What will happen to the PLO?

As I write this, rumours are rife on the health of the aged Palestinian who, for most of the world's population, embodies the essence - whether accurate or not - of Palestinians.
As is the norm of the PLO, nay of Arab leaders, sorry of ARABS full stop, bad news is NEVER given straight up but is always sugar coated. Even if someone is on their death bed - especially an esteemed person as Yasser Arafat - the world, even their closest relatives and friends, are not informed of the extent or seriousness of the illness. I'm not sure of the exact reason, but it may have something to do with superstition. It's as if the affliction or fear is said outloud, it WILL come true, or ever something worse may happen.
But this aside, Mr Arafat is an old man. He is 75 years-old (I believe) and I don't think his frail hands could wield another Kalishnakov or even give a firm hand shake.
Whether he dies in the next few hours, days or even months, it seems as if his days are numbered. Which leads us to the question, What will happen to the PLO?
My personal views are mixed. Both about the PLO and Yasser Arafat. I respect many qualities he posses and also abhor others. I respect his resilience and yet he has left me feeling embarrassed and cringing at some of his actions during his long career. For instance, the Oslo Accords. I respect his courage, his true love for his country. I don't envy his position nor the concessions he has had to make both personally and morally.
But, if he does die soon, I will mourn him. I will feel sorry for him, sorry that his life-long goals have not been achieved. Some may argue he has been ''bad'' for the Palestinian cause, others may see him as a champion. I sit somewhere in the middle.
While I cannot begin to assume I know the inner workings of his mind, he knew this day would come and has prepared for it. But, knowing his former dealings, he will not only have a Plan B, but probably a C, D X, Y and Z.
Who will replace him if he is indeed replaceable? Will the PLO disintegrate? Will it be overcome by the hardliners such as Hamas or the intellectuals such as Hanan Ashrawi? Ideally, I believe, the future lies in the hands of those who speak words easily digestible by the West rather than the fear-mongering of the so-called Terrorists.
Sometimes, I wish I was older and had the intellect to be a player in the shaping of this future. Had I been born in Palestine would I have been able to stir up the emotions of the people, have the wisdom to speak on their behalf? But, everyone has their destiny and this is not mine.
What does fate have in store for the Palestinian Question?

No longer employed

I did it, I resigned.

I had this whole speech prepared about not having my hard work acknowledged and finding something better, being worth more, but it just didn't come out that way. Call me a chicken, but this way I haven't burnt any bridges, you never know. The most important thing now is that I can concentrate on finding something on MY terms.
There is one person who I have to call and thank. To keep his anonymity we will call him Benny. You can say, that Benny has been my mentor. At 15, he gave me my first opportunity to see my words in print. We've had our screaming matches, and he's made me cry. But he's been there for me to share in my joy; at my wedding, when I found out I was pregnant, when I got my job at the newspaper (which he was instrumental in) etc etc. But, what he has done for me, and what I will always be eternally grateful for, is that he never lost faith in me. In my talent as a writer and the person I truly am.
I'm sad, but excited, nervous but calm. I knew this day would come, but it's just that it is all over with a short telephone conversation. hmmmm.
Anyway, I don't have anything insightful, funny or meaningful to write about, so I'll just leave it there for today.
I hope my husband cheers me up when he gets home from work. It's the wretched full moon at work again. I'm so damned emotional!!!

Why am I still feeling sick?

I think I've picked up a bug from one of my little nephews. I'm still feeling nauseas from the weekend. Or could it have been some dodgy Civapi (mini- cro sausages) I ate on the weekend?

One of my pet hates are stupid TV commercials. Seriously, the quality of some of these are SO bad, I wonder how they got the approval of ANY market research group. Has anyone seen the latest Ingham Chicken ad? It is so pathetic. It features a ''wife'' throw away an untouched plate of food straight into the garbage bin because her husband was late coming home. What an utter wanton waste of food!!! The other ad I REALLY hate is that debt relief one with the fat Indian-Paki guy with the really small head. He shits me so much. The fake wave as he walks down the street just make me want to throw the remote at the TV.

How funny was it seeing miss no-talent Ashlee Simpson getting caught out lip-syncing on live TV. Stupid idiot! And she has the gaul to call herself an ''artist''. She's just a big nosed, 7th Heaven (really bad) actress.

My bundle of joy still hasn't got any teeth, isn't crawling nor is interested in having long naps. She did however do this MASSIVE poo last night. It needed to be flushed down the toilet. No joke, I guess it weighed about half a kilo.
Good ol' Weetbix.

Still no teeth

Another day, another toothless grin.

Today has been a bit of a shite day. (I'm writing this just befor midnight, so it's technically still Monday.) Monday, is supposed to be the best day of the week for Cancerians - being the Moon's Day and all - but it's been a bit of a bummer. The main reason for this is a rather unpleasant conversation with my ''work''. As I understand it, women make up about half of the working population in Australia (not sure of the stats, but if anyone has it, please feel free to enlighten me) and yet many employers make it so damned difficult for women to be a mum and actually have a career. It gets me so pissed off that women like myself are made to feel guilty for ``taking time off work'' to have a baby and then made to grovel for part-time work, only to be told that the only obligation they have is to give you back your old position. Like many women, it was drummed into me at a very early age by our feminist mothers, to get an education, have a career. I spent my late teens, early twenties getting that education and then working my ass of, (for minimum wage, mind you) to have that career. A career I excelled at, respected for. Only to find, that as soon as you pro-create, it somehow makes you less intelligent, less employable and easily replaceable by the very same people that made you feel privileged to work 15 hours straight for. Call me idealistic, but I thought our feminist mothers paved the way for us so that we could have a CHOICE. Why can't I have both? Why do I have to ''work my way from the bottom'' again as it was so eloquently put to me by none other than a WOMAN? I'm angry, I'm hurt. But, I'm not going to take this lying down. I'm not just a ''mother'' and perform ''home duties''. At the moment, I have made the choice to whole heartedly be a mother, I love it, I wouldn't want my life to be any different. I don't want it all at once, but I also don't want to feel inferior because I chose to put a little life before mine.
And they wonder why we have an ageing population.

Enough of this heavy stuff... Chanel Cole has been kicked of Australian Idol - Thank God! Sucked in (Do I sound 15?!?!).

Tomorrow's Tuesday, which means Mother's Group. Against my better judgment I started attending after bubby was born. I met some nice women. (Only one I actually make time to see though). But then the cracks started to show. The competitiveness, the showing off, the airs. I suppose it's inevitable, put a group of three or more women together and there's sure to be bitching. I tried to delude myself at first. We are all grown women, this isn't High School? How wrong I was. My sister warned me. Now, I don't waste my time. I'd rather watch the Midday Movie.

And God Created Woman.

60 Bloody Minutes

I really, really hate 60 Minutes.
Once again, this horrendous excuse for a hard-hitting current affairs program has left me lurching my Latina pasta dinner into the dunny. I was flipping between watching fat singers on Australian Idol and a wasp killing a spider on Channel 7, when I accidentally landed on Ch 9. Two, smiling, absolutely stunning Ethiopian children stared back. Oceans of sadness in their deep eyes were hidden by the supreme joy of being adopted by Canberrans Jeff and Jane (or whatever their names were). I cried with open abandon (and it wasn't the hormones, ok, maybe just a bit) as these innocent babies were yanked away and forced to say goodbye to their family - albeit for a better (?) life. Now, I don't want to get into a whole ethical/moral debate about adoption - I truly believe there are circumstances when this can be amazing for both the children and the parents. My problem was not with the story, Peter Overton was touching. But it was the following story that made me barf. Pampered pooches given the run of the "mansion'', being fed roast chicken and wearing Luis Vuitton while sipping (lapping) cafe lattes. How can 60 Minutes have the gaul, nay the complete lack of social conscience to show the slums of Adis Abbaba littered with orphans juxtposed with a Samoyed eating a gourmet meal out of a China bowl. I'm NEVER watching that pathetic, excuse of a show again. What made it worse was the journo (if that's what you can call him) Mike whatever asked the really scary dog owner - picture the overtanned old bag from There's Something About Mary, add a really bad black wig and then stick her head in a blender - something along the lines of how she could condone spending all this money on a dog. Her answer - ready for it - was ``I tell people, this is Australia and we take care of our mates''. Just writing this make me cringe and embarassed that this woman is a member of our fair country. What is wrong with these people!!!! I don't claim to be Mother Theresa, but seriously, this is abso-freakin-lutely PATHETIC. If this is what having too much money does I'd be happy to live my life from pay-check to pay-check. Phew.. I've go that off my chest.
AND while I'm on the subject of Sunday night viewing, Australian Idol is getting more painful to watch every single week. Chanel Cole, here's a word of advice. You are NOT cute, you CANNOT sing and you are REALLY, REALLY annoying. Your try-hard coquetish gestures are getting old. You have no talent. Courtney, nice voice, but you look like a giant Leprechaun. Try singing a Committments song. Casey, go on a diet - not for image sake but for your health, you're only bloody 16. Anthony, come out of the closet. Halley, I hope you win just to piss off Mark Holden.
I'm really a nice person. Ask Darp.
Still typing without a mouse.
May You Live To See The Dawn.

I had a great sleep in this morning. My partner took care of getting the sunshine-of-my life fed and nappy changed and I had a leisurely sleep until 11.50am. I swear nothing beats sleeping in on an overcast Sunday. Ahhh. Anyway, the Christening was fun and, surprise, surprise, the waitresses weren't rude. They did however speak to me in Croatian, but that's ok, I just nod and smile and say Hvala (thankyou) a lot. As they say, when in Croatia do as the Croatians.
My baby has no teeth. Every morning I check. Every morning, nada. The reason I check so religiously is that I don't want to get a rude surprise one morning and get my nipple chomped off. I've heard it happens, no seriously! I met this woman in a Parent's Room a few months ago who actually showed me her disfigured boob. Not a pretty sight. The joys of motherhood.
I'm not sure what we're going to do today. There's always the standing invite at my parent's house to come over for lunch/dinner. Mum has already called twice, as has my sister. The menu doesn't sound too appealing though - stuffed spleen. Just thinking about eating an animal's innards makes me want to chuck. (Maybe it was the food last night? I feel a little queasy.) Mum assured me she will make me anything my little heart desires. She's such a sweet, wog-mum. I actually think she lives for Sunday's. Eventhough I see her like four-times (if not more) during the week, it's on Sunday's when she gets us all into her nest. The kids (minus the one living overseas), the grandkids and her unmarried brother. He sometimes tries to escape the Sunday feast. He takes his phone off the hook, locks his front door, but she's like the Liquid-Metal guy from Terminator 2 - she doesn't give up. I've even seen her scale his Terrace house fence to the second storey window. Just picture it, it's really funny. Eventhough he's in his 50's and is a superb cook (he opened the first vegetarian restaurant in Balmain in the 70s), she thinks he'll starve if he doesn't have at least 15 courses of her cooking once a week.
Baby is sleeping - or should I say having a power-nap. They say that babes that don't sleep a great deal have a higher IQ. If this is the case, than my little one will be the youngest Mensa graduate, EVER. She has three 30min naps during the day and that's all. No wonder my hubby sometimes comes home after work and finds I'm still in my PJ's, my hair is like a Fraggle and I haven't brushed my teeth. Honestly, she sleeps for exactly 30 mins. People don't believe me until they see it for themselves. But, I shouldn't whinge too much, I sometimes accidentally (on purpose) wake her up so we can play. Ohh, she's such a little munchkin. And a vocal one at that. She has actually learned to say two words together. NAM NAM MA MA - food mummy. Bless

Another Christening

Guess what? Yesterday, I won an I-Pod! I can't believe it. Seriously, I'm one of those really unlucky people who NEVER win anything, not even on a chocolate wheel at a school fete. It was really funny actually. My sister, who's a serial radio-competition player, actually got through to 2DayFM and had to say what she would get plastic surgery for, then they called me and I had to answer the same thing. Pity, it wasn't the Bonus Hour... we would have won $1000 to spend at Just Jeans.
By the way Darp, don't knock my infatuation with Geoff Jansz. You can't talk. Seriously Johanna Griggs? She's a bloke, and an ugly one at that.
So today I have my third Christening to attend this month. This is what happens when you have a large extended Catholic family and you marry a Croatian with an even larger extended Catholic family. Don't get me wrong, I dearly love all these people, but one can only take so much. Oh yeah, and it's being held at the Sydney-Balkan community's favourite hot spot: Punchbowl. There are three things that are always guaranteed at this place. 1) the waitstaff is REALLY rude. Seriously. 2) The food is ALWAYS the same (barely edible and features big slabs of pork) 3) the airconditioning is never turned on so God help you if it's a hot day. I hope I haven't offended too many people! But, there is one thing on the menu I always look forward to, the Kolace. To all those non-Cro speaking people - the Cakes. It's a tradition that all the mum's make an assortment of really yummy cakes. Chocolate wafer biscuits, jam filled sugary things etc etc. I purposely eat the bare minimum main-course so that I can fill up on these sweet things. Do you blame me?
Last night, I was bored so I changed my hair colour. It was looking dry and ratty. It's a bit darker than usual, but that's ok. I love changing my hair colour. It's a cheap alternative to plastic surgery.
Uh-oh, Princess just woke from her 30 min power nap. More on that later.
Also, the stupid wireless mouse broke yesterday so I'm typing san-mouse. Excuse any typos. Bye

First Post

So I have succumbed to the temptation of hundreds, no thousands (maybe millions?) of others, and have become a blogger. After reading countless entries by friends and strangers, I thought this would be a great way to add my possibly interesting, mainly inane comments about life, love, and the universe, to the countless words out there in the World Wide Web. Actually, if the truth be known, I'm mainly doing this because I miss writing so much since being a housebound full-time mum. But, I wouldn't want anyone to think that being a mum is the definitive essence of my being. Yes, ever since the birth of my beautiful babe, I have had to come to terms with being unselfish. Whereas previously I would have described myself as a woman, an Australian-Palestinian ethical journalist - then maybe as wife, sister, friend, human rights activist etc etc etc.. I now find myself introducing myself as a mum of a seven-and-a-half month old to complete strangers at the Coles checkout while discussing the smell, colour and texture of my bundle-of-joy's poo. But, being at home - sometimes for 4 days straight - has given birth to a plethora of thoughts. Game shows for instance: I've become addicted and get a real emotional and physical reaction. They have become my new nicotine. Also, a weird infatuation with TV cook/celebrity Geoff Jansz. I never miss his sexy green eyes at 11.30am. I even time my daughter's feed so I can watch him puree, dice and stir while shovelling rice cereal into her mouth. I've even gone to the extent of getting an answer machine to screen calls during these precious 24 minutes (minus add breaks) to act as my Do Not Disturb sign. But all these things aside, it has been a wonderful, sometime hair-pulling time. Sometimes you feel isolated, sometimes thrilled (especially when you know you can stay in bed and not fight traffic), but most of all privileged that I have a choice that I have a wonderfully supporting partner and don’t HAVE to go back to work and that I have this amazing little being that adores me and I can (hopefully) help shape into a valuable member of the human race.