Do you want to be a chapter in my book??

Ever since I was little, I knew I wanted to write. Short stories, poetry, comic books, plays etc etc etc.

And like most frustrated writers, I have a million unfinished books in my head - and for as long as I can remember, those closest and dearest to me have been urging to write these ideas down.

So, today as I was wiping my toddlers' runny noses, an idea hit me. I mean, my girls are a bit of this and a bit of that. Living in Australia, I'm lucky that it's such a multi-cultural society. Nearly everyone I know is either first or second generation Aussie. From across Europe and the Middle East, the common factor for parents or grandparents coming to Australia was for a better life.

I grew up surrounded by other 'wogs' who came from a country that existed: Italy, Lebanon, France. But, how about me? Palestine? Where's that? It doesn't exist.

I still struggle with my identity. I know who I am, but which part of me will I pass on to my girls? Am I more Australian than Arab? Would I be the same person if I grew up in the Middle East, US or UK? It's not a unique question by any stretch of the imagination, but I truly believe that Palestinians who live outside of the "Territories" may have a common bond and have struggled with the same questions about their identity. My own parents grew up In Jordan and have their own stories and issues.

So, I am calling on any person of Palestinian heritage who is willing for me to pick their brains and write their stories. These can be anonymous, just let me know if your interested or pass on to anyone you think may be.

Peace

More pictures....

I don't have any inspiration to write anything, so thought I'd just post a beautiful pic of my gorgeous baby Hope!

ENJOY

She's all grown up - Tara's first day at Pre-school

I've been umm-ing and ahh-ing about starting Tara into pre-school this year - or wait till next year. I was worried about whether she was too young and whether I'd actually find a space for her. You see, if you haven't got a baby you have no idea how hard it is to get a place into a pre-school. Waiting lists are over two-years long and it didn't help that we only moved into the area late last year. I did the preliminary call around a few months ago, and I either got one of two responses:

1)You've got to be joking, (followed by an hysterical giggle),

or

2) You can go one our waiting list, it will only cost you $3000 which is NOT refundable.

So imagine my surprise when I called this very highly recommended Kindy on Tuesday afternoon when the very nice woman said that ''YES, we have ONE spot left, the term starts tomorrow.''

I couldn't believe my luck! I ran down to the school armed with my $100 and Tara's immunisation records and got her enrolled. Now, when I think about it, I'm glad it all happened to quickly - I didn't have time to fret or get nervous, or chicken out.

The next morning, we drove to the Kindy ready for tantrums and tears.

It would have been nice if the little poo-head gave a SHIT about me!!!

I was so devastated. My hubby gave her a kiss and waved goodbye. She hardly gave him the time if day. I hung around for an hour, watching her, waiting for a breakdown. She completely ignored me, too engrossed in shoveling sand into a toy tractor. I sat back and watched, nervous to leave, my heart in my throat as the teacher introduced Tara to the class. With trepidation, I approached her, testing the water.

``Ok, mummy has to go now.'' I held my breath, waiting, waiting.
``Bye mummy,'' she said cooly, pushing me away, not even wanting me to slop a wet one on her pouty lips.

I stood there, DUMBFOUNDED for what felt like an eternity. Then turned my back and walked away.

My baby was growing up - and at the speed of light. I sat and bawled in the car. I suppose I should be happy. She was happy. I knew I had done the right thing. But it still stung that she didn't cling to me like the last rays of sun on a stunning summer day. I was proud - bursting actually - that I had raised such a confident girl. And, she had a ball. Ate all her lunch and morning tea (and like a good wog mum I not only packed her TWO lunch boxes but a stinky salami sandwich to boot), jumped up and down during rest time on the little cots and created a colourful crepe-paper-stuck-down-with-copious-amounts-of-glue art work which she was bursting to show her daddy.

When I picked her up, she spotted me in the car park before I even reached the playground. ''MUMMY" she screeched.

Is there any other word as beautiful?