Category Archives: Life

FFS School Photographers, we are living in the digital age.

The kids came home with their order forms for school photos last week.
Have you seen the price of these fuckers?

First Day of School.

First Day of School.

The cheapest option is to order a $26 group photo and if you have three hundred  twelve relatives who you would like to piss off impress by giving them pics of your offspring dressed in their finest school colours, then you are welcome to fork out $44 per child for the Premium Pack. But that’s not all! If you purchase one of the above packages you can also purchase an additional $15 gift pack including 3 bookmarks, 3 more photos, a door hanger, a calendar and, wait for it, 4 photo gift tags emblazoned with the face of the fruit of your loins.

But wait there’s more! As the parents of two school age life suckers children, we can choose to opt in for a family photo. I have no idea what this costs, because, if we want to go down this path, we have to pop into the school office and grab a different order form.

The thing that really gets on my goat when ordering school photos (that are yet to be taken) is that I don’t have a clue what they will look like. Has the photographer captured the kindness in our daughter’s heart? Have they captured the twinkle in our son’s eyes? Is his shirt still clean after fruit break? If I pay another hours wages to get a pic of them together will they look like they like each other? Or will the photographer be so fried after dealing with 400 plus kids, that it comes home looking like they are throwing daggers at the camera?

Then there is the question of what we do with them once we get them home? I don’t have a wall or a  shelf covered in family snaps, I should, but I’m too lazy, and if I did, they would be of fun and exciting adventures. So, I shove those school pics up in the top of the cupboard where they will slowly age until a time when the children leave home and I decide to make let them store them in their own cupboard or a school reunion happens and they suddenly want to remember who that kid was they were friends with in grade 1.

Photographers, I know you are trying to make a living, and I’m guessing you are doing OK based on this formula. 400* children’s parents buy the group photo at only @$26. That is $10,400 before you deduct your costs and I hope give the school a donation for their fundraising. Good on you, I hope you love swimming in your private pool filled with the tears of parents who have gone broke paying for school photos unicorns.

Looking for a pic for this post I found quite a few (hundred) photos of my kids wearing their school uniform performing a range of tasks either posing or just being themselves. It’s not like the old days when lots of people didn’t have a camera to take their own photos. In this digital age we can get decent quality pics for under $1.

The best system I have seen is when BC5 was at daycare/kinder. The photographer came in and took the photos, sent home proofs and we ordered what we wanted. I happily paid $9.50 per shot for three gorgeous pics of our kid and one group photo, and left the not so gorgeous ones for the photographer’s bin.

What do you think? Do you think the cost of school photos is over the top?

Have your opinion using this anonymous poll.

 

 

Nan couldn’t have picked a better time to call…

I was locking up tonight after doing RSA training. I had everything packed and grabbed my take home pile and, you guessed it, checked my phone. 5 minutes before was a missed call and message from Nanna.

Instead of going straight home I locked myself in and rang her back.

Best decision ever! We talked for 20 minutes about all sorts of stuff. My favourite topic of conversation being the two occasions Nanna got a bit tipsy.

The first story was back when it was 10 o’clock closing and they were at a Lounge bar for a fire brigade do.  Before 10pm, as was the norm, everyone stockpiled their drinks.  Nan had been drinking squash, but the friend who went to the bar got her gin squash, assuming this was what she’d been drinking all night. When Nan and Pa finally left at 2am she had finished all three stockpiled drinks, not tasting the gin. She was a little unsteady on her feet, as was Pa. They held each other up and made it home safely.

The second story was after golf. They’d won because of Nan (I hope I got this right Nan?) The team persuaded Nanna  to have a sherry to celebrate. Before she knew it one of the ladies had grabbed Nan’s hand and pulled her up onto the tables as they were dancing the night away Nan looked over and saw <forgotten his first name> Plum looking over the bar. She’d been caught by a neighbour.

Unfortunately we also talked about grief and sadness. Last week Pa would have turned 90, my uncle has lost a best mate to cancer and one of my best friends lost her sister who had also battled the big C. Pa and her dad were first cousins. Life can be tough when the inevitable happens.

The older I get the more I cherish every single conversation I share with both of my grandmothers. I love that Nan never felt the need to drink to have a good time. She is fun and full of life with a cheeky sense of humour without it.

I wouldn’t even need to teach RSA if the world was full of Nan.


How a Game of Football Gave Us a Spark.

 

wp-1486523804185.jpgLook at this photo and you will see what most Aussies see, a game of country football. But what happened here in Yarrawonga on Saturday was a lot more than that here at our place.

The things we do for charity! 

If you follow this link you will find the Dolphin Charity Football Game Facebook page. In short, the teams consist of generations of members of one family, the Runnalls, or the “Dolphins” against as many old buggers they can rope into playing “The Superstars”. The proceeds of the day go to the Yarrawonga Hospital Palliative Care Unit.

Until two days before the match we intended on going and supporting this great cause, but I had run into the main organiser in the street and he said, “Why didn’t I ask Fuzz to play?” Bloody good question young man, why not?

So I went home and told my hubby that he was to take his runners and a footy jumper down to the J.C. Lowe Oval for the match, not to worry too much, he would be only sitting on the bench. His initial reaction was immediate divorce. He instantly hated me for dobbing him in. He is 46 years old and has not played a game of football since 1993. Yep, half a lifetime ago.

I jibed him and told him he was a big sook, but in my heart I knew that he would love it! Every year as footy season approaches he tells me how he is going to make a comeback, he is at least going to train, or so he says. We have been together almost 13 years, and he has only ever talked about it.

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All stand for the National Anthem

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He did it. He ran out onto that ground, some kgs overweight, and he played football. I was amazed when he set up a goal in the first quarter, he looked like he knew what he was doing, and of course in his mind he did know what he was doing. The bench, in this instant, was designed that nobody would have to spend much time on the ground, and it was in the third quarter he returned to the field.

Of course by now we were expecting greatness, and when the ball came near him again, he believed it too. He saw that ball and had it in his sights. He felt 21 (his words) and he knew exactly how to pick that bit of pigskin out of the air. As he made his move, his age and fitness caught up with him and twang, his hamstring was strung. From the sidelines we knew he was a goner as he limped off.

But the thing is he did it. Our kids have never seen him play anything except some backyard antics. wp-1486523704293.jpg

As I iced his legs and fetched his beer that night I told him proud I was. I meant it! He got of his arse and off the iPad long enough to have a great day out. His kids saw a man they had never met and we had something to laugh about.

A few beers later and he thanked me for “making” him do it. He admitted that he has wished to have a reason to run out on the field one more time. He felt freaking awesome and we had shared something we can laugh about for a long time.

Isn’t it amazing how a few beers and a shared experience can add a little spark to our world?

P.S. There was over $12,000 raised. A fantastic result for all those involved. Congratulations to the organisers.

 

 

 

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

 

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.