Well that didn’t quite go how I thought it would

So dudes, I’m alive! I made it to Christmas! To BEYOND Christmas!

Christmas Eve saw a phone call derail proceedings somewhat, reassuring me that whatever water has passed under the bridge of my parents is not enough.

Surprisingly 3/4 bottle of champagne did not dull the depression and anger that triggered in me.

Neither did eating my bodyweight on Christmas Day or drinking another whole bottle of sparkling shiraz.

Neither did having chocolate for breakfast three days in a row.

Or reintroducing butter to my diet.

Or making my own mayonnaise, eating potato salad, or baking – and eating – bread.

Curiously, the volume and interactions between four over-tired, cranky, hyped, poorly-fed boys did little to improve my mindset.

Surprisingly, Chef being ill throughout the whole period and basically in bed for the two days off he had over Christmas did little to alleviate my stress.

You can see where this is heading.

Today featured a lot of hovering by mum as she sensed my parlous state – but of course her ‘helping’ was not seen be me as such.

Today featured the boys being particularly fractious (it was unseasonably cold and wet today) with myriad fights and spats and all the rest.

It all came to a head as Chef arrived home from work and Oscar and Grover came barrelling into my room with Oscar claiming Grover had weed on his (as in Oscar’s) bed. Indeed he had.


OH.MY.GOD. The screaming that came forth from my being.

Something along the lines of it being bad enough I had parents incapable of treating each other nicely despite having 26 years to heal the wounds but that I had bred four children incapable of being nice to each other was beyond the pale. (or pail? That’s making my neck itch right there.) Something something something this has been the worst three days of my life in quite some time something something something selfish, ungrateful, mean-spirited varmints something something something



I sat on the beach. In the howling wind and rain. I ran in the soft sand until my heart hurt and I couldn’t get a breath. I sat on the beach some more. I thought a lot about ending it because this will always be a part of my life and that is just not acceptable or bearable. It’s not a phase. It too will not pass. At least not until my parents are in the grave. I sat on the beach some more. Ran some more. And finally cried. Big heaving howling sobs. For about a minute. And then it was gone.

I came up off the beach and sheltered in a little nook of the surf club out of the wind, slumped against the wall and watched as some guys came in from kite surfing, totally pumped and exhilarated from their wild ride out in squally seas.

I eventually walked home and slunk off to our bedroom both embarrassed about my behaviour and not ready to face the boys. I listened as they had their showers and baths and went to bed WITHOUT A PROTEST OR A PEEP for Chef. AT 8 PM.

And here I sit. 10pm. The Perfect Storm playing out on the TV and absolutely none the wiser as to how to deal with/react/resolve/accept the situation as it is. I’m doing a fair deal of catastrophising and grand-standing but I know nothing good will come of that.

But there is absolutely nothing to come of discussing this with either my mother or father. I understand both of their positions. And here I am. Stuck in the middle again.

Things on my mind

My intense dislike for People Skills (aka Tony Abbott) grows daily. It’s in the Code Red zone of Completely Irrational.

In fact, my whole feeling about this lead up to the election is making my neck itch. I’m kind of cranky and frustrated and yelling at the television and radio way too often to be healthy.

I’m certain this is why I have a rampant case of acne that rivals that of my years in puberty purgatory. I kid you not. They’re not even the pustular ones you can pick at, they’re the dirty big blind cyst like ones.

I know, I’m so purrrrty.  

The only good thing about the election is discovering new blogs and Twitterers and that Annabel Crabb has come back from maternity leave and is on fire. My girl crush on Annabel is longstanding and unwavering and completely inappropriate.

I know, purty and subtle.

My frustration is this: the focus on the politics rather than the policies is absolute. And it feels like a sprint. There’s no long term view, no vision. G’ah.
Further to the learning to ride a bike Oscar decided today would be a good day to start doing freestyle again in his hydrotherapy session. Such progress.

It was perfect because then his normal swim group arrived and he stayed in the water and did a bit of normal swimming stuff with them, allowing me to catch up with some of the mums, one of which is as excited as I am as her daughter got into St Eddies as well! We’re so hoping Oscar and Zoe will get to travel together.
Jasper is producing astounding artworks at pre-school. And I mean, really astounding not just ‘my child is so talented’ astounding.
Grover is an absolute comedian. Complete and total. From the faces to the impersonations. He’s three and a total crack-up. Either that or a pure delinquent in the making.
Did I tell you I made strawberry and rhubarb jam and it was spectacular? SPECTACULAR. Joke told me to make vats of it and sell it and for the first time I am almost compelled to do so.
We haven’t seen Inception. I had planned a sneaky solo trip to the movies today on my childfree day (inlaws had Groves) but no no no – it’s Education Week and today was Open Day at the bigger boys’ school. Oh the irony.