spawn » Deborah Kalin

an update in points

Jun 232008

Spawn turned 2 recently, so for the family party we took her back to the animal farm where she first discovered turkeys. This time, she got to bottle-feed week-old lambs:

Brutus meanwhile discovered the overpowering joys of cupcakes:

Who needs hands, eh?

Meanwhile, on a whim, the other day I decided to test how many push-ups I can do. To make it challenging, I tried the proper form, not the on-the-knees form for girls, which is oh so much easier.

Ready for the answer?

One.

That's right. ONE proper-form push-up had my arms shaking and me unable to do any more. Guess it goes to show that computing, no matter how fast I type, does very little for upper body strength. Whodathunkit?

So today, I started the hundred push-ups regime. Wish me luck! Maybe by the time I've finished the copyedits, I'll be able to do more than one proper form push-up!

i've found i'm scared to know i'm always on your mind

journal, shadow queen, writing life Comments Off

May 292008

We may or may not be entering a realm of radio silence: some, if not all, of the edit letter has arrived, and the first slab of the copyedited manuscript is en route, and now the work begins. Again.

All of a sudden I'm glad I gave in to that urge to not re-read the manuscript, to not tweak at anything as soon as my editor mentioned it. By the time I've finished grovelling through this round of edits, I suspect I'll be yet more glad.

So forgive me if the posts become a little scanty over the next little while. In the meantime, have a photo of Spawn:

What she's doing here is diligently filling the window bays of the Three Little Pigs' house with dry cat food. The true genius of this moment was that, after she'd filled the bays to her satisfaction, she carefully carried the house into the kitchen and deposited it on the shelf where the cats eat.

Now why didn't we think of feeding the cats this way?

I'll tell you all of the things that you'll never forget

away come away, cherry crow children, journal, writing life Comments Off

May 072008

Children. They are, in point of fact, germ manufacturing and distribution facilities.

Spawn and Brutus were up on the weekend and, lo and behold, I am lurgified. This circumstance would be more acceptable if it had occurred on a working day, instead of my days off.

On the other hand, my germ-addled mind did produce a short story idea today, which may yield words for the day and therefore as far as I'm concerned is more lovable than the novel.

If you can believe it, Spawn, at not yet 2 years old, knows how to use an iPod. This nearly broke my brain.

i've created a monster

journal 4 Responses »

Mar 222008

Again with the shopping today, this time for headphones. Unlike my normal wont, today, I did not shop alone: Spawn came with me.

The first sales attendant gave me a strange look when I told him I was looking for noise cancelling headphones, and eyed the seven (identical) pairs of earbuds I was currently holding.

Salesman: …uh, they're not quite what you're looking for. Also, did you really need seven pairs?
Me: Oh, no. But it's an awful lot easier to say thank you and accept them, you see. (To Spawn, who is handing me an eighth pair in her quest to clean out the bottom shelf): Thank you!

I couldn't be bothered with a pram, so I let her walk on her own. Oohboy but that's a slow way to shop. Tricky to concentrate, too. Her parents will not thank me, next time they attempt to shop, when she insists on Down, please, please, down…

Also, turns out people do look at you oddly when you call out to the child, "Spawn! This way, Spawn!"

adelaide, in pictures

journal 2 Responses »

Mar 212008

Dropped in on Spawn and Brutus on the way to the airport, where Spawn takes her art seriously:

and Brutus has discovered it takes work to sit:

Quickly scoped out the local:

Which was fortunate, as the fortitude I found via the local allowed me to endure the small eternity I spent at that other local attraction, Spotlight:

Spent an inordinate amount of time taunting, teasing, photographing and generally scritching the cat:

Dropped past the house where "Aunty" Jean¹ raised nine children:

Enjoyed lunch on the river:

And, on leaving, successfully traumatised the cat back into his natural habitat, hiding:

In fact, she's my grandfather's aunt, if I'm remembering family history aright, but everyone calls her Aunt. Apparently it's a trans-generational title. [↩]

subtle salvation in poems and prose

journal 2 Responses »

Jan 082008

Digital photography. I think it's beginning to grow on me.

I've never been big on taking photos. (We're talking about someone who spent six months in Europe and didn't actually change the 24-exposure film in her camera, after all.) Partly it's the film mentality of composing shots carefully so as not to waste film; partly it's the viewfinder being ridiculously small and not particularly amenable to those who need glasses in order to see.

But digital, digital is a whole new attitude. The viewfinder is not meant to be squished up against my face. If a shot is bad it's deletable, no wastage. Composition is happily relegated to the luck of the moment. I could get to like this.

I promise I won't flood you all with photos of the spawn at the farm. Honest.¹ But this was my second favourite shot of the day, and I truly want to know: how is it that child and goat wear the exact same expression? Is the child channelling the goat?²

Partly because we're fast running out of any actually good shots of said day! [↩]
Is the goat channelling the child? [↩]

let me 'splain. no, there is too much: let me sum up.

journal 2 Responses »

Jan 052008

Yes, this is quite possibly the most boring photo ever taken. It does, however, have the signal honour of being the first photo I took with the new digital camera. Whee!

Also, it's the prize from my Christmas cracker. The little pieces and board are in fact magnetic, and the board is small enough to fit in the palm of my hand: (finicky) travel chess!

Other highlights from the Christmas break include playing dollhouse with the 18 month old. Normally, I find dollhouse is the least fun game in the world. (As a child, Barbie married Action Man. Unfortunately for Barbie, Action Man only wanted her for her inheritance, and shortly after the wedding she met a gruesome fate and he lived in largesse and languor.) However, the 18 month old is not the most finicky player of dollhouse: horses are allowed in the house, it is quite natural to shut the baby inside a cupboard, and the mouse always drives the car. I promptly played along by christening the mother doll Sylvia and plonking her head-first into the oven. I also draped the daughter doll over the bonnet of the car, because mice are notoriously bad drivers, after all.

We also took the 18 month old to the local (dinky) farmyard theme park, where she got frustrated by the way the ducks always ran away, got frightened by the emus, and fell in love with the pygmy goats. She was utterly stymied by the noise the geese made, however:

once, in flight school, i was laconic

journal, pre-crash 4 Responses »

Sep 292007

Hands up, who remembers Snorgle? She's all of fifteen months old now, and as of a week ago she has a baby brother.

I've named him Sproglet. Sprog for short. He doesn't have a bib yet, but maybe he can share his sister's, because allegedly he snorgles more than she ever did.

I feel it's important, you see, that they have equal and matching names.

Snorgle welcomes Sproglet

Snorgle hugs the cats the same way, only they don't always stay so obligingly still for her.

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