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I’ve seen the house of my dreams. Like all true love, it’s painful, and I almost feel like throwing up with a combination of terror and excitement. So big, so old, so wonderful - sure there were cracks everywhere, and an outside bathroom and toilet, and probably tens of thousands of dollars of work needing to be done to the place, but love isn’t always influenced by the exterior, is it?

Happily (or unhappily), James loves it too. We both kept looking at each other and saying “wow”, while Miss M listened to Pink on my i-Pod, and seemed unconcerned. So, it’s a building inspection tomorrow, and then some serious scheming to get enough money to make the place ours. I’m hoping the visual flaws may have put a lot of the buyers off - if you had a little baby, I can’t imagine you’d want to hike all the way out to the toilet in the rain if you could find another place to live for around the same price. See, I can talk myself into anything!

There’s one other place we have to look at this afternoon, but I feel like I’ve already made up my mind - and I HATE it! I’m trying not to prejudge, but I HATE it! So, let’s just see what happens, shall we?

Today I’m loving: I could pretend to think about something else, but it’s the house, of course. With a sense of pseudo-detachment, emphasis on the pseudo.

I think Miss M has a new hero(ine) in the same way James Bond became mine after I saw Casino Royale. We watched Nancy Drew this evening, and although I was initially worried it might be a little boring for an eight year old, when the comic relief and action both kicked in, it was very enjoyable. There was a sequence where Nancy was pursued, and did some nifty self defence, and afterwards, I mentioned Miss M’s karate skills would make her a far better sleuth. She agreed, and said she’d thought Nancy Drew had a lot of opportunities to be more violent.

At the end of the movie, there was a sweet emotional moment, and as I’ve mentioned before, I’m a sucker for any type of emotion, anywhere, anytime. I even cried at the Spongebob Squarepants movie, as Miss M patted my knee and whispered, “Mummy, it’s only a movie, you don’t have to cry”, but tonight, she was the one who shed tears (alright, so did I, but I wiped them away quickly). As we left, she said “I don’t know why I’m crying, but I just can’t stop”. It was very cute.

We made fantastic risotto beforehand, with sausages from the Spanish deli that were so delicious it’s almost criminal. They’re little chorizitos, without any paprika, but full of other spices. We used tomato passata instead of wine, and I sneaked in a couple of mushrooms, along with carrot, celery and leeks, then parmesan to disguise the health factor of the veggies. Miss M stirred, and decided when to add more vegetable stock. Thankfully it was ready in time for us to eat before running over to the movie. Miss M still wanted a choc top, but I managed to resist temptation - maybe those tablets have kicked in already.

Tomorrow holds the promise of three properties to check out, the market and a sleep in. As Meatloaf once sang, two out of three ain’t bad.

Today I’m loving: whoever made those sausages! If you live near Fitzroy in Melbourne, go to Casa Iberica and buy some now. Or wait until they’re open … that’s probably a better idea.

Last week Miss M’s report came home, and as I’d been led to expect by the lady herself, shows she’s been having some difficulty adjusting to senior school this year - which I think mainly comes down to confidence. Ironic for a girl so confident and outgoing in every other facet of life. Last year, her final grade two report showed her reading was a year ahead of expectation, but now, she ain’t loving it so much. My family are all avid readers and members of her father’s family were librarians, so I guess it’s genetic she’d be into it. But since she’s been in grade three, she’s declared reading “boring”.

It seems chapter books aren’t holding her interest, so earlier this week I took her shopping for some suitable books. She told me she wanted mysteries, but unfortunately, the only ones I could find were for older children, and full of tightly packed print - immediate rejection. Even when I offered to read them to her. I was considering Enid Blyton books like “Famous Five” or “Secret Seven”, but for a thoroughly modern young woman, decided there’d be too much explanation, which would again, lead to pesky old rejection.

I thumbed through a couple of the groovier looking aimed-at-teenagers mysteries and thought “I used to be a writer, I could probably write something like this”. At first it was an aimless thought, then I really thought about it, and my brain totally kicked in and I decided I would write a book for Miss M, about her friends and school. I decided to call on all my knowledge of countless Scooby Doo episodes, and create something fabulous, but kitschy. The only problem was the plot … as in what would it be?

Perhaps ironically, as I was searching through my underwear drawer this afternoon, the whole thing unfolded itself in front of my eyes - no, not the underwear. The plot, silly. So my aim is to write a page a day, and give it to Miss M in the evenings to read. Of course, the heroine will have to be as sharp as a tack and gorgeous as she is in real life - I’ll have to call on every writing skill I possess! As research, we’re going to go and see Nancy Drew tomorrow night. I think I’m more excited than my small counterpart is.

I asked Miss M what the title of the book should be and she said “The Haunted School, starring me!”. I love the haunted school idea, and only partly because it fits so well with my Scooby Doo fantasy. So let’s see if this notion lasts longer than my domestic frenzy of recent weeks, which came to a grinding halt earlier this week. I did do the washing up today, so now it almost looks like I never lost my mojo. Almost.

Today I’m loving: being able to retrieve my site from a scary upgrade gone bad scenario - and tomato and roasted fennel soup

The more astute among you may notice I’ve changed the skin on my site. It’s taken a lot of blood, sweat and … swearing. I hadn’t done anything computer-ish for ages, and had almost forgotten how to upload plugins, tinker with code, all the nerdy things I got so good at in the early days. I think I really dig the new one - it’s kind of girly, and much less sparse than it’s predecessor. Let me know what you think.

Yesterday Miss M and I got to hang out for the entire day. It was parent teacher interview day at the school, so we got up late, read a Mary Kate and Ashley mystery, then walked Mr Dog. She waited in reception while I taught spin, then we did the interview, and ate cake afterwards. That is to say I ate cake, she ate ice cream. Then after I’d eaten cake, I bought some Blackmore’s Sugar Balance tablets, possibly a little too late, but then again, I haven’t eaten cake today. By the time 3pm rolled around, I’d had two cups of coffee, then last night I lay in bed and couldn’t sleep for two hours.

Part of the coffee drinking happened with one of my favorite clients, who had a baby five and a half weeks ago. I hadn’t seen her since the baby (Pip) arrived, so it was fabulous to catch up and meet him. That child has the best genetic chances of gorgeousness I’ve ever seen, and he’s living up to them already.

It’s rainy and cold outside in a big, big way. I caught the tram in and back today after getting saturated on my last ride yesterday. Just as I left home it started to drizzle, and I had a two minute window of time to go back and change. I thought “how wet can I get in fifteen minutes”, clearly forgetting every other time I’ve ridden in the rain. By the time I got halfway to work, the answer to my rather stupid question was “very, very wet”. Especially my bottom, which was soaking, even though I have a guard on my back tyre. Happily, one of my co-workers (Glen, you genius) suggested I use the hairdryers in the change rooms to dry myself. So I shorted out two of the three doing it. Don’t tell anyone, okay?

Today I’m loving: my ever expanding lunchtime yoga class - it’s a beautiful thing!

I’ve been tagged by Leisa at Down With The Kids, and in response, I’m posting this series of odd things about me. This is where I curse myself for burning up all my good material in my posts, as many of the strange things which have happened in my life have been the subject of long winded self absorbtion on this site already. However, after racking my brain, I’ve come up with a few still good stories.

1. When I was about sixteen, I did a modelling course at Style Model Academy in Hobart. Although I failed the low key makeup test (while doing brilliantly on the slightly tartier high key makeup) my report at the end said if I’d been three inches taller, I could have made a killing in New York. I still curse my brother for getting all the height in the family.

2. Off the back of number one, in college (or Matric, as it was known in Tassie at the time) I was the model for so many of my fellow students photographic assignments people ended up getting marked down for using me. I think the teachers could only handle so many angst ridden photographs of a black clad girl lurking in alleyways about town. And those emo kids think they’re so original …

3. My all time favorite movie is Blade Runner, but I despise the director’s cut, where Harrison Ford’s film noir voice over was removed. Apparently he hated doing it so much he deliberately made it super world weary to really annoy Ridley Scott, but obviously forgot how world weary film noir actually is. I think it works perfectly, and thus, will only watch this version of the film, preferring to throw popcorn at the other.

4. The first yoga class I ever went to was free, and run by a cult who specialised in some kind of meditation mind control. There was no actual yoga, just focussing on a picture of a candle - obviously the cult couldn’t afford a real candle, so they settled for a painted version of one. While you focussed, whoever the “teacher” was would repeat some insane mantra about the cult, their leader (possibly the word ‘glorious’ was used), and at the end of the class it would all be business as usual. When my friend Louise and I told our parents what was going on, they decided we wouldn’t be going back. To this day, I think that experience prevents me from actually being able to meditate properly … or at least I like to use it as an excuse.

5. I’d been sure during all of my pregnancy I was having a girl. When Miss M was finally born, in my haze of post-pregnancy endorphins, I looked at her and said “oh, it’s a boy”. My fabulous midwife Belinda gave a derisive snort and said “No, Emma, that’s the umbilical cord”.

6. I applied to get into art school on a whim after one of my friends told me he was going to apply. It was his lifelong dream to be a painter, and he’d worked for ages on his submission. I threw together some stuff over two weeks. I got in, he didn’t.

7. I failed a photography course at that same art school because at review time, I argued with the teachers that all art is subjective, and just because they didn’t like what I did, it didn’t make it bad art per se. Well, that and I didn’t go to about 50% of my lectures.

The rules are I now have to tag some other people. My choices are:

Heather and Jessica from Go Fug Yourself, the pinacle of awesomeness in blogging. I’m not sure what my chances are in getting a reply, but damn it, I’m going to set that bar high anyway.

Amanda from Diary of a Mad Cow, which I always enjoy immensely.

Miss T from Prefurr, a blog I discovered yesterday, and loved immediately.

Thanks Leis, you know how I love being the focus of attention! xx

This morning Miss M and I went to a working bee at her school. I was lured partly by a promise of bacon sandwiches, and the desire to contribute to the school community in a small way. Miss M was only interested in building the chicken coop. Since the foreman for the build was a late starter due to a horrific hangover, we carried and stacked huge planks, various sized rocks, and then dug holes in the most insanely clay filled ground I’ve ever seen. Apparently the holes will eventually have trees planted in them, and I can only wish them good luck in their quest to survive.

After dumping a few wheelbarrow fulls of the dirt from the holes, I indulged in the bacon sandwich that had drawn me there in the first place. Miss M preferred hot chocolate with marshmallows, then asked for several bites of my sandwich since there were only sausages left. Then she decided to have a sausage as well. By this time, it was drizzling fairly savagely, but everyone was undeterred. I was charmed by the sight of my daughter hefting huge logs around in the rain, wearing adult sized gardening gloves and a huge grin. I hope when we finally find a house there’ll be some sort of garden she can dig up and haul things around in.

The only sour note came when Miss M wasn’t able to help with the chicken coop because of a large amount of power tools being used. The nail gun freaked me out a little, so I was glad I didn’t have to be the person to say she couldn’t join in. She complained bitterly, and reminded me she wasn’t a child … but luckily we had a house inspection to go to so I was able to use that as an excuse.

The inspection was quite out of control attendance wise, with the real estate agent acting as a door bitch to keep some order. James was in danger of hitting his head on many different parts of the roof, so I think it’s safe to say it’s not top of our list.

Today I’m loving: the coffee I had at the market this morning (see coffee, I do still love you!)

For the last few months there’s been a song randomly playing at work which I’ve fallen in love with. The problem with anything playing at work is since I don’t listen to the radio or go to clubs, I don’t usually know what anything’s called or who it’s by. I will admit this is a remix - my most hated of all types of music. Someone I know (who clearly had no idea what they were talking about) told me it was an Icehouse song, so I googled the lyrics with Icehouse as a searchword - fruitless in all respects. Ditto searches of Limewire. Then I found out it was a Roxy Music song called Kiss and Tell. Still nothing on Limewire. Stupid free peer to peer network!

Last night I searched every bit torrent site on the internet - still nothing. I found the album the song comes from on Amazon, but buying it from the US seemed a little extreme. In desperation, I decided to search i-Tunes, a mechanism I’ve always slagged off as too expensive and annoying. The album was there, but with 80kr next to each song. I thought maybe it was code for funky Apple credits or something, but no, I was connected to the Danish i-Tunes - perfectly sane for the Australian account I’d set up with Apple when I got my computer.

So for the next hour I tried to switch languages, create a new account and all that jazz. By the end of it, I’d pretty much written off ever wanting to hear the damn song again. Finally I went to bed, and tried to sort it out before work this morning. Still couldn’t do it. I came home this afternoon, but my session had timed out and I had to go through the whole thing again. But, the song’s finally downloaded and playing right now, and it was worth the hassle.

On a slightly different note, I went to the new Designers for Target range, which Stella McCartney had previously done. The new one is by Josh Goot, and all the photos I’d seen looked fab. I liked the idea of the wool and Tencel fabrics, and I’d picked out a couple of things I wanted to buy. Until I saw them in the flesh. The fabric was beautiful, but everything was so average looking I couldn’t deal with the idea of parting with so much money for such humdrum clothes. Instead I bought a whole lot of thermal layers for work (the gym is FREEZING) and a great t-shirt which was on sale. Sorry Josh Goot, but I have to give your range the thumbs down.

Today I’m loving: the weekend

I’ve always had big eyebrows. Partly because my hair is so black, but mainly because they’re just big. At primary school, I was always teased about having clown eyebrows, and thinking back, this may be where my hatred/phobia of clowns started (although as I mentioned previously, Poltergeist was the main catalyst). When Brooke Shields first came into the public eye, she also had huge eyebrows, and many people (all of them women) would say “you have eyebrows just like Brooke Shields, you’re so lucky”. Perhaps from an adult perspective, but in the schoolyard it didn’t cut any ice .

Even though I hated my eyebrows, I was always too scared to do anything to them, in case it went horribly wrong and they didn’t grow back. A while ago I found out about a brow shaping specialist who worked at the Estee Lauder counter in Myer, so I bit the bullet and made an appointment. While I was waiting, said specialist came over to ask if I was booked in to see her. I said yes, and she nearly went insane with excitement at the idea of working on my virgin brows. Most of her clients took about fifteen minutes. I took forty five. It’s a good thing I’ve learned how to breathe properly in yoga, because it was more painful than getting a tattoo.

So now I go through phases where I let them grow fully back because I’m to lazy to do anything about it, then suddenly I’ll get them professionally seen to. I no longer use the specialist, instead I go to Sarah at Victoria Gardens, who charges me ten bucks instead of eighty and does a great job. Last night, I decided to do it myself. Damn my eyebrows are huge! I’ve whittled them down to a suave arch, but they’re still pretty enormous compared to most human beings. In a personal grooming frenzy, I also put henna in my hair, so now all the places which were grey are now blazing red. Ah, those Italian genetics … big eyebrows, hennaed hair … inescapable!

Today I’m loving: sleeping well, which I think is down to the absence of coffee

New Booty Busters, Pg 64

Three new fitness crazes, rated for your convenience. I’ve read a lot about Powerplates, and I have to say, my jury is still out. Any piece of equipment promising the results of a two hour gym workout in twenty minutes … if it sounds too good to be … well, you know the rest. Remember those old machines from the fifties where people would put a big band around their waist and jiggle away for ages like some kind of human lava lamp? I don’t see a lot of difference. I’m prepared to be corrected, but give me some scientific evidence, and I mean more than “Madonna has one at home”.

On the other hand, BOSU balls are great, and I have and use one, both personally and for my clients. Basically like half a fitball, you can do dozens of different exercises on them, and they promote balance and work your core in an intense way. Top marks.

Kangoo Jumps are something I’ve never heard about, but they sound like those shoes George Kostanza was trying to sell in “The Jimmy” episode of Seinfeld. If you feel the need to get some mad air, maybe you should look into these.

Not sure how many people would buy or use this equipment as a result of this article, but if you’re in the market, go the BOSU. I got mine on eBay for a fraction of the retail price. Usefulness, *

My 30 day nightmare to become a size 0, Pg 90

The doco this article is based on was on TV several months ago, and I remember talking with one of my Yummy Mummies about it at the time. I didn’t watch it, but it sounded totally terrifying. A woman weighing 50kg (161cm tall) drops to 44kg in thirty days. Terrifying. What’s even more terrifying is she did it with the help of a personal trainer, who knew exactly what her aim was - and specialises in getting women down to a size 0, or Australian size 4.

This woman had previously won FHM’s sexiest woman of the decade award, but admits part of her loved the idea of being thinner. She experienced emotional problems, and her entire life was taken up with the weight loss program. It was done as an experiment, but I wonder how many people undertake this kind of program as a legitimate lifestyle choice. Truly disturbing reading - great for the checkout queue.

Food & Fitness, Pg 155

What is it about Mexican food this month? First Cleo pitches a great Mexican recipe, now Cosmopolitan follows suit. This one is for Mexican shredded beef soup, and I believe I’ll cook u a batch on the weekend! This recipe is from the Women’s Weekly Healthy Eating cookbook, and if it’s anything like the other cookbooks I’ve read of theirs, it’s probably worth checking out.

Over the page are ten tips for improving your immune system, definitely timely judging by the amount of people getting sick at the moment. A lot of these are the old “exercise, eat garlic and chilli” variety, but eating shitake mushrooms, making a home made disinfectant spray to kill germs around your house, and massaging your pressure points are also on the list. All of these are easy to do, and none are unpleasant, so maybe they’re worth a go.

The last page has the fabulous title “de-jiggle your fat spots”, and if you have any concept of how fat burning works, none of these will make any difference without changing your diet, and upping your cardio. Back fat, armpit overhang, squishy thighs and belly bumps are areas almost everyone has, and everyone hates. The way your body usually works is to change in the place you hate most last. Keep motivated, change your exercise routine often, and don’t stop just because the weather is cold. And those horribly titled bits will change eventually!

(This article does mention diet and cardio, but the way it pitches these exercises makes it slightly misleading) Overall, I rate it ***