Now that my time for attending the Christian writing conference is only a few days away,  my mother and older sister are full of advice. "Make sure you have a hanky in your pocket or up your sleeve," and "Eat plenty and don't hang back," and "See that you speak slowly and clearly and look people in the eye," and, "Don't be nervous because many other people might be just as scared as you." (In fact I didn't tell them I'm scared. They just seem to assume that I will be. If I reply that I'm actually quite confident in my material, they don't seem to hear). Anyway, the advice that I'm getting from them is practically the same, word for word, as the advice I used to get from them when I was in Primary School. Then they finish off with, "You'll be great if you just remember my advice, Missy." When I was very little, instead of calling me by my name, everybody in my family used to call me "Missy" all the time and my mother & sister still do it, even though I'm only a few years short of 40. A few weeks ago when Blake was sick with croup, they both told me over the phone, "You have to steam up his bedroom!" and seemed quite surprised when I told them that we'd already thought of this most basic step. "We didn't know you knew!"

I used to get very irritated at being treated as the helpless baby sister. I'd try my hardest to prove that I'd earned the right to be treated as a grown-up, but felt that people still treated me like a 6-year-old when I was 12, like a 12 year-old when I was eighteen, and like a teenager when I had my first baby, aged 25. Now I think they still regard me as a young, inexperienced mother of little children. Not so long ago, my brother & his wife gave my 12yo son the simplest of dot-to-dot books. I explained to him later, "They assume that you must be only little because they haven't stopped thinking of me as the baby sister."

My point of acceptance came about five years ago, when I was sitting at my parents' house, telling them that I wasn't sure whether or not I'd like a third baby. Dad said, "I can remember when we were discussing the same thing, just before we decided to have you. Mum and I crept up to look at Julie & David while they were sleeping, and I distinctly remember saying, 'They're so cute and they're growing so fast, it'll soon be too late. We have to have another one."

As soon as he said that, a penny clicked in my head and I knew the reason why they persisted in treating me like the baby well into my thirties. It was because that was what they had me for! My parents wanted one final baby. My role in the family had been set in their heads before I was born. No wonder nothing I did would make them stop. I wished I'd understood and accepted this fact years earlier and saved myself loads of frustration and extreme efforts to make myself appear "grown up". It's such a simple fact but I overlooked it for so long, I might type it out in bold print just to make it stand out. There is no point in trying to change what your family think of you.  Whatever you do, family are very fixed in their minds just where you fit in. You might as well just accept this and quietly get on with your own life.  I guess this holds true whether you're the "responsible" eldest child, the "rebellious" middle one or the "baby". Having said this, of course, I'm going to make the attempt not to do this with my children. I think homeschooling helps. When we go out as a family, everyone just piles into the car and participates in whatever we're doing.

Please spare a thought and a prayer for me when I fly up to sunny Queensland on Thursday morning. I'm not sure I'll log on again before then so I'll catch up when I get back.

I found myself feeling swamped and stressed last week and couldn't seem to shake it off. In the back of my mind, I'm anxious about the conference in May and hoping I'll pull off the sessions I'll be involved in. I've often found that when I'm anxious about one thing, my mind snowballs all sorts of things that normally wouldn't bother me into monsters. I felt tired and quick to cry. I mean, just standing in a book store and coming across a touching story was enough to make my eyes water although I was in a very public spot. On Friday morning I woke up feeling as if something just had to change or I'd fall apart.

I don't know what made me think of it, but late that afternoon I asked my husband and children if they'd mind if I slept away from home that night. They didn't mind. In fact, the kids were quite excited about the idea of having a take-away tea and hiring videos with their Dad. Having decided, I wasn't sure where to go. I ended up booking myself into a very nicely priced little motel half way into the city. I've never done anything like that before but my spirits already began to lift as I packed a change of clothes and bundle of books into my overnight bag. It felt really weird walking into the reception to sign the papers, because I'm so used to waiting in the car while Andrew does that whenever we're away. Then, the man told me that the people into the room next to mine had parked in my parking space, so I'd have to use theirs. I could see why they'd done that. The one left for me was the tightest, most awkward space in the whole place. I had to very gingerly maneuvre my station wagon in with reverse parrallel parking, and I avoid reverse parrallel parking whenever I can! I felt as if I wasn't off to a good start!

When I stepped inside my room, that motel smell hit my senses. A combination of mustiness and clean linen and reverse cycle air-conditioning. For a split second, I really missed my family, as I'd normally be watching the kids bounce on the beds and choose where they were going to sleep. Instead, I had a bit of a rest, then thought about getting something to eat for tea. I'd had thoughts of driving into the city for late night shopping to buy a baked potato, but trying to squeeze back into that carpark, this time in pitch black, was out of the question! There was a Subway outlet a few hundred yards down the road on the opposite side, so I raced across between the traffic, bought a salad plate, then took it back to eat in peace and silence. I felt another small twinge of missing my family again when I walked back into the room, but it went even quicker. Then I really started to enjoy myself.

I did a bit of reading and note-taking from some good books I'd brought with me. I found the Motel Bible placed by the Gideons and read a bit of that. I did some of my deep relaxation exercises. I enjoyed the sound of traffic on the road outside. Everything I read seemed as if it was perfect for me at that time. I read a chapter entitled "Live in Day Tight Compartments" from a book by Dale Carnegie and realised that this was my problem. I'd brought a lot of stress upon myself by anticipating and dreading what might lie ahead, which is a sure recipe for worry and fatigue. God made days 24 hours long for a reason. It made such an impression, I might talk more about it in a later post. The night passed really quickly and I had a great, refreshing sleep in a very comfortable bed. At home, my youngest boy very rarely sleeps all night through without trudging into our room or calling out for a drink. I was able to lie reflecting and praying quietly in the early light of dawn and then I had a beautiful warm shower. By the time I left, I felt really happy.

I didn't return directly home. As I was near their home, I called in on my parents. I did a bit of shopping and eventually got home at about 2.00, because Andrew had to go out to prepare for a gig he was playing in that night and I had to take Emma to her ballroom dancing lesson at 3.00. My two younger children came running to give me a big hug when I got home and I found that Andrew had got them to help him go through the house and give it a tidy-up.  It was a great first-impression but I was soon to see that they dealt with the mess in the living areas by dumping it all onto their bedroom floors. Still, I didn't mind. The best part of the venture is that Andrew actually noticed that my night away had done me so much good and suggested that I ought to do it every month or so. I think it might have done the family good too, to have a break from me! 

This May in Australia, we are having an inaugural Christian literary and dramatic arts convention. The organisers, a group in Brisbane, are drawing together a large assortment of Australian writers, playwrights, actors and editors to speak and present at the convention. There are also going to be publishers, distributors and booksellers represented. This is really exciting because it's the first time anything like this has ever happened in Australia. I know that over in the U.S.A. these are often held and I never thought we'd ever have one here.

Going back several years, when I finished writing my first book, I made several query phone calls to people listed as Christian publishers. They all grimly told me that although there used to be a small market for Christian fiction, it was no longer current so I might as well forget about it. Well, I was very discouraged and not happy with that response. I could see that although our population base of Christian readers is nowhere near as huge as America's, we obviously did have a market for fiction. This had to be true because our major Christian book chains, Word and Koorong, kept importing tonnes and tonnes of fiction from America. I don't intend to delve into the whole long story of how we got ourselves started as Apple Leaf Books. I just wrote this paragraph to show how difficult it's always been for Christian authors in Australia.

Anyway, the organisers of the convention sent me an email inviting me to be involved in the convention. The invitation included free air-fare to Brisbane, accomodation for the duration of the convention at a Bed and Breakfast with meals included, and the chance to promote my books. Well, I could have fallen off the computer chair! I've never had an offer like that in my life. After a quick discussion with my husband, we agreed that I should accept, of course. I'd be crazy not to. So it's all in the pipelines and they've sent me my itinerary. I'll leave early on a Thursday morning and return home the following Tuesday afternoon. It's very exciting, but as the date gets nearer, the butterflies in my stomach grow larger. My chief misgiving is that I will be away from my family for almost a week. Especially Blake, who I've never been separated from in his life, and I've worried that he'll miss me too much. Five nights are many for a little boy who's used to his mother's goodnight cuddles. And I know that I'll miss him loads and loads, along with his brother, sister and father.

But I've spoken to family and friends about it. One lady I know reasoned that Blake will be in his own familiar environment, he's used to having his Dad and siblings around, so he'll be fine. And I've been speaking to him about it, preparing him for early May already. He seems to know it's coming. From time to time when he sees a plane in the sky, he'll comment to whoever is nearby, "Mummy is going on an aeroplane, but not me or Logan or Emma." But it's still so hard to think of how five days might drag. Emma says, "I'm going to really miss you, Mummy," and Logan says, "I'm actually quite looking forward to it." So I'll be heading off to Brisbane in a matter of a few months because some offers, I guess, shouldn't be refused.

My Uni days were a long time ago. One thing I got out of those 4 years apart from a nice looking piece of paper are a few little interesting facts of trivia that I remember from lectures here and there. One of them is the following fact from a Psychology lecture, concerning the perfect conditions in which people might expect help from others.

We were asked if somebody suffers an accident or health crisis and collapses, where do you think the safest place would be? A busy shopping centre or a remote country lane which only gets a few sporadic passers-by? Of course we all thought the obvious answer would be the crowd because there are many people around to offer help. Our lecturer told us that this was put to the test and it's been proven that the likeliest spot to receive aid would be the remote country lane. The reason is that in a crowd, individuals shrink from 'getting involved' and reason that as there are many other people around, somebody else will surely stop to help. In fact, an old friend of mine actually experienced this first hand. She suffered some sort of blood-sugar related collapse in the middle of a metropolitan mall and sat on a bench for several hours in obvious distress until somebody stop and offered assistance.

Whereas in the lonely lane, a single passer-by generally realises that apart from him/herself there is nobody to help. So in 90 per cent of cases he/she will actually stop, phone an ambulance, wait with the sufferering person or do whatever else needs to be done. "So if you feel a funny turn coming on, your safest action would be to get yourself to a place as far from the general crowd as possible," the lecturer concluded. I thought this was an amazing fact about human nature and our natural tendency to stay in our comfort zones and harden ourselves to other people's problems.

Of course, this is nothing new, as the parable of the Good Samaritan shows. People have been the same for over 2000 years. My brother-in-law who now lives in Queensland was not a Christian. Sometimes he ever referred to himself as an atheist. Yet he had a good heart and on several occasions, stopped to lend a hand. Once he pulled over to the side of a busy road to offer an old woman shuffling along in the heat with two bags of groceries a lift back to her retirement village. I couldn't help wondering if I or several Christians I know would have done the same thing. I'd hope so but of course, it's all theoretical unless we're in the same position. Then I wondered how many tired old ladies I'd pass without even registering them or giving them a thought. Kevin was definitely a modern Good Samaritan and a convicting, challenging person to have around.

Once I got my chance. I was walking along our own street and saw a toddler about 2 years old in the back of a car that was parked on the road by himself, red-faced and screaming. Nobody else was around, the car doors were locked and he looked extremely frightened and unhappy. So I knocked on the door of the house and told the lady who answered that he was crying. I was relieved to find that she was very nice, gave me a smile and said, "Thanks, I was just going to pop out to check on him." I was surprised at how "keyed-up" I felt, just because I'd done something. On another occasion, a stranger knocked on our door with a red face and said, "I know it's none of my business but you've left your headlights on." I was surprised that she'd been so uncomfortable and commented to Andrew, "I wonder why people feel so embarrassed to do a good turn." Whatever the reason, I think we have to consciously make up our minds that we'll go the extra mile whenever we can or things will rarely get done.

I'll finish with a little story that was in my nephew's joke book. I don't remember exactly how it went but it was something like this. Every line has a double meaning and I really like it.

There were once 4 housemates and their names were Anybody, Everybody, Somebody and Nobody.

One day there was a job to be done.

It was really Everybody's responsibility but Everybody thought that Somebody was going to do it.

They all knew that Anybody could have done it.

In the end, Nobody guessed that Everybody was going to pike out.

Nobody really wanted to do the job anyway. So the next day, Everybody was surprised to find that Nobody had done the job. 

It's about 9.30 pm on December 31st. Emma is out at a little friend's New Year's Eve party and Andrew has taken Logan to see the new James Bond movie. It's just Blake and me at home and he's just fallen asleep on the couch watching "The Wiggles" which I've quietly switched off. A quiet, reflective New Year's Eve suits me fine this year.

I've been remembering back 7 years to New Year's Eve 1999. We were facing the turn into the 21st century and were all a bit anxious that our computers and power sources would crash at midnight. What was that dreaded "bug" called again? I completely forget but I knew it well. Andrew and I had just put little Logan and baby Emma to bed and were watching the televised festivities from Sydney. The east coast is a half hour ahead of us so at 11.30pm, they were experiencing midnight and letting off their fireworks. We saw that all the street lights of Sydney were still shining intact and I breathed a sigh of relief. It would have been terrible if we'd seen their lights completely black out on TV and know that we had only half an hour to make our mad dash for candles. But thankfully it didn't happen and now 7 years have passed in a wink.

My birthday is on Christmas Eve so this time of the year is always perfect for reflection. This time is particularly so because I've just turned 37. I became a new Christian when I was 17 so 2007 will be a twenty year anniversary. Although I'd considered myself a Christian before then, everything I'd learned seemed to switch on, illuminate my heart and take on new meaning in 1987. That was a year of extremes. I was anorexic, struggling through my last year at High School, musing about my "purpose" and frequently on the verge of nervous breakdowns but becoming a 'fresh' new Christian was the highlight that overshadowed everything else. That was why I began to measure everything from that year, 1987, as I considered it my spiritual birthday. I can tell you, these twenty years have been filled with lots of events yet in many ways, seem to have passed in a flash.

I clearly recall that at 17, I'd fully expected my life to become a bed of roses by the time I turned 37. I would have imagined myself sitting back with a smug "I've made it" sort of feeling. I expected that all of the New Year's Resolutions I'd made back then would have been fulfilled. I guess that at 17 I would have thought that at the mature age of 37, I would have become everything I was going to become. Now here I am, about to set some new goals with just as much enthusiasm as I used to way back then. One thing these two decades have taught me is that nobody ever really gets to the stage where they feel they've achieved everything. I'm basing that on the example of several seniors I know who are still setting goals and getting buoyed up about studying and learning new skills well into their 60s and 70s.

So here are some of my goals for 2007. I'm setting them down as my priorities for 2007 knowing full well that there will be different ones for future stages of my life. It's handy when you think about it that we have our time periods set out in years. A twelve month calendar is a nice little morsel of time to fit our goals into and keep ourselves accountable.

Here goes.

1) Boost prayer and meditation time. Have definite morning and evening quiet time blocks.

2) Continue homeschooling the kids and giving them the benefits of an education free from social constraints.

3) Continue writing novels with uplifting themes, whose characters have positive values.

4) Do aerobic exercise at least three times/week

5) Implement a new "speed clean" scedule for housecleaning (More about this later if I find it actually works.)

6) Encourage others whenever I can.

7) Begin an evening writing group (OK, this is one I might not get around to but I think it might be fun if I did and even earn us a few $$, which have been fairly scarce around here at different times of the year)

8) To keep trying to make this blog a place of refreshment and encouragement.

That's it for now. I wish you all the happiest of 2007s from the bottom of my heart and blessings with your own goals. Great to reflect that we each of us have the same 366 days to fulfill our goals until next year,

Paula 

A couple of days ago, I had a real scare. I thought our laptop was going to crash and it's the only computer we have. As it turns out, everything is safe and I drew a breath of relief but the incident made me step back and think. My own reaction surprised me. It was as if a beloved member of the family had got sick. At first I thought, "Gee whiz, I wonder if my computer is an idol!?" Then I put it in its proper perspective. My computer is not an idol but it is very important in my life because I use it for so many different things. 

1. I use the Word program for writing my books.

2. I use it for typing out promotional material to post.

3. I use the Internet to look up resources for homeschooling, writing and whatever else takes our fancy.

4. I've been using it to type up a huge project for my Dad who is researching his genealogy.

5. I use it to teach the kids touch typing (sometimes, when we're in the mood).

6. Last but not least, I work on my blog. It still amazes me to think that I can regularly communicate with wonderful ladies who I've come to consider my friends, although you live on the other side of the world! And I can do it as quickly as typing a letter or comment.

So since the scare, I've been looking at my computer in a different light. It might appear like a modest enough looking silver box when it's closed, but to me it represents the freedom to pursue my crafts and make my contribution to the world in my way. I realised I'd been taking my computer for granted and it took the threat of losing everything to renew a new appreciation in me.

Then I started thinking that perhaps I do the same "taking for granted" with each member of my family. I don't want to wait until my kids are ready to leave home before I realise how much I appreciated them all along without giving it much thought. I think it might be a good idea to renew my appreciation for each of them on a regular basis, because they are so much more important than my computer, after all.

I appreciate my DH Andrew because he plays with the kids, he's pursuing his dream, he helps with the cooking, he assists me in pursuing my dreams and he's a man of God.

I appreciate Logan, my DS#1 because he's such a great mate to have around the house with his funny comments and because he likes listening to historical stories and because he looks after his baby brother for me and because he helps me out with computer problems (Yes, he already knows more about the mechanical beast than I do and I don't know how. I haven't taught him).

I appreciate Emma, my DD, because she adds a sunny spot of feminity to the house where otherwise, I would be the only female. I appreciate her because she speaks her mind and because she smiles a lot and because she is creative and loves to help.

I appreciate Blake, my little DS#2 because of his smiley, dimply face and because he tries hard to behave as 'grown-up' as his brother and sister and because he makes us all laugh with his cute way of saying things.

These are just a few of the things of course, but enough to change my mood if I need an attitude overhaul and to get me started. Anybody who has fantastic family members and a computer is already amply blessed.

Have a great week everyone,

Paula

Last week it occurred to me that in some of my thinking patterns, I'm not much different to how I was when I was 16 years old. Back then, I used to hate school and walk around under a cloud of restlessness with the feeling that something was not quite right. And sometimes I have the impression that the cloud is still hanging, even though I'm now 36. When I was 16, 36 was supposed to be that shining, fantastic date in the future when I would have myself all together and be as happy as possible. So I asked myself, "What is it that hasn't changed?"

I remember one particular afternoon in 1986 when I left school in the afternoon with my bag bouncing over my right shoulder. I thought, "It'd be so great to have all this behind me. I want a husband and kids and a chance to sit down and write books without having to worry about any of these other silly subjects and essays."

Well that time has arrived and everything I hoped for has come to pass. I've been abundantly blessed during those twenty years that passed, and I am far happier than I was then, but now I have a new list of things I want to come to pass. I want to be in a position where we can stop renting and build the "dream" house that Andrew wants to construct himself, before the kids are old enough to leave home. I want to build up my little publishing business even more, telling lots more people about Apple Leaf Books. I want to be financially secure to take the kids on two holidays per year as it's such a great thing to do with homeschoolers (and we haven't been in the position to do it for two years). So I see why I feel the same as I did at 16. I've got my hopes set on different things but it's the same style of thought producing the same feelings. Now that I've brought it to my own attention, I think there's really only one way to end the restlessness.

When I'm working on my fiction I've worked out what to do. I used to feel overwhelmed and frustrated to think of a whole novel length story looming before me to write, but I developed a way to deal with it. I've been setting myself small bite-sized chunks and weekly goals. "This week I'll finish the scene where so-&-so happens." Although there is still such a lot to write overall, I concentrate on perfecting a small bit, so that by the end of the week, I do feel as if I have made very good progress. I've written four books that way since my children were babies. Now I think I need to do the same thing in the rest of my life, too.

For me, a new standard is, "Don't spend so much time chasing the ever-changing, ever-moving "Point Bs" I've set for myself. I need to practise contentment in being just where I am, because today's "Point As" are yesterdays "Points B" after all. And when we take things slowly and steadily, "Point Bs" come anyway and not one bit of restlessness and frustration brings them sooner.

I'm writing this post because I think it's quite funny. This week I read conflicting opinions on the same matter by two authors who I equally admire, Victoria Moran and Elaine St. James.

Victoria always makes her bed every morning because she feels that it gives symbolic closure to the previous 24 hours, opening her way into an unsullied day. She says that during the day, just the picture of it sitting there with it's pillows and covers looking so tidy gives her an illusion that the rest of her life is orderly and serene. When she's away, remembering that her bed is made helps her feel efficient, organised and capable.

Elaine never makes her bed because it keeps life simpler and knowing she doesn't have to spend 10 minutes making the "darn thing" gives her the delight of feeling that she's getting away with a little something. It's a treat she carries with her throughout the day and she reasons that she's only going to get into it again at night anyway.

Well, there you have it. This may be trivial, but I guess a lifetime is made up of trivial little details like this. It amazing how little trivial matters can elicit big responses. My mum, who gave me "Simplify Your Life" by Elaine St. James, shook her head and says she can't bring herself to read anything more by a "slob" who not only can't take a few moments to make her bed but boasts about it in her books. But Mum is from the old school of thought. Personally, I can understand both points of view. Maybe that is why I sometimes make beds and sometimes don't. I agree with Victoria, that gazing through the passage and seeing a smooth, unrumpled set of covers gives me a burst of pride, but I'm just as likely the next day to leave them rumpled because we have to dash to the shops or something. But if you follow Elaine's point through, 5 minutes of making your bed adds up to a total of about 30 hours a year, which is a day out of your life that could well be spent doing something else. (And sometimes I make my bed and the kids' too, I usually do the kids' too. The thought is enough to make me tired)

On a T.V. current affairs program the other night was a story about a man who had bought a take-away lunch for his family from McDonalds. One of the cheeseburgers accidentally rolled beneath the front seat of his car and he didn't find it until three months later when he gave the car a thorough clean up. Then he was astonished to notice that it looked in the same condition as it did when he bought it. He'd expected that after three months, it would have begun to decompose or at least gather a bit of mould. It reminded me of a book I own called "Changing Habits, Changing Lives" by Cyndi O'Meara. She would call that cheesburger a prime example of "immortal food".

The dictionary defines immortal as "not subject to death" or "imperishable". Her argument is that any food that does not perish should be immediately suspect as we ask ourselves the question "why?" Micro-organisms in the air love good, fresh food, but when they land on food with little nutritional value (like the cheeseburger) they die. That is why the food never spoils. So when we want to determine whether a food is a healthy choice one thing we ought to consider is whether it is immortal or mortal, and choose "mortal" whenever we can. It's enough to make me shudder when I consider all that people tend to shove into their mouths without a thought. In the western world, I think no-one is exempt.

That made me begin wondering about the food we fill our souls with. By this, I mean the books, T.V. shows, movies and magazines we fill our thoughts with. Is there a parrellel "mortal" and "immortal" food for the soul? I think the answer is yes. I really want to provide "nourishing" books for my children to read, that build a strong, healthy spirit in the same way nourishing food builds a healthy body. This week I've been trying to identify some of the criteria with which I would classify any book as nourishing or not and I've come up with five.

1) They appeal to a sense of beauty which I believe God has built into every person's soul, whether through description or subject matter or a combination.

2) They promote excellent values and help our kids to shun anything that isn't positive or good.

3) They strengthen our faith in God and His working in our lives.

4) They build an optimistic concept of the world that helps develop strong ideas about who we are in God and our own potential.

5) They must be compelling to read. If any book possesses all four of the above but isn't a page-turner, nobody will want to read it. If it is fiction, I think a good story is plot-driven, where we want to find out what is going to happen as soon as we can. Generally, whenever I can "hear" the individual voices of different characters in my head as I read, it's usually got something good happening for me. 

Once, we visited my in-law's church where they had a guest speaker. During his message, he mentioned "intellectual snobbery" between spouses. "How many of you sometimes reflect that you know much more than your husband or wife? Well, squash that sort of thought as soon as it comes up because it's so easy to let pride get its foot in and before long, you're too puffed up and proud to be of much good to anybody." I don't remember much of the rest of his sermon but that bit stuck with me. I remember sitting in my seat thinking, "I'll have to watch myself carefully because I do that a bit with Andrew sometimes." I thought of the many times he asks me how to spell different words when he's writing letters, or when he doesn't remember the names of people we know, or people in books or in the Bible and I have to remind him.

Anyway, on the way home, he remarked out of the blue, "I was a bit convicted when he mentioned intellectual snobbery because I do that a bit with you." Of course I asked when. He said that he gets frustrated because I keep asking him to explain the same things about computers or VCRs or DVDs over and over again and he gets sick of explaining it to me when he always remembers these technical things after just one try.

Since then, I've realised that we all probably think we're smarter than other people in different ways, and we're probably right. What's more, they're probably right when they think that they're smarter than us. At home, I have Logan who has always been very good with words and quick to pick up a joke or a play-on-words, with a quick vocabulary. (Once when he was about 2, he surprised a girl at the hairdresser's who was reading to him from a Dr. Seuss book. After silently listening to her tell him about dogs on logs and cats on mats, he pointed at the page and remarked, "That apartment building has a fire extinguisher.") However, Logan's handwriting is naturally shocking, unless he spends hours making it neater and getting himself uptight. His coordination has always been a sore point with him.

On the other hand, we have Emma, who writes with a neat and even hand and can whip up an artistic project in a flash without consulting with us whatsover, yet she forgets names and details and makes herself frustrated because her brother can remember them. She's also a good dancer and has excellent rhythm. We've had several trips in the car when Emma and Blake have been swaying and dancing along to music in their seats while Logan just sits solidly in his seat and belts out the lyrics.

So we all have different skills and talents which doesn't make us superior to anyone else at all and I think the best thing we can do is to work out what they are and then play on them. That might sound like an obvious point to make but I didn't really take it on board until I was well into my twenties and had been through Uni. It's nice to know that we don't all have to be rocket-scientists or brain surgeons. What a strange, unbalanced old world it would be if we were.

A few weeks ago I decided with my family's support to get out of the house for an hour or so a week just to wind down and let everybody get a break from me too. Yet I don't have the money for any gym memberships, regular trysts at coffee shops, sport or dancing clubs, not that I'd want to do all of those things anyway, so I started to wonder what to do with those spare hours outside the house.

You see, my husband and I have been living our passions and the side-effect of that seems to be a slim bank account for the time being. Back when he was in High School, he was interested in pursuing a career in woodworking but decided to go for Accounting instead as the "sensible" option. Andrew was the accountant at a local hospital when I met him and stayed in that job until 2003 when he decided he was totally depressed after 14 years working in a place he had no real interest in or passion for. So he quit and now he's doing some work in his real area of interest, woodwork. He works with a photographer friend from church, framing pictures part of the time and another man making customised wine boxes for the rest of the time. He loves the work so much more and has never looked back. I also am pursuing my two dreams of writing fiction and homeschooling my children. The first has been a lifelong dream and I'm delighted to have set up Apple Leaf Books with my dear husband's support. Without going into the challenges we've met along the way, I'd have to say I'm delighted we're doing it, but as I said, we're financially stretched at times. So I can't afford any extra cash outlays for pleasure.

So when I want to get away for a few hours, I've come up with something that suits me completely. I drive or walk to our local library, which is just around the corner, then read the magazines and browse through the books. I love self-help books and fiction alike. I've learned there's a proper name for this sort of pastime. Forget retail therapy, I have bibliotherapy.

Other cheap leisurely ideas I like are nature hikes, strolls along the beach and meditation. I did hook up with a good Christian meditation group for awhile but it's something I really like to do on my own. I'm wondering what other people do for cheap (or free) leisure times because I'd love to have some more suggestions.

Anyway, Andrew is back to take the kids into the shed and race slot cars, so I might shoot off the library.

When I was young, I was known as a painfully shy kid and felt in the shadows of my older sister and brother. I spent lots of time trying to think of ways to prove to myself and others that I could do something well. When I was fifteen, I scored fairly high in a history exam I'd studied hard for. I could hardly wait to catch up with my teacher and hear what she had to say.

She said, "You did remarkably well."

I asked, "Did you expect me to do that well?"

She replied, "No, your answers were by far the most comprehensive of the whole class. You worked hard and earned the result."

I felt myself glowing, then looked at my friends and saw that they were glowering at me. For the rest of the day they avoided speaking to me but spent lots of time whispering together and shooting me looks that would scorch a snowball. At last one of them told me, "So-&-So says you're a #%$& show-off and nobody likes you anymore."

I remember how my spirit plummetted. I remember the sick feeling and the tears I tried to blink back. Most of all, I remember my instant decision to NEVER give anyone the opportunity to call me a show-off again. It was a decision I stuck to for years and years. I was careful to always present a really humble face. I brushed off compliments. I wouldn't ever mention anything I did that I was proud of for fear of being labelled a show-off again. I thought I was getting along fine but just lately, I can see that it's become a problem.

You see, I've written and published some books including what I think is a really fun fantasy trilogy for young teenagers. I absolutely loved writing the books but I'm a crummy seller and self-promoter. I'd love to take my books into schools and run workshops. I believe my products are enjoyable, I've had plenty of positive feedback from youths who have read them, I think what I have to share would be interesting but I'M TOO SCARED TO DO IT. Apart from feeling nervous that I won't be any good, I'm also terrified that the people I know will think I'm nothing more than a windbag and a huge SHOW-OFF. It struck me then, my old decision to never be called a show-off again is limiting my life.

I'm writing this post because I really want to do the school thing and by declaring that I'll do it on this blog, perhaps I'll keep myself accountable and ask others to keep me accountable too.

I think the only good thing about being labelled a show-off when I was 15 is that I've developed a sort of 'heart' for show-offs. Others might see them as annoying bores who have tickets on themselves while I see through the charade to insecure people who genuinely need a boost of confidence. I've gained patience with my own children and I never come down hard on them for showing-off because I remember how hard it hit me. I'm convinced that many of the worlds "show-offs" are simply sensitive, fragile hearted people who certainly don't need the stigma of being labelled "show-off" on top of whatever baggage they're already carrying. 

Logan enjoyed his birthday yesterday. He had his archery lesson, visited both sets of grandparents, got some nice presents and had KFC for tea as a treat. That's enough to make an 11 year old happy but I felt drained by the end because this flu-thing is hanging on.

As I lay resting in bed today I realised that not only my body but my mind feels tired because of something that tends to creep up on me that I call the "next thing" syndrome. Some days, when I'm in the middle of something, my mind races ahead to think about the next thing I've planned to do. While I'm cleaning the kitchen bench I might think, "Next I'll get Blake in the bath to wash the jam out of his hair." While Blake is having his bath, I'll think, "Next I'll fold up the clothes on Emma's bedroom floor." While I'm folding Emma's clothes I'll be thinking, "Next I'll pay those bills." You get the picture. This is the sort of thinking that creates the feeling that I'm on a treadmill because I never give myself a break to stop and catch my breath. As I roll into bed at night, I might be thinking, "First thing tomorrow I'll mop the bathroom floor." Then the whole thing starts all over again.

Although this "next thing" mentality creeps up on me, I really want to watch it because I'm certain God doesn't approve of this way of thinking simply because it's projecting my thoughts into the future and His name for Himself is I AM. Even though the thoughts are merely ten or twenty minutes into the future at times, it's still not good because I don't enjoy the present moment while I'm doing it. Watching Blake have his bath and listening to his little giggles might be fun if I wasn't thinking about cleaning Emma's bedroom floor and getting tense over it. The "next thing" syndrome really does rob my present joy. So I'm giving it up again. And next time this mode of thinking creeps up on me again, I'll renounce it again. Now that I'm a wake-up to it, I'm hoping that one day my mind will get the message and I'll be completely free of it.

Perhaps living in the present moment may be a key secret to enjoying a simple life. This was reinforced to me while I was watching an episode of Everybody Loves Raymond, of all things. The Barone family were in Italy and as they prepared to fly home again, Ray commented to Debra that he'd prefer to stay longer because he was warming up to the quiet village lifestyle. "It's all so simple here, like a different world." The people in the village were munching pizzas, strolling through the piazzas and by the water front and having their siestas, in other words, putting their hearts into the moment. I thought, "There's no reason why we can't enjoy the same sort of outlook home in Australia or America", but I think that weeding the "next thing" syndrome out of our thinking must be the first big step.

So here I am typing my blog while Blakey babbles a picture book to himself and pretends to be reading. Andrew and Logan are playing one of Logan's birthday games while Emma fuzz-buzzes about doing whatever she's doing right now. The fan blows a cool breeze on me and the sun is getting that late-afternoon look about it. It's a good life.