Insert Chicken-Related Pun Here

Eggcelent news - the chicken coop at the bottom of our garden is no longer an empty nest. With the arrival of three fine specimens (a complicated story the details of which are quarantined until further notice) - one Leghorn, one Isa Brown, and one Australorp hybrid - it is my pleasure and duty to inform you that we are official fowled up, and the run is coming up to speed.

Nicole has a big grin on her face and is spending not-quite-literally not-quite-every (but nearly) moment producing foodstuffs for the poultry. Now, by an amazing coincidence, we are treated to porridge every morning, which is lovely for us as well as the chickens who get our leftovers! There is an array of sprouts sprouting like clockwork to be delivered to their hungry beaks. It won't be long until they are a fully integrated part of the composting cycle and enriching every aspect of our lives from the soil in our garden to the eggs in our fridge.

Eloise is similarly delighted, and has, since the birds have been permitted to "free-range" - which has now become a verb, apparently! - become adept at catching the chickens and returning them to their quarters. I hesitate to say prison, however since they are clearly confined there, as evidenced by the clipping of their wings, I can see no other adequately descriptive word, although of course I could in a mealy-mouthed way assert that it is "protective custody" on account of their need for protection from our other, potentially murderous, animal resident, whose needs and freedoms now need to be delicately balanced against those of our newest arrivals. Anyway, to return briefly to the point, Eloise is not too bad, and much better than either of us, at grabbing the damned birds and putting them where they ought to be.

Matilda is disadvantaged and a little put out, as she must remain upstairs whilst the "chooks" (as they are quaintly refered to here in Australia) free-range (which has now become a verb, apparently!). Additionally, she has now for a significant proportion of her dietary spectrum, been demoted on the leftover ladder - which would, if only she had the intellect and awareness to have noticed, be a far graver issue for her I suspect.

Still, Clara, our two-year old adoptee, is still laying eggs, and lording (or ladying, if you prefer) it over Amy and Isabelle, our two-chick team of point-of-lay purebreds who are settling in and preparing themselves, no doubt, to keep us in eggs for the rest of their little lives.

Progress

So a couple of millstones just recently. Lyra has begun to crawl properly is number one. Lyra has a tooth poking its way through her gum (left foremost bottom incisor). Number one spells trouble because now she can quite easily crawl from on the bed to off the bed quite quickly, but with unfortunate results. Number two problematical because pain is involved, and crying.

Don't Feed the Animals

The weather being interesting in the morning at the moment - you know, warm in the day, down to a freezing 12 degrees or so at night - we have taken to eating our breakfast on the back deck where it is warmer in the sun that it is indoors.

Lyra is making an effort to retain food in her mouth and then actually swallow it, rather than dribble it pointlessly across herself. Not much of an effort; Matilda still gets the majority of it one way or another.

Lyra has these double-breasted all-in-ones which actually catch any misplaced food, so the dog is always on hand when Lyra is dismounted from the high chair and the costume opened up for removal, allowing a cascade of uneaten food to escape.

Dancing Fever

Eloise was struck down by a scorching fever the other night. She came through into our bed in the dark, burning up.

So it seems that Mr L was on the money when he said that she was actually under the weather at school and not herself.

And she spent the whole day on the sofa, watching telly and sleeping, which isn't like her at all. The sleeping part. She'd watch telly til the cows came home. When she's dosed up on the paracetamol, TV becomes achievable. Otherwise, sleeping.

Anyway, clearly not a well girl at all. So no dancing competitions for her this weekend... or so we thought.

For two competitions are scheduled, one for Friday when some style of dancing is to be performed, one on Saturday when some other style of performance is to be showcased.

Except when we get in touch with the dance teacher it seems to that Eloise is indispensible and if she can't make it, then the whole team must be pulled! Which leaves Nicole and I feeling quite outraged to be put in such a position - after all, to be honest, this is not the Bolshoi, they are not going to win the competition, and to have this pressure placed upon us is not really on.

However Eloise is determined now to go and so we dispense drugs and apply makeup and reluctantly drag ourselves down to Logan where the performance is performed, the competition is not won, and we retire home early.

After the competition it becomes apparent that Eloise is far from better and has probably been set back as further days off school become necessary, and an ear infection is contracted.

A to B via C (and D) with a brief visit to E and a repetition of A (and D)

We toddled off to the beach with Hannah and Marion; the dog hadn't had a decent walk in days what with having moved house and being a bit busy and all that and we thought that Bribie might be nice.

Of course, the weather's always awful when we go there, or at least it is on a reasonable regular basis, but not to be deterred (on the basis that we didn't think about it) we headed off up the Coast as they say.

We did have Mia with us too, and what with there not really being room enough in the car, we took the obvious course of action and took too cars, arranging to meet at the Caltex on Gympie Road. Yes, Gympie Road.

The first slight change of plan occurred halfway to the petrol station, when we rather shame-facedly realised that we had forgotten to pack the dog. Which was kind of the whole point of the excursion. So we headed back and fetched the dog, a little non-plussed also that we hadn't seen Marion's car on the way to our common destination.

As it turned out, when we spoke to Marion, she had been home for a wardrobe change or something, because the weather was so lovely, or something, and she would shortly meet us at the Caltex on Gympie Road, as we'd agreed previously. Yes, Gympie Road.

So we arrived at the Caltex on Gympie Road, and filled up with petrol, and started to wait for Marion's car, with Marion, Hannah, and Eloise inside it. We had Mia with us, a very energetic and bouncy specimen, who clearly required chocolate, which we supplied whilst waiting for our travelling companions.

A while later, after eating the chocolate, and waiting for our travelling companions, and not seeing them, we contacted them to establish their whereabouts, only to find that they were waiting for us at the Caltex on Gympie Road, and wondering where we were. When they discovered that we were at the Caltex on the part of Gympie Road that's called Gympie Road, and not that part of Gympie Road that's called Lutwyche Road, and that's therefore (technically speaking) not Gympie Road at all, but Lutwyche Road, they set off to meet us at the Caltex on Gympie Road.

I am sniggering a little bit because as you'll have gathered, in Australia roads work a little strangely, and sometimes change names half way along. Lutwyche Road and Gympie Road are sort of really the same road, although not really, and the Caltex at Lutwiche Road is much closer to our house and so would probably have been a far more sensible place to meet as Marion lives only a short way from us, but hey! there you go.

So a while later on we were once again on our way to Bribie Island and we toddled up the beach and it was nice, although there was that pesky bank of cloud on the horizon that was drawing closer and closer and oh dear there's a band of rain on the rain radar but maybe it'll go around us? but no, the heavens opened, everyone is soaking wet except me who has a dry patch in the shape of a baby sling.

"Happy Days are Here Again" Reports Matilda the Dog

Lyra has been showing a keen interest in the degustational delights of the non-lactic world, having dipped her tongue into various ice-creams, chocolates and assorted breads, but today saw her attermpting food, at the table, with us, in the shape of poached pear.

Needless to say, as with Eloise, dinner ended up in the dog.

Precrawling Checks Underway

Place Lyra upon the ground and she will wallow, hovercraft-like, before lifting herself up on her arms.

Sometimes, if she is in the mood, she will try to get her bottom up in the air, but usually she will just wave her legs around ineffectually.

But she's definitely thinking about it.

Dancing

In the last week of term it is customary for parents to be allowed to view their beloved offspring in the, as it were, learning context.

In our case, this meant getting the opportunity to see Eloise dance quite nicely, and give her fill-in teacher a lot of lip.

Dance Yourself to Death

Eloise's new regime for Term One, and I don't have all the details stored away in my tiny brain, involve only two weekdays and one weekend. However each of those weekdays, being Tuesday and Thursday, involves around two-and-a-half hours of dancing tuition in varying styles from this and that to the other, but particularly acrobatics, that being Eloise's favourite.

And witness the gay abandon with which she pulls her body, with a certain amount of poise and grace, into unlikely positions that would make my eyes water, and probably yours too.

Strings and Bows

Young Eloise is a keen little music person whose enthusiasm is considerable if not entirely unparalleled and whose adeptitude is potential and eminently hone-able. For those of you clinically unable to read between lines, what I mean to say is that she's keen but tone-deaf.

Damn though, we had to fight like cats in bags waiting to drown to have that child unwittingly negotiate the serpentine bureaucracy of the Infernal School. Our first application went missing, our second application filed directly into the pigeonhole went missing, then the teacher went missing, then the replacement teacher had to be contacted through the auspices of a well-placed third party before finally getting that child a place in the apparently legendary (though potentially mythical) Strings Programme.

A contract had to be signed by the child and countersigned by a responsible adult before being witness in triplicate guaranteeing that practice would be carried out and excitement maintained and all lessons, ensembles and activities attended upon pain of excommunication.

And Eloise duly began her lessons and ensembles and has practiced, if not religiously then at least enthusiastically, waning toward dutifully, edging towards sometimes. But then what can you expect when all they give her are tunes you have to play with open strings.

Anyway she went on a Strings Camp at Windsor School for a day and we were invited to attend the performance of a concert in the afternoon. To be honest we were expecting the worst, and while we couldn't actually source gumshields, we were certainly expecting to have to grit our teeth whilst the sixty-odd violins, violas, cellos and double-basses attempted to play together.

But as it turned out it wasn't actually too bad! Of course with open strings tuning wasn't exactly awful and though timing could have been better, it wasn't quite shocking. We were velly preased!