Stuff and Nonsense

So Jasper, Grover and I were mucking around on my bed yesterday afternoon watching Play School while the bigger boys were given the extraordinary treat of being allowed to play Xbox down the back room. Mucking around constituted using me in the vein of a pummel horse and the result was half the preschool sandpit being emptied onto my bed. No worries says Jasper as he just broad-sweeps the lot onto the floor. Nice. 

The point of this backgrounder is that last night I had to vacuum our bedroom. Our bedroom is basically the end of our house. On the other side of it is the garage so really, by the time I’m in the vicinity of our bedroom I’ve had to clean the boys’ bedrooms, the living area, the kitchen, the bathroom and our ensuite. Dudes, our bedroom is basically a large scale dorm bedroom – random crap that doesn’t really belong anywhere else, toys, books, papers, receipts, you name it, it comes to our room to die. So vacuuming it is rather a big deal and when it does happen I am the Olympic Gold Medal winner for effort and thoroughness. 
Oh sure, it wasn’t that practical to do it last night at 8pm but I knew it had to happen before boys were asleep as there was no way I was going to bed when there were sand dunes to negotiate to do so. 
Naturally this cleaning frenzy heightened my self-loathing for just how poor a housekeeper I am and resulted in me smashing my relatively recently purchased Ikea (of course) bedside lamp. What a winner.
Once it was basically done the little boys returned for some indoor trampolining  when Jasper says to me:
Oh Mum, this is so clean, you’ve done such a good job. I’m really proud of how clean you got this. I’m going to go and get you a love heart biscuit with white icing just because you cleaned this so well. Wow. 
Thanks little buddy.
So the Turdinator and I had a stand-off the other day when I caught him about to wee into the seat compartment of his ride-on fire engine. I whisked him off to the toilet where he sat there refusing to wee and screaming at me. I, in what I would say was a rather loud voice, pointed out to him that he was not an animal, that he was a boy and that boys wee and poo in the toilet. That his brothers were boys and they weed and pooed in the toilet and that only animals did their wees and poos outside. To which he screamed at me,
 ‘I am an animal! I am an animal!’
Me: Will I start giving you dinner in a dog bowl? 
Him: NO
Me: Would you like to sleep outside? Will I buy you a kennel?
Him: NO
Me: That’s right, because You.ARE.A.BOY.
Me: I’m not going away, I’m going to stand here until you do your wee in the toilet like a big boy.
Me: Why would I go to your bed?
Me: No buddy, Mummy isn’t naughty, Mummy is trying to teach you the right thing to do when you need to do a wee or a poo. You …
Me: No Grovey, Mummy loves you very very much and that is why I’m making you do this, you’re a bigger boy now and this is where you go to the toilet.
Cue further screaming at me that I’m the enemy, that I have to go to his room because I naughty, to goway, GOWAY  all while he’s sitting on the toilet and while I have got his bath running. 
So I pick him up off the toilet and put him in the bath, at which point he panics and cries ‘NO WEE coming!!!’ So back on the toilet he goes and does the biggest wee in the world. 
I’m not sure what part of that exchange flipped the switch but in the last six days we’ve had more poos in the toilet than out and ditto for wees.
What’s that? Over there? On the horizon? Could it be the tiny flicker of a light?
It’s official, we are no longer a PayTV household. I cancelled it last week and the technician came today to disconnect us and take away the set-top boxes. 
It has actually been hugely liberating. Isn’t that bizarre? I certainly didn’t think that was how I’d be feeling. I kind of thought I’d feel relief and begrudging acceptance but instead I feel buoyant, in control and, well, smug.
Yesterday I had to go and purchase some control undergarments to go under the dress I am wearing to our friends’ wedding on the weekend. I was going to make a dress but considering I only got my sewing machine back from being serviced last week and the various things life has thrown at me it’s just not going to happen. So, the stand-by dress required some form of undergarment to smooth out the folds. 
Let’s just say I did not leave the lingerie department of David Jones feeling good about myself. In fact, by the time I had funnelled myself into myriad torture contraptions I just felt hot and ugly. I ended up buying more what I believe is called a teddy? than a Nancy Gantz because it was all of 20 bucks cheaper but now I’m thinking I should have gone the all-body-scuba-suit-by-another-name because it had better (ie thinner) straps and the forecast is now for it to be torrential rain and below average temperatures – two weather characteristics I’m sure are just thrilling the bridal party. (Personally I never give a rats arse about the weather at these things because weather smeather, it’s all about these two people committing to each other in front of people they love and who love them and having a bloody good time.)
Another issue is that my new legend hairdresser cut my hair the other day and because it had been so hot I told her (after she’d finished) to take some more off the front. Next time I’m going to keep my mouth shut because how she had cut it was perfect and how it is now is not so much a disaster but just not as kicky and jaunty. It’s annoying me in that the only solution is time and well, waiting for anything just gives me the absolute shits.