It's not Christmas until you lose your kid at the mall.

After three painfully, dreadful long minutes of running around frantically, checking every aisle, voice raising hysterically ... I heard his unmistakeable voice.

"I here mum. MUM. I here."

How did he get there? No idea. (Mother of the year ... who snaps a photo of their kid dangerously next to POOL CHLORINE??)

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It's frantic time, isn't it? Even when you know you've done everything and checked it twice. We are spending Christmas at my sister Leigh's house, she of the Magic Backyard. I covet it .... all I have is stupid four acres of national park. I'm writing the Inaugural Barrie Trivia Cup Quiz, there will be plenty of History of the World jokes, dead dad jokes, and all the dysfunction in between. Max lent me his lego trophy, 2cm tall. It's perfect.

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Thank you so very much, for the love and comments on the last post. I've received a number of emails, from people who know immigration consultants, people who have friends who can help, work advice. I'll pass them all on to my friend. I have no doubt she will be ok - she will make it over here, legitimately. And I will cook her dinner one night, and our kids will play together. My mum rang me yesterday, in a break from her work. "Right. Tell your friend to get on a plane and come straight to me. I mean it." And she did mean it ... and I know you all did too. Thank you. There's always light, to balance the dark.

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I love what Louisa did on her blog recently ... organised for a huge donation of toys and gifts to be sent over to the refugees in detention on Christmas Island. I found myself reading tweets and facebook messages from my fellow Aussies who were pitching in to help. The power of social media in Australia is only just beginning to be harnessed in ways like this. It's beautiful.





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I miss Max. My other sister Linda has kindly had him at her house for three nights. I can't wait to see his teeny freckles on his nose, hug his gangly body. He came with me last week when I was getting my eyelashes and eyebrows tinted at the beautician .... stood up over me when it was all on my face and said, "MUM! That is CRAZY! .... Can I take a photo?"

I said sure. So he snapped a few photos, and the beautician walked back in and busted us. I told her that my son wanted to show me how strange I looked, and she laughed. After twenty years of getting this shiz done to my face, I finally saw what I look like:

I look like Liza Minelli.

The beautician was SO cool, she's about 50 ... best plucker in town. Max ended up showing her how to play a few games on my phone, so she was popping all these noisy bacterial bubbles named Fred, and getting instructions on how Angry Birds works. I love it when people let their guard down.

Hope your Christmas doesn't suck. Let yourself let your guard down.

Love, Liza - and these guys. XOX