The 'idiocy quotient'

What is this whole IQ business?
Ever since they had that game show-style IQ quiz on TV everyone wants to tell you how smart they are.
Frankly, my theory is that if someone's boasting about his or her IQ then they're bound to be a loony, orbiting around their own self-importance like the Earth around the sun which shines out of their proverbials.

Saying that, apparently my husband and I are very high IQs, as, I suspect are my children.
Keeping this in mind, The Man frankly couldn't get up in the mornings if I didn't kick him in the kidneys twice (on a really bad day I take a running leap).
My daughter and I are lucky to remember to brush our hair before leaving the house in the morning and The Boy thinks its funny to pee into the wind...so really, in the light of that evidence, how much can this whole IQ thing count for?

One not-friend I used to know would boast constantly about his high IQ but wasn't smart enough to delete the letters from his internet mistress before his wife logged on to check the family email.

Another genius I came across thought he could avoid a drug test at work by carrying a plastic sandwich bag of 'clean' urine around with him in his work bag. Except, he threw the bag into his locker one 48 degree day, the snaplock bag flew open, and he came back to boots, socks and underwear smelling less than 'clean'.

I begin to think IQ stands for 'idiocy quotient' - how potentially stupid smart people can be.

I wonder if there's some high-IQ person out there who'd like to do a study on how closely correlated high IQs and low common sense are related?

Hey, if someone will fund a study to find out whether you're more likely to get knocked up by your lover or your husband...someone will fund this!

& by the way, that game show-style IQ quiz...
The Man and I were so busy cooking dinner for our fellow IQ quizzees that we could only do half of the quiz each, inbetween running back and forward from the kitchen.
As a result, we cumulatively scored in the early 200s...but if you cut that in half I think it means we're lucky we can get our pants on in the morning without putting both legs in one hole.

Boys will be boys...and they all want to be men

This issue swept through out little town like wildfire!
The idea of a 14-year-old playing footy against 40-year-olds had people ranting for months, even though the issue had never been raised before in all the years our small-town league had been enlisting teenagers.
It became very personal because parents and teenagers took it very personally, other parents became rabid, and footballers were just plain nervous.
Looking back, I now think I'd have to go with the 'they're just too young' line, because I wouldn't like to see my little boy fronting up to some of these guys out on the field.
But you make your own decision...

My friends and The Newspaper's regular readers are perfectly aware that I normally have an opinion on everything - but when it comes to telling people how to raise their children I have trouble finding a clearly black or white place to stand.
Ask me about whether children should eat Whiz Fizz for breakfast or how to handle a mid-shop temper tantrum and I’ll give you a clear, and probably quite loud, opinion. But when it comes to kids and sports - the line seems to become a little more blurred.
The talk of the town, right now, revolves around a tiny handful of young teenagers who have stepped up to play football in ‘the big league’ - as ODFC president Peter Lindner so cleverly phrased it.
I’ve talked to parents, players, community members and I have to say - I don’t have a hard and fast opinion on this one. All of the parents I’ve spoken to - the ones who support young teenagers joining local league games and the ones who are horrified - all have very legitimate opinions.
Would you risk your children getting hurt in a game of football? We’d all say - "of course not!" And I believe local parents opposing the move are sincere in their concerns.
But don’t we risk sporting injuries for ourselves and our children every day? Aren’t their 40-year-old men being carted off the field on a Saturday and junior footballers playing kids twice their own size in their own, appropriate grade? You can get hurt playing cricket or netball too. And where do we draw the line - size, age, weight or ability? Who decides who can play and who can’t?
In a town of this size, with all the restrictions that shift work and a fluid population places on our sporting groups - this certainly isn’t the first time a junior this young has joined the senior ranks. I remember cheering on my teenaged class mates, myself, when I was in high school here.
Did local parents and football clubs act responsibly when they let young Adam ‘Boof’ Warren step out on the field at Coober Pedy this month? I believe so. Players and clubs were well informed, 13-year-old ‘Boof’ and his equally-young Coober Pedy counterpart were both keen, and parents were ready on the sideline to step in. But then - if ‘Boof’ had been hurt - what way would public opinion be swaying right now?
The fact is, the AFL - and at least some of our local clubs - are not opposed to juniors playing senior football if they have parental approval and, in this case and subsequent cases, all players were duly informed.
One of the most practical precautions I’ve heard so far is requiring junior players - especially ones so young - to wear an armband, identifying them to their fellow players?
But, in the midst of this whole football furore - the one thing I am very clear on is that I believe, it is imperative that all players are aware of their young opponent. I liken this to playing a pregnant opponent in netball or volleyball - everyone must be aware of the possible consequences of playing.

Wasted time is lost time

I wrote this editorial in response to a local death underground.
The man was a lovely, family man - his wife was a workmate and one of our employee's husbands was working alongside him, took a smoko, and came back and he was gone on.
It hit us all hard...

As we were tragically reminded this week by the death of local father of two Karl Eibl, time is limited.
You can’t take it with you - or so the proverb goes. But what will you leave behind?
For those of us with children - what are we leaving them?
And I’m not talking about investments and trust accounts - all that can be arranged with a quick trip to your local bank or financial advisor.
There’s a more precious investment our children need to bank on for a solid future.
Have we given them all the love, confidence and a sense of self that they are going to need if we’re not around for them as they grow? That’s something Karl knew how to do.
He was a man who celebrated family every day.
While his children will miss out on growing up with their Dad, they will never doubt how much he loved them when he was here.
Can yours and my children say the same thing?
It’s a close call in a town like this where so many families have two working parents and a plethora of commitments.
But there are ways to be involved in your child’s life - in all aspects of his or her life - even when you’re pressured for time.
And trust me, I’m not preaching - I’m trying to take my own advice on this one.
Don’t just drop your child off at sport - stay on the sidelines or even lend a hand. It’s not always cool, I know, but it’s always (at least secretly) appreciated and it will be remembered forever.
A very smart man called Stephen Biddulph wrote that ‘quality time’ is a myth - and what children want is ‘quantity’.
They want to do the shopping with you, stand alongside you while you wash the dishes, chat to you while you fix the car - so please, let them. Read the newspaper aloud, and then let your child read aloud to you while you cook up dinner.
Read, talk, explain, flick through family albums, bring them along to work for a visit once in a while, and join them at school when you can.
Find time! Because if your time runs out - you want to leave a lot of love behind.

A force of nature...

I wrote this editorial in response to the annual footy final fights.
Happy reading...


What is the most powerful force in nature?
A tornado can drive a corn cob through concrete and the deep sea pressure of water can tear metal apart. But I’d lay my bets that peer pressure causes more damage than any other natural force.
Peer pressure, in my view, is akin to gravity - it’s everywhere and the more weighed down you already are, the more it affects you.
But I’m not talking the same old clichés about youth and children here - I’m talking about all of us.
Who here honestly doesn’t care what anyone else thinks about them? If that was really true you would drink with your boss on the weekends and, trust me, Pumpkin Patch and Osh Kosh B’Gosh would be making quite a lot less money out of Roxby Downs.
But we all did get the ‘peer pressure talk’ at school or from our mums years ago so I’m not going to waste my time convincing you to resist.
Instead, I’m asking you to embrace peer pressure and use the power for good.
Would a night out at the pub with our sporting buddies go so badly wrong if there were a few more people ready to say "come on mate, time to rein it in"?
Here’s a revelation for you, if you’re having a good time and one of your mates is going too far and ruining someone else’s good time - it is your business. If you throw in your two cents then you’re probably doing that person a favour because, let’s face it, how many of us really want to be known as "that idiot from the other night"?
Don’t just say no to drugs - say no to...well I’m not supposed to actually print the word I was thinking so let’s call them ‘dummies’. (I can write it here! Say no to dickheads. It's not guns that kill - it's wankers)
Our last round of local court reports boasted an unusual number of assaults and, to be fair, most of them were alcohol-related.
What surprised me, though, was how so many of these people had a "damn good reason" for their attacks, despite the severity.
So I’ve decided, it’s time to reclaim our right to a night out without brawls, harassment, drink spiking or drunk drivers.
But you, and only you, can make it really hard on yourself, and your friends, to ruin someone else’s night out. So embrace the power of peer pressure and get out there and wield a little bit of it!

A spoonful of sugar...

I write an editorial every fortnight for the Newspaper.
Originally I shied away from the job because, after writing almost every other part of the paper I thought, the last thing people would want was me writing about myself and my own ideas and opinions on top of that.
Instead, I find people stopping me in the street and saying the nicest, most inspiring things to me about the editorials I write.
Thankyou - to those people. When, one day, I finish writing for a living, I might just go on writing for love because of the confidence they have given me.

And, because often what I write I hate and then go back to years later and find seeds of inspiration in, I've decided to include some of my editorials in my blog.
Happy reading...

This morning I passed three little girls, all in a row like ducks, on their way to school...and every single one of them had a packet of Burger Rings in her hand.
All I could think was, somewhere, a primary school teacher was cursing those little girls’ mum.
You see, I know what happens when you feed kids that stuff - I’ve done the research, I’ve even experimented on my own little darlings.
I can tell you honestly that, when it comes to my kids, a can of Sprite equals two Caramello Koalas equals just five or six jelly beans...and it all equals demon-spawn tantrum hell for me.
What really surprised me though, when I started tracking the rubbish we were putting into our pre-schoolers, was that the canned pineapple on home-made pizzas can also send my kids troppo.
White bread hypes them up like fairy floss and some frozen vegies have more sugar in them, weight-wise, than Arnott’s Biscuits.
My father once overdosed the kids on boiled lollies and a five-day visit was over in just two-days.
On the other side of the coin - my sister-in-law tongue-lashed me once in a supermarket line-up because my "poor, neglected children" didn’t know what Tic Tacs were.
I stand by my choice though - I’ve got enough bad eating habits of my own. That’s one thing the kids aren’t going to inherit from me.
We all get the letters home about healthy lunchbox snacks - but if you really knew how much easier your life would be with a sugarless child, you’d throw those Tim Tams straight out the window.
But don’t take my word for it - test the theory yourself. Just one week of salad sticks and fruit snacks, pita breads and meals made from scratch. No softdrinks, no lollies, less cheese, less bread and no canned vegies.
Then, if it works for your family, here’s some hints to help you beat the sugar-induced Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde syndrome long-term.
Make your own food from scratch - not only is it better for you, its cheaper and you can always freeze off favourites.
Involve fussy eaters in growing their own vegies and fresh herbs. With shade and water you can grow capsicums, cucumbers, tomatos and snowpeas - and they do taste better.
Keep a big pile of ‘safe’ snacks like fruit, muesli bars and those crunchy soy crisps in an easily-reached cupboard that the kids know they can graze on any time of the day.
My kids have a cooking night with their Dad once a week and will always eat their own creations, even if it’s something new. But my advice...buy a two-handled mincing blade so littlies’ fingers are never near the knife.
Grab a healthy recipé book and make cooking dinner a family time. When you attach those good, social feelings to great, healthy food - well...you’ve already won half the battle.

The Legacy

It's been six months now since I've been to the Farm but work continues without us.
We finally had our you-beaut ecologically-responsible greywater recycling system installed.
Of course, to do it, the plumbers had to pull down three out of four fences, bulldoze through my garden, rip up all the lawn and dig a moat around the entire hourse.

My in-laws have been visiting the property regularly, however, to fend off anyone sad enough to rob a fenceless, moated, floorless, waterless dreamhouse.
And, to my delight, they discovered that when the Plumber tore through my garden and destroyed the lawn he managed to spread my herb and lettuce seeds throughout the backyard.
So, where once was sad, dry Cooch Grass there's now a forest of lettuces and basil in four colours and five shapes.

Now, I just have to find out if all my carrots, beets, radishes and turnips thrived underneath the deserted garden block.

We know we can't expect a crop of potatoes this year as The Man left them in the kitchen cupboard last time he visited.
After he opened the pantry cupboard and discovered them collapsing into slop inside the paperbag he surprisingly and quite suddenly agreed to let a professional rip out the kitchen and rebuild it - rather than "knock it up" himself...so I'll chalk that up as a win anyway, potatoes or no potatoes.

It's a long way to the top...

The Girl and I have been talking a lot lately about tact.
Like the fact that it's not actually nice to announce that you're smarter than everyone else - six-year-olds tend to be a little testy about those kind of sweeping statements and it tends to undermine your ability to find a friend to play hopscotch with at Recess.
So we talked about how everyone has a special talent or two, and maybe her special talent is 'learning' because she does pick things up so quickly.

Tonight, in the car, she announced very primly that she was going to be a teacher when she grew up because her special talent was 'learning'.
Then she asked him, what's your special talent?
He replied 'ROCK & ROLL BABY'.

According to the kids, The Man's talent is beer.