I was having a coffee in bed, reading a book when BC6 came in for a cuddle and asked why I wasn’t using my mug he got me for Mothers Day.
Because it was dirty from me eating berries out of it last night (and my usual mug is almost twice the size).
Phew. Truth in the answer.
But the next day it was clean, and I knew I had to start the day with my new favourite mug.
Being Mum in a Million is hard work, and a lot of thought went into my gifts, so I’m going to enjoy two cups every day out of this mug until he stops noticing I’m drinking out of it, I get used to it or it breaks.
Through the Magic of Coffee I do look a lot better before going out and facing the world.
When this popped up in my newsfeed recently I laughed out loud, snorted my coffee and looked around for someone to share with.
Obviously I am mum #2.
I try Really hard to be mum #1, but nope, I told you so is definately on my play list.
Let’s recall one of these situations.
Me to GC8 who was then about 4 or 5.
Me: don’t jump on the couch
Jumps on couch
Me: I mean it, stop jumping on the couch.
Jumps on couch
Me: I’m trying to get some work done, will you PLEASE stop jumping on the couch?
Jumps on couch
Me: FFS will you stop jumping on the fucking couch?!?!!?
Jumps on couch
Couch cushion dislodges
Small girl takes a spectacular crash, arms and legs in all directions, smashes her lip on the way down
Me: Sucked in
Dear Husband: poor love, come on we’ll get you a washer and clean off that blood
DH Throws death look at me which armies should patent, he could kill many men with his death look.
At some point I supppose I should get off my arse and see if she’s ok.
Go to bathroom. Lots of blood. Discussion about whether it warrants medical attention. We decide due to many factors – after hours, living in rural area, nearest emergency being 50km away, I had wine in system and cannot drive, DH hates driving…bleeding subsides, it’s not that bad, she’ll be right.
DH: Would you like an icy pole?
GC: Yes please Dad (through snot and tears and red face)
GC still has very small scar on lip as a reminder that I need to work on my parenting skills.
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.
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?
This year I’ve been a stay at home mum for the entire summer break. We have gone to bed late, got out of bed late and eaten whenever we were hungry. Even though we have had an awesome summer, I was very excited yesterday to drop my kids at school for their first day in 2017.
GC8 is beginning grade 3 and BC5 is beginning grade 1. They were both a little concerned the night before about where they had to line up in the morning but both of them did as they should ate breaky, left me at the gate with a kiss and a wave and went about their day.
I read a lot of comments on social media about how people hate school lunches and routine. I don’t hate either. I kind of try not to be a hater. I thought we had nailed that first day, and we were going to slip back into routine as naturally as a fish swims in the water.
But, parenting wouldn’t be parenting without a couple of fails…
I put butter in CG8’s sandwich. Did I know I wasn’t supposed to? No, nope, narda, not at all. I copped some eye rolling about how dumb that was after school.
I wouldn’t let her take a pencil case the first day, waiting to see what the teacher required. WELL….pencil cases are allowed, we don’t have shared cups of pencils any more, I’m in grade 3 you know.
I hadn’t ironed the new school uniform and made her wear last years. She got it dirty. I swear she just got it dirty to spite me and make me iron the other one (I try not to hate, but I hate ironing).
But it wasn’t all bad. BC5 had a brilliant day. He has been running his own competition over the holidays called Child of the Day. Each evening I have to pronounce which one of them has been a better kid. He is still trying for that so…
He ate every bit of his lunch, and loves butter, and I can do no wrong.
He has shared pencils, just like last year, and it will all be good.
He also came home dirty, but as he is a Boy Child, I am quite used to only getting one wear out of his t-shirt.
This morning is day 2 and we are back into routine.
The children are not listening and wont eat their fucking (cooked) breakfast.
The dress wasn’t ironed last night because the ironing fairies forgot to come as they were drinking red wine and eating gourmet dinner.
I nearly put butter in the cucumber sandwich…again!
When told to get dressed while I iron the stupid dress, they are busy looking for a particular Pokemon rubber off a pencil that wasn’t packed in the pencil case last night. It has to match the pencil, it can’t just be any kind. They are hanging out naked when I emerge with ironed dress.
I start screaming for them to forget the fucking pencil, put on shoes, brush teeth and get in the fucking car in order to alert the neighbours that everything is back to normal.
We almost forget drink bottles as they were getting filled when the dress crisis occurred, and I haven’t screwed on lids yet.
As we drive to school GC8 tells me she hates me and I respond in kind.
Isn’t it wonderful to know that we have our routine down pat after only two days?
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
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!
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.