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Over the past couple of days, I’ve learned a huge life lesson, one that may explain why many of my, and other people’s relationships have failed, and may fail yet again. Gather closely friends, as I reveal my terrifying secret … communicating is hard!

Like most people, I have many skills. Previously, I would’ve counted communicating among(st?) them. I spend my day at work showing people how to do difficult things, finesse their technique with carefully chosen words … I’m a mother to a girl I’m fairly sure I have an awesome relationship with - there must be some communication there.

But put it in a relationship sense, and things get difficult. You may already be surmising, but yes, it’s true - Bike Boy and I hit that all important relationship marker - the first argument - and unfortunately, he’s just as stubborn and pedantic as I am. As these things always seem to be, it was over nothing. But as well as the “nothing” there was also “something”, which seemed to have nothing to do with the “nothing”. So we talked. Talking turned into arguing, then tears, then everything was okay, apart from exhaustion like I’ve never known.

Several things puzzled me about our argument. We’re open and honest with one another, which actually freaks me out a bit. I feel like I can say anything, and won’t be judged harshly for it … and yet, I don’t. I spent some time yesterday thinking about previous arguments I’ve had, things I’ve said and haven’t said, and came to the conclusion I’m way too stubborn for my own good. I know there are times when I’ve deliberately not been honest because I feel the other party should work it out for themselves - why should I make it easy for them? Then things get horribly adversarial, and only ugliness can follow. I came to other conclusions as well, but I’m going to keep them to myself … but not out of lack of communication, okay? Just because I want to.

So, instead of withholding this information from Bike Boy, as would be my usual behaviour, I came clean. After I’d finished, he admitted he felt exactly the same, and suddenly I didn’t feel like such a loser anymore. So, we’ve come up with a strategy for dealing with any situations arising from here. A several fold strategy, in fact. Even better than that is the feeling I’m actually maturing as a person. Because what good is a Certificate 4 in Life Coaching if you can’t back down in an argument? I think we all know the answer to that, don’t we?

Today I’m loving: the strawberry and rhubarb yoghurt I discovered yesterday, and my sweet dog, who at last has some relief from the bites on his ears.

On Friday, I picked up a giant package from the post office, containing materials for the diploma of massage course I’ve enrolled in. Upon opening said package, I felt a steady and definite sense of nausea creeping from my stomach up to my throat - nausea representing one of my least favorite things … reality.

I spent the next thirty minutes in a stupor, shuffling through text books, manuals, DVD’s, CD’s - and the groovy lucite pen with the flag of Australia on top of it, then decided I’d better do something constructive. So I started the reading for the first unit - Clinical Aromatherapy.

Within the first couple of minutes, I realised the course is fantastic, in part because it touches on things I’m already interested in. I’ve loved aromatherapy for years, now I’m studying it. And, just to really freak you out (Josh and Ria, especially you), the first day I read the manual from cover to cover and yesterday I took re-read and took notes on the first twelve pages for an hour. After this post, I’ll read/note take for another hour, since James and Miss M have gone into the city to buy Lonely Planet guides and protein powder - for James, not Miss M.

Let me display my new found knowledge with some random aromatherapy facts. The term aromatherapy wasn’t coined until 1937, by a French cosmetic chemist called Gattefosse. He became interested in therapeutic qualities of oils after an explosion in his laboratory left him with gangrenous wounds. He applied lavender oil (angustifolia - derived from leaves), and recovered remarkably quickly. He then worked with many people, including soldiers injured in WW1, mainly using thyme, lemon, clove and chamomile oils to treat, and also disinfect instruments.

The first English language book dealing with aromatherapy wasn’t published until the 1970’s, although documented use started with the Egyptians, who embalmed their dead using cedarwood and myrrh. My favorite thing is Cleopatra, scenting the sails of her barge with oils so her subjects would know their queen was passing. She also seduced Mark Anthony with her lavish use of rose oil … but I think she might’ve had a couple of other tricks up her toga sleeve as well.

So there you go - I’ve retained some detail, you’re a little more knowledgeable - we both win. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got a date with my manual and index cards.

Today I’m loving: Pilchen’s love of Ultimate Fighting, and decision to come on dog walks. If only she wasn’t so well camouflaged in the dark.

Two posts in one day - a precedent I can barely believe I’ve revisited!

The point of this one is to display the photographs below, of Miss M and her shiny new BMX.

We spent nearly two hours choosing, and she wouldn’t be swayed by the pink and black one I was keen on. Now I realise that would’ve been the wrong choice, since James is quite jealous of the red bike, and it’s been admired by several men since we brought it home, and as Miss M pointed out “no boys would’ve liked the pink one, Mummy”.

Bike Boy is also proud, having asked Miss M whether she wouldn’t prefer a mountain bike. She scoffed, and said she’d never ride a bike with gears, in case she “accidentally put it in an easy one and rode like a nanna”. Because both his bikes are single speed, I think he feels like he’s started off a new generation of tough, gear despising riders.

She’s already riding standing up, made the jump from pedal to hand brakes, and is quite the professional. She wants the pegs put back on so she can do tricks, but I’ve worked hard to convince her to wait at least a day or so. I’ll be watching … through my fingers.

(later) Today I’m loving: my tough little monkey, who isn’t scared of anything!

My life over the past few days has been full of bikes. Partly because my house is full of bikes, the running total as it currently stands is: me - 1. Miss M - 1. James - 2. Bike Boy - 2. Grand total - 6. One of James’ bikes is be given to a friend, bringing the tally back to 5, but this afternoon, Miss M and I are going to look at a BMX for her, and a crazy Fuji step through bike for me.

I saw the Fuji at the market last week, and initially thought it was hideous. Then something odd came over me, and I started thinking about how I’d like to be able to wear something other than my work clothing while bike riding, and the design of this bike would enable me to wear a ballgown and heels if I so chose. And don’t laugh, because I may just do that. So my initial impression about the bike was turned on it’s head. It also has the hugest, softest looking seat I’ve ever seen, and that can only be a good thing.

Another reason bikes are on my mind is Miss M has been riding a lot over the past few days. Some of you may have read previous posts about my teaching skills, and the acquisition of her bike, but she’s risen above any adversity and now rides like a pro. So much so I find myself begging her not to go crazy - or to at least only go crazy when she’s riding with Bike Boy. Advice which she’s taken on board during the two massive rides they’ve gone on over the past couple of days.

Mr Dog is also able to be included, having developed a technique of running beside Miss M while she’s zooming around. A technique which freaked out a few passers-by, who assumed he was a crazed dog on the loose, but Miss M cheerfully calls him along as she rides, making quite a charming tableau.

Yesterday, Bike Boy noticed Miss M’s bike had been wrongly assembled. I’m still blaming Santa, but since I was his proxy on the assembly line, I guess I have to assume some kind of blame. It seems “someone” had put the thing the handlebars go into (tech talk, see?) the wrong way around, thus making it difficult for her to pedal properly with her long, long legs. So this morning, it was reassembled by a professional, things were tightened, brakes were adjusted … then she went riding at the school and fell twice. The first time scraping her shin, the second time, her elbow (which bled), but hitting the ground in such a spectacular fashion I nearly screamed, and found myself running at a similar pace to the speed of light to go to her aid.

She didn’t cry … I did. But I hid it well. Instead, she proudly showed off her wounds to James, who was impressed by the spillage of “claret”. She’s now watching Charlie and Lola to recover, and biding her time until we can display her injuries to the boys in the bike shop, who appreciate these things on a whole other level.

Today I’m loving: Kevin Rudd

The week is OVAH, and I couldn’t be happier. Especially because tonight we’ll be eating a Turkish banquet and watching a belly dancer shimmy her way around a (tiny) restaurant. I may even wear makeup - but let’s not go crazy too early.

This weekend, I’m back in the saddle for the market, which I’ve missed since before Christmas. Thus my eggs have been less than gorgeous, there’s virtually no fresh fruit in the house, and my growing addiction to apple, beetroot and ginger juice is costing a fortune since I’m constantly outsourcing. Tomorrow I have an afternoon tea date with a friend I haven’t seen since mid-high school, after we had a falling out over a piece of snakeskin lurex clothing, so I’m trying to work out the most appropriate cake to bake. At this stage, I’m thinking either my beloved orange cake, or flourless chocolate. Wait, I’ve just decided on the chocolate cake.

Though they’re totally unrelated to this post, here are some photographs from Bali which I’ve just managed to upload onto my computer. I’ll be blaming flat batteries and chronic inability to act, but enjoy nevertheless.

Today I’m loving: rewatching the Muppet Show

My bedroom in the new house has been annoying me for the last few weeks. Something about the set up wasn’t right, and I had no idea how to fix it, but after conferring with my knowledgeable bike boy last night, I came up with some ideas. So today, I made a trip to Ikea, land of strangely named products, and a shop layout ensuring you feel like a hamster trapped in a maze. Happily, I’ve been trapped in that maze enough times now to know how to make it out alive past Smaaland, bendy ice cube trays, and those corkscrew shaped bamboo plants everyone loves so much.

I only bought one thing, which is in itself an achievement - a metal cabinet for my television and DVD player. It’s red (of course), and I put it together myself …

Initially, I assumed it came complete with screws and things you’d use an allan key for. After all, Swedes practically invented that style of furniture, so why fix it if it ain’t broke? But no, not a screw, or an allan key in sight. Instead, the pieces cleverly joined (with a jaunty diagram shouting “CLICK” when two pieces needed to be forced together) with a series of overlapping edges, and two things resembling allan keys, which weren’t.

I followed the diagram perfectly, but like most of my Ikea efforts, it’s slightly out of whack. Here’s a checklist for my Ikea requirements:

Item’s door/drawer is slightly out of whack, with a greater distance at the top/bottom than at the bottom/top (delete whichever doesn’t apply)

Item’s door/drawer rubs against another part of the item, causing an unsightly bulge where one wasn’t meant to be. Also removes paint from the beautifully powdercoated finish.

I’m so annoyed at the item, I can’t be bothered dismantling and remantling, so must learn to live with said imperfections. Witness my chest of drawers with the one at the bottom which won’t close unless I use the force of a Mack truck and an upwards tilt … and my new PS cabinet (props on the slightly less insane name though, Ikea), which meets all the above requirements.

I know when James, and possibly the bike boy see my PS cabinet, they’ll feel the need to dis/remantle. I, on the other hand, am inherently lazy. It isn’t going to collapse and send my television hurtling to the floor. It looks great - especially if you aren’t the kind of person who notices small imperfections. And it’s red - really, that’s all I need.

So the upshot - the room looks better, all my expectations have been met, and tomorrow, I’m buying a bed from Ikea. But I’m going to let James put it together for me …

Today I’m loving: Index cards. My enrollment in the massage course is finalised, and I’m stockpiling for anatomy study.

Do you ever have one of those days where you look back at everything you’ve done and think “wow, I’ve achieved HEAPS (my new favorite word) today”. In response to my own question, yes, Emma, yes I do.

Granted, it’s not all glamour - except a visit to the laundromat, which is all glamour, baby. I got up this morning at 5, and all I could think about as I stumbled around the house was having a nap as soon as I got home. That thought took me through until I had coffee at 8.30, when I started thinking about what I’d eat for lunch. In case you’re wondering, it was Indian spinach and paneer cheese, which was so wonderful I’d have it every day, but next time, I won’t eat it so soon before teaching yoga.

I’ve also run with Mr Dog, gone to the supermarket, hung out my laundry, taught yoga (after lunch), made pizza dough, and constructed a fantastic icecream involving a chocolate cone, blueberries and classy vanilla ice cream for Miss M. I also posted a letter, which I’m possibly more proud of than anything else. Letters are sometimes impossible to post in my experience, even though I walk past a convenient red box at least once a day.

And of course, written my second post in two days. I’m discovering the secret to getting things done is not to over think. Sad, because I’m an obsessive over thinker, but I’ve managed to achieve more in the last three days by just getting on with it (copyright Josh) than when I’ve had a list to make my way through. I’ve recently discovered my brother is an obsessive list maker too, but will also make a sub list, where various tasks are distilled into a more manageable chunk. Does he get through it? I’ll allow you to make up your own mind.

Today I’m loving: Mr Dog, who, though it was hot and humid, dutifully ran beside me, and only stopped infrequently to give me a look which clearly said “you’re insane, but I still love you”. What a good boy!

Although we’re solidly into the second month of this year, I thought I’d take a moment to recap new year’s eve, the first in ages where I haven’t been in bed by ten pm with an Agatha Christie novel for company.

This year, I went camping - for the first time in roughly twenty five years. I have to admit I was slightly nervous, since I’m a well documented lover of civilisation and urban surrounds. Also, it was my first trip away with my boyfriend, and as all my friends delighted in telling me, camping was not so much just camping, but also make or break time in the relationship stakes.

Apart from some foolish packing which led to me wearing knee high boots in forty degree heat for my trip from Hobart to Melbourne, everything went brilliantly. It was almost all organised by the time I came back, apart from a supermarket trip where we bought four times more food than we needed.

We got to our campsite just after ten pm, the tent was up in about three minutes (North Face, I think I love you), and we spent the next couple of hours drinking Corona, staring at the almost insanely bright stars, and listening to the waves crash on the beach. If life gets anymore perfect, I don’t want to know about it.

The only slight glitch was my first camp site public toilet experience - after which I invented an elaborate face mask system, involving several damp paper towels and my beloved Jo Malone Orange Blossom perfume. We also quickly learned to run through the tea tree grove on the way to the beach to avoid the stealth mosquitoes lurking there, totally unphased by the repellent we’d covered ourselves in.

The second day was my birthday, which was spent alternately making espresso on our camp oven in my little Bialetti, getting smashed by the waves on the beach, reclining in the tent in the mid afternoon sun, and showering at “the shop” in the Honeysuckles. There were actually two shops, but only one was referred to as “the” shop. This was also where I discovered it’s wise to ask the price of beer before purchasing an imported six pack and feeling my pupils dilate after finding out how expensive it was.

On the drive back home, I wished we’d been able to stay another few days, which I guess is the perfect way to leave a holiday. We’re planning another trip in the next couple of weeks, and this time we’ll take Miss M with us, which should be interesting, but I think she’ll love it. And although it’s probably quite obvious, the relationship was most definitely not broken.

Today I’m loving: (and freaking out about) sending in my enrollment for the massage diploma course I’ve been talking about for ages.