Month: September 2010

The opposite of The Dream

What I wanted to do today: nothing.

I visualised it. I said it out loud.

What I have done today. So far:
– two loads of washing
– got two little kids dressed and fed
– got two big kids to school with lunches
– showered
– printed Felix’s assignment for him
– Worked out why it wasn’t printing properly
– Changed highway robbery ink cartridges in printer
– Collected items requested by mum
– Visited mum
– Stopped at a park
– Let children play while me and another mum started talking about just how much we hate the park
– Did the grocery shopping
– Brought all the groceries in and unpacked them
– Cleaned up mum’s place
– Re-stocked her fridge

and now it’s time to go and collect the bigger boys from school.

Onward…

Some songs for you

Everybody knows (insert sibling’s name here) picks his nose
He rubs it in the dirt
And eats it for dessert
When he’s in the shower
He picks it for an hour
When he’s in bed
He picks his bum instead.

(insert sibling’s name) is a nut
He has a rubber butt
When he turns around
It goes putt putt.

Go try them out on some workmates, I’m sure they’ll see the humour.

No really.

Onward!

The weekend

Those of you who have followed this tale of rampant fertility and the red hot mess that is my life may faintly recall that a few years back weekends were the bane of my existence. A treasure trove of demanding kids, a pesky mother and an absent husband. Oh how they challenged me.

Then there were the halcyon days where Chef was only working Saturdays or even better, Saturday nights so he would not disappear until the early afternoon.

But those days have passed. The positive is that Chef is somewhere he loves, working his butt off as people queue – QUEUE! – to eat the sublime eggs he prepares, the remarkable omelettes, the incredible chicken sandwich, the delectable beetroot salad and everything in between.

The negative is not so much a negative but a weekly challenge. A quest if you will. For me.

Stay positive!
Watch your tone!
Get out of the house!
Activities!
Engagement!
Fun!
Make plans!
Be spontaneous!
Say yes not no!

And so on and so forth.

It is getting better. I am re-adjusting to the solo parenting gig. I am consciously just ‘being’ with my kids, ‘hanging’ with them on the lounge or out the backyard.

But lordy me it is exhausting. Good, funny, exhausting, brain-snapping, anger-management case-study materialling, rewarding, did I mention exhausting.

There are episodes like last night, when our beautiful neighbours invited us over for pizza. The boys had a ball playing with their mini fire-pit thingy, collecting leaves and twigs and basically creating their own smoking ceremony.

And then we came home. The coming home bit was fine, it was the having to have a shower (Jasper had not had one since Wednesday and his arse-crack odor was rivalling that of his father after a 14 hour shift at the height of summer in front of the burners) that saw them unleash the fury of the dogs at the gates of hell (is it dogs? or some three-headed beast or some such?). Seriously, people walking by may well have thought some serious domestic violence shit was going down. The screaming kept up as I man-handled them into their beds and lasted all of about 45 seconds before they both fell fast asleep.

But that shit is draining and emotional and all that this-is-what-being-a-parent is all about.

Or the hour and a half like this morning when Grover went from being perfectly happy to Screamy McScreamy Pants due to Jasper waking up and taking up some of the three-seater lounge he had been occupying. OH THE HUMANITY!

The screaming over the lounge then spread to not enjoying the show on TV (don’t worry Little Buddy, I HATE as in H.A.T.E. those hideous kids TV hosts too. ALL.OF.THEM.) and then, THEN to the fact I had made him a (fluffy) pancake (as he’d requested earlier before the screaming started) claiming he wanted the same sort (crepes) that Jasper had.

Yes yes, I make two versions of pancake batter. Get over it.

So then I made him some crepes. All while remaining calm. All while telling him to stop screaming, to use a nice voice, that I did not appreciate him yelling at me, that that voice was unacceptable and so on and so forth.

Then the crepes were all wrong because, from what I could gather, I placed them on the dining table as opposed to the lounge.

And so on and so forth.

That sort of sums up the weekend – and so on and so forth.

Everyone was having fun then someone got hurt/embarrassed/reprimanded and so on and so forth.

Everyone was fighting and then something funny happened and they all forgot what they were fighting about and so on and so forth.

Mummy was happy and then she was cranky and so on and so forth.

Today I am taking them to the nursery and we’re going to do some gardening.

And so on and so forth.

Onward!

*****
Oh, and in other news, I never really got the follow box either but everyone else was doing it and I thought it was something you were meant to do so now I’m taking it down because it annoys me in terms of making me worry about something that doesn’t matter in the slightest.

Old favourite



I love the smell of armpit in the morning

So I knew all this herbal shit would turn around and bite me on the arse. Or armpit as the case might be.
Last week this weird, painful lump arrived in my left armpit. Naturally I presumed cancer. I mean, why ponder reality when you can live drama!

But over the weekend my one painful lump grew to about six agonising unable-to-rest-my-arm-at-a-natural-angle mounds of anger.

I know, it’s all Chenille’s Institute de Beaute around here. My wordy lordy yes it is.

It meant I could no longer ignore the phone calls from my GP to come in and discuss the results of my ultrasounds and CT scans from my last bout of seriously feel like I’m turning into a hypochondriacitis.

So:
1. I have a bulging disc in my back with the swelling pressing onto my spinal chord. This is remarkably common and no surprise considering I am the woman who lives in the shoe but if I don’t deal with it surgery will be necessary. Noted.

2. I have blocked infected sebaceous cysts under my arm. I’ll give those of you in different time zones some time to go clean up your breakfast you just brought up.

Back? OK. This is also remarkably common and not necessarily caused by my new wonder-homemade deodorant but maybe. So now, no deodorant whatsoever. Yes, that malodorous mass that is emanating from Sydney’s Northern Beaches is my undeodorised armpit.

As my GP said, just because it is all natural does not mean it can not have inflammatory results. When I told him what was in the magical you-still-sweat-but-do-not-smell wonder-deodoriser he was all ‘you could probably make a bomb from those ingredients’. I know, medical advice and a sense of humour. The guy is a legend.

This all followed my bursting into tears on him and basically filling his room with verbal garbage filling my being at the moment about imminent hot weather + me pushing maximum density + no clothing that fits. When I relayed the hardwired messages I tell myself that are so very unhelpful he said, ‘you realise what you just described was exactly the conversation I have with myself and I thought for a moment you were reading my mind’. Bless him.

The upshot of all this?  Antibiotics. (aka hello urinary tract infection my old friend) and cutting myself some slack and starting on some very small goals that are not weight loss related but health and wellbeing orientated.

So tomorrow my inlaws are having Grover so after I offload him I’ll be heading to the pool for some laps.

Keep an eye on the evening news for the first drowning of Spring.

Onward!