Opinions please: Metal or tile roof?

Time for your good self to weigh in!

It's crunch time. Steve and I have to replace our tired old "biscuit" tiles with.... something. We are undecided as to precisely what. The choice is down to either a concrete roof tile OR a coloured metal roof and we are decided on one thing so far: We are going to get a dark charcoal colour, either way.

As you may have read in this post earlier in March, we got hit with a doozy of a hailstorm, which has completely annihilated our already disabled original old roof to the point of needing to be removed.

Now, a bit about aesthetics:

We live in an old suburb. Yes, yes, overseas readers can chortle into their cuffs at this point. "Old" to us here is late 1800's. Still, that's pretty old anyway, I suppose. This is an area of national heritage significance. Many new, young families have been moving in over recent years and are lovingly tending the old residences, retaining their character and charm [at least, on the outside... I am certain that past occupants of our house alone would be baffled to learn it could probably get to the moon and back if it weren't tethered to the ground, given the wiring and technology Steve has injected into the place with the help of our electrician mate].

We have an old weatherboard. Our extension out the back is a mixture of continuing this weatherboard and features of rendered flat wall. It's all very noice and luffley so far. Now, we have an opportunity to introduce the new external colours we have used at the back of the house and get away from the *cringe* overly-done heritage green and burgundy of its current facade. We want to get it back to more green-creams and deep charcoal tonings, with a sort of eucalypt shade of mid grey-green as an accent.

So.... with all that information (and it may not sway you at all, especially not without sample pictures - which I will get to in a later post, promise, but there is at least one here in this post).... can you please share:

• Have you lived in a house with a metal roof? (We haven't)
• Is there much of a difference, rain-noise wise? (we're thinking there must be) I must admit, I loooove the sound of rain falling onto a tiled roof, I find it so soothing....
• Would you sacrifice inside noise aesthetics for external profile?

And the all important one, which I am most interested in:

Which look do you prefer, given that this is an old house (early '40s)? Your opinions would be really appreciated. Do you need photos? Do you need to see what you're opinionating on? Or do you know, hands down, what you'd go for, regardless of brick or weatherboard?

My own fault, really

Because when my instructions aren't clear, this is the result:



I found myself in a compromising pozzy, on the loo, sans paper. WHY does that always happen to me? I mean, it's not like I use the darn stuff the most in this house *not looking at anyone in particular..... and the picture on the right is compleeeetely random.....* but apparently, I'm always in the wrong/right place at the wrong/right time and have to change the roll.

Except, on this day, I discovered that I hadn't even brought the spare rolls down to the cupboard in the bathroom. So I was stuck. Perched on my.... perch. And I had only a toddler to save me. Yes, it WAS that dire. There was nary a square to spare.

So I called the LGBB in. She raced up - how do they always make 5 or so metres sound like 100 really difficult ones?? sooo amazing - and stood at the doorway, eager to assist in that "Can-do" action manner that I love so much in kids her age. Hey... while they have it, you gotta love it, I say.

I tried to use as simple an instruction as I could.

"Mummy's run out of paper!"
"OH NO!" *cue horrified, desperate, suddenly serious look from child in the doorway*
"It's ok! But I need your help: Can you please get the toilet paper roll from the other toilet?"
"........OH....KAY!" She ran off.

Phew. It had computed. She had put the data in and it spat out....... the above piddly little scrap of frantically-torn paper. So desperate was she for me to be able to move from the throne and not be stuck there forever - for that is it for them, isn't it, I mean, now, this moment, is forever to them - that she didn't grab the whole roll. She tore off what she thought I would need.

I have to say, I do commend her for thinking my bottom is so dainty and delicate. I regret that I am going to shatter her illusions one day.


Er.... I finished this post and posted it, then realised two things:

1. Dear reader may believe that scrap of paper to be used, and
2. If not - for it is obviously unused - how did I dethrone?

Well. Let me just say, despite my apparent policy of full disclosure on this blog, that, dear reader, is one trick best left covered up. Like David Copperfield himself would say, a magician doesn't reveal his secrets. He'd just get a funny hairdo and make a ridiculous show about how marvellous said tricks are. And I'm not about to make a show about my bottom. kthxbai.

Life with an action man

You know, it's tough. Really tough. He's always so busy. Fighting crime, defending someone or something or other. He hardly ever gets a night off.

Last night, our brief conversation before I retired to bed (I'm fighting a marathon cold, heading into my second week of the dratted thing) went like this:

Me: *calling out from our bedroom door* You coming to bed soon?
He: No.
Me: Wanna come watch the Sex And The City movie with me? [as if that was going to change his mind]
He: *very distracted and matter of fact* No, I can't. I'm on the side of a train, in a tunnel, with a helicopter chasing me and I just found my rocket launcher.
Me: *to myself* ......Ewwwwwkay then.


That's my husband. The Playstation floozie.

Grandpa

My father. The one I've written about a number of times before on this blog (and my old one).

He has made mistakes, sure. He lives quite an individual life, as he has always done. It smarts a bit more once you have kids. But he hasn't changed. At 67, he's not likely to now.

Recently, Lolly and I spent a lovely four uninterrupted hours with him. Living on the train line has many benefits for us, one of which is when Dad travels down to the city and needs to kill time. See, it wasn't a visit he would normally have made, had we not been conveniently near the dealership where he gets his car serviced. I giggle now. That's just Dad all over. But.... we got his precious time for those four hours.

It was not long after this that I was cleaning out the filing cabinet when I came across an envelope with his handwriting on the front. To Lolly, it said. Inside the envelope were two cards, which I remember receiving from him when we were in Lolly's newborn stage. One card was to the LGBB herself, from him. The other was to us, me and Steve.

I feel compelled to share the sentiments of my father here, a man unable to voice such poetic feelings verbally. But still, the bereaved grandparent of another, lost little cherub. Something I often forget and take for granted in those moments when I sigh and wonder why he doesn't call me more often or make arrangements to come and visit (basically, go out of his way) "just because" once in a while. And not just when he needs to visit the city on other business.

The reason why I will always, always cut Dad a break is thus - Exhibit A and B, below.

Exhibit A:
(and please know that he doesn't write "Lolly", he writes her name, but I don't use that here... you may have noticed by now!)

"A message for Lolly from her doting Grandpa on her 4 week milestone:

My dear little girl,
One day, when you are older, your Mummy and Daddy will tell you the story of how much they longed for you to come into their lives and how much joy there was as you were formed and grew. Then the day came for you to be born, to leave the Safe Place and to become a unique person, the only (Lolly Gobble Bliss Bomb) in the whole world.
And you are lovely. We watch you grow and learn your little ways and give thanks as you reach your milestone - four weeks old.
You are surrounded with love and the protection of your family.
Blessings and may peace be upon you for all your days.

Your loving Grandpa."

Now, anyone who knows our story will realise that we lost Ellanor at 4 weeks. That four week milestone was one that came and went unacknowledged by EVERYONE in the family. Except me and Steve. Then my Dad visited, almost to the day Lolly turned four weeks (he was out by just one or two days, I recall, but he came early which counts for a lot!), and handed us these cards and a gift for Lol that she went on to adore - it was a soft fabric Peter Rabbit book, the kind of perfect heirloom that you would never pass on to anyone else. It is now in Lolly's small but growing stash of keepsakes.

The fact that neither Steve nor I said anything about that sacred passing point for our tiny daughter, so obvious yet unspoken by anyone else, will forever mean the world to me.


And Exhibit B:

"My dear ones,
We dared not hope for the best, nor celebrate too soon. But now, after these weeks, we can say that the "best" has truly happened. As the weeks go by and Lolly becomes more and more a part of your "normal" lives, you will be able to enjoy all those moments of surprise and delight (and, yes, even the anxieties!) of being the parents of a tiny person.
I am so happy for you both and give thanks that your big dream has come true. She is a precious gift, "Renee" (her middle name) indeed, and we celebrate her arrival.
Enjoy watching Lolly change and grow day by day, and all the things that lie ahead of you. Be strong when things get difficult, as they will, and know that all shall be well. Feel blessed, as indeed you both are.

Your loving Dad and Grandpa."

Dad gave me an enormous gift in this piece of writing. It seemed, as I read it now, years later with the massive mix of emotions and hormones long passed (but not forgotten), that one of our parents was able to impart useful wisdom after all.

You see, when you become the bereaved parent of a baby nobody ever got to know, you shift into a world of experiences that not even your caring, guiding parents can give you a map or guidance on. They can try - and they do - they can be willing and they can be so very, very pained for you, their child. But until that card, I had not truly felt like there could ever be a "normal" for Steve and me as parents.

My Dad gifted me this. And I remain grateful, for the rest of my days.

Heeeere, book-book-book

I received a most humbling email of praise for my book recently.

Rather unexpectedly, I have enlisted an old friend, one of my very very dearest (and a writerly sort herself, with technical wiz on the structure of sentences and whatnot), to read my latest book draft. She is making her way through, chapter by chapter, as I feed them to her. It seems it might make for a more hungry reader!

It's so wonderful - you are writing a book! A book about your experience. I'll tell you one thing - your first chapter - and the words - had that contageous energy that you have, that you've always had. That energy you project. The words grabbed me, gripped me and threw me into a space of yours and then my own... Brilliant.

Gah-dang...nabbit. I HAVE to finish this juggernaut if it kills me!

A Real Man

A real man is not afraid to cry. A real man came to me today with tears welling in his eyes.

Steve was cleaning out his (hail-pummelled) car today, in readiness to hand it over for being written off tomorrow. In the glovebox, he had found an envelope. On the front of the envelope, in my handwriting, were the combinations of names we had been discussing for Ellanor.

Ella Ruby
Eleanor Ruby
Ellanor Ruby

We settled on the last one, obviously.

I remember hastily jotting the names on this scrap piece of paper while we were driving somewhere. I was about 9 weeks pregnant with Ellanor at the time.

Steve was teary because, inside the same envelope, was a slip of paper. Printed on it was the Thank You I had written to our baby girl, about 2 days after she passed away. I wrote it, raw, straight from me to her, but read it out at her memorial. I must have folded it and, finding the same envelope still in Steve's glovebox (he doesn't clean his car out at the best of times), slipped it in there after the nauseating deed had been done, the day we publicly said goodbye to her.

A real man. One who can still stand. And, what's more, explain honestly and simply to his surviving daughter what his tears are for.

Thank You To Ella

Thank you for coming.

Thank you for arranging this meeting.

Thank you for your chubby cheeks and all that hair!

Thank you for responding to us differently to show us you really do know who we both are – for relaxing your face and sucking on your tongue when mummy held you and for actively listening, feeling your mouth and sucking your fingers when daddy talked to you.

For settling when mummy sang you your familiar songs or gave you a bath.

Thank you for letting us stroke your soft baby skin, for gripping our fingers and for so definitely pushing our hands away when you’d had enough!

Thank you for asserting yourself so quickly in life, to give us a glimpse into how determined and gutsy and real you are.

Thank you for your uniqueness, which makes you so special.

Thank you for making your caregivers at the hospital laugh. Some of them were a bit surprised at your “feistiness” and we love that you “asserted” yourself with them!

Thank you for your magnetic attraction – many people have expressed how interested they were in you after meeting you only once.

Thank you for your eye contact with us – truly the windows to your soul.

We were amazed, awed and completely entranced by the power in your eyes when we locked gazes.

Thank you for showing us how soft and deep you are – in the way you shared special private understanding when we were alone with you and in the way you caressed and explored us with your tiny fingertips.

Thank you for reaching 2kilos!

Your chubby little fingers and toes.

Your double chin.

Your cheeks finally hitting the bed with their beautiful pudginess.

Thank you for giving us hope, for making us parents after such a long struggle and for being the best and most memorable firstborn we could ever have dared dream possible.

Thank you for joining our family and becoming a big sister-in-waiting.

You would have shared special secrets with each one of your aunts and uncles, got up to mischief with your cousins, been showered with love by nanna and granny and melted the hearts of your grandpa and pa.

Perhaps you’ve already achieved all that and we know you will continue to do so.

And most of all, little sweetpea, thank you so much for loving us since your passing.

We know you, we feel you, we love you and we wish you safe travels

and a place to call home whenever you need it.

Hot diggety bedrooms, kids, it's a smash!

Just last week, the LGBB got up after we had said goodnight, for some excuse or other (one of the usuals - "I need a drink/to go toilet/my light on/my light off", etc.) and we had turned on the video monitor in the kitchen. We've always had it, it's something I am not exactly sure when we'll not feel the need to use anymore. It's been such a huge part of our routine in parenting Lolly. Watching over her. Waiting for her to leave too. Then relishing her growing, comical, sleeping and waking moments over these past years.

So she sees it switched on, peers at it suspiciously from across the room, then says, "What's THAT?" What's whaaat? we both say, as nonchalantly as possible and thinking dammit dammit dammit we are so busted. "THAT!" and she points, then goes over the monitor, inspecting the screen which clearly shows her bed and Scraps and Bunny as she's just left them to come out to us. "Is that for you to see in my room?"

Er. Yes. About that, we go to tell her... But she's distracted by trying to weazle another few minutes out of bed and it's forgotten and we get away with it. The monitor survives detection for another day!

Anyway, following on from my last post, little did I know that yesterday, I would be put upon to get not only the rest of the skirting board painting and the fairy done as well, but also the curtains.

I delivered.

The poster is a really cool retro-looking thing that Steve ran once on a job,
this was an over that was going to be thrown out so I said Yes please! I'll take it!

Last night, our girl spent the first night in her new bedroom. And the delight she had was matched only by mine as I watched on that same video monitor my dear little one wake up, early this morning, then sit up and look around her room for the first time. I watched as she lay back down on her pillow and listened as she sighed a really satisfied sounding sigh. Then she smiled. That familiar wide-mouthed smile that takes over her entire gorgeous face. And I smiled too, still watching her. She stayed like that, beaming and looking around her room.

And I heard as she whispered to herself, "It'th. My. Bedroooom!"

I tell you, I nearly dropped all my tears all at once while my heart burst. She likes it. She's comforted by it. I am so relieved. The lounge room where she has been for the past six months has been okay. But it's no little girl's bedroom. It's scared her, it hasn't been somewhere she wants to spend time on her own. A little kid needs somewhere they can feel like they can be alone. She hasn't had that since we moved here (so, basically, the entire time she has been able to walk).

Happy, happy day today.

The fairy commands the central corner of the room. Lolly's tall white shelf unit will go underneath (its top comes up to the knee height of the fairy... a new unit of measurement??? Knee-height to a fairy?)

Close-up so you can see the purple flower centres (of course) and also the kick-ass lips/facial profile... Man, it was a killer to keep my hand straight but I did it. And I think it looks good. If (ok here comes Ms Self-Critical ....again!) you don't look at the proportion of the forearms to her thighs.... she looks like she could be a contender for the East German Women's Olympics team (throwback to that classic line from Top Secret - don't shoot me! It's a movie quote!).

I love that by 12pm on Day 1, the LGBB was already treating this as her kick-about room.
Shoes kicked off, socks tossed, drink shoved to the side....

The curtains worked - I removed the pins from the backs of these delicate butterflies and sewed them by hand onto the curtain. The blockout fabric is the highest grade - I bought it from Spotlight and sewed it onto the back of these tab top curtains - giving a really deliciously dark room...
which is lit up, of course, by every little girl's favourite accessory: the Glitter Lamp.

Bought this from Ebay a couple of months ago and have been positively ITCHING to put it on the wall. I put it up this afternoon and tonight, Lolly was lying in front of it, feeling it and saying, "This is gorgeous." I love that we have stirred a sense of wonder within her with these finishing touches.