PiePie braved the teeter-totter, but only until we discovered that having me on one end meant that there was a "teeter" but no "totter," and when her brother was on the other end there was neither, as he didn't weigh enough.

I caught him mid-story, though I forget what he was telling me. Probably something to do with someone who either "pooed" or did something with his bum. He's nearly five, and the vast majority of his stories have something to do with "poo." Our reactions to these stories bring him much delight.

Pie jumped on the horsey even though it made her feet a bit hot. I'm pretty sure that she's got pure asbestos on the soles of her feet, so that's saying a lot when she's uncomfortable. Just before she climbed on, she was climbing around underneath to see if she could disconnect it and move it into the shade. If she'd had a crescent wrench, I reckon she would have too.

Damon had his pants around his ankles and his doodle aimed at the tree quicker than you could say, "Holy Inappropriate Location Batman!"

Heh heh, that's my boy alright.

He was doing something along the lines of directing an orchestra, or he was a knight that was storming the castle, I don't remember which. He's sitting on my lap though, and I just asked him. He reckons it could've been either.

After our relaxing day at the park, I tackled the yard work. I was just finishing with the whipper snipper (weed-eater, in 'Mericanspeak), had shut it down, and heard, "Go get Daddy! He's out the back. No, out the BACK!" and saw Dames a-runnin'. I could hear crying, but it sounded more like whimpering, and came in to find George near covered in blood with Jo holding a rag to her head.

Seems that our li'l Pie was jumping around on the couch, fell off the side, and hit her head landed on their toy castle. The one complete with turrets and spikes and such. After cleaning her head off a bit, it was easy to make out the pattern of the castle wall that had carved her poor li'l skull.

Her whimpering continued, though she didn't make a noise beyond that, and was easily abated with a Chupa Chup Lollipop. Though Uncle Chris had to work in a bit, he cruised the few blocks between our houses in a matter of seconds, loaded everybody up, and we went to the Doctor's Surgery ("Clinic" in the States). Though the Doc pissed me off a bit by continually squeezing and checking the wound, causing my little girl to cry every time, she wasn't bad. She was a bit spacy and airy though, and seemed quite concerned that George had a concussion.

We tried to explain that the kid is just that tough, but she didn't seem to take heed. We told the nurse that we'd be worried too, if we saw a kid cry as little as she did, if we didn't know any better.

Anyway, it was an interesting day with our little drama, and it's been highly entertaining to listen to her try and tell everyone that comes over about her "poor li'l head booboo." She reminds us, when she feels she has to, about how brave she is, and after bumping her head (or any other appendage) on something hard, she reflexively says, "I'm aw-wight!"

I'm beginning to think that the kid really is bombproof, but I have zero interest in testing that theory. The castle did a good enough job at that.

Random picture of a HUGE Praying Mantis that was briefly living in our backyard. Chris (bro-in-law) came by right after we spotted him the first time and saw a teeny tiny, inch-long, baby Mantis not far from the big one.

This country has some creepy insects, but that thing was pretty cool.

I'm all duddied up, and on my way to my first interview here in Oz. We were all WAY excited, and anxious, and a bit trepidatious.

The company that I was going to interview with is basically one brilliant guy, who started it at 15, and a bunch of contract developers. After sending out all those resumes, I sent out yet another email, just to the ones that didn't reply, in order to bug 'em and at least get a response. I prefaced it with something along the lines of "I pride myself on persistence, but would hate to be obnoxious..."

His reply was simple, "Okay, you got my attention. Come in for an interview." We spoke on the phone and he described to me the job that he had in mind for me. Though he hadn't advertised it, he needed a Personal Assistant, as he just lost one, but also someone a bit more geared toward management (which he'd never had). I happily told him that I could certainly do both, and he was excited that he had a chance at the kind of employee that would be extremely difficult to advertise for.

The interview started formally enough, with us on opposite sides of his desk and saying things like, "tell me a bit about yourself" and "I've had X years experience with this." After about 5 minutes of that, we're both perched above his desk, eagerly chittering at one of the four monitors, and discussing the changes in the market, the revolutionary nature of his product, and where we felt the company could go with it based solely on the strength of it and its products.

By the end of the "interview," I'm telling him that he's got the opportunity to retire at 40 and that he's going to dictate not only the Perth market but, in some cases, the International Market, for the next 10 years at least.

He'd told me that he didn't have more than 20 minutes for the "interview." After an hour and ten minutes, he wanted to be honest and tell me that I've got the job, but we should talk salary. I'd told him that $50K AU would satisfy all our debts, savings needs, and a couple rainy days. His reply? "Aw hell mate, no worries, 50K's no prob. I'm thinkin' the job pays $80K, but I gotta look at my books. Will that work if it takes as long as 3 months to get you up to 80? I mean, hell, if you're making ME money, I'm going to pay you accordingly."

So yeah, we're a bit excited.

It'll be tough leaving the house every day, especially after having spent so much time with my wife and kids every day, but this isn't a "corporate drone" gig, and I won't feel as if I'm selling a piece of my soul for every day that I'm there. It's a small office, but the growth potential for the company means we won't be in those tiny offices long, and it seems fairly informal dress, which means that I can wear my jeans, t-shirts and ballcaps almost every day. I'll be working right alongside this big 'ol ocker bloke most of the day, and we get along famously.

With the mention of stock options and a fair amount of talk about the not-too-far-off future, this company has all the makings of my LAST job. I'm trying not to get too excited, but I'll be sure and post most of my fantastical daydreams while I'm at work. Heh.