Filling the pages

Sweeney's dad Martin passed away yesterday. Though we knew it was coming, it's still a shock and whenever I think about it, I feel like I've been hit over the head. I can't understand why time hasn't stopped, why cars are still driving on the roads, why people are still buying food at the supermarket as if nothing has happened. I turn my head and see the midday news on in the corner of the news room - why isn't this the lead story?
Life goes on. Children must be fed and clothed. Time clocks punched, pages filled.
Martin and I hadn't seen much of each other in the last year or so. I have to admit I felt anger towards him. But what is anger in the scale of things? It's nothing.
Dear Martin, do you remember the day Sweeney was born? We all cried. You held him and he seemed to know who you were. You both looked stoked you'd had this chance to meet each other finally. You were generous enough to hand him over to me for cuddles, though you looked like you could have held him forever. Do you remember when I was first pregnant, and unsure about how to work the whole thing out, and you brought Sweeney in to see me at work. You let me scoop him out of his stroller and hold him while he slept, said you'd back me to the hilt? Do you remember that beautiful French dictonary from the 1950s you found for me, with the pictures of Germans wearing SS hats? I do.
I saw a pregnant woman yesterday just after I heard the news, and I thought about all the possibilities that unborn child will have, its futures coming out of it like rays of light. I hope that the next time around Martin, you grab those futures, and that you have happiness and love and peace.

I gave in ...

... and washed my hair with shampoo. But only because it was itchy and the only thing that gets rid of itchy is coal tar.
It's a big halo of frizz.

Three years

Three years ago today, Sweeney O'Neill came into our lives. He changed everything. He set a new standard for what love felt like.

We've been fast friends ever since.

Proof I work for a living

I'm really chuffed with how this story turned out. It's about drag queen Judy Chicago, who will be competing in Queen of the Whole Universe : A Very Queer Beauty Pageant this weekend at the St James in Wellington. Go Judy!

All the threes

This is my 333rd post.
Good things come in threes. So do London buses.
I'm putting off transcribing an interview and glancing at the glorious day outside, it's sunny and still and frosty - a perfect winter's day. I am having trouble focussing on the job at hand not just because I want to go and sit in the sun until my hair catches fire, but also because I am totally loved-up on Harper at the moment. It's sick making. He is growing up so fast, making little words, closing the door when we ask, goose-stepping scross the lounge, imitating me drying my hair, shaking his fists in celebration and saying 'Neur!' with a defiant scowl when confronted with a situation he's not entirely happy with - I know this doesn't mean much to anyone else but my heart is just bursting to give him a cuddle right now. Last night his dad went out to a movie so Harper and I had the longest bath ever, took ages getting into pyjamas because we were goofing off, read stories until there was just no doubting Big Nutbrown Hare's insistence that he loved Little Nutbrown Hare most, and had a big, big cuddle in the rocking chair with Mr Snuffy, special blankie and all.
Delicious.

20 days

It's been 20 days since I started this no-'poo thing, and I've kind of fallen off the good hair wagon. The locks are not so good today, or have they been for the last few days. I have fairly striaght hair with a few waves in it, but lately they're more kinks. *despair*. Ten more days to go before I decide if this no-'poo thing is really for me.

On another note, here is a gratuitous picture of the kid, with really great hair.