Love is like a butterfly, or in which the husband's and my feminist parenting principles are tested.

The highly principled husband and the Noodle jaunted off to Sydney earlier this week so that the Noodle could be fitted for his new AFOs. That's ankle-foot orthotics for those of you who are not required to have personally fitted bits of plastic worn on the ends of your legs. The Noodle has been wearing them for a few years, and has, thus far, had one red pair, one blue denim looking sort of pair and one pair with monkeys on them. The patterns are the kind of patterns you'd expect someone at a hospital to expect a kid to like, but could be worse.

The Noodle gets to pick the pattern.

So he had his plaster casts done without incident. Being fitted for orthotics is kind of fun, because the plaster goes on and then comes straight off again. You get all the entertainment value of a broken limb without any of the pain, inconvenience and itching.

Then the Noodle gets to choose his plastic. He chooses a pattern all over with pink butterflies. The orthotics man (they have all been men so far) says 'but that pattern is for girls!' The Noodle is adamant, butterflies is what he wants.

So when the husband tells me this story upon the lads return from Sydney, my mind immediately thinks 'uh-oh'. And then thinks accursed things at itself for thinking 'uh-oh' about a a young fellow wanting a butterfly pattern on his legs if that's what he feels like.

So, here it is:
a) I am incredibly chuffed that the Noodle is not bothered by wanting a pattern that is 'for girls' and is quite happy to stick up for himself and make that choice
b) I know that a butterfly pattern will attract attention of a critical and unkind nature from some children at school and from some adults outside of school
c) I don't really want the Noodle to know explicitly that things that are 'for girls' are no good, or at the very least no good for boys. For one thing his best friend is a girl.
d) one way or another, AFOs cost a lot of money
e) if attention of a critical and unkind nature is forthcoming the Noodle will not want to wear his AFOs to school any more. This will make him less stable with the walking and playing soccer and so on.
f) we do not wish to travel back to Sydney for new AFOs in a different pattern two days after these ones arrive
g) I feel bad about deceiving the Noodle, but...

So the man at the orthotics work shop might, maybe, almost definitely* will run out of butterfly pattern plastic just before he makes the Noodle's AFOs. So I and the husband are compromising our ideals and fundamental beliefs about the comparative value of girls' vs boys' patterns and gender identity in order to save ourselves some money and time and to save the Noodle feeling self-conscious about something that we have some control** over. He'll possibly be quite upset anyway. But hopefully he'll keep wearing the damn AFOs.

So if in a few weeks I post a post explaining that the Noodle refuses to wear his AFOs because they are not butterfly patterned, you will know that my sin has come back to haunt me.

If I were in an AS Byatt story I would right now be horribly aware that my moment of compromise is dooming me to a life of mediocrity and banality. I think I might choose a more forgiving author. Any suggestions?

*because the husband rang him up and asked him to.
**because he has been feeling very self conscious about things none of us have any control over recently, and it is breaking all our hearts quite a lot.

As light as Mrs Jackson's sponge cake.

While I have many things I would like to be discussing with you all, none of them are of the light and bright variety that my tapping typing fingers are inclined for.

I'd like to talk to you about disability and the disclosing of serious things at inopportune moments and what the hell is an opportune moment anyway and people not knowing what to say and not knowing what to say back. I'd like to talk to you about NAIDOC week and the bright young things at work doing all the hard work to bring it to the people of the Best Department Evah. I'd like to talk to you about some of the books I've been reading and how some make me think and some make me feel and some make me want to scream AAaaaAAaaaAaaargh and forget that I ever learned to read in the first place.

But I don't think I will today. The lads are in Sydney town. And I am here with a big, fat fantasy novel and a block of Old Jamaica. Time to sit on the sofa.

The kindness of colleagues

So it's the last day of the old job. I am at home, filled with champagne (by which I mean domestic sparkling wine) and a cocktail that claims to taste like a pine-lime splice. Which was fine, but not as pine-lime splicey as the drink that Rainey used to make at the Old Homestead Inn in Clifton Hill in the early 1990s. A fine drink on a hot day that was. Mmm. Ah, Clifton Hill, home of excellent fish n chips and fifteen beers on tap.

The colleagues have also provided a Nice Box of Chocolates and also a subscription to the Monthly, so I will remember them every time I get a new edition. Yay colleagues. My old university colleague, Ben Law, will have an article in the next Monthly so this is all very timely. It's a colleague fiesta.

We also had morning tea with Hummingbird Cake, Banana Bread and Karen's Chocolate Biscuits with Peanut Butter and Macadamias. Karen may have left, but the biscuit-recipe continues to spread happiness and high-blood pressure throughout the Best Department Evah.

Took my box of stuff downstairs to the new desk. Have mild to moderate horrors at actually doing new job. I'm sure it'll be fine by Monday. Sure, sure, sure.

Tigers, mountain lions and starting a new sort of job-thing on Monday.

It's funny how, in spite of all previous experience, you keep on believing that doing something new and different will actually change your life.

The things that actually change your life kind of sneak up on you gradually, or pounce unexpectedly like a mountain lion. I have no idea if mountain lions really pounce unexpectedly, but I'm enjoying imagining it happening.

I think the most unexpected and pouncy big cat related event I ever have experienced ( in a non-lazy-metaophor kind of way) was at the Melbourne Zoo during a school excursion. An especially indolent and bored looking tiger sprang *whoosh* at the wire cage while my friend Kylie and I were peacefully standing there looking pretty indolent and bored (because we were fifteen and had been forced to go to the zoo). It taught me two things. One, you really can't use karate or kung fu to fight a gigantic carnivore. Two, you really, really should keep outside those little wooden barriers that they put in front of the wire and not stick your fingers in the cages of gigantic carnivores, just like the signs tell you.

Kylie fell onto her bottom and her mouth opened up. Her teeth were comparatively unimpressive, though.

I expect my new job will be unlike the tigers and mountain lions. And also, I hope, unlike things that skulk around corners. My new job is not zookeeper, or circus animal act. It's exactly like my old job, in an office downstairs from my old job, but it's a different job. It's a public service thing, I guess.

Melbourne, blooming Melbourne

I am jealous of people eating ravioli at Tiamo and generally having fun with their friends and relations.

What is it with all these sore throats anyway?

I've been stuck at home sick with a sore throat. Again. I have been lying in bed or on the sofa watching bad telly and listlessly paying attention to the world through my laptop.

There are plenty of things I could be doing at work, I can tell you.

When I said to the doctor, 'I'm going to have to get out of Canberra if these respiratory tract infections keep up, ' he got this manic gleam in his eye and said 'go! go now!' I think I left his office feeling more worried about him than me.

Since I've come to Canberra I have had hayfever so bad that I ended up in bed for a week, tonsillitis, divers sinus infections and now this generic sore throaty business. This place is a crazed haven for irritants and germs. You'd think they'd breed more happily in the mild and moisty climes of south-east Queensland, but apparently not. Who decided to build the damn national capital in this trough of illness and despair?

Finished Ballet Shoes, what next?

I am happy to report that Ballet Shoes has been an all round success in the read-aloud stakes from beginning to end. The Noodle was very keen to find out if Gum came back and confident that he would. The wrap up was most satisfying for a young person who is anxious about loose ends.

I think he secretly thought that Posy was the best character, because she was just so confident about herself. It makes me realise how rare confident characters are in literature for children. And when they are confident they are frequently obnoxious. The narrator carefully points out that Posy is not obnoxious, because she is so committed to her dancing - she's just being realistic when she notices that she is a better dancer than the other girls at the Academy. I like that.

Of course, the Noodle spent the entire chapter of Pauline's pride with his head under the pillow, weeping with anxiety. I thought he might expire on the spot when Pauline shouted at the theatre manager. He is a most satisfactory audience.

We are still stuck in the eagles' eyrie in The Hobbit. The Noodle is too afraid to continue. He enjoys the story so much, but he is so afraid for Bilbo all the time that he can't relax. If only we got to the end, and he could see how Bilbo's resourcefulness and tenacity get him through I'm sure the Noodle would feel happier than leaving Bilbo hanging (almost literally from Dori's legs).

Anyone have any suggestions for a good read-aloud that is not filled with incident and horrors?