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After seeing Julia Gillard on the TV every day recently my baby, all of 5 years old, has declared she will be Prime Minister when she grows up.  No ifs or buts, it will just be so.  I love that confidence in kids that they can be and do whatever they choose, barriers be damned.

She’s obviously put a bit of thought into it and has a few policy ideas already.  So here’s your scoop.  Remember, you heard it here first.

Me: Why have you decided to be the Prime Minister of Australia?

Future PM: Because you get to be the boss of Australia and make all the rules

Me: What sort of things will you do when you’re Prime Minister?

FPM: I’ll make more hospitals so sick people can get better and I’ll put more carriages on the trains.  What else does the Prime Minister do? (she seems to have the right idea)

Me: Well, they try to make the whole country run better.  They make decisions about schools and roads and laws and how to spend the government’s money.

FPM: How do they make all the buildings?

Me: They don’t make the buildings themselves.  They talk about how they want it to be and then get some builders to make them.

FPM: Oh, so the government doesn’t do anything.  They have lots of meetings and talk about stuff and then someone else does all the work.

Me: Ummm, yes…

FPM: I’ll be good at that! (yes, she definitely understands what it’s all about. I’m so proud)

On perhaps the coldest day yet this year we piled the whole family into the car and headed for a footy ground out in the middle of the country side for The Engineer’s under 10′s lightening premiership.

While the girls were brushing up on their World Cup skills the boys were displaying their brutish strength.

Then it was on to the serious business of footy.  The boys obviously believe in the merits of flooding.  They practiced it all day.

Here’s the forward line:

and the back line:

It was all very exhausting but great fun.

OK, it’s really a lesson in not getting ahead of myself.  It began in the wee hours of this morning and involved our dog.  Our dog has a habit of teaching me lessons. Damned dog.

He’s a mini schnauzer, although you probably wouldn’t guess that by looking at him.  He sports a very bad home haircut and is likely extremely embarrassed when he sees other schnauzers.  Which might be why he’s so keen on teaching me lessons.

He’s also very, very old. Ancient.  I bought him soon after I met The Thinker, which was a long 15 years ago.  By my calculations, that’s about 105 in dog years.  Ancient.  In fact, he’s so ancient that I’ve been preparing myself for his demise for the last five or six years.

But the old dog just keeps on going.  He’s had one (unscheduled) visit to the vet in the last eight years.  If I’m half as fit when I’m 105 I’ll be a very happy old lady.

So in the darkness this morning I heard him crying outside.  On investigation I found him staggering around, unable to use his back legs.  Carefully, I picked him up and popped him back in bed.  This is it, I thought.  Old age has finally got the better of him.  Poor dog.

Back inside I went about shuffling my day around so I could wait at home for the vet.  I thought about where we might bury him (the dog, not the vet).  Who would have to dig the hole?  Is it legit for The Thinker to have a day off to dig a grave?  How deep should it be?  Could I dig a hole that big?  I hope the vet doesn’t cost too much, the budget’s getting a bit tight this month.  How will I handle this with the kids?  Should we have a little ceremony? …

Come daylight I broke the news to The Thinker as he arrived home from swimming.  Only to get a very odd look as the dog stumbled past the kitchen window … with one of his back legs caught up in his little doggy coat.

Damned dog!

There’s been a quiet discord sizzling in our family of five.  It bubbles to the surface on weekends.  ”Who do you ‘team’ for?”, is the question in everyone’s lips*.  For eight years, The Thinker has been attempting to recruit one of the kids to his side. The Dark Side. The Blues.

For eight years he’s failed. First The Engineer who was lured by a billboard of Tom Harley we passed each time we drove into town.  He’s now a Cats boy through and through. Tom got me in, too.  Can you blame me?

Geelong Cats AFL Premiers 2009 Image by ♻

The Thinker’s second chance was with Cinderella.  He thought he had her, too. Until her pesky prep teacher, a Bombers fan, worked her magic on Cinderella’s impressionable psyche.

Little Mermaid was his last chance.  She was proving to be a difficult nut to crack.  She showed no firm allegiance, changing her team on a whim. Sometimes multiple times per game.

And so it was, as we gathered up the kids on Monday for an Aussie day out at the G (Melbourne Cricket Ground).  The Cats v The Blues.  Do or die for The Thinker.

True to form Little Mermaid changed her team at least three times in the first quarter. It was no coincidence that’s how often the lead changed.  Then the unthinkable happened. The Blues pulled out in front.  And kept going.  Little Mermaid was getting quite excited each time a goal was kicked.  She swapped seats so she was next to The Thinker.  I knew all was lost when I saw her high-fiving him after yet another Blues goal.

Finally, The Thinker has a comrade. At least until The Blues lose a game.

*Teaming is the act of barracking for someone. Cinderella coined the term when she was about three and it’s stuck.  We all use it and can’t understand when other people have no idea what we’re talking about.  Who do you team for?

Over Easter we piled into the car and took the caravan down to Eagle Point, in Gippsland.  As always, the kids were very excited about going away.  Perhaps even moreso this time, because we managed to squeeze their bikes into the car.

Eagle Point was a great central location for exploring east Gippsland and the weather was super kind to us.  The Mitchell River was just a short walk away from the caravan park.  As we discovered when we were wandering aimlessly around enjoying our surroundings, there is a lovely walking/bike track along the river.  A great place to wear out the kids, not that they needed any encouragement.

I’m always surprised at what they will find to amuse themselves when we’re away, that they probably wouldn’t look twice at when we’re at home.  This trip it was river rocks.  First there was one, affectionately known as Rocko.  As we walked along the river the kids began to collect Rocko’s family – brothers, sisters, mum, dad and even cousins.

The girls sat down on a grassy patch and played “rock families” for a good twenty minutes before it was time to head back to camp.  It was a reasonably long walk, so I wasn’t surprised when Little Mermaid (4) start complaining her legs were getting tired.  And I had to laugh when I turned around to see her pockets bulging with Rocko’s family.  Perhaps it might be easier to walk if you empty your pockets, I suggested.  But there was no way she was going to abandon her new friends.

Another five minutes down the track with Little Mermaid dragging herself along The Thinker started to feel sorry for her and offered a shoulder ride – as long as the rocks stayed behind.  I was surprised at the number of rocks she’d been carrying along (if you look carefully in the photo above you can see her bulging pockets).  Reluctantly, one by one she pulled them from her pocket.  Each one known by name and given a heartfelt goodbye.  There would have been 3kg of freeloading rock family in there!

Rocko got to stay and now lives on the dressing table – a simple reminder of a wonderful holiday.