I guess this is why it's called abstract art

- What's dat picture of mummy?

- Well, what do you think it looks like?

- It's a princess.

- A princess?? You don't think it looks like a wave?

- No, a princess. See, there's her shoe.

Don't do this at work

Do you know it can be very hard to tell the difference between natural boobs and those with implants by sight alone?

I discovered this one Friday afternoon while I was living in Germany. My shared office was empty, and someone had just sent me a heap of boob pictures in a PowerPoint presentation where you had to say which ones were natural and which ones implanted.

Should be easy, I thought. Just need to look at the position of the nipple. And maybe for scars.

I guessed fake for the first picture. Wrong. Real for the next. Wrong.

Oh come on those are surely fake!

Wrong.

Those ones are small, they must be real!

Wrong.

Wow, this is hard, I thought, maximizing the file and leaning closer to my computer screen for better investigation of each picture.

Wrong wrong wrong.

I was deep in examination of a pair of nipples, nose pressed right up to the screen, determined to get at least one right, when it happened.

A tentative tap tap tap.

I turned to see the new work experience girl, all of 16, who'd knocked on my desk to get my attention so she could ask me a question. About work.

I may have blushed.

Mellowing monster

Do you think he's gotten easier lately?

Definitely.

I've mentioned before that Lukan can be a bit of a pest. Before he become mobile, I think we had one broken toy. Now we have a collection. He purposely pulls and twists and tugs on everything, until it comes apart. He rips pages out of books. He delights in breaking apart Téo's Lego constructions and train tracks. He throws. He whacks. He tangles. He unplugs.

He opens every drawer he can, and empties their contents. Repeatedly. Same for bins. Toilet brushes are his favourite thing of all, with toilets a close second.

He twists and turns on the change table, standing up whenever he can to turn the lights on and off.

He broke a 1 litre bottle of olive oil on our very absorbent limestone floor. There are chips in the floor all around his high chair from when he's thrown his cutlery down. The brand new table is dented for the same reason. He's broken two plastic plates, my hair dryer, plastic knobs on our toilet, and an electric power plug.

There was no coaching, no coaxing, no direction at all for the Lukanzilla video.

But then, last week, I noticed there's been less trouble. We can leave the bathroom door open and not end up with toilet paper all over the floor. We've been able to untie all the kitchen drawers. He stays on his back during nappy changes. He's not throwing unwanted food on the floor. I took him into a pharmacy and - despite the shelves and shelves of bottles and boxes right at his eye level - he didn't touch a thing. Even more remarkable, he opened a drawer while I was having a shower and when I said no, don't take anything out, he actually listened. He didn't look happy, but he didn't empty it.

Which is all a very welcome development ahead of our plane trip to Sydney in 10 days.

Celebrating friends and love

It took us until the end of January to finally pack away our Christmas tree decorations. But the tree was still fine, and it seemed a shame to just chuck it out.

So Téo, Lukan and I embarked on a new decoration project.

Those are your names there, on the hearts.

Happy Valentine's Day everyone!

First memories

I have a few hazy first memories. Being in the bath at my aunt's while mum was in hospital after my brother was born. Running up fire stairs at the hospital when I went to visit them. Cutting my finger. But they are very vague and hard to catch hold of, more like a remembered glimpse of a blurry image than later memories with their movement and colours and emotions.

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The other day I mentioned our old apartment to Téo and asked if he remembered living there.

Yes. I peed on the floor and you were cranky with me.

That seems a lot clearer than my early memories.

So does his recollection this week of another not-so-happy event.

Mummy, why did the policeman have to bweak the window and then they gave me a lion?

When he was 2.5, I accidentally locked him in the car while we were in Sydney. On a hot day. At lunch time. Parked in the sun.

Neither the police not the NRMA could pick the lock (WTF? How come car thieves seem to be able to do it no problem??) so, after 20 min or so and Téo getting very obviously very hot, they decided to smash the window.

I didn't like it when they bweaked the window. It made too much noise. I cwied.

For a while afterwards he would say the police gave him the toy lion, and we would talk about how he was rescued, but he hasn't said anything for ages. Like, years. And I never really said anything about him crying, I always praised him for being so brave.

So great, another traumatic first memory. And one that seems unlikely to fade - his favourite game these days goes along the lines of you be stuck in the car mummy and I'll be the police and I'll come and wescue you. EEEEE-OOORRR EEEEE-OOORRR SMASH SMASH I bwoke the window, you can get out now!

Fabulous.

Thank you, Sesame Street

For Mandy