Pollarding is a method of pruning that keeps trees and shrubs smaller than they would naturally grow. It is normally started once a tree or shrub reaches a certain height, and annual pollarding will restrict the plant to that height.
In the interests of fine single mothering, I’ve decided to Pollard my children. Minimal feeding means that my kids won’t grow too tall, thus saving on expensive sports shoes and fancy undies, and keeping school uniform costs to a minimum. My food bill will be reduced, thus Pollard will be kept in the fine style I would like to be accustomed to.
Maintaining a Pollard
The Pollard method is useful to maintain the size of a teen who is in danger of growing too big for a small, single mother budget sized apartment.
Rejuvenating a Pollard
Summer can be a suitable time to Pollard. This method requires the removal of parasites or weakly-attached branches of the family tree. So out with the toxic monster in law and deadbeatdad and in with promoting attachment to healthy adult role models. According to Dr Google, “It may be possible to remove the branches that have grown from the stumps of old Pollards.” Yes! I am well rid of my STDs, the sexually transmitted debts that kept me weighed down for too long. Bring on summer.
If you’re happy and you know it, learn to Pollard
Look how little and cute my youngest favourite child turned out.
Jenny McGregor makes me cry. She sings like an angel, has perfect skin and a gorgeous husband. Her children are so cute it is revolting. Jen’s beautiful smile could fool anyone into thinking that life has been easy for her. But when Jen’s adorable first-born son died suddenly at the age of 18 months she was broken. I still can’t believe that she could go through that kind of loss, and now she is so strong she can walk into children’s hospitals every week to cheer up sick and dying kids.
Jen and her husband have been through the kind of spiritual growth no one wants to experience in their lifetime. Music helped with Jenny’s healing, but she found that no one was writing songs that dealt with the death of a child in a profound way.
My beautiful colleague has been through every parent’s worst nightmare and now wants to help other grieving families. Jen is going to record an album of songs for bereaved parents but she needs money to employ professional musicians. Love and Let Go will be an album of great music with the proceeds going to the charity Red Nose, who provide free counselling for parents who have lost a child.
Jenny McGregor is very close to her fundraising target, but we need to help her get over the line. This woman is a shining star. Please donate if you can. Even $10 will help Jen realise her dream of supporting families who are suffering.
Lucky me! I’m househunting again. I’m a professional Sydney real estate agent stalker. My kids and I have moved about 20 times. Months without buying avocado toast mean that one day I may be able to move to a home within 50 kilometres of an area I’d actually like to live in.
I have so many questions to ask a real estate agent:
Where is the step father accommodation?
Where is the step sibling spare bedroom?
Is there a sibling fight room away from the main house?
Can the main bedroom detach from the house and move 10 metres into the garden when the teenagers get too much?
Can the cat annexe the house?
Back in 1995, when I was drunk every night and kissing girls because boys asked me to and wearing absurd feathered dresses and talking shit until 4am with guys with ironic facial hair, I could have been buying a house for $250,000 and set myself up for a much more comfortable cranky middle age.
But now, thanks to negative gearing and government greed, I’ll never buy my own home. The only way that anyone earning under $250,000 i.e. single mothers, students, commies, pinkos, leftos, nurses, ambos and waiters will be able to buy a house is for one of these miracles to occur:
Winning the lottery
Conducting a scandalous affair with a billionaire
Or the most ridiculous:
Voting for politicians who have the bollocks to help workers afford vermin-free housing in big cities
Jokes. They don’t exist
My beautiful friends got married a few weeks ago but their wedding was held in Ireland. Their ceremony was held overseas because Australia refuses to recognise their union. Which sucks. It’s time we changed our laws.
I come from a long line of God botherers on my mother’s side. My grandpa knew the Bible chapter and verse. He took me to Sunday school in a hall beside our church every week when I was little. So I remember that Jesus talked about love and not judging other people.
There are too many bigots in the belfry for me to be a member of a church congregation any more. But I did learn important lessons in all my years of Christian indoctrination.
For there are three things that endure: Faith, Hope and Love, but the greatest of these is Love.
Love is love
On a sunshiney day at an outdoor gig in a park by the beach in Cronulla, I met a Palestinian man who had come to Australia last year for a better life for his family. His wife and four beautiful children said hello but it was he who needed to talk. To a clown. There is something about wearing a red nose that makes people open up and share their stories.
I told him I thought he was very brave to leave everything and everyone he knew behind to create a life in a new country. He told me in Australia he had hope for his children’s future. He believed that they would have a better life here. He said,
“In eight months we have achieved a lot.”
I told him I thought that it took a lot of courage to start life in a new country, but as I said it, I felt a dread that I’ve never experienced before. I hoped to God that dumb rednecks would not ruin his view that Australia was a peaceful place to be. I hoped that no one made nasty remarks or commented on his accent. I couldn’t bear to mention to him that racism is rife, as I could see a few metres behind him a woman pushing her child on a swing with a southern cross tattoo on her neck
I want an Australia that doesn’t lock people up and torture them because they dare to seek asylum
I want to vote for politicians who consider people in their policies before posturing politicking bullshit
I want uneducated rednecks out of parliament
I want a beautiful Australia where real estate speculators haven’t bought up and ugly-fied every building that happens to overlook a beach.
I want to live in a country that recognises that love is love.
I want aboriginal people recognised in our constitution.
I want $300 lunches to be abolished while people are homeless and kids are going to school hungry.
An end to reality renovation shows
I want to meet this lovely man’s children in 20 years and say, “Your mum and dad wanted you to live in safety so they gave up their friends and family for you to have a chance.” I hope they have a wonderful life, I hope they don’t get teased for their accents. I hope their mum and dad find great jobs and they grow old together, free of war.
And I hope his kids don’t end up voting for idiots