Monthly Archives: January 2017

“GAME of WAR” Widow

I Game of Warhave lost my husband. My kids have lost their dad, but before you start sending us letters and cards of sympathy, you should know, he is not dead. No. He is away battling others in an app. A very popular app which consumes so much of his time that our kids now roll their eyes and say shit like, ‘Dad wont do that, because, Game of War”.

From the minute he wakes MY (work) iPad is taken outside for his morning coffee and smoke. It then travels to the toilet to do whatever it is that makes men sit for so many minutes- WTF is with men and toilets?  When he returns from work there is a repeat of this action, then he sits in his “spot” outside, or has Doctor Sheldon Cooper would say in Big Bang Theory “single point of consistency in an ever changing world”, where he continues to communicate with his allies and plan strategies to attack their opponents, thus stripping them of hundreds of dollars worth of in app purchases which can never be recovered.

According to Wikipedia

The best you can do is not lose”, because a single attack can “destroy so much that it would take months of gameplay to recover… or 100 bucks”, , in contrast to other MMO games where players who spend money receive benefits that are permanent.

God help us if we need something done and the “Alliance” is about to attack another kingdom. We may as well be poo on the bottom of your shoe. It is real. The troops cannot be left alone. They could all die if he is not in attendance.

Aside from disinfecting the iPad regularly with Glen20, I am now weeding the vegie patch, which isn’t doing so well because in his words “I didn’t really care that much about preparing the soil this year” as well as other Gardening activities, which, in our marriage agreement were to fall on his shoulders as I HATE gardening.

GC8 says “if I ask Dad to make toast, he says one sec, and it takes him 30 minutes”. BC5 concurs.

He seems to know more about his online community than he does his Mates. He shares what we are having for dinner much as I do on Instagram and Facebook, but he shares with people he has never met and has never even had a Facey account. I am ‘Facebook friends’ with his friends and family just to keep them all in the loop as to what the children and I are up to while he is playing GoW.

The upside is I get to look at food pictures from around the world and occasionally one of his “friends” will share information that might spark some very welcome discussion (I am a talker, that’s why I write).

If you are also feeling a void in your life due to some type of app-diction, I want you to know you are not alone. I am here for you. In fact, I’d love a chat about your situation if you would like to have one.

Disclaimer; this content is not intended to cause haters against my husband. He is a loving and caring man even if he can be a bit slow to butter the toast.

 

Advertisements

Are You Like a Queen?

A peaceful afternoon on the couch.

Thanks to one of my Queens I have just put down the hilariously funny book Like a Queen written by Constance Hall. Thank you Sister for the loan, you know who you are.

Reading Constance’s journey of motherhood, sisterhood, wifehood and very relatable anxiety has made me laugh and cry out loud. I have to admit something.

I am writing to confess.

I have not been a good Queen.

I judged someone when I wrote Who’s Livin’ in the 70s just two weeks ago. I even wrote these words, ‘Now I am all about being a queen and preserving the sisterhood by not judging, but sorry, in this case I cannot help it.’  I admit it. I judged.

I began that post beginning with the words Judgement Warning! I got the most hits ever for one of my blogs. I smashed my previous stats, and it was making me feel good. I had more than double the views of my next most popular post, and I even began to think it might even go viral as I was getting hits world wide.

My inflated ego was quickly popped when one of the most respected sisters pointed out to me that I had been a bit mean in judging #ladywhosmokesincarwithkidwhileeating. She wanted to know when my halo had suddenly straightened and I had become perfect.

Rest assured my halo is still sideways and my angel wings are a little ruffled.

Thus said, it resonated with me that #queensunite is a bloody good idea. Not only will we be able to share our stories, but our kings might also enjoy a laugh or get a glimpse as to WTF goes though our heads.

So get your judgement caps off sisters, and put your sharing boots on.

Let’s love and support one another to be the best we can x

 

All Mums are Arseholes

I’ve just published Madly Menopausal Mum and had a bit of a parent brag at how I’m not such a bitch now that I’m getting some sleep. 

Then this happens. BoyChild wishes to spend $6 on fucking waste of money in app purchases and I said no. Money doesn’t grow on trees dude and I don’t care if it’s yours, you’ll regret it when you want to buy something awesome like Lego!

He pisses off to his room and locks the door. I politely knock and ask to chat about it (read: bang on door and say let’s talk!). No, you are so mean. I hate you. I don’t want to spend my money on something else, this is all I want…I notice we need a new roll of toilet paper and go and get one while he’s telling me off…eventually he smells the bacon and gingerly exits bedroom due to hunger.

Proud of my effort today. Should get about one hours peace as he inherited stubbornness from yours truly.

When they hate me most I am doing my best parenting!

Madly Menopausal Mum

Fuck you Menopause. Two years of being an arsehole to my family and friends and  I can finally give you the finger. All of those sleepless nights and hot flushes have finally come to an end. No, I haven’t finished, but I have that shit under control.

Thanks to the wonders of ancient medicine.  Two rounds of acupuncture and some Chinese herbal capsules and I am sleeping.

Sleeping = not such a bitch. My kids no longer see me as this all the time.mean-face

 

Worst thing is as an older mum, like lots of parents these days, I have little people at home who stress the crap out of me on a good day, without throwing in some hormone imbalance and general nastiness. They have copped the worst of me, let the times change for their sake. If it was the old days, I would be entertaining my grandchildren and not permanently caring for two primary schoolers who should have a young, cool, hot mum.

To any other women out there who are wondering why they have become short fused, prickly,  sweaty bitches. Get your hormones checked and when you’re told there’s not much you can do about it, get yourself some alternative therapy. One concern was me getting pregnant which would involve sex. I have been such a cow my husband wont even look at me, let alone throw me over and give me one.

My newfound niceness means I might spend some quality time with our children and perhaps fit a few minutes of parent sex in now and then.

 

Let it Go

Sometimes we find ourselves grieving but the person still walks the earth. It could be an ex lover, a friend or a family member. 

I have felt this grief. Something happened. Something I have no control over. I can’t change the past. I can’t change the decisions made. I can’t change the outcomes. I don’t own a Dolorian for time travel. The pain I feel in my heart is strong. That tearing your heart into pieces feeling.

At times it is so intense I want to spew. At times I am so angry I lash out at other loved ones (sorry dear, kind people). When talking about this my blood boils. I consume too much alcohol thinking about it. I shout. I swear. I have let it effect me. 

The time has come. I must let it go. I accept we can never be the same. I accept the things I cannot change. 

But I will never stop remembering the good times, because they were good and there have been many. You have changed our future, but you can never take our past away.

Memories cannot be erased. Time can change things but we cannot change the things which happen over time.

I release myself. I am free.




Boobs Out Ladies- Let’s get some pics!

Always look after your boobs ladies.

Always look after your boobs ladies.

It’s that time of the year when I get a lot of messages through Facebook asking all of our female friends to post a symbol or word  [the theme seems to change every year, and I wont give this year’s away] on our Facebook wall to remember it is the week of breast cancer prevention. Sorry ladies, I haven’t done that yet, but…

…today  I have been for my regular mammogram and ultrasound. I was astonished when I realised that I have been doing this for a long time. Since 1996. This being said, I am pretty relaxed about it.

So today, I’m having my boob fed into the machine, the technician asks me to face the corner, relax my shoulder, hold this handle, look here, bend your knee, now hold still…and then I started to piss myself laughing (no, not literally). I am standing there with my tit in the sandwich press, envisioning myself a model in a photo shoot. Technically I am. I’m getting those photos to prove I still haven’t been slapped with the genetic C stick.

We also conversed about random stuff. How in 1996 I was sporting an A cup and how difficult those little titties can be to get in the sandwich press. How men need mammograms too, and how they can be a challenge.

I have to say, lightening the mood made it easier for me and easier for her. After my outburst of laughter we got about our business and got the job done.

On a serious note. Ladies, check your titties. Men, check your titties. Partners of Ladies and Men, check each other’s titties. If in doubt about any weird bits in titties, get another person to check it them out, preferably a professional, but feel free to ask others to feel your titties and give an opinion.

 

 

An Outfit for Every Occassion

Fun in the SunI laughed my arse off when Miss 8 asked her father for a wrestle in the backyard. Not because she asked, nope, this is a very regular occurrence at our place. I laughed because he told her to go and put her wrestling gear on.

“What wrestling gear?” I asked, “is it because she has a skirt on?” At this point I am thinking shit like how weird, what a prude not to let her wrestle in a skirt or in her undies if that takes her fancy, you prick for contributing to the washing pile without contributing to the actual act of doing the washing. It’s too fucking hot for clothes…

His reply “No, nothing to do with a skirt, just delays it for another 5 minutes”.

Most probably had to make sure his allies were all in the right place before he could leave his Game of War for the 15 minutes that he will hold their attention. Gotta get the work/life/app balance right after all.