Aaarrrghhh!!! I hate Spiders!!!

I was sitting at a friends house the other night, enjoying wonderful food and company, when I saw it...
It had materialised out of nowhere. It was sitting there on the table, right next to my friend's dinner plate.
I was frozen in fear and horror as it sat on the table looking like it belonged there.
It was awful, it was hideous to look at, it was the biggest, most disgusting spider you had EVER seen.

...And it was LIME!!!!!
And I don't like Lime Spiders!
At first I thought it was something innocuous, like a Spearmint milkshake, or the contents of a broken lava lamp, or that an unfortunate guest had the flu really bad and had repeatedly used that particular glass to sneeze into.
But no! It was that curdling combination of Lime Soda and Ice cream.
Why do people drink these things when there is a perfectly tasty alternative if you just break open a battery?
Why would you want to drink something that looks like the the losing pile in a Kermit Vs Yoda vomiting contest?
Why bother writing a third reason to dislike this drink when I could be making another coffee instead?
It's one of those strange mysteries of the universe I will never understand.
So, Like most people who don't understand things, I want to get rid of it!
I have written to certain manufacturers and have patented a potent potion. I have come up with a product that I think will be most beneficial in ridding the world of these congealing concoctions.

　

Who's with me in the abhorrence of non-arachnid spiders?
...Or are you a lover of Spiders?

The Annual Christmas letter

Dear family and friends,

I'm just sending you out our annual christmas letter to let you know how our ever-so-humble little family have been doing over the past year.
This year has been full of many fantastic achievements, as I'm sure your own families would have experienced also.
I shall modestly try and list the achievements of the family, including my boy's growing and learning experiences over the year.
Firstly there was Jasper, who started the year off with a bang, when he started going kinder. Dropping him off on that first day was a sad day for me, but he soon settled in and made loads of friends.
But I would have to say his most crowning achievement this year would have been, when playing around on the swing set at kinder, he managed to come up with a solution for global warming. Here he is standing with Al Gore being presented with the Nobel Peace Prize.

Next is Atticus, who has recently made great leaps with his speech, and is yammering on all day, running around outside, finding bugs and climbing the chook shed. But my favoutrite part of the year for him, was when he made it into the Guinness Book of records for simultaneously performing open heart surgery while reading Tolstoy's War and Peace.

Ninja and I have been very busy with work, the kids and our endless, various, charitable, altruistic edeavours and humanitarian acts this year. Such as saving the reputation of the misunderstood Cane Toad and our tireless research into ingrown toenails.
 You also may remember that we purchased a holiday house at the start of the year, which we have been renovating. Ninja and I have been doing all the work ourselves and are very pleased with the result. We would have had it done within 6 months, but we couldn't make up our minds on the tiling in the 3 floor bathroom and I did my back digging out the pool.
 

I'd list more of their successes and achievements from over the year, but I'm running late for my

Women
Artfully
Negotiating
Kindness
Everywhere
Round
Saudi Arabia

meeting.
I hope you all have had a happy and successful year as we have, and all the best Christmas wishes to you and your families.
xoxo

I'm a clairvoyant. I know I'm going to die of a heart attack.

Yes, I am the posessor of mystic powers beyond many's comprehension. My kind are often called seers, oracles, psychics, soothsayers and mediums.
But I personally like to call myself a mother-of-children-who-like-to-climb-high-stuff.
I know that I will most likely die of heart failure after going outside one day to find my children perched atop the TV antenna trying to tune in Tokyo.
On any given day I will let them outside and they will head straight for the nearest tree, swing-set or shed, and proceed to climb it until they can climb no more.
One big problem with this is the getting down factor...they don't actually factor-in getting down.
Unlike kittens stuck in trees, I haven't yet had to resort to calling the fire department, but I'm sure that day is coming.
My 4 year old is quite capable at getting down from any of the above climbed things, but my 2 year old tends to use the "Muuuuuuuuum!! I'm stuck!!" method of descending from whatever he has scaled.
I'm OK to get him down from here:

And I can also get him down if he climbs our chook shed.
But what am I supposed to do If I come across this?

Or this?

Or even this?

　

Unless I can wrap them in bubble wrap, or buy 486 matresses and scatter them around the place under anything tall, or feed them up with the l’Élixir du bouncy balls, my demise has been written. It was nice knowing you all. I'd better go brew some chamomile tea, shoot myself in the butt with half a pack of rhino tranquilisers and then go check on where the boys are...

Ranter Claus and her cranky sack (this has nothing to do with Christmas)

I was in full Ranter Claus mode yesterday.
I had a sack full of cranky and I was handing some out to what ever victims dare stumbled my way.
While I didn't go as far as to stand on my front veranda yelling "Ho! Ho! Ho! Oh, and look, another skanky Ho!" at the high school girls walking past after school. I still did have quite a few more cranky gifts stowed away.
After 2 hours sleep the night before and a week of virulent gastro attacking my household, my temper was slightly frayed.
It all started with the fact that my very fragile esophagus (due to my channeling Mr Creosote from Monty Python for the last couple of days) was not cooperating with my usual morning ritual of pouring percolators full of coffee down my throat until my eyelids stayed open of their own free will. I had massive heartburn, so I was forced into doing coffee shots with a Quik-eze chaser.
After that was a blur of rantings about George Carlin and the unfair aesthetic advantage puppies have over lobsters, why they hire postmen that can't read, I growled at my chickens about why they eat better than me and I threw a few loads of clothes at the clothes line (where they'd better freaking dry, no matter WHERE they landed!)

I thought i'd do a bit of cathartic online forum "opinion sharing", so I headed to one of my favourite parenting sites where they were having the eternal "natural birth Vs gimmie-loadsa-drugs birth" debate, where I offered my very informative, balanced and concise views on the subject:

"The term "natural childbirth" always makes me a tad puzzled. I don't really understand what is so "natural" about inviting and welcoming pain. If you want an epidural, do it, if you want a drug free birth do it, but please don't strut around like the guy at the gym with the big bulge under his towel trying to prove their manhood. Childbirth is not an egotistical competition about proving who has the biggest lady-balls. Birth how you want to, just don't do it on a soap box."

Feeling slightly better at being able to vent to something that didnt have feathers, pegs or had their eyes glued to ABC2 ignoring me anyway, I took the boys out for a walk.

I was fairly well behaved, except for that little moment when I gave the crazy eye to the woman standing in the middle of the footpath who was trying to pretend not to notice I was approaching with a pram. I looked her in the eye as I tried to maneuver the pram past her, and muttered "Odd!!" in a weird voice. Some day people will learn that women with prams are mental, and it's best just to move.
But. The biggest reason that I have unleashed the sack'o'cranky is that my computer's hard drive has died and I have to get it repaired. So not only do I have to be without my compy for the next few days, I can't accompany my blogs with my awesome dodgy photoshopping skills!
I'm lost!

Why is the biggest "man" in my life my 4 year old son?

My 4 year old has had gastro for the past 2 nights and I have had the pleasure of changing his bedclothes 876 times, washing 9874 loads of laundry, and soaking various towels covered in the most potently awful combinations of bodily fluids known to man (and child).
While my partner has done some conciliatory “man-upping”, I have still been the one to bear the bulk of the sick child load (as a mum does). So my sleep allotment has dwindled down to about 3 out of the past 76 hours. The night before that, my 2 year old had decided that sleep was so passé and had kept me awake all night, regaling me for hours with scintillating tales of his toe, and kindly reminding me constantly what my name was, just in case I had developed sudden amnesia.
Which brings us to today, Saturday, and I am in dire need of cleaning up my sick hovel. My wonderful MIL came over to help fold the Himalayan mountain range of laundry I have accrued over the past couple of days, but the rest of the house has been neglected owing to needy sick kid.
I asked my partner for help, but when ever I tried to find him to help me with anything, he was either off having a cigarette, having a coffee or listening to the horse racing (in the meantime, I’d re-heated my one cup of coffee 8 times already and didn’t even know it was Derby Day).
I was exhausted, so when he jumped in the shower I told him I was going for a nap. This was fine by him, so I settled into bed and closed my eyes. He then came in, got dressed and announced that he was going to his father’s house (he is his father’s carer and has to go there most days to look after him).
Why did he choose to go right then? Did he think that I could nap while I have one vomiting child and a crazy, not-sick-at-all 2 year old?
So, I got back out of bed, and as he backed down the driveway I exploded into tears.
I heard my sick son call to me then. I went into his room and smiled down at my beautiful, blonde, sunken eyed angel.
While I was unsuccessfully trying to hide my tears he asked, “What’s wrong Mummy?”
“Mummy’s just a bit tired honey, and I’m just trying to clean the house”.
“Don’t worry about me then Mummy. I’ll look after myself, and you just do the cleaning”, he told me through his pale cracked lips.
I hugged him tight before he could see me crying again, and only untangled myself because he needed to be sick again.
My sick, yet still gorgeous, 4 year old was selflessly offering me help.
I stroked his forehead, and told him that he was a beautiful boy with a wonderful soul, and that I would let the entire house rot and go mouldy before I would ever do housework before looking after him.
We then had a little giggle about living in a mouldy rotten house before I left his room and let him sleep again.

This is my boy.

I just know that he will grow up to be a wonderful man.

Fictitious characters of fiction.

On my trip to the Op Shop this week I purchased some brown corduroy pants, an orange and brown check shirt and a brown itchy woollen tie. I know, I know, I can just hear the seething of jealousy issuing forth from you all, as you marvel at my fashion forwardness!

But alas, this purchase wasn’t for me, it was for my 4 year old son, and it was to be his costume for the literature festival his kindergarten were to be involved with. He was going to go as Fantastic Mr Fox.

I assumed that since it was a literary festival, that the children would be dressed as a fictional character from a book. But after a week of planning, I woke up that morning to a very disagreeable 4 year old, that was now refusing to be fox-face painted, and demanding to be bedecked as Batman...Oh yes... Batman. Such a famous literary figure he was! Wasn’t he was a character in Dickens? A Tale of Two Cities if I remember rightly. A classic!

I sighed (dying a little inside, as I had had majestic visions of my son in all his brown-itchy-woollen-tie-splendour), got him into his trusty Batman costume, and set off for kinder.

As we got to his school, I was confronted by all the famous fictitious characters of fiction you’ve never met.

There was another two obvious Dickens fans, both who were dressed as Superman.I am happy to report that I did see a “Cleopatra” from Shakespeare’s Antony and Cleopatra.

There was also "Oscar", who I'm sure is from the Peter Carey classic Oscar and Lucinda.

But my favourite costume of the day was the greatest character from literary fiction ever, from Shakespeare’s:

It was great to see so many great characters from books in the one place!

I have been inspired as to what to dress the kids up as for the next festival we go to. I would like my son to go as that wonderful character from the Samuel Taylor Coleridge poem:

“In Xanadu did Buzz Lightyear

A stately pleasure-dome decree”

Do you ever have grandiose ideas for your kids dress ups only for them to foil your plans?

Oops, I fell off the wwwagon.

Sorry, I didn’t mean to stutter, but over the weekend I fell off the Weight Watchers wagon that I had kind of hitched myself to.
I fell off the WW wagon and was hit by another wagon, one laden with hot jam donuts and pizza.

(Identikit image of wagon as described by victim)
 

I was sick and needed comfort food. I was seduced by the sugary, jammy, vixen of plump doughy delights. She called to me when my guard was down, I had a moment of weakness...I was held at gunpoint and made to eat it...My dog ate all my healthy food... I was hallucinating and thought it was an apple...
I can come up with all the excuses in the world, but in the end, my willpower was weak, and I succumbed to temptation.
I am definitely a comfort food eater, so when I’m not feeling well I tend to go for the worst things that are around me.
My dad came for a visit and bought my boys two big bags of jam donuts. While the boys were hopped up on jammy goodness I accidentally picked up a donut, and it made its way into my mouth somehow (do donuts have jet-packs too?)...another one following it a bit later. The next day pizza was mentioned at some point in time, and all hopes at getting back on track dissolved in daydreams of that wonderful land full of cheese and carbs.
So, today is Monday, a new day, a new week, and a chance to redeem myself. I wasn’t completely run over by that wagon. I’ll just have to pick myself up, dust myself off and start again.


Have you fallen off the wagon when dieting? Do you completely abandon the diet, or do you re-start it the next day (or next week)?

From the files of Captain Obvious

 “Now is the winter of our discontent”.

Actually, no that’s wrong. Now is the springtime of my discontent, my discontented nostrils.

Having once again been attacked by some vicious pollen menace last night, I was feeling rather snuffly, so I went to the cupboard and got out my trusty “Nasal Decongestant spray”. After sticking it up each nostril and spraying liberally, I looked at the spray bottle, which read “Decongestant Nasal Spray - For the relief of nasal decongestion”. 

Phew, I’m sure glad I picked that bottle, instead of the other bottle of “Decongestant Nasal Spray -For the relief of Third World Hunger”. I’d still be feeling stuffed up, had I have used THAT one!

I love how packages not only tell you what you have, but they love explaining what it’s for as well. Just in case you buy something at the supermarket, take it home and spend the next 3 weeks circling it, giving it “the puzzled eyebrow”, not really quite sure what it is. Then, full of anxiety, you ambush that strange product in the middle of the night, wrap it in newspaper and shove it down the bottom of the bin, never to speak of it again.

Take my packet of Cous Cous for instance. It says “Perfect with Vegetables, meat & fish”. I’m glad that was written on there, or else I would have thought it was perfect for pouring into a bathtub full of whiskey, and go snorkelling in it wearing a terry towelling jumpsuit.

I only wish I had have read this container of oil before I went and lubricated the neighbours chimney. Ok then, salads and cooking it is!

And lastly, let me tell you of my Cling Wrap journey. “Seals in freshness, to keep food fresher longer”. I had only read “Seals”, and then got distracted. I was halfway to Antarctica before someone handed me the Cling Wrap packet to read again.

The odiousness of obviousness is everywhere!

Have you encountered obviousness lately?

 

Wordy Wednesday With Waterfalls, Winnebagos and a Windsock (Ok, I lied about the Waterfalls, Winnebagos and Windsock)

...But  I do have a picture of Rollers skates!

Inspired by Lori over at RRSAHM, her awesome clown shoes and her “I Can’t f@#king shut up Wednesday”.

The one thing I can’t shut the f#@k up about is Roller Skating and Roller Derby.

These are my roller skates. I never did the whole rollerblading...*thing* of the 90’s, I have always had roller skates, and these are my babies I have for Roller Derby. Oh, and stripy socks are a must.

So here is my ”Whatever the f#@k you want to call it Wednesday” pic, with words too.

WW Snackdown!

Hello, I am Voluptacon.

*Able to leap 12 Matchbox cars in a single bound (without getting sharp bits in my feet).

*Faster than a speeding toddler on LGC #.

*Be amazed at the fact that I am able to co-habit my loungeroom with 4 large spiders.

*Watch my dynamic pelvic floor as I jump on the trampoline.

*Be astounded at my amazing gag reflex as I change diabolical nappies.

I have only one mortal enemy...and that is...

Snacks!

Snacks are my lifelong sworn enemy.

They know all my weak spots (hips and thighs) and attack viciously and mercilessly.

Once upon a time I used to be a smoker, which seemed to be like a magical force shield to snacks. Snacks were able to be kept at bay whilst I had that smoky pacifier in my mouth. But after quitting smoking due to a chronic case of pregnancy, I didn’t have that force shield (that somewhat unhealthy and slightly detrimental force shield) anymore.

So, I am having to devise a new plan of attack to combat these tasty terrorists, these flavoursome foe, these scrumptious saboteurs of my widening waistline.

I have decided to wrestle my enemy via WW (put that) Snackdown!

I am going to be using Weight Watchers to eliminate bad snacking. Instead of reaching for the block of chocolate or the box of BBQ Shapes, I am now going to be devising my own Weight Watchers friendly snacks...and I have already discovered how yummy Cajun spiced air-popped popcorn is.

So, from now on, instead of having Voluptacon sized bear traps alongside the mousetraps around the pantry (so neither the mice nor I can eat the BBQ Shapes!), I will be following the Weight Watchers points system, which still does allow me to snack (a Voluptacon NEVER starves herself!! It is against her nature!), but it just makes me more aware of what I am putting into my body.

So I can be an even stronger Voluptacon, a Voluptacon that can maybe one day do one back flips in a bikini...well, maybe I’ll just settle for summersaults in a sun dress.

What’s your biggest hurdle with weight loss? Love of carbs? Snacking? Lack of motivation?

#(Lime Green Cordial)

Point and Shoot: Mum’s still making daisy chains.

My Mum came to visit on the weekend.

She took the boys to the playground and taught them how to make daisy chains... even after they were long gone and playing on the slides, she was still there, making daisy chains.

Hmmm, I may have to go and check...she still might be there...

Can I eat that?

My beloved husband, The Ninja, has just been perusing our fridge in search of snacks. Whilst pulling out jar after jar of dubious provisions, he suggested I write about things you find in the fridge that you’re not sure you should eat or not...and not just the bi-carb soda either...

While three quarters of our fridge is a safe food zone. A haven where you are guaranteed to be able to grab what ever, eat it straight away (or zap it in the microwave) and not die of amoebic dysentery...the top shelf of our fridge is the condiment shelf. Otherwise known as the shelf where jars go to die. The Chutney Cemetery.

This shelf I’m not too sure of. I mostly like to keep a wide berth from it. Occasionally I will drift in there in search of a jar of crushed garlic, ginger or chilli or a stray tub of yoghurt that has wandered too far from its flock. But mostly I leave it alone. Pretend it’s not there, like a weird uncle at a funeral who’s had too many shandies. I’m very wary of it!

What is on this shelf? Well, while wandering through Farmer’s markets we tend to pick up delicious home made sauces, marmalades and assorted preserves. We also have family members who give us gifts of jams and conserves that all get lovingly placed on this shelf. Then I must lose my memory of putting it in there in a tragic fridge door closing accident.

I do try and keep it clean though! I’m positive I throw most stuff out, but the jars in there must either going at it like little beaker bunnies or are reproducing by jarthenogenesis.

Because I’m sure I didn’t buy that many portions of pickles or receptacles of relish that are in there.

At least it’s not like my Dad’s place where there was a jar of capers sitting in the fridge that was 5 years past its use by date. I wept the day he threw them out, they were like part of the family, it was more like they were leaving home than going in the bin. My little capers going off to college...

So, The Ninja finally found his kasoundi, smeared it on his bickies, and walked off, leaving the top shelf as it was. He didn’t go through anything, he didn’t throw anything out, he just wanted me to write about it. Thanks hon...

How’s your condiments shelf?

Where the child-things are...

They're in the back yard stalking their lunch.

Today is big cat safari day at my place.

We have a very rare Atti-tiger, 

and the mystical Jaffa-leopard.

I have just observed them climbing over the car, sniffing the air for any traces of 2 minute noodles.

That Edwin Starr is full of shit!

“I said, War...huh...Good God, y'all. What is it good for?       Absolutely nothing”.

I beg to differ!

My usual philosophy of “Make Tea, Not War” has been thrown out the window this week with the presence of a very threatening home invader.

This thief in the night has disrupted my pantry’s quiet living, as it steals in during the night and robs me of my snacks.

May I introduce to you...Satanmouse!

It is this repulsive rodent that has caused me to declare war on all things Mus musculus!

I have detected signs of him around my house for a little while now, and have been quietly hoping that my little mousetrap that I have laid down would have been enough to rid my house of this nocturnal nuisance.

Until today. Until I opened my pantry and found myself face to whiskered face (his, not mine) with his beady little eyes! Not only was this filthy creature in my pantry, but he was eating MY Barbecue Shapes biscuits!!

How the hell does a mouse get up to the 4^th self of a cupboard? What kind of climbing skills do these animals have? Do they use some kind of rock climbing equipment? Was anyone out there aware of mice being able to obtain jetpacks?

I may have tolerated him for a while longer, and not declared all out war, if he was happy to forage on the floor for dropped morsels from the kids (until he was eventually snapped up by my strategically placed mousetrap). Not levitating through my pantry and eating MY food!

So, (after throwing out 99.637% of my food stores that weren’t safely sealed within their little Tupperware bunkers) I have armed myself to the teeth with mousetraps, Ratsack, my home made Bazooka-Mousetrap hybrid and a Hessian bag full of Anthrax. (Why? To show off more of my amazingly dodgy Photoshopping skills of course!)

All I have to do now is bide my time and wait. That little sucker’s days are numbered!

I long for the day when peace, once again, reigns in my pantry, and my Barbecue Shapes are free to roam the shelves unhindered from foreign enemies.

I’ve lost my youth...Do I have to grow up now?

Today is my birthday.

Today I am 36.

I have been hanging on to “youth” by the ends of my fingernails for quite some time now,(the muscles in my fingertips have developed to such an extreme that my fingers look like mushrooms) and I think I finally have to accept now that my youth has passed.

Youth has been given many age variants, from 13-19 to 15-25 to 15-29, but I have been choosing to follow The Danish Youth Council’s lead when they say "Youth is defined as any member of society between the ages of 15 and 35".

But I no longer can even squeeze myself into that category...My youth has packed it’s bags, written me a long and heartfelt “Dear John” letter and bought a one way ticket to The Bahamas (where it will obviously indulge itself on all the fake tanning, Brazilian waxing and Pina Coladas I refused to EVER give it!!)

But does that mean I will have to grow up? Will I have to start “acting my age?”

Will I have to trade my Dunlop Volleys for orthopedic boat shoes with tassels? Am I still allowed to buy mixed lollies? Must I give up on my Transformers obsession (and Astroboy too)? Do I have to start wearing beige now?!!!

Although there have been many times in my life (mostly recently) that my body has felt old, and when the bills have piled up, or one of my family members has been sick, I have had to be responsible. Still I don’t really know if I am quite ready to “grow up”.

When I was about 25, I was walking along the street one sunny Autumn day. I noticed an approaching elderly lady, slowly shuffling along. I was about 5 metres away from her when she stopped under a deciduous tree, the fallen flame-like leaves crunched under her feet as she swayed unsteadily. She looked up at me, grinned cheekily, and proceeded to do a merry gig amongst the autumn debris, kicking up the leaves until she was dancing in her own little autumnal whirlwind.

This has always been one of my favourite memories. If I can retain my youth the way that lady did, I think I will die happily.

So, If you’ll excuse me, I have some aging disgracefully to do.



At what age did you feel “grown up”? Or are you like me and refuse to do it?

I told you I was Ill!

The Grim Reaper perused his floordrobe (Reapers aren’t renowned for their housekeeping skills) and picked up a fur coat and popped it on. He then donned some white gloves his Nanna knitted, and rummaged through the pile for his fluffy bunny slippers. Once found he shuffled them on, he made his way to the library where a roaring fire was waiting for him. He then loaded up his scythe with marshmallows and sat in front of the fire to toast them. “Mmmmmm, toasty!” sighed the Reaper. This is how I feel today...Like Death warmed up. This would have to be the longest and most drawn out “sick season” in history! I know a few households (like mine) who have been constantly sick this whole winter in a never ending splutter of coughs and sneezes. How has your family fared this “sick season”?

It’s a Poo-tastrophe!

Why can’t my child find a nice art medium to work with?
Try some paint, pencils or a whole bottle of PVA glue!
But no, he doesn’t want to work with those boring things,
My child prefers to express himself artistically with Poo!




He went down for his afternoon snooze so easily,
I get so much done while he’s down for his nap.
But today he awoke with a surprise for Mummy,
Because half his room was all covered in crap!




It’s not the first time he’s done this kind of thing,
We quite often face-off in this gross imbroglio,
I’ve got to find a way for him to stop this disgusting habit,
Because he’s collecting himself an impressive fecal-folio.




Does anyone else have this problem, or am I alone?
Is there someone I can talk to, or maybe join a group?
I’m getting pretty desperate! I’m willing to try anything!
I can’t go through it again, cleaning up all that poop!




I haven’t taken any photos, you don’t need any proof.
The whole grossness-level is way off the chart!
But If I was to exhibit his “artistic expressions”,
I’d have to call it “Follow Through - A great work OFART”.

Dear WM, by the time you read this...

I’m going to talk to you about a rather difficult relationship I am having at the moment. It’s something I need to unload. That is the relationship between myself and my washing machine.

My washing machine has become very unreliable, and I really can’t depend on it anymore. I have to think of the children(‘s constant pile of washing)!
I tried to confront it about its behaviour lately, but it went and ate my bath mat!

 

I honestly don’t know what to do. Our relationship used to be good, but over the past year, it has broken down constantly! I’ve had to call the repair man out about 6 times. And at $80 a visit from him, I just can’t support this habit of it’s anymore!  I’m going to have to break this vicious (spin)cycle.
I’ll give you another example of its capriciousness.
Today it broke down again (I’m thinking it was the after effects of the bath mat). So my 2 year old, Atti, and I had to take some washing to the Laundromat. No problem. Except we had 3 large bin bags full of washing to do, and I don’t have my drivers license. So I piled all 3 bags onto the pram and stuck Atti on top and we strolled down to the Laundromat, where we sat and enjoyed morning tea in the form of Fairy cakes from the Bakery over the road.

 

While it was a lovely outing, I can’t really afford to keep spending all that money on washing, while my washing machine lazes around at home watching Dr Phil and drinking 6-packs of fabric softener.
I think it’s definitely time to get a new washing machine and accept that our relationship has run its course, I shall rinse my hands of it.
Thank you for letting me get this (top or front-)load of my chest.

Would you survive long without your washing machine?

Ahhh...The things we do...

The things we do on a Friday night when we are bored and have had a “couple” of glasses of red wine. Tonight I have been getting “creative”. (I feel I may have to apologise later for my flagrant overuse of “quotation marks” in this blog). My best friend just got her “L’s” yesterday. We lived together throughout our 20’s and neither of is had our license (we lived in inner city Melbourne, which is the BEST city for Public Transport and never felt the need to drive). I got my L’s when I was 25 and have driven sporadically since, but since having kids I have felt the need to get my license. My bestie has felt this also, and has finally got her L’s as well. Yay for her! So to celebrate. I have combined a couple of her favourite things and come up with a masterpiece: 1)Splayds...Cutlery...Kind of like “Sporks”, but Australian.  2)Rock- In the form of one of the best songs ever- “Ace of Spades” by Motorhead. Do you see where this is going? I have designed her a t-shirt that we can wear while driving to give us confidence and motivation to get our licenses. And here it is: The Ace of Splayds. See! I told you I get creative when I’ve had a couple! What happens when you relax of a Friday or Saturday night, and have a glass of wine or 2? Do you get a bit "talkative", "reflective" "creative" or “whatever”?

Ode to the sleepy Mummy

I’ve just been up all night, my children are obscene,

Don’t you dare talk to me, until I’ve had my caffeine.

I’ve poured milk in my juice, and juice in my percolator,

(Yeah, that’s going to make a great cup of coffee later!)

To catch the dropped sugar bowl, I reeeally had to lunge,

And I’ve just lightly toasted the dishwashing sponge.

I’ve brushed my teeth with hair gel, and tooth-pasted my hair,

And the kids have smeared breaky over what I’m s’posed to wear.

Just trying to concentrate is Olympic-like sport,

I’ll go to begin a sentence, and lose my train of...SQUIRREL,

Don’t give me diamonds, chocolates, perfume or flowers,

Because all I ever want is sleep a whole 8 hours!

When was the last time you got a decent sleep? What would you give for 8 hours of shut eye?

What kind of freak puts their baby in a tree?

How many of you have considered the violent nature of some of our supposedly most innocent of all songs, Nursery rhymes (I know some of you have)?

Take Rock a bye baby, not only have they shoved their poor child up the top of the tree, they’ve done it during high winds! And a tree so riddled with IBS (Irritable Bough Syndrome),that it ends up breaking, sending baby plummeting to earth!

“Rock-a-bye baby, on the treetop. When the wind blows, the cradle will rock,
When the bough breaks, the cradle will fall. And down will come baby, cradle and all.”

Next up is Jack and Jill. A sad tale of woe featuring our two water collecting heros. Poor Jack ends up with severe head injuries, while Jill’s condition can only be guessed at.

“Jack and Jill went up the hill, To fetch a pail of water.
Jack fell down and broke his crown. And Jill came tumbling after.”

I’ve heard of some women having shoe fetishes, but living inside footwear? The old woman lived inside a shoe with countless children. No wonder the woman was cranky enough to malnourish and beat them on a daily basis. Perhaps if it was a giant Manolo Blahnik she’d be more kind to the kiddies.

“There was an old woman who lived in a shoe.
She had so many children, she didn't  know what to do;
She gave them some broth without any bread,
Then whipped them all soundly and sent them to bed.”

Peter Peter pumpkin eater sounds like the most depraved man ever to live! He shoves his wife into a pumpkin (I can only hope the poor woman was humanely euthanised before this occurrence) and keeps her there.  Haven’t you heard? Pumpkin shells are the new way to preserve!

“Peter, Peter pumpkin eater, Had a wife but couldn't keep her;
He put her in a pumpkin shell. And there he kept her very well.”

And poor old  Humpty Dumpty:

“Humpty Dumpty sat on a wall, Humpty Dumpty had a great fall.
All the king's horses and all the king's men. Couldn't put Humpty together again.”

Not only does he fall off a wall, but they send the kings horses to fix him. Medical negligence at its lowest point.  Have you ever seen a horse in scrubs? A horse performing micro surgery on an egg?

All the while many parents are afraid of their children coming across porn on the shelves of their local supermarket, or violence on TV, when some of the songs they are singing to them may be keeping therapists in jobs for decades to come.

What are some other supposedly innocent nursery rhymes are there?

50 ways to beat procrastination

41) Concentrate on the task at hand.

42) Start by setting fire to whatever you were supposed to do.... Laundry pile?... *whoosh!!!*... Not anymore!

43) Centre yourself and think...think...thiiiink...thinking...thiiii...Has that crack always been there on that wall?

44) Once you have been at your task for 33.7 seconds, eat a box of chocolates as a reward!

45) Don't think of tasks as WORK, think of them as FUN! If you've been putting off making that appointment at the Gynecologist's, why not ring up and sing for an appointment? "Heelloooooooooooo, I'd liiike to book in my Pap Smeeeeeeearrrrr!"

46) Involve the kiddies: They love to help, and it's free labor!

47) "Never put off till tomorrow what you can do today.": Unless there is an awesome show in TV, like Spicks and Specks last week with Barry Morgan’s World of Organs, Or The Gruen Transfer with that Old Spice Ad. Haha! Check them out!...Squirrel!

48) Set yourself realistic goals: Aim to only vacuum and mop the floors instead of dusting, vacuuming and mopping. If you can’t vacuum and mop, just vacuum. If you can’t vacuum, flick through a Trash-mag or watch the episode of “True Blood” you just downloaded. The important thing is, don’t exceed your limitations!

49) How do you beat procrastination? Procrastination is terrible at Poker, has a very bad poker face and tries to bluff constantly. So basically if you have anything better than 2 pair, or three of a kind you can usually kick its butt.

50) Just live with it, don’t worry about what you HAVE to do: I’m sure that you can just pop some glad wrap over your dishes and tell people you are studying pathologic processes of bacterium and rickettsia, specifically its ribonucleic acid, and the effects outside its typical function as oral flora, on the periphery of your plates, pots and pans...you may even get a grant!

Oh my god! Did you see that? My computer totally ate the first 40 points! You would have been amazed! You would have been astounded!

It was life affirming stuff...

Well I could go alllll the way over to “My documents” and copy/paste alllllllll of the word document I saved it on for you again. Just give us a few minutes...I’ll be back...I promise...

Have you got any tips for me on how to beat procrastination?