I don't want to see another church, art gallery or museum

NEWS that some kids are AWOL from school for up to one in four days made me realise I wasn't such a bad mother, after all.
Having just yanked my own three kids out of school for a total of 30 school days for an overseas trip, I didn't feel quite so guilty.
While my kids were climbing the Eiffel Tower, travelling on the Eurostar, seeing Gaudi's Sagrada Familia, in Barcelona, and marvelling at Monet's Garden, some kids routinely don't make it to the school gate because either they, or their parents, can't be bothered.
There is a trend among us older parents, with accumulated leave and mid-life crises, to indulge in overseas trips.
For us the decision was simple. Take on tradies to renovate or traipse around Europe. The timing was perfect. The youngest was old enough that we didn't need strollers, nappies, bottles and naps.
The eldest goes into Grade 6 next year which, for those of us who haven't enrolled our children at birth at expensive private schools, spells a busy year of open days at prospective secondary schools.
The children's teachers were excited for them, saying they would learn so much.
A few weeks back into school, the children are playing catch up. The older two are whingeing that they missed out on cross country. The eldest declared that she was so behind in Greek she doesn't know the Greek word for zucchini. The preppie is stuck on her golden words (was, that, the, is) while most of the class are ahead and some are reading independently.
Given she is the third child I am hopeful that she is not doomed to reading failure. It suddenly ``clicked'' for her older sister, who wasn't any better at that age, and by the start of Grade 1 was devouring Harry Potter books.
Taking kids out of school to realise your own dreams is selfish. I am reminded of my eight-year-old son's plaintive cries twenty minutes into our visit to Madrid's Prado Museum.
``Mum, I'm sick of seeing gruesome pictures of Jesus. I don't want to go to another art gallery for the rest of my life,'' he moaned.
Friends without kids tut tutted when I told them I left, but secretly I was a bit over them myself.
But it's also selfish and short-sighted to allow kids to have days off for no reason.
These kids falling through the gaps need more support.
Higher retention rates, as apprenticeships have disappeared, means there are kids enrolled that maybe shouldn't be there.
My kids love the routine of school, their friends and the wonderful programs on offer.
But, I am not sure if fining parents is the answer. During our trip we were stuck in Seoul because of the volcanic ash and a British couple were panicked because their girls were late for the new term. Although they had a good reason and would escape fines, their absence could affect the school's ranking.
The difference between my kids and those kids habitually missing out on school is that mine will catch up. Between the complaining, they are excitedly talking about living in London when they grow up, future holidays and taking snaps to show and share.
Although, my son was underwhelmed on the first day back at school to learn of an upcoming excursion - to the National Gallery of Victoria.
``Not more galleries,'' he exclaimed.

Dan's Wish

Claire Heaney
FOR a long time our household seemed to be a soft target for the charity canvassers.
More nights than I can remember, just as the child wrangling was beginning in earnest, the phone rang.
Sometimes I pretended I was the nanny and fobbed them off, but more times than not I wasn't quick enough.
Invariably, the caller would start off by thanking me for a past donation and before I knew it I was pledging more money or agreeing to sell a wad of raffle tickets.
The causes were all so compelling. Plenty of them ticked the box for relevance to me and our extended family. How could I not support research into diabetes, multiple sclerosis, childhood cancer, breast cancer and infant mortality?
We've been touched by all these.
And anyone who knows me knows I can't resist a raffle ticket - whether it's a mansion on the Gold Coast in the Boystown Lottery or a chook raffle at the Richmond Bowling Club on a Friday night.
But then one day I surveyed my kitchen bench.
Six raffle ticket books. I would end up buying all them.
They were evenly divided between charities and organisations we were involved with largely through the children.
Anyone who has kids knows that once they start going to creche, kinder and school and doing organised sport your charity dollar starts being spent a bit closer to home.
You start saying no to other causes because you are fundraising for new play equipment, books, turf and all manner of things.
It was about that time I started to commit to a few charities each year. I felt less guilty being able to say: ``No, I am supporting other charities''.
For many years Make a Wish was a firm favourite. The organisation, as the name suggests, makes wishes come true for sick kids.
My train-loving nephew was due to fly from Coffs Harbour to Puffing Billy through Make a Wish.
Sadly, he succumbed to the brain tumour before he could make the much-anticipated trip.
A few years ago, close to a decade after his death, we decided to put Make a Wish on the reserve bench for a while.
And then over Easter we went camping near Ballarat and spent some time with 11-year-old Dan.
He's the nephew of Tess, a friend since the first day of prep.
Dan is suffering from Muscular Dystrophy, an incurable muscle wasting condition.
Over the weekend we learned that Dan, now largely confined to a wheelchair, was going to Disneyland in July.
My kids, who have been lucky enough to go to Disneyland, were excited for him, talking about all the rides on offer.
In the subsequent months we have learned that his passport has arrived and that he is learning how to drive a new motorised chair.
He is crossing off the days on the calendar.
His trip has been a topic of regular conversation at our house.
Among many things, it has made us review our charities for the year. Make a Wish is being reinstated in the next financial year, the kids even offering to tip in pocket money.
It might not be coming up with cures, but if it puts a smile on the faces of sick kids and their families I am all for it.
As for Dan. We hope he and his family have the time of their lives.

What a load of croq II

This reworked version of earlier post as it appeared in the Herald Sun on April 28, 2010.


THE success of MasterChef Australia has a lot to answer for.

Our eldest, about to turn 10, was so taken with the croquembouche - the French profiterole arrangement that was all the go as wedding cakes somewhere between the mudcake and cupcake fad - she begged me to make one for her last birthday.

I said "no" but clearly it wasn't persuasive enough. After some cajoling, in a moment of weakness I took on the challenge.

And, let's face it, we had well and truly worked our way through the Australian Women's Weekly party cake book.

And maybe, just maybe ... spending the time trying to conjure up the culinary creation might be more fulfilling than sitting through 102 minutes of a Miley Cyrus movie.

A visit to a cooking shop had me scratching my head. The woman behind the counter said the cones to shape the creation cost $200. If I wanted to hire one I would have to travel to the other side of town and pay $80.



I mentioned I had a back-up plan - to cover a polystyrene Christmas-tree shape with foil and use long toothpicks to fasten the profiteroles. She suggested the hot caramel toffee would melt the polystyrene. Undeterred, I decided that would be my best choice.

And then I turned my attention to the profiteroles. There was no way with other commitments I was going to get time to actually make the choux pastry balls with their 16 eggs and ingredient list as long as my arm.

I went to a nearby supermarket with a bakery and asked if I could buy them without the chocolate icing. I was told this was not possible but decided I would not give up. A few days later I rang and spoke to the bakery manager who happily took an order for 32 icing-less profiteroles. I collected them in the morning, knowing the worst-case scenario was that the profiteroles had cost me a total of $16.

Once everyone was safely at the cinema, chaperoned by my bemused husband, I scurried home to undertake the croquembouche project. Affixing the profiteroles was easy enough. Making the toffee was a little tricky. How much cooking was too much?

I started the swirling process that looked so simple on the telly. At some point I decided it was finished. And, even if I do say so myself, it did look quite masterful.

The kids returned home and were excited although disappointed that I had decided it was not going to be a collaborative project. I knew I was really a MasterCheat but at least in their eyes I was a MasterChef.

Once the party pies, cocktail franks and sausage rolls were dispensed with, we decided to move on to the croq.

Alas, the kids did not really like it.

Some did not like the toffee - too sharp - others did not like the filling. Despite the disappointment, I can't say I was too surprised. After a decade of attending and hosting kids' birthday parties I have come to one basic conclusion when it comes to party cakes. The simpler the better.

The elaborate, creamed and iced numbers usually aren't eaten. I've seen parents blow $50 to $100 on these and invariably the children are so full of other party food they barely have a mouthful.

I warned Miss 10 that next time around it will be a $4 Coles mudcake.

Just remind me of that when she starts throwing words around like torte, tarte, gateau, semifreddo, pannacotta, souffle and any other fancy dessert names she picks up in coming episodes of MasterChef.

Claire Heaney is a Herald Sun business writer

The lowdown on billboards

THERE was a time when we loved the way our little ones could spot the big golden McDonald's ``M'' a mile off.
The whingeing when we usually ignored their pleas to stop grated, but it was sweet watching them start their literacy journey.
``There's a big M,'' they would say. Invariably, they would clobber each other over who spotted the Golden Arches first.
But that's nothing on the challenges we face when we pile into the car now the two eldest can read. There's danger at every turn.
Driving along the freeway, the eldest asked what the billboard declaring ``JOIN FOR FOX SAKE'' meant. ``Ummm, not sure,'' I muttered.
Then her brother, 8, and sister, 5, started repeating it, emphasising the FOX SAKE.
It's part of a campaign for women to join Fernwood gyms to become foxy.
I guess it was a change on the controversial Longer Lasting Sex campaign. Who would have thought on a trip from Werribee Zoo there would be so many of those signs? On one outing my daughter, now 10, and her mate were in hysterics. We were nearly home when I cracked on to the cause of their heightened amusement.
``Does that mean you smooch for a long time?'' my son asked.
A friend says if they are old enough to ask the question they are old enough to get an explanation.
But how do you explain sexual dysfunction - thrust at us in billboards and radio ads - to kids?
And what about the preppie who can't read but hears it all? Recently, as we stopped at a traffic light my son asked me what a ``sty'' was.
``It's where pigs live,'' I said. ``No, Mum, it's STI and it's something to do with sex,'' he countered.
In my day they were STDs but now, the billboard says, they are STIs.
Looking straight ahead, I told them it is what you get if you aren't careful about who you have sex with.
``Mum, stop, too much information we don't want to know about that,'' my daughter countered. ``We are getting sex education at the end of Grade 5.''
If that's not bad enough there are the billboards for Sexyland and the ``World's Thinnest Condom''.
I employed the distraction method when handling the question as to why people would want thin condoms, changing the topic to the bangers and mash we were having for tea.
So, news yesterday that the State Government has sanctioned the use of ``d..khead'' in a Don't be a D..khead advertising campaign to make people wear seatbelts and turn off their mobiles while they are driving made me shudder.
While we're told it's largely a viral campaign on the internet, there will be little escaping it.
Granted ``d..khead'' is often used as a term of endearment, but do we really need to normalise it in the same way as the word ``bloody''?
Between ``Don't be a bloody idiot'' road campaigns, ``Where the bloody hell are you?'' tourist campaigns and the use of ``bloody hell'' by Ron Weasley in Harry Potter books, it's everywhere.
Too smart by half advertising agencies should spare a thought for us mums, ferrying kids around.
Don't they know we're flat out trying to figure out what we're having for tea, without being turned into mobile sex education instructors.
Some days, when the questions are flying thick and fast, I feel like saying `` Not today kids, Mum's got a headache''.

Head Lice in kids

Lice, damn lice - and statistics
IT'S the letter from school that sends chills down your spine.
Forget detentions and suspensions, when the head-lice notice lobbed recently, we knew the kids were well and truly back at school.
Three weeks in and the dreaded head-lice scourge is back.
There's something about the green-tinged note that makes me start twitching.
If only the answer was as simple as applying cheap conditioner and combing through with a fine-toothed comb.
Sure, we did get off lightly for a very long time. While friends were, well, tearing their hair out, we were largely unaffected.
But last year was a turning point. It did not matter what natural or toxic lotions and potions - adding up to hundreds of dollars - we threw at them, we did not seem able to get rid them for any length of time.
At one point we all had them, thanks to a very bad episode of musical beds triggered by claims of nightmares.
We even shelled out top dollar for an electronic comb that was supposed to blow them to smithereens.
A friend, who has six kids, told me about a surefire way that her vet said worked wonders with dogs.
So, there I was, rubbing baking soda through our hair and dousing it with vinegar. The chemical reaction of the two ingredients was supposed to kill them.
But it had little impact, my hair was powdery for days and I smelled like salad dressing.
It was so bad that they even followed us to the US. One day, instead of our planned adventure exploring the Golden Gate Bridge, our youngest child was itching so much
that we headed for the drug store.
Our expat Aussie host, with no kids, could barely hide her horror.
Oddly, my husband, who uses reading glasses, can never see them. I, on the other hand, with such bad eyesight that I need a cornea graft some time soon, can't miss them.
After one outbreak I headed to the hairdresser and ordered three buzz cuts. But she baulked and I guess she was right. They wouldn't really have looked all that good on the two girls.
As a schoolkid I never had them but I was aware of them. These days, they seem to be made of tougher stuff.
Of course there is no stigma attached to them. That is, unless you actually happen to have them.
When you tell people that your kids have been treated they 'fess up that their kids have had them, too. My kids get really annoyed when I tell people. But I reassure them by pointing out it's not bad to have them, it's just bad not to treat the condition.
And that's the point of it all. While some parents view them as a rite of passage, others are too busy to do anything about the problem, which negates the efforts of families who try immediately to eradicate them.
Another friend says it all comes back to the lack of authority parents have over their kids, if they can't actually get them to sit still for half an hour to be thoroughly checked.
There might be something in that theory because the turning point for us was when our youngest, who was clearly picking them up at creche and kinder, was mature enough to sit down long enough to be treated. The bribes didn't hurt, either.
The other night, I tossed up going to the parent information night or checking the kids for nits. I opted for the latter.
I've got little idea what is planned for their school year, but we're clear of nits -for the moment anyway.
Claire Heaney is a Herald Sun business writer




Comments on this story
Petar of Noble Park Posted at 9:27 AM February 23, 2010
It is so easy and cheap to get rid of lice. 1. buy the cheapest hair conditioner. 2. Bottle of tea tree oil. 3. A shower cap. Put hair conditioner in the hair and rub some tea tree oil in at the same time. Make sure it is nice and thick, and really smells of tea tree. put some tea tree oil on the inside of the shower cap. Place the shower cap on the the head, and the best time to do this would be befor bed. Then, in the morning, all the lice will sufficate and die. You will see all the dead ones trying to escape on the inside of the shower cap. Then, comb the hair out with a nit comb. Use several combs, so you dont put the eggs that you have taken out, back in. Wash hair, and check the hair for any eggs. Pick them out with your finger nails if you have to. You can prevent you kids getting lice by using a spray bottle with water and a little bit of tea tree oil. And wearing a cap will reduce it. Too easy !

Lice Magic Posted at 7:37 AM February 23, 2010
I have 4 kids, 3 girls and a boy... and I HATE LICE !! Just thinking about it makes my head itchy !! My boy has never had nits, but for a while we had to deal with just trying to keep it under control with the girls. Speaking from experience, you MUST keep hair short or tied back, they must NOT share brushes, hats etc... and the only effective cure - an age old 'country' remedy. 1 part Metho to 2 parts baby oil. Kills the blighters on contact (I've seen it) and kills the eggs too - but just in case follow up twice at 7 day intervals. Obviously you need to use a fair bit of shampoo to get rid of the oil, but the oil acts as a guard saving the scalp from damage from the metho. I imagine there will be others commenting with 'soft' options but the question you need to ask is do you want to get rid of them or not ???

Malanie Smith Posted at 5:42 AM February 23, 2010
I'm a school teacher with 23 years experience. In the first 20 years, I had only one case of head lice. However, when my own daughter started Kindergarten, we had NINE months of hell. Both she and I had it constantly in that time. Like Claire, the reporter, we tried everything and nothing worked. In desperation I searched the internet and found a site which talked about covering the children's hair with olive oil, leaving it on overnight and then combing and washing in the morning (she slept all night in a shower cap so that it didn't get on the bedding). It worked. Apparently the oil smothers the lice and does not allow them to breathe. You have to repeat 3 times over 21 days, but we have not had a case since. As a side effect it seems to have a lovely conditioning effect on my daughter's hair. It does take a few washes to get the oiliness out of her hair though.

Back to school

THERE'S not too many more sleeps until the youngest starts school.
I'm threatening to break open the bottle of Veuve Clicquot that has been gathering dust, waiting for an extra special event.
But how early is too early to pop the celebratory cork?
Parents have been told to leave the preppie room by 9.15am to avoid teary scenes - which on past performances are more likely to come from mums than kids.
It's not that I am eager to get rid of her. But after 10 years of juggling childcare and kinder with part-time and shift work, it's going to be bliss to have three children in one spot for two years.
I'm not going to miss the constant challenge of keeping a busy preschooler occupied. I'm done with beading. collage, montage, playdough, painting, bubbles, playing Barbies and watching Playschool - and that's just one afternoon.
I'm looking forward to having some ``me'' time and, given the thousands I've spent on their swimming lessons, to learn how to swim.
When my eldest started school I spent up big at the uniform shop. This time it's bare basics.
A near new bag and bomber jacket are hand-me-downs, and a new skort and two polo shirts, and a dress pretty much complete the outfit. The size 8 dress is a bit tent-like but the hem's been taken up and she's not looking so swamped by all that blue check material.
The two hats were bought at the supermarket.
But the big expense has been the school lunches - that's before we even think about the food.
The school has a long-standing ``rubbish-free'' lunch policy. Grades compete to see who has the least amount of rubbish and any rubbish goes back into the lunch box and home.
My son gets stroppy when I use cling wrap. But have you ever tried to keep a pita bread wrap in place without it?
Magazine stylists might come up with pictures of dinky sandwiches and wraps, held together by wax paper tied with string, but have they got kids?
We use zip lock bags which are washed and hung on the line for re-use but after a few uses they get a bit grotty.
But the real bugbear has been the plastic containers that just don't come home. Or make that the lids. Somewhere there is a graveyard of lids, alongside all those lost socks.
Early on I discovered that it wasn't wise to send Tupperware because it wasn't going to come home. Last week, on a shopping expedition the eldest spotted a cylinder that looked like a pencil case. Three parts stacked on top of each other - one for chopped fruit, one for sultanas and one for a treat. We bought three of them and three sandwich keepers.
I'm wondering how the Cheesestiks I agreed the preppie could have as a one-off for her first week, fit into the picture.
Do I have to unwrap them and chop them to go into the containers?
I've warned her that once they are gone we can use the tiny star shaped cutter to make our own cheese shapes.
Then it was on to ordering vinyl and fabric labels to name the booty. But don't get me started on that. I am just hoping I remember to put the Post-it note on the fridge to remind me to chill the champers.
Either way, there's likely to be tears when the baby goes off to school.