Double click a pic for a bigger view. Please excuse the date on some of the pics, I've downloaded them from another camera whose owner prefers this ugly setting.

I know there are still good blogs out there, but I'm really missing some of my favourites...

Squirrely Mojo, Michelle, Hokkaidobbey and Dayna will you ever return to the blogging world?

It just doesn't feel the same without you all.

Sigh.

I'm in the land of bears, hockey and people who eat bacon, maple syrup and pancakes together.

Oh Canada!

It's around 2am and despite being here for five days I'm still freakin' jetlagged. I want to write but my mind's a mish mash blah blah yeah.

I'm having a great time. Getting along with Luc's mom better than I could dream. LOVE his family. Hardly see Hugo because he's off with cousins, aunties, grandmothers, etc and has shed his former clingy self. Yay.

The air is so crisp and it's not as cold as I imagined. I've been wearing tshirts and singlets during the day.

Driving still freaks me out. Especially when turning corners. Luc drove for the first time in five years here and turned into the on-coming traffic lane. Was no longer constipated after that.

We're finding it hard to relate to people our age here, including many of Luc's old friends. They're totally self obsessed and think we ride kangaroos to work. I went through two solid days of socialising where no one asked me a single question. I just don't know how they can do it.

Having weird dreams. It's not helping the sleep.

Thank you everyone for your support.

And thank you kind, anonymous person who told me about Adrian's memorial site. I've passed the URL onto friends and we've shared our words and have enjoyed those of others too. For many this tragedy didn't sink in until we saw the photos of Adrian online.

Funnily enough, a few people I know have found this site through Googling Adrian's name (which is why I've deleted his surname originally posted in an earlier entry).

I hope I haven't caused any unnecessary confusion. Like many people who blog online, I journal under a pseudonym so I can write freely about my thoughts, feelings and events without fear of my boss, client, mother or mother-in-law reading.

If anyone does have questions, please email me and I'll happily verify anything you need to know. I've heard all kinds of rumors from people guessing who I am to even wondering if Hugo is Adrian's baby! And can very safely confirm that Hugo is the son of my current relationship of five years, Lucas, who does know of and occassionally reads the site.

So I know a few of you know me and my real identity and will probably keep reading. I know I would if I came across the same thing! I guess my main fear is that I, my relationship with Luc or with others may be unfairly judged so I only ask that you be kind because I really do relish this online, interactive writing outlet and it would be such a shame to stop at this point.

My mood has been somber and reflective of late and I feel for Luc who in addition to working seven days a week has to endure my tears and extreme emotions. He's a good man to me.

Hugo's currently asleep on our bed (in training for our trip) and I find it almost spiritual to watch him. He lies on his side, moving softly with his breath and smells of milk, butter biscuits and soap. A hand lies gently in front of his face and it takes a tremendous amount of restaint to leave him undisturbed.

I wonder what he dreams of when he smiles and laughs in his slumber. Watching him makes me realise how simple life is when we start off and I can't help but reflect over the complications I've created.

Luc and I had an argument in the car last night. We were surrounded by the clatter of the rain and the clutter of our thoughts and through it I distinctly recall him yelling, "When will your dramas end?"

I naturally took offense to this at the time but in retrospect can see his point. For the last few years my life has been an ugly tapestry of excruciating arguments, disheartening career experiences and health surprises that have left me quite emotionally frantic. He experiences none of this.

Luc later apologised as I didn't choose to have a crazy family, unpredictable baby-related hormones or two friends die in as many years, but regardless I know I have to do something as I'm starting to feel like a helpless victim drowning in waves of misfortune.

I haven't seen Adrian in nearly three years and although we were close, I've been surprised at how depressed and upset I've been at the news of his death. I've sobbed every day and am finding sleep difficult. So Natasha came over last night with two boxes of old photos, letters and diaries and I've spent hours reading over events I had completely forgotten.

I discovered diaries where every weekend is filled with time hanging out together. There was the night we all auditioned as dancers for a Coke commerical, the New Years Eve party spent at a friend's house where we shared the same toothbrush, the camp where us girls put sand in their sleeping bags and the period where we attended the same high school and I set his brother up with a friend.

And although I'm still filled with grief and sadness, thinking of Adrian and remembering our teenage years have reminded me to treasure life and all things good and simple. I'm sure I'll figure out more of this life and death stuff as time passes.

Pen called at around 4.30pm to let me know that Police divers had recovered Adrian's body in the Snowy Mountains river.

We cried and reminised about all those years. There are so many stories. I've spoken to most of the old gang and we're all in a great state of shock.

I feel so ripped off. This is the first time I've really felt the pain of loosing someone.

I think we're leaving for Canada before the funeral.

Pen might come over tonight. I vary between wanting company and wanting time alone.

I don't think I've mentioned it, but the only time Penelope and I have disagreed was over a boy. Adrian. That's his real name people, no psuedonym there.

We were around fifteen and both adored him. Actually, most of our friends did. He and his identical twin brother Sebastian were known all over town for being absolute heart throbs, the 'Arrogent' brothers. Cheeky and confident, Adrian was the sensitive one, Sebastian was the crazy one. Pen briefly went out with Adrian and I vividly remember being told the news and crying with another friend (who also had the hots for him). We felt horribly betrade.

When I was around eight my family started going to the Hillsong Church and I continued going there for over ten years. Through the church I met a core group of around 10-15 friends and we we grew incredibly close. For around eight years we saw each other at least four times a week and would go away on a week-long church camps around two times a year. Pen, Adrian, Sebastian and I were all part of this group and although none of us really go to church anymore (long story), we share a bond closer than most families do. We have so many fond memories. In many ways, I think I'm still searching for a group of friends to replace them.

So I was shocked when at around three o'clock this afternoon Pen called me to say Adrian had gone missing. She'd been trying to call me for over a day and when I found my phone I had 11 missed calls from her and other friends. I then went online and read the articles. He went skiing and hasn't been seen since a night of partying on Sunday night. The photo doesn't look like him.

It's 12.39am and I can't seem to sleep. I keep checking the news for updates but know there will be none until the morning. And then another memory will pop back into my head or I'll recall how intense my feelings were for him as my first teenage crush (which lasted for nearly five years). And then I'll feel horrible for his mother and for Sebastian and pray he's been drinking martinis in some lovely lady's hot tub for the past few days, oblivious to the fuss.

But as horribly selfish as this is, I really want him to be around as if he's not it'll shatter that perfectly innocent period of my life.

Today he drank water from the shower spray, started to crawl from room to room, turned off Luc's server, shook up his lemonade and changed the settings on the tv while Luc was trying to watch a football game.

And to bribe his way out of trouble he bounced on the couch, clapped his hands and sang an original tune (so hard to find these days).





Anyway, all my recent worries have been for nothing. Ali didn't turn up to the party yesterday(she was too tired) and my day surgery went well today and I am now tumorless. The little bugger was as big as the top of my picky finger.








Our photo session was also successful and these are the pics of Hugo and Luc. I think they both look rather ravishing.

Although I thought he was cute when we first met, Luc seems to get better looking the older he becomes. Just my luck. Lots of my friends have recently commented on his looks but I rarely pass it on. Luc's cocky enough.





And (gasp!) how cute does Hugo look? I hope he scores us lots of freebies when we're overseas.

If you need to move away from the sea then I recommend an area with lots of trees. It's windy today and the sounds are delicious.

I'm writing a quick one as we have to leave for a friend's birthday party. Luc's in the shower and Hugo's taking a power nap to ensure he won't be grumpy.

Argh. I have such mixed feelings about this. We always have fun with the people there but Ali will also be attending. She'll bring her baby and we'll have ours so the contact is inevitable and I just don't feel like it.

I've decided to be friendly but find myself wanting everything to be perfect. I'm slowly morphing into a competitive mum. Yikes! But am otherwise happy as I'm in a favourite skirt that I haven't been able to fit for over a year. This feels so high school.

Anyway, talking about superficial matters, I really have to go as Luc and I are re-shooting our passport photos. We just look dreadful in the first 'professional' ones and are taking take two here at home where we can be shamefully picky.

Twelve days to go...

And yes, I've been a bad procrastinator and need to renew our passports, buy gifts, prepare the house and start packing. With so much to do I might as well blog.

Luc picked up our tickets this morning and they're casually sitting on our dining table. The trip still seems surreal.

Spring has arrived and the warmer weather has made me happy. I hope this season will bring some much-needed freshness to my life. No more resting, it's time to get moving.

Last night I realised I no longer hold any bitterness towards Sophie. It only took a year and a half. And in this time I've opened up and relationships with Luc, Chloe, Kris, Drew, Amelia, my brother and sister have deepened. I no longer feel the urge to cause Sophie harm.

I'm now lying in our lovely spare room and Hugo is sleeping next to me. The space is large and holds little furniture. Luc's Martin guitar rests against a clean, white fireplace and three big old-fashioned windows are open, allowing the late afternoon light to flood in and bounce off shiny floorboards around the bed. The smell of my favourite plant is sneaking in. I don't know its name, only that it sat outside the bedroom window of my childhood home.

One hundred and fifty nine. That was the number of our place. It was a large home with big windows for eyes. It had enormous rooms and tall ceilings. We never closed the curtains and were consistently surrounded by light and air.

Throughout the warmer months I could always be found in the garden. It was so large that it had sections in my mind. There was the plain, boring part close to the house and washing line (the metal wind-up-and-down kind that mum never let us ride), just beyond that a soft patch of clover and small yellow flowers; right up the back was a scary metal shed full of junk and redback spiders; which held hands with the hard, wild grass that was hardly seen or maintained.

And then there was my favourite tree, the jacaranda. It sat solidly amongst the clover. For years I kept a ladder propped against its trunk so I could climb its branches and once there, write, draw, sing and reflect. I loved its purple flowers that would drop to create a flowery floor and its long stalks with thick ends that I used as microphones. I felt hidden, protected and calm in its branches. Back in those days we had other trees including a persimon and apricot tree but Dad cut them down because the fruit would always rot in the summer attracting swarms of bothersome insects.

Although my favourite teenage memories are wrapped around others, my cherished childhood thoughts involve time alone when I would be quiet, read, write, play the piano and spend time with nature. I would casually talk to the big presence I knew of as God and when I felt adventurous, brave the shed and search for memories Dad would leave there hidden - dusty old cards, photo albums, records and books. I would take them back down to the house only to be repremanded. These objects would then go back into hiding, but this time in my room.

My family lived in one hundred and fifty nine for over thirty years. Harry, Natasha and I all grew up in that home. I remember how Mum would hand wash clothes and scale fish in the backyard during the summer. How she would bath Harry in the kitchen sink when he was a baby. I remember Harry and I carefully laying Tash in a cardboard box when she was tiny and pulling it around the house using a jumprope. I remember that having my hair washed with conditioner was a special event and boasting to Dad and Uncle Greg next door aftewards. I remember the whole family lying on the cold pink and grey tiles when the heat became too intense. I remember meeting Penelope half way between our homes when she fought with her parents and helping her carry her things to our place, and how we did this for nearly ten years. Then there was the time Harry and I played handball in the lounge room and broke one of the vintage crystal chandelliers. And oh do I remember the fear.

I moved out home when I was 21 and at at times still miss living there. It was a hub of people, noise and activity with friends always dropping by. There was always someone to talk to or a place to hide in. We never locked our doors or the cars and I never needed to schedule time with loved ones, they just came over.

Four years ago Dad sold 159 with Council approval to re-develop the land, an act that infuriates Mum to this day. Our house got torn down and I haven't had the courage to ask if the jacaranda went with it. In its place now sits four modern beige coloured duplexes. They don't have any eyes.

And oh this used to make me so sad! But it doesn't as much now we have Hugo. He's up and crawling around the bed, stopping to bounce, look out the window and chat. Now and then he crawls over, buries his face in my chest, stretches out an arm and slaps my chest, little fingers wriggling to lie under my chin. And I think how I can I be upset when I can add a new generation of memories to my existing ones?

I've always avoided mother's groups because of the reasons below... wonder if the blokes would accept a stray sheila..

Fathers' day takes on a new meaning

Family time … Christopher Rodrigues spends more time with Hannah, left, and Joshua, than most fathers do with their children.
Photo: Robert Pearce

Christopher Rodrigues gave mothers' group a try, but the competition was so stiff it scared him off. The support of the sisterhood soon gave way to unconcealed rivalry where babies' achievements were concerned.

"It was, 'They've started talking', or 'My child's first tooth has come through'," said Mr Rodrigues, father of Hannah, 2, and eight-month-old Joshua.

These days, he attends a weekly dads-only playgroup, where the pace is gentler and the participants much more laconic.

The Chatswood group - aimed at the growing population of fathers who are principal carers for their babies or toddlers - has a serious purpose. Child and family health nurse Alison Leray-Meyer set up the group to give the fathers information and reassurance about feeding and dealing with tantrums, as well as extending their social contacts.

"It is a parenting initiative," she said. "There's a lot of information available about child health and nutrition, but it's delivered in a more activity-based, playful way."

The ubiquitous mothers' group format - six weeks of lectures followed by another year or two of informal coffee-shop meetings - did not meet men's different communication styles, she said.

From stories of traumatic births to cracked-nipple remedies, "women seem to network really quickly. They start to talk to each other immediately. Men might take a lot longer to begin to talk about personal things," said Ms Leray-Meyer, who organised the group after she noticed more fathers going to the baby health clinic to have their babies weighed, measured and checked.

She will outline its progress today at a conference of the Tresillian organisation, which provides support to families with new infants in NSW.

Nearly two years on, 29 men have attended, and the consensus is that the male-only environment works better for them. There have been trips to the beach and Luna Park, and a night at the pub is planned - sans babies.

No firm figures exist on the proportion of fathers who are primary carers for babies. But a substantial number make at least some adjustment to their work schedule to care for children, shows 1999 data from the Australian Bureau of Statistics. One in 10 sometimes worked from home, while 23 per cent took advantage of flexible work hours.

In the Rodrigues family, it was obvious which partner should stay home. Mr Rodrigues runs a wedding dress business with his wife, Helen, and clients might not appreciate having a man do the fittings.