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I’m supposed to be organising a garage sale, and making a pig costume, and packing, and and and…

So I wondered if anyone had thought of any excellent new blog names for me now that Inner City Garden is about to become wildly inaccurate? We’ll be moving to the Macedon Ranges. We’ll have a bigger garden, so that part of the name is fine, but we’ll be in a small town, not a city. We’ll still be “inner”, as in “walking distance to amenities”, not down a dirt track, but no one really talks about “inner townies”.

I received all the lease papers in the mail today. I’m roughly two parts excited and one part terrified about what the hell I’m going to do with my life now that I’ve (at least temporarily) given up on Plan A. Suggestions are very welcome for either blog names or Plan B.

We also thought we should squeeze in a bit more inner city cool before we move away from it. So we took the kid to another gig by the same band we saw yesterday. He loved it. That might not have been obvious to anyone else. He stared. He stared at the instruments, he stared at the musos, he stared at the pint-sized moshpit up the front. For the second last song he joined in the jumping, but stayed very close to Daddy while doing it. He hasn’t stopped talking about the gig since we left.

The Mudcakes totally rock. Music for the sort of kids who have Dads who signed them up to subscribe to public radio. Next week they’re playing the Footscray Community Arts Centre, which is an excellent place to eat, drink and ignore your children while they kick a footy or ride bikes, because the cafe there provides lots and lots of toys. If you can’t get there in person, buy their cds online. They’re both good. They even have a song about toilet training.

It doesn’t hurt that they play licenced venues either.

A picture for Janet. (One of) my clothes drying rack(s). In action beside the back door, taking advantage of the lack of seals around the door. The red peg, in the middle of the t-shirt on the bottom rack was placed by the toddler. I generally don’t aspire to peg marks in the middle of my chest.

Sometimes it’s important to lighten the mood, get away from the all black, and spice it up. Which is when I wear a bit of charcoal. Perhaps for summer I might acquire something a little less funereal. But I’m not making any promises.

Earlier this morning, while I was winning Mother of the Year awards for making cheesy zucchini muffins, washing up, keeping the kid entertained and feeding him healthy food all at the same time, I thought “gosh isn’t it a lovely sunny day, we wont get many more of those for a while” and I opened the back door to let the air in.

Two hours later it’s dark and hailing.

If you haven’t been to Melbourne that’s pretty much all you need to know before you pack your bags. You’ll need sun hats and rain coats. Regardless of the season.

Incidentally, I lost all the Mother of the Year awards shortly after opening the door because the kid was entertaining himself by spilling his water all over the floor. Which I didn’t notice until he skidded through it and fell flat on his back. I’ve explained to him now about Occ. Health and Safety, so that shouldn’t happen again. Maybe I should invest in rubber matting…

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