Category Archives: Uncategorized

Back to School Routine. The bad, the good and the ugly.

stay-at-home-mumThis 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…

  1. 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.
  2. 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.
  3. 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…

  1. He ate every bit of his lunch, and loves butter, and I can do no wrong.
  2. He has shared pencils, just like last year, and it will all be good.
  3. 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.

  1. The children are not listening and wont eat their fucking (cooked) breakfast.
  2. The dress wasn’t ironed last night because the ironing fairies forgot to come as they were drinking red wine and eating gourmet dinner.
  3. I nearly put butter in the cucumber sandwich…again!
  4. 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.
  5. 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.
  6. We almost forget drink bottles as they were getting filled when the dress crisis occurred, and I haven’t screwed on lids yet.
  7. 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?

“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.

 

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.

 

 

cows-god-and-lego

Cows, God and Lego

 

cows-god-and-legoOver a drink before dinner last night, dearest hubby and I got on to the topic of health and food and the fact that we probably should be giving our bodies an alcohol free day after the madness of Christmas and New Year.

For whatever reason, we got onto the topic of cow’s milk. It got weird as we discussed the benefits of fattening a calf with the stuff and how all mammals have tits and how humans prefer the cow variety of milk even over their own type. Hubby confessed to having tasted the human stuff back in breastfeeding days, it weirded him out.  But each day he slops some juice of cow boob in his morning coffee. I told him about how I had watched a clip from the UK where PETA tricked some people into trying dog’s milk and how hilarious their reactions were. (Read more and check the clip for Barkers Milk here).

So, where am I going with this? I explained how after I had watched this clip it made me question the meaning of life, the universe and everything. It made me wonder, why do Jews eat meat and dairy separately and why do Hindus revere the cow? Google threw this at me;

In religion. In Hinduism, the cow is thought to be sacred, or deeply respected. Hindus do not worship cows, although they are held in high esteem. The reason has to do with the cow’s agricultural uses and gentle nature.

The more I read, the more I found that it is the life giving goodness of the cattle that is respected, they are gentle creatures who produce life giving milk and can be used to assist with other parts of agriculture, like a bull pulling a plow. Which leads us to the next strange twist in our conversation. Religion!

Oh hell! Oh shit! I have crossed the boundary! Dad told us to never discuss politics or religion and here I go. Convo went like this…

Me: Whatever you believe, religion is geography. Everyone wants to know why, and using something we can’t see, but trust, means we can make up some ripper stories to help our kids learn. It doesn’t matter where you live, there are lessons to be found in every culture. It might be written in a bible (he is a very lapsed Catholic), or it might be the stories handed down by Aboriginal Elders as Dreamtime. Essentially it is just helping us to observe the laws of survival and guiding us to be good people at the same time….

Him: Refers to some Catholic bible story which my brain failed to register due to being afraid of brainwashing.

Me: You can still quote that, it must have worked.

Him: Gives me a strange look. Then asks a bit about what I believe…

Because of where I was born, and who I was born to, I have been bought up with Christian values and have been given the luxury of participating in Christmas and Easter without the commitment of going to church. I have never been christened. I don’t usually have an opinion other than it is great to have ceremonies for births, deaths and marriages, it helps people to cope. When I think about God, I see a massive human form sitting up in the sky playing Lego with us, creating a world of wonder and experimentation and destruction.

So in our God created Lego world we have cows. She is placid enough to sit around and get her boobs pulled so we can use her essence to assist with our living. She produces offspring which we can kill easily for meat and we use her shit on the garden to help our veggies grow. The cow was created for our survival.

Thank God for cows and Douglas Adams who told us the answer to the Ultimate Question of Life, the Universe, and Everything in his famous book Hitchhikers Guide to the Galaxy, the answer, of course is 42. Perhaps one day we will know the question.

 

chrismas-bonbonsThere have been years when the thought of Christmas looming just made me grumpy and anxious.
Working in hospitality meant that by the time Christmas finally got here, the carols, the cleaning up after the bonbons and the people who are not the best behaved under the influence of alcohol had worn on my nerves to the extent that they were like the little popper in the bonbon, just waiting for someone to tug on them before they cracked.

Then there was the pressure of finding pleasure in shopping! I fucking hate dislike shopping.  That is all!

This year we have got it sorted. We have taken the stress out of the day. Instead of shopping for shit that will remain in the packaging for years to come, we have opted for a $10 Secret Santa for all the people over the age of High School. Shopping for the small kids was easy as pie. I scheduled a whole day and made a list. It wasn’t fun, but it did not see me sitting in my hot car somewhere breathing into a brown paper bag.

our-actual-christmas-tree

Our Tree

The food is organised. I never stress about cooking as this is the part I love. Our kids are the perfect age for building some excitement in the lead up. I let them decorate the tree by themselves. I did not move one of the baubles to a more appropriate place. It is theirs and it is beautiful xx

Today I finish work for the break and have a couple of days to casually wrap those few gifts we have bought for the little people. I can slowly tidy the house and prepare it for the influx we are expecting on the day. I will collect the food I have ordered and make those last minute purchases of fresh good.

Three more sleeps until a relaxing celebration of family and food.

Merry Christmas my friends xx

 Edit: Parent Log: 23/12/16, 8:49pm. My Children are behaving beyond expectation. I am unsure whether to be afraid or proud. For now I choose proud. I have taken them both shopping separately for their sibling and they are both old enough to understand how important it is to keep a secret if it will make the surprise better. 

 

Are you being served? 6 ways to keep me happy if you are my wait person.

When I go out and pay others to cook for me and others to wait on me I expect, at a minimum, the kind of table service which reflects good table manners.

It seems of late that people either don’t care about good service or have just accepted it will not happen. Well I would like to say that I do care about good service and have much pride in providing it if I was your server.

So, I expect you are waiting for it….

What pisses me off?

  1. Not talking to me. At the very least when I enter a premises I would like to be acknowledged. Eye contact and a nod of the head will do. Just please don’t pretend I am not there. I am. I have cash. I will spend it. I will bring friends if you are nice. I pay some of your wages which equals your bills.
  2. Talking to me, but not asking me if you can help. You have walked to the table. It is a place of table service. You drop a menu in front of me. I know I would like a drink, I love drinks, but you have gone before I can order one. The more drinks I drink, the better equipped you will be to pay your bills.
  3. Serving our table one plate at a time. The art of sending all meals out together is taught to chefs and wait staff universal. The food is prepared so as it all comes out together. If it cannot be all served together, apologise to the customer and explain. Good table manners prevents me from starting my meal until all food has arrived. If my food has gone cold I will not enjoy it. If I enjoy the meal and the service is awesome. I tip. This will help you pay your bills.
  4. Removing an empty glass without asking whether I would like another drink. Perhaps I should remind you. I LOVE DRINKS. I might only need more water, regardless, please offer me more. The more drinks I have the more generous I become. This could lead to a bigger tip. You might be able to pay some bigger bills.
  5. Clearing our plates before everyone at the table has finished. My blood is boiling just thinking about this one.
    How a knife and fork look when you have finished your meal

    How a knife and fork look when you have finished your meal

    Do not clear our plates until the last morsel has been devoured. I mean it, the last morsel of food. Don’t guess this. If you are uncertain as to whether the customer is finished, ask them. Those of us who were taught manners will have our knife and fork placed together in the centre of the plate to indicate that we have finished. If you follow this common courtesy I will return to your establishment and bring more friends, spend more money and help you to pay your bills.

  6. Avoiding bringing the bill. We have eaten. There is nothing left for you to sell us and yet you have disappeared without a trace or are avoiding eye contact again. We require the bill so we can pay you. You guessed it. If we pay our bills you can pay yours.

These six are just the tip of the iceberg. Underneath lies a range of other crappy practices which has turned dining out into eating somewhere. Don’t even get me started on the customers who don’t know which side plate is theirs, whose glass is whose and who pile up their plates in order to help the server. Those topics are for another day when I look at this from the server’s perspective.

From the Perfect Daughter in Law

Found this post in my drafts from back in August 2014. Probably time to share it….

I have just read this blog How to be the Perfect Daughter in Law. According to your new mum on ivilliage. I think the rules are fair and valid, however If this were written by my MIL, this is how I would respond. .

 

1. Don’t tell me how I “am welcome any time” and then rant on your social media thingie about how I am “always at your house and up in your business.” 

No, I wont. You are welcome anytime, please help yourself to a cup of tea and feel free to hang out with your grandchildren. Ranting on social media will not help either of us.

And remember one thing, when I moved in with your son, he never let you into his home, it is only because of me you ever got past the front door.

2. Answer the damn phone! 

Ring my fucking mobile!!!

When the landline rings, it’s only going to be you, my grandma or a telemarketer. It is an old fashioned landline, with a cord, yes you heard me, a cord! At least if you ring my mobile I can multi task whilst looking after your son and grandchildren.

3. As much as I adore my grandchildren, I am not your free ticket to eternal childcare. 

Fair call. I totally agree.

4. Act like the adult you purport to be, and don’t bitch about me behind my back. 

Don’t give me a reason. I wont bitch. Simple really.

5. Passive-aggressiveness is still aggressive. 

Meh!

6. Don’t buy me clothes or décor for gifts, if they are drastically different than what I own. 

Easy done. Lucky you get the same thing, birthday and Christmas, every time, you like it, I know what to buy, win win all round.

7. It’s my money, so please let me spend it.

It’s not about the money. Please spend as much of your own money as you wish. It is also not about how cheap you got something for. It is about giving the children a sense of anticipation or earning when they are given gifts. A small trinket two weeks before a birthday kind of ruins the birthday countdown.

It is about being surrounded by crap that I am expected to pick up all the time, or yell at the children to pick up, sure as hell it isn’t very often your son who does this chore. You then have to consult with us on what to buy, or ask us to purchase gifts on your behalf, because the spoilt little shits have every fucking toy known to man.

8. I want my son/daughter to be happy and have a happy marriage, but know this: I am the mother. 

Are you giving me permission to blame you for all of his slight imperfections?

9. Speaking of, you DO realise that I successfully produced an offspring that grew into such an amazing adult that YOU decided to marry and have children with…right?

Yes I do. The best advise my grandmother gave me when you were really pissing me off was, always think of her as the mother of the man you love, if it wasn’t for her, you wouldn’t have him.

10. Contrary to what you might think, I am not trying to control you or judge you. 

Once you have shared your opinion or advice, understand I have heard you. You do not need to keep telling me, I really have heard it. Whether I choose to listen or not is up to me. If I should have listened, I will acknowledge that. But please refrain from discussing this with my friends in the street.  Do you think they like it when you judge me to them? They are my friends, they love me more than you and yep, you guessed it, they tell me what you have been saying about me.