Well, it's a quiet weekend....

... but I have managed to throw in a bit of culture (that sounds even better if you say it with a strong Aussie accent and it sounds like kultcha!).

My parents took me along to see a matinee play at the Sydney Theatre Company as one of their friends dropped out at the last minute. The play was called "Rabbit" and was written by a new young British playwright called Nina Raine... apparently hugely successful in the UK, but it did nothing for me.

Still, I love going to the Wharf Theatre. It's in an old wharf and although the inside has been re-done entirely, they've kept the outside exactly as it was when built in 1831. There's a long walk to the restaurant at the end (and the theatre) and I took advantage of the slow pace set by my parents and their friend to take some piccies...

This walkway is hung with amazing black and white photographs of past Sydney Theatre Company productions. Many of the pics include Aussie actors who went on to become major international stars.... Mel Gibson, Hugo Weaving (yeah... I know he's really a kiwi) and Rosie Byrne to name a few.

Some of you might know that "our Cate" and her husband Andrew Upton have taken over as the Artistic Directors of the Company. Very exciting....



My Mum and I feel like we "discovered" Cate. We saw her in many Sydney Theatre Productions before she was a film actress and always said "Isn't she wonderful!! She will be a HUGE star!". So we're glad she's coming back so that we can feel snuggly and proprietorial when we see her perform (!)

One of the loveliest things about this theatre is the wonderful cafe and restaurant at the end of the pier, where you can enjoy a fabulous glass of white wine....


..... while you're soaking up the view...


Makes missing Toto and Boo just that little bit more bearable.

I love my home....

Yes, I've been away for a week and am therefore delighting in the comfort of being in my own environment. But it's that very feeling that has inspired me to think about the place that I call "home".

My boys and I moved into this flat 4.5 years ago after a very abrupt breakup with my ex-fiance. We had a week to move out of his house, and, as I had sold my house to move in with him and was not working for income at the time, we had extremely limited options.

My parents had bought their neighbouring flat a few years earlier. The idea was that it would allow them to house overseas rellies and visitors comfortably as well as providing their grandchildren with bedrooms for overnight visits. In fact, they had ended up knocking down connecting walls and expanding into the new flat themselves.... and were enjoying the extra space.

They generously took us in, under the strictest understanding that this was to be temporary.

And yet here we still are.

Part of it is because the boys settled in to their new school so well. Part of it is because I could never afford to rent or buy within travelling distance of that new school. Part of it is because, gradually, we put the connecting walls back in. And part of it is because we've fallen into a comfortable pattern of helping each other out.

And now I don't ever want to leave.

I love the idea of living with extended family, but the reality, initially, was difficult for all of us. It took us a long time to manage how much involvement was "helping" and how much was "interfering". My parents aren't young (they read this, so I won't divulge exactly how not young they are) and are suffering from some increasingly debilitating health issues. I believe that their involvement with my boys helps to keep them motivated and optimistic. And I definitely know that their involvement with my boys helps my boys to develop empathy and respect.

It's not always a picnic. As their youngest child, I find myself occasionally falling into patterns of behaviour that didn't become me when I was 16, letalone now that I'm 42. And they would, understandably, prefer to live in an environment without the noise that my boys sometimes make.

But the upside far outweighs all of that.

My boys and I adore them. And my Dad provides a role model to them that DH and my brothers have failed to provide.

And the views rock!

Happy Fathers' Day....

Phew. Thank goodness that's over.

DH hadn't asked to see the boys on Fathers' Day, and, not wanting them to feel neglected by all of the important male role-models in their lives, I was pretty upset when my Mum told me that we wouldn't be seeing my own Dad on Fathers' Day this year as both of my brothers had "gotten in" first. One brother had asked them for dinner, and the other for lunch. My boys and I weren't invited to either gathering.

Luckily for us, the lunch-time brother cancelled at the last minute, and so I took my parents for a drive up the northern beaches of Sydney to the worlds BEST fish&chip cafe (no.... I'm not telling you where it is..). Also luckily (or unluckily?) DH DID ask for the boys at the last minute.... but it was too late. And neither boy wanted to go.

So.... we drove. And we did what families used to do before telly and playstation and ipods. We talked. And occasionally we stopped to watch the incredibly HUGE waves which have appeared after the past 4 days of pelting rain.



We weren't alone. There were loads of people checking out the pumping surf (man)...




It was lovely. Just lovely.