil and I are two of the most spontaneous people you are ever likely to encounter. I realise that this may make us sound like great, risky adventurers but nothing could be further from the truth. We are spontaneous not in an “I have an idea, let’s trek across Nepal” kind of way but more of a “oh that looks like a nice very major appliance, let’s buy it without looking at any others” kind of way.

Well we were.

Then we decided to renovate our house.

This decision took ages to come to.  We tossed up between buying and renovating for what seems an eternity before we realised we could not afford to buy what we wanted.  This eternity was in fact about 3 and a half weeks.  But for us, making a decision that took three and a half weeks did seem like an eternity.

So we chose to renovate and I thought we could stop looking at houses every single Saturday morning (although it had only been three) but no, Mr Pencil said we should be open to ideas.  We should explore the options and we should get all the inspiration we could (fast losing his spontaneous title – should have taken that as a warning sign).  So we looked at 198 houses and we were inspired to rob a bank to afford the home of our dreams.

We decided against the bank robbery and agreed on a second storey renovation instead .  We were so planned and non-spontaneous like that we even enlisted the help of an architect and got quotes from builders.  So non- spontaneous that we didn’t even agree to settle on the first incarnation of the second storey.  We spoke to friends, we spoke to family, we spoke to design people and we shouted at each other till versions 3,4 5 and 6 of the drawings were complete.

Then, one night we spoke to some friends who had just come back from Los Angeles and we decided we didn’t need a second storey, we needed to travel.
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So we looked at our renovation plans and decided to amend them, to make some changes that would allow us to still have some money to travel at some time in the future..  We would not go up – we would extend out and make a few changes here and there.  Unfortunately here and there has morphed into everywhere and it now seems that we will actually be selling our overseas dreams to fund the renovation. (If you find somebody that buys dreams please tell them to contact me directly)

I was excited and positive about the changes (plus I had in the back of the mind that might still be going to Los Angeles soon – Mr Pencil had in the back of his mind that I was insane).  It was all going well, in fact when I met the builder it was going spectacularly well (he has been employed largely as a result of his being the most beautiful man I have ever laid eyes on).    But it seems that agreeing on the physical renovation is not where the planning ends.

Seems you cannot be the most spontaneous people on earth when it comes to renovating because you actually have to decide on the floor tiles BEFORE you lay them and you have to decide what colour your walls will be and you have to decide what taps you will have, and whether there will be a mixer or a hoozywhatsy and if the new room will have floor boards or tiles or concrete or carpet or grass or just dirt!

And it turns out that if you and your partner still manage, against the odds, to be very spontaneous people and you choose the first floor tile that you see, and the first bath that you fall in love with as you walk into the showroom it does not mean that you always agree.

Welcome to my renovation.

If you have the number of an independent arbitrator or a marriage counsellor that has a good eye for colour and texture, please let me know who they are so they can accompany me and Mr Pencil when we go out to choose tiles and wall paper, or is that carpet and paint samples?

2009 has been a year of great change for me.  Not change enough that will allow me to pour out my heart on my blog (yes I know some people do – I am not some people……although the initials are frighteningly similar).

If I look back to the Pencil that was in January and the Pencil that is now – I am pleasantly surprised.  I am sharper now, more colourful and I can stand up really well on my own.  I went through a bit of a sharpening mid-year and believe me, it hurt like hell.  But, here I am all pointy and new. Fresh and ready to write.

There were the physical changes

• My hair is dare I say, quite blonde now. Ok not blonde per se but it has blonde in it (and in dodgy light some lovely, olive green streaks)
• The chip in my front tooth has miraculously disappeared.  I call it a miracle.  Mr Pencil calls it thousands of dollars of dental work.
• I have lost 5 kilos and I have decided not to look for them.  Ever.  At all

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And the work changes

• This was my area of greatest change – it was the year I became The Sharpest Pencil (last year this time I was a piece of plasticine)
• I left a very unhealthy work environment for Twitter.  Well okay, I did not leave for Twitter but when I did leave (with half my soul still residing in the job) Twitter carried me on its little, blue wings and got me to my next station
• I found great work, work that I love and that fulfils me and pays me not very much at all.

And of course the relationship changes

• Mr Pencil, Little Pencil and Fluffy Pencil know how much I love him – they know that this love grows daily, if not hourly and they also know that this is not my chosen forum to express my deepest emotions so let’s leave them out of this one.  Let’s focus on you.
• I have met the most amazing people this year – many of them through Twitter.  There were some pretty dark times this year and you tweeps (yes you!) kept me going and laughing.   Thank you from the very bottom of my heart
• I met an alien who lives in a spaceship who has brought oxygen and light from her planet to my planet and given me more than I could ever have asked for. And I promise I did very few drugs this year but that really happened.

I grew, I stopped worrying so much about, well about everything and although at times I hated this year (like really hated it with the force of a sledgehammer cracking an egg) I think I am glad for the year that was 2009.

I am quite sure next year I will still worry, for worry is in the fibre of my lead and I am not so naive as to believe there will not be many challenges (hey we are renovating this Pencil Case – therein lies an entire can of challenges just of the physical type).  My heart will still be over sensitive and my emotions will still be strong, my fears will still be real and I hope my dreams will still be tangible.   I will still be The Sharpest Pencil and I hope to share the journey on this blog and with you all.

How was your 2009?  Did you grown and learn from it or will you just be shoving this year under a carpet and hoping it never trips you up?

I love having Little Pencil’s friends over at my house.  I want them to feel happy and comfortable in my home and I want them to hang around here a lot.  Especially when they turn 16 and I need to keep a very close eye on them.

Unfortunately most of the mothers I know feel the same way – everyone wants their home to be the go to place.   It has become like a war – my house versus your house.  We need weapons and tactics, genius and military like manoeuvres to get these kids to our homes.   Some mother’s use swimming pools and Wii games, picnics on the trampoline (okay that one was me) and gazillions of toys to get the kids to their houses.  But I, being the, ever resourceful commander that I am, have a few tricks up my maternal sleeve.

Sugar is my first weapon.  My house is stacked with sugar and delectable treats all very accessible and at child level.  This is part of my bid to encourage Little Pencil to eat (it doesn’t work.)  Given that some of the children have homes where junk food is restricted and the only treats they are allowed are organic bio-dynamic flower petals, my house is like a fantasy.  A sugar induced fantasy but a fantasy no less.  These kids, who would eat a marshmallow squashed into the bottom of their friend’s shoe, think my house is the one where Hansel and Gretel wandered off to (without the witch I hope).   There is never a complaint about food, there is however a well worn path to the snack cupboard and I do believe some of the friends have no idea where the playroom is.

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My other tactic is to spoil the friend and favour him in all arguments or decisions.  I realise that this is a cruel and unusual punishment to inflict on my own child but it is simply brilliant (and I make up for it by spoiling Little Pencil every other minute of the day).  Coming to my house is like a sanctuary for feral children – I just compliment them all the time and tell them how perfect and gorgeous they are.  Again, a two-fold tactic.  Firstly – it makes them love coming to my house and secondly it confuses them so much that, more often than not, they are stunned into behaving well.   It is really true what they say about children conforming to the expectations we have of them.

But my best weapon, and the real reason that Little Pencil’s friends love coming to play, is that he is a magnificent and delightful child.  He is kind and generous and funny and intelligent.  He makes people laugh and he warms their hearts (and sometimes he gives them his toys just to make sure they come back).

The skateboard park seemed like a good idea for Little Pencil.  He is a fanatical about skateboarding and seen that we were on school holidays before the majority of other schools broke up I thought that our local sk8 park (trendy hey?) would be a quiet and happy place to while away a couple of hours.  I know from experience that during school holidays and on weekends we don’t stand a chance of getting a spot.  Unless we want to be trampled.  And we don’t .

Unfortunately we got there and it seemed like a lot of other people did not have to go to school that day, but trust me they looked like they could benefit from a bit of schooling.

I like to think my child is pretty savvy but I will happily place on record that he was the” woosiest” child at this park.  Like there was Little Pencil then there was daylight then there was the nerdy kid watching the skaters.  Such was the divide.

• Every other kid spoke another language.  Well they spoke a kind of English where every second work is f**k.  Sometimes it was every word but it conveyed the same meaning – I am young, hear me roar.  Little Pencil said things like “watch me mum!” and “do you think I will hurt myself if I try this ?” and “look mum – look at me ALL the time”
• Each child, and I stress that they were children, walked into the gates muttering some obscenity about how out if it they were.  Charming.  Did I mention that it was 10:45am? Little Pencil walked in and asked me if he could get an ice cream later
• Every other child was wearing boardies and no top.  Little Pencil was clad head to toe in protective gear.  And sunscreen
• Little Pencil read and committed the sk8 park rules to memory.  Some of the other children had crossed them out and rewritten them, most did not know they exist.
• I was the only mother at the park.

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I tell you it made me feel very old.  Very old and rather judgemental, much like one of those old women that sit at a skateboard park with a laptop and tweets about the decline of the world and the youth of today.  Hey wait a moment, is that a mirror ?

But I guess this is the culture of the skateboard park, the culture of the whole area in fact, because behind me there were two “muscle men” clad in hideous shorts.  They had transformed one of the table spots into their own little gym.  A perfect place to show off their not yet magnificent bodies.  Seriously these men brought so much equipment with them that they must have gotten up at 5am – and arrived with a ute.

Every time that they spotted a potential mate they suddenly flexed and preened and lifted thousand kilo weights and made terrible sounds like they were on the toilet.  But, when no one was around they stopped and giggled.  Yes these macho men that were swinging medicine balls above their heads like yoyos,  giggled.  And I know that I am really old and hag like because when I looked over to try to get a better view (for blogging purposes only) – they giggled not preened.

A couple of weeks ago  I was privileged to attend a media conference marking the start of National Adoption Awareness Week.   I will preface what I have to say with the fact that I was grossly uninformed about adoption.  Grossly meaning  I knew nothing at all about it.

The media conference was an amazing experience in itself, held in a swanky hotel where they served teeny, tiny little yoghurts and bite sized portions of Eggs Benedict to the delegates and I got to see the woman who sleeps with Hugh Jackman, er I mean Deborra-lee Furness,  speaking so passionately about something she believes in so strongly.

I wrote a piece about intercountry adoption for mamamia.com.au which you can read here.  I focussed only on intercountry adoption even though I am well aware of the plight of many local Australians without families/homes/ love and care-  so don’t remind me of that, I know.  I tried so hard to be non emotional and factual and speak without bias or prejudice because, as I said, I am not an expert in adoption and I have no actual personal experience in that area.

And although I have now done quite a bit of research into intercountry adoption, I am still no expert.  I have some knowledge from the books that I have read, the legislation I have studied and the many, many opinions and stories on websites that I have perused.  That knowledge is important – it helps me understand the backgrounds to the law and the reasoning and rationale behind what lobby groups are campaigning for and why some people are so passionate and some people are so angry and countless people are just so sad.
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But I cannot help feeling that information will always be tinted with the images that I saw at the media conference and the impassioned, compassionate and extremely knowledgeable  voices of Deborra-lee Furness and Dr Aronson.

The rows and rows of cots with little babies with no parents and virtually no hope.  The children growing up on the street in abject filth and poverty.  These children, who are no different to the children of my friends, the children in my son’s class except for the one thing that has dictated the course of their entire future – they have nobody in a position to love and care for them.  You don’t have to have experience to feel your heart break, you just have to have a heart.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=H0-B4Qo3-oM&feature=player_embedded

My family is one of those irritating ones.  You know the type?  They like to be fed every single day, and most days, they require this feeding to take place three times a day.

Coming up with enough time to shop, prepare meals and clean up the unavoidable aftermath is one thing and somehow I find the time for it.  Some may argue that calling the local Thai and asking them to deliver is a cop out, but hear me out.  Although this one call does wipe out the inevitable list of chores that goes with actually preparing the meal yourself, it does not solve the problem we face every single day, at every single meal.

What the hell should we eat?

Usually I am eased into the day.  I send Mr Pencil off to work to fend for himself and forage whatever paperclips and staples he can find to sustain himself nutritionally (being a pencil, I do encourage him to stay away from erasers and over zealous sharpeners).   Myself, I am happy to eat the same thing every single day for breakfast (an egg is summer and porridge in winter – you know, just in case one day you are tempted to make me breakfast)   and so I am easily satisfied.  But then there is  Little Pencil.  And this is where the choices start.  Luckily breakfast is fairly limiting – eggs or cereal?  Easy you think.  But no.  Think off hand of how many ways you can cook an egg.   And now close your eyes and imagine the cereal aisle of your local supermarket.  There are a lot of choices implicit in eggs or cereal.

And then my day gets worse.

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As my mind slowly eases back into function after conjuring exciting and palatable ideas for school lunch, recess and nibble, it is brought quickly back into chaos by the thought of dinner.  Don’t get me wrong – I love to eat, I even love to cook.  But what?  What on earth can I cook every single night that will pass off as original, nutritious and healthy but still keep us all happy?.   Mr Pencil has high cholesterol – he shouldn’t eat meat but loves chicken.  Little Pencil is iron deficient and needs to eat meat – he loves chocolate.  I am verging on vegetarian and really do not like to eat chicken – I do however, love cake.

You see where I am going?

Okay now pretend, and I stress that this is a pretence, that we will all eat the same thing.  How do I prepare it?  There are thousands of recipe books around and hundreds of these are in my own cupboard.  Yet every single time I am faced with cooking dinner (ie around 350 days a year) I struggle to think of what to prepare and how to prepare it.

So I take out the Thai take away menu with its limited selection of 58 choices and I close my eyes and point three times.  And just like Dorothy I am home and hosed, dinner is prepared and I can start thinking about breakfast.