The Chernobyl disaster was a nuclear accident that occurred on 26 April 1986 at the Chernobyl Nuclear Power Plant in the Ukrainian SSR (now Ukraine). An explosion and fire released large quantities of radioactive contamination into the atmosphere, which spread over much of Western Russia and Europe. It is considered the worst nuclear power plant accident in history, and is one of only two classified as a level 7 event on the International Nuclear Event Scale (the other being the Fukushima I nuclear incident, which is considered far less serious and has caused no direct deaths). The battle to contain the contamination and avert a greater catastrophe ultimately involved over 500,000 workers and cost an estimated 18 billion rubles, crippling the Soviet economy.

The disaster began during a systems test on 26 April 1986 at reactor number four of the Chernobyl plant, which is near the town of Pripyat. There was a sudden power output surge, and when an emergency shutdown was attempted, a more extreme spike in power output occurred, which led to a reactor vessel rupture and a series of explosions. These events exposed the graphite moderator of the reactor to air, causing it to ignite. The resulting fire sent a plume of highly radioactive smoke fallout into the atmosphere and over an extensive geographical area, including Pripyat. The plume drifted over large parts of the western Soviet Union and Europe. From 1986 to 2000, 350,400 people were evacuated and resettled from the most severely contaminated areas of Belarus, Russia, and Ukraine. According to official post-Soviet data, about 60% of the fallout landed in Belarus.

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Anti-NEP propaganda

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The Kremlin from the Bolshoi Kamenny Most

The Kremlin from the Bolshoi Moskvoretsky Most

The Kremlin from the Bolshoi Moskvoretsky Most

The Mosvkoretskaya street and the Vasilevsky spusk from the Moskvoretsky bridge

Kremlin, Granovitaya Palace

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The topic for news this week is 'When I grow up I'd like to be....'
Not unnaturally this has prompted much angst for Miss Medium who has flitted between wanting to be a dress up fairy for children's parties, through to a famous artist who draws flowers.
Warms the heart doesn't it?
So yesterday we sat together working out which career path to choose as my other son navigated the perils of his times tables.
In desperation I asked her what the other children had talked about. All fairly standard career paths.
Then she mentioned *Freddy.*
Freddy apparently wants to be a robber when he grows up and to steal stuff and do graffiti.
While I calmly made a mental note that to suggest to her teacher she might want to check these talks first, I then had to answer some very awkward questions.
You know, what 'tagging' is, why do robbers steal stuff? will they steal our stuff?  and the pearler 'Mum I'm scared of robbers.'
Having experienced various burglaries as a child, I'm not wild about them either.
Thanks Freddy.
And then Miss Medium announced she'd changed her mind.
Again.
Inwardly I prayed it wasn't to be a hooker or something else equally wondrous.
Nope.
Ballerina apparently.
Judging from what I've read about 'Black Swan' I think I'd prefer her to be a robber.

Image courtesy here

I'm trying to figure out how this happened. Firstly I should explain I'm not a huge fan of candy canes. Eating them, that is. I like looking at them, who doesn't like the shiny red and white look of them? But I'd rather eat something else. Which is probably why I don't understand why my children are OBSESSED with eating the things.
And even more puzzling is why I got into the situation where I have THREE HUNDRED CANDY CANES in my house.
Yes you read that right.
300.
How?
Why?
Well it all began, as it usually does, in a small house in a dark forest....
Actually it began with a rescue mission to find a white t'shirt for my son on a Monday after school with all 3 offspring in tow. His had somehow gone missing at school and it was for his Christmas project and I needed to replace it urgently. Naturally, because I needed one, there were none to be found anywhere. I dragged three increasingly annoyed kids from store to store to find a t'shirt that had clearly sold out, as I am sure many schools are doing similar projects. I'd even felt a bit smug when I'd bought him one initially as soon as the project was announced. Murphy's Law anyone?
In the end Mr. Small, who I had wisely put in the stroller, lost his marbles somewhere between the kids clothing section and the Christmas decoration department. I mean the meltdown from hell, the whole schmozzle. In a vain effort to distract him I picked up a container of candy canes.
100 candy canes to be precise. for five dollars
I don't know why I didn't snatch at the tinsel or shiny baubles or something else, but I was tired. I was a desperate woman. I had suffered enough.
He clutched at the container like a drowning man does to a life raft. I gently tried to take it back and he would Not. Let. Go.
Then Miss Medium looked at me plaintively and before I knew it she was holding a container of 100 candy canes as well.
I felt a tap on my shoulder and sighed. I knew what was coming. "Ok Mr. Large, here's yours."
And so here they sit, 300 candy canes (minus the ones they've already eaten)
At least they're miniature ones I guess.
Have you ever caved in out of desperation?

Today my children have a dental appointment.
This is a stressful event. For me. Not for my children obviously. In these early halcyon days trips to the dentist are nothing more than a delightful opportunity to be picked up from school by mum and taken somewhere.
They get seated in a lovely relaxing chair, given a sticker and have their mouths examined briefly. All very nice.
Not for them the news of root canals, or injections the size of Texas, or horrible drills that leave your ears ringing for weeks afterwards.
For me however, the yearly dental check up for my offspring induces stomach churning anxiety for weeks in advance. Mainly because the dentist asks them the question how often they brush their teeth, not me. I of course would say twice a day. However their answer may differ.
So my stress was heightened when I asked my daughter in a faux causal voice yesterday: "How often do you brush your teeth sweetheart?"
She wrinkled her nose and gave the question some considered thought. "Um, not very often."
Seeing my horrified face she hastily amended with: "Well sometimes alot, especially when you're taking us to the dentist."
I took two deep cleansing breaths. "Sweetheart, you brush your teeth twice a day. Remember?"
"No mum, I don't. I forget. And you don't remind me all the time" was her reply.
It's been nearly EIGHT years of parenting.
EIGHT.
I thought I had some handle on the parenting routine.
Following on from the conversation I had a grave conversation with the offspring about dental hygiene and remembering to brush teeth twice a day.
So this morning teeth were brushed and I repeated my question.
She duly responded with "I brush twice a day mum, just like you told me to say."
The appointment is in an hour.
I'm stuffed aren't I?

Satire about a Belgian mother of 9 children who became pregnant of triplets at the age of 52.

You're invited to sevensheaven.nl for an extended impression.

The deluge of advertising has begun. My mailbox was stuffed with junk mail today all suggesting wondrous gifts to buy for my mother for the forthcoming Mother's Day.

Not for one second do I think I have this parenting gig nailed. I am constantly reading, learning, gathering information to try and make me a better parent.
There are things our parents did that Husband and I were keen to emulate, and things that we are not. In addition, I think my years in teaching taught me a few things as well. One of the parenting things I feel passionate about is that I want my offspring to have a calm start to the day.
Over the years in the classroom I saw students who could clearly compartmentalise really well. That is, it didn't matter what had happened at home that morning, once they were in the classroom they had their game-face on and were ready to learn. Or if not learn, they were all set up and ready to text their mate across the classroom.
But there were many students who weren't. There were lots of students whose school day was ruined by the chaos that started their day. This could range from not having the right books for class through to the discovery that their lunchbox was empty. This may not seem like a big deal to an adult, but trust me, to a child, particularly a small child, it can be devastating. They simply don't have the skills to resolve this kind of situation themselves so whilst their meltdowns may seem disproportionate to the event itself, in their small world, it's very upsetting.
This year has seen some big changes for us. With two children now in school full time it has meant making sure two sets of everything is ready for school. In theory that shouldn't be too hard. The reality was somewhat different. Coupled with that, I try hard to hide my helicopter instincts and want to encourage a semblance of independence in my children.
So mid-way through last term morning time became more like a crisis management situation. The day I had to belt home and get the correct uniforms for my children was the final straw. I hadn't checked their bags the day before and hadn't known they needed them.
I have a child prone to anxiety, and yes I admit, I have the "must get it right at all times" gene too. This means when I fail at perfection, I need a brown paper bag stat.
Following "the crisis," that night Husband and I sat down with the offspring, and together we brainstormed what things needed to be done in the morning and what needed to be done in the afternoon. In addition we instituted a new and exciting policy that Mr Large had to serve up breakfast. (Thank you for that suggestion anidledad) None of what I am saying is rocket science. But the results were great. The list was duly typed up and put on the fridge. The kids loved being able to check off each task and to have the knowledge that it was there in black and white exactly what they needed to do. They filled in the list every single day for last term.
Today is the start of a new term and a new list:

The list meant this morning the day began well. It was calm. It was orderly. Apart from the kittens crying pitifully as we locked the door on them.
I loved the fact I wasn't hoarse by the time I got out the front door from shrieking instructions and chasing them all over the house.
And most importantly, to my mind, they feel in charge of themselves. They feel they have achieved something concrete and tangible, which is what I like to feel too.
And their day begins well. I can't promise them a wonderful day at school but by doing this I am making sure they go to school feeling organised and calm.
Which is a pretty good place to start.

When Mr Large was talking about his birthday recently, the question naturally arose about what he would like as a present.
I was amazed when he said, after careful thought and consideration: "I'd like my own garden."
When questioned further he explained he wanted to grow things he could pick for us to eat at dinner. I am honestly not sure what they are teaching him at school sometimes, because it certainly isn't something he learning at home.
So I sat on this for a day or so wondering how on earth we could do this properly for him
And then like an answer to prayer, and there were a couple of those, my parents asked a couple of days later what their grandson would like for his birthday.
Now my parents as well as being spectacular people are awesome gardeners. If you'd like evidence of this they are the stars of this documentary here and if you watch for a few minutes you will see what I mean. There is footage of them gardening and doing lots of other exciting things as well.
Unfortunately for me, the green thumb has skipped this generation. My idea of fresh herbs is the tube stuff you buy at the supermarket but it doesn't mean I can't admire other people and their handiwork.
So the birthday boy's special day came. Nonna and Poppa came over and with the "help" of three, small, highly excitable individuals they made Mr Large his own garden.
And this morning Mr Large shot into our bedroom shrieking. Initially I thought we were under attack, but no. It was much more exciting than that.
We have green beans.
Garden fresh.
Guess what we are having for dinner?
Can I just say I never get over how simple it is to instill a sense of pride and excitement in their lives simply by giving them a sense of ownership and involvement in little projects like this.
It almost makes me want to get out a packet of seeds and some mulch.
Almost.

What's in your garden?

A few years ago one of my dearest friend's in the world, suffered the agony of the news that her baby required a liver transplant. Over weeks and months we watched her sweet baby deteriorate. His tiny little body was emaciated because he couldn't process nutrients normally. He wore a naso-gastric tube. He suffered nasty reactions to his medications and his skin often peeled away as I held him. At social gatherings my friend would often lock herself in the bathroom to avoid questions from well meaning friends and strangers asking about how her son was doing.
There were painful phone-calls too. My friend wept as she talked about how she had planned his funeral. Having lost a child previously she wondered how she could go through the agony again. As her friend, there was very little I could say or do. Except listen. I did a great deal of listening.
Her son was very lucky. After a live liver transplant which was donated by his father her son is now a joy filled, mischievous little boy. Apart from an enormous scar across his abdomen which we only see at the swimming pool you'd never know all his family endured.
Recently there has been a media firestorm, I am afraid there is no other word for it about a young woman called Clare Murray. The facts are these. Clare Murray needs a liver transplant. It would be her second one. She has two young children. And Clare is a recovering heroin addict. It is alleged her drug use after her first transplant caused her liver to fail, requiring her to need a second transplant.
She was refused a place on the waiting list because of the return to drug use. The Health Minister said it would be "patently unfair" to put a former drug addict back on a waiting list for a second liver transplant. There are seven people on the current waiting list.
Now the Government has given her family an interest free loan to fly to Singapore. Predictably articles saying: "CLAIRE Murray, whose drug addiction ruined her liver transplant, has arrived in Singapore hoping for a "live liver'' transplant operation that could save her life.
The young mother-of-two, whose drug addiction ruined her liver transplant, arrived in Singapore yesterday hoping for a "live liver'' transplant operation that could save her life.
The trip comes thanks to a $258,000 loan from the WA Government."
Please note the repetition of the same phrase twice in two short paragraphs.
Yes Clare Murray is a recovering addict. I think it has been made eloquently clear.
Here are my thoughts.
Firstly Australia needs to do a hell of a lot more about ensuring there are enough organ donors to prevent this kind of shortfall occurring.
Secondly why wasn't this young woman offered an intensive rehabilitation programme after her transplant? Oh, because here in Perth there is tragically little in the way of facilities offered for our recovering drug addicts.
As I understand it, her parents will pay this loan back. No one will foot the bill for this. They will. They also do this with the knowledge but it may well not work. Instead they may well also be paying for their daughter's funeral. They love their daughter.
Finally, her family have been to hell with this. They've endured media intrusion. Their attempt to portray their daughter's plight and appeal for aid was appallingly handled by our local media.
They've seen their beloved daughter crucified in the press about her addiction, an addiction so deadly that I can't even pretend to understand its grip on her. But as I understand addiction is a disease. It needs treatment. Clare Murray didn't get that treatment.
And now she is in Singapore hoping she can get this transplant.
And as someone who watched parents suffer over the pain and suffering endured by their own child I want her and her family to know, I wish them all the very best.
It's the only thing I can do.

I've had to keep reminding myself that what is happening at the moment isn't a wonderful, stupendous dream. Husband keeps grinning at me and saying: "I told you so," at regular intervals and when I've phoned various friends to tell them what's been happening, they've echoed his refrain.
My writing is being published.
I am being asked to write for various places, on all manner of topics.
I am having glorious fun doing it.
The not so glorious bits of trying to fit in my musings around small, adorable, but totally unsympathetic to my writing children, and a husband who keeps flying away for work are proving a challenge.
But it's do-able mostly.
I'm trialling products and ideas at home. Wherever I go I ask questions about things. My poor hairdresser on Saturday was subjected to a barrage of questions about haircare. I suspect when I next call back to make an appointment she won't be available to see me ;)
I've had amazing support from various blog and internet friends as well. They've been patient and generous with reading my drafts and editing them. They've helped with topics and advice on pitches.
In addition, I'm pursuing my own ideas and pitches.
One of the fun ones is fashion. This pitch is in the early stages but I thought it would be fun to share the process with you. I love fashion. I admit I haven't a clue about styling or the budget to pursue it "properly" but I've applied for a media pass for our Perth Fashion Festival later this year because I intend to blog/write about it.
My idea for that is to write about it from the perspective: “an ordinary woman's peek at an extraordinary world.”
I'm not limiting myself to any particular style of writing or topic, except for the obvious.
I got given some brilliant advice when I posted a question about pursuing a career as a freelance writer in January. I took it and away I went.
I've been rejected as well. But it's always done so nicely I usually end up feeling like they did me a huge favour!
I haven't wanted to jinx it by saying much about it all before now.
But I've gone from: "I think I can do this"
to
"I am doing this."
And it's wonderful.

Here in our little corner of the world a certain site went "live" today.The site was mired in controversy before it even started with educators saying it would be used to create potentially damaging school rankings, less fondly known as league tables.
Having taught in the UK for a number of years where league tables were published as a matter of course I've found the controversy fascinating.
Mainly because I think parents and would be parents want to know this information.
They want to know how the school they send their child to every day is performing.
They want to know how to make things better for their child.
They want to make a difference.
For myself, I looked at the data and when I saw results for my child's school that I wasn't thrilled with, my first thought was for my child and how could I help them.
As parents we are, and should be the first port of call for our children. It makes me very cranky when parents abnegate responsibility for their child's education once they reach school age.
Because at the end of the day, teachers can only do so much.
Do you hear that?
They can only do so much.
I know.
I used to be one.
There are some appalling teachers in our system. I've worked with some. If we look at the ease with which students can obtain entry into teaching then we can see that by setting our standards so low for entry, we are setting ourselves up, no, we are setting our children up to fail.
We have to do better than this.
If your child's school is failing on every area, then the management of the school needs close scrutiny. And it needs meaningful and useful funding from our Federal Government to ensure that your child isn't failed by a system that's meant to serve it well.
They have to do better than this.
If your child's school is failing in one or two areas then go see the teacher. Find out what they are doing to address the issue. Find out what YOU can do to support your child. I swear by the SchoolZone books sold at Target. For the bargain price of $4.00 I taught my daughter her alphabet and basic word recognition.
Because you, as a parent have to do better.
You have to be an advocate for your child. If they are struggling at school for whatever reason, you need to be their voice.
I am mystified as to why people are up in arms about this site. They say NAPLAN isn't a good indicator of a child's ability. Having helped create a marks scheme for NAPLAN in the past I can tell you the hours of agonising that goes into ensuring every childs work is deemed to have meaning. It's not a perfect indicator, but I can tell you, it's a pretty comprehensive one. Having marked various school test papers I have been almost bought to tears by the appalling work I've marked. Class upon class where I can see children being totally and utterly failed by a system supposed to make their lives better.
And that's why I for one am pleased this site went live.
Because our children deserve better.
And so do you.

Being the organised over-anxious and stressed out woman that I am; it's hardly surprising that when a letter arrived from my son and daughter's school that my children would be tested on their literacy and numeracy skills when the new school year commences, it sent me into a mild state of panic.
It is a constant source of mystification to me how I take these things so personally. Part of it is my perception that in a way, they are testing me. Do I measure up as a parent? Do I make the grade? Equally, I want my children NOT to find testing stressful. I want them to see it as a opportunity to show what they know, not to see it as a way to showcase their shortcomings. I've spent many times over the years soothing stressed out students before exams, so I know the reality of the pressures of tests.

So whilst I can't save them from the testing, I do try to support them in preparing for it.
And I wanted to show you something interesting.
Context: my eldest son is not a keen writer or reader. He struggled HUGELY with letter recognition and I did a great deal of work with him at home on this. Homework has been a struggle for him. He writes the absolute minimum he can.
So these were the obstacles I faced when working on how to best prepare him.
I told him and his sister that during January we would have "special school" at home each day. I told them they would have special colour charts. They think the stickers are nice. I know they mark their progression through the levels and it gives me a clear indication of where and when I need to spend more time clarifying things for them, or if we can whizz through something. And the MAXIMUM time we spend is 30 minutes. The funny thing is while they were keen for us to start "special school" it's now such an integral part of their day there would be a riot if I tried to drop it.

We start with a reader, and I ask them questions throughout the text or we talk about things that they are curious about. Then we have "writing" time. Miss Medium focuses on her letters and basic word recognition. Mr Large started on his first day writing this:


by yesterday he happily wrote this:

Regardless of the errors littered throughout it, what was wonderful how he didn't want to stop writing. I think finally saw it as a way of recounting things in a meaningful way.
Just like I find blogging does for me. Except that I spell slightly better.
Please note I edited the writing to remove all name references in order to protect the privacy of my offspring and his friends!
And that's how I approach it day by day. Just a little piece of reading and a little piece of writing. Looking at the big picture can be intimidating. But this way, I'm doing my best, and they are doing their best in a loving, safe and supportive environment. When they do their tests I'll know I did my utmost to prepare them and really, that's all I ask of them, that they do their best.
Seems fair enough, doesn't it?