Monday, 23 March 2015

Micro Confessions Of A Cry Baby

Welcome to another glorious Monday, the most dreaded day of the week! I have a few little things to get off my chest. The first one is this:

I hate everyone and everything in the whole World EVER. Thank you, PMS. No, FUCK you, PMS! When I say everyone, I mean everyone. Yes, even myself. ESPECIALLY myself!

Why? Because I'm a big cry baby sook who's too scared to go to the dentist. On Thursday, one of my bottom teeth broke. I have to go and have it fixed this morning. I'm dreading it. As you are reading this I'm probably trapped in that descending chair, the ominous sound of the drill reverberating through my skull. SAVE ME!

Or slap me in the face and tell me to get on with it like a grown up!

I just arrived home from wandering around the shops with Mr 11 for a few hours. While there, I spotted Michelle Bridges signing books. I felt like punching her, but have you seen the biceps on that woman? Look, I have nothing against Michelle Bridges, really. I even have one of her books and a couple of her DVDs. I just feel like punching everyone lately.

On Monday week Mickey Blue Eyes has to have another knee operation. For those of you who don't know, he injured his knee playing soccer some months ago. Surgery was required to place some sort of wire inside to get it moving again. Then came months of physiotherapy.  Now he has to have the wire taken back out. Fun times.

Additionally, school holidays commence in this same week. So I'll have Mick hobbling around and the kids home from school. AWESOME. Yes, I'm a horrific bitch from PMS Hell at the moment. Deal with it.

I'm also suffering from THIS:

Image from

In fact, this seems to be the story of my life. Can you hear the weepy violin music?

Don't you just hate people who whinge and complain about stuff in their life but never seem to do anything about it? Seriously. I mean, why haven't I just COME OUT OF MY SHELL by now?

I just keep on whinging and whining about wanting alone time but I haven't actually plotted to murder my family as yet. What am I like?

WHAT a whinger. How hard could it be? I could just poison them or something. Surprisingly, my cooking has failed to do so thus far. I mean, it's the quiet ones you've gotta watch, right?

I've never quite understood that expression. Watch doing what exactly? Reading a book? Scrolling through Facebook. Sure, watch me if you want, but it won't be very interesting. Unlike this blog, which is RIVETING. Plus, it might a little creepy. Watching quiet people, that is. We're just being our silent little selves, minding our own business, not saying a word; while you're rudely staring. Who's the weird one now?? Just saying.

Interestingly, when I Googled Little Miss Quiet I discovered that she doesn't exist. There is only a MR Quiet. Meanwhile, there is a Little Miss Chatterbox, Little Miss Sunshine, Little Miss Fun and a Little Miss Giggles.Where is Little Miss Premenstrual And Moody?

A funny thing happened yesterday when I was at my Tafe course. I realised I was stuck to the chair. It transpired that I had chewing gum stuck on my pants. Thankfully it was the same colour as my pants. You have to be grateful for the little things.

I'm just trying to think of as much crap as possible to distract myself from thinking about my visit to the dentist. It sort of works a bit.

My mind will go:

Butterflies. Rainbows. DENTIST!

Cake. Carpenters. DENTIST!

Puppies. Chocolate. DENTIST!

Books. Unicorns. DENTIST!



That's the sound of my Anxiety Monsters laughing their evil, mocking laugh at me.

The stupid thing is, I was never scared of the dentist when I was younger. I had several teeth yanked out before I had braces. I had it done awake in the chair without sedation. What happened to that girl? Why I am a such a head case in middle age? Furthermore, why am boring you with my whining? Because I can, I presume. So ner.

I've decided that I'm definitely coming back as a man. I'm over all the moods and pain. I simply can't wait for the cluster fuck that will be menopause. Coming soon to a psychotic bitch near you.

In other news, I spent the afternoon going over Mr 13's homework and assessments with him earlier. Amongst all his paperwork he had a sheet listing medieval crimes and punishment. Punishments included: The Rack,Water Torture, Rat Torture, Foot Roasting and Burning at the Stake.

These seemed like quite reasonable punishments to me in my pleasantly premenstrual state.

Oh well, that's my cheery little existence at the moment. Upon reflection I'm thinking that I have such an intense dental phobia that I'm considering exposure therapy instead of just turning up for the appointment. But they might think that I'm some crazy person who likes lurking around the dentist waiting rooms while attempting to get used to the idea and the smell and the noise...... Gulps. Thoughts? Suggestions?

Don't you just love my rambling posts? What else can I confess?

Oh, I've lost around 8 kilos so far on Weight Witches.Which isn't much really, considering I've been going for several months. However, I decided at the beginning that I'm happy with losing a small amount of weight and keeping it off long term, rather than a huge amount of weight which I just end up putting back on, plus extra. Because, let's face it, I'll never be a skinny bitch. I love cake too much.

And with that, I can't think of a suitable ending to this clunky post, so I'll just back out of blogger awkwardly the same way I back out of rooms awkwardly. I'm awkward as fuck in person, so I may as well be authentic online as well. Cheers.

Linking up for I Must Confess.

How is Monday treating you?

PS: After getting all worked up in anticipation for my visit to the dentist they have rescheduled my appointment for Wednesday. I'm not sure if this is a reprieve or a further 48 hours of fretting. Sigh.

Monday, 16 March 2015

Parenting Fail

WARNING: This post is a bit on the gross side so if you're eating or easily grossed out, don't read any further! You've been warned!

Today I am meant to be confessing to any parenting fails. The only problem is that obviously I am the most likely candidate for Mother Of The Decade! I don't have any! OK, I made that up.

The truth is, it's a bit of a sensitive topic for me. I think I'm a terrible mother because I'm scatty and disorganised. However, my boys seem to genuinely love me. Additionally, they are all healthy and going well at school. So I guess I'm doing something right.

There is one funny anecdote which happened many years ago when Mr 13 was Mr 3 and Mr 11 was a newborn, so let's call him Baby. Yep, I'm very original with names and aliases.

One day we decided to go out for a picnic at Mt.Tomah Botanical Gardens.  I don't know what we were thinking. We must have been feeling extremely optimistic on that day. Otherwise, we were just delirious with sleep deprivation. If this wasn't foolish enough, we also decided that it would be a brilliant idea to invite our friends, Kim and Ziggy, to come with us.

It all started out looking promising. We arrived at this picturesque location and strolled around happily. Eventually we found a spot to have our picnic. At this point, Baby began shrieking incessantly. Meanwhile, a rather over-powering stench began emanating from the direction of Mr 3. It was all quite mortifying for us, while our friends kept smiling politely as if nothing was amiss.

Except it was impossible to ignore the smell. No problem, we'll just change him and clean him up, we thought. The trouble was, we soon realised that although we had packed a baby bag with everything except the kitchen sink for Baby, we had left Mr 3's backpack at home. We did have some wipes but not his nappies or a change of clothes.

Somehow, Mickey Blue Eyes took Mr 3 to a discreet location and cleaned him up as best he could. Except this was one of those horrific poo explosions. Something that only a bath and then another bath and then another bath could clean. He had no choice but to put the same trousers back on him. Not surprisingly, he still reeked.

This didn't seem to bother him in the slightest. He chattered on merrily, excited about the picnic. At the same time, Baby had kept up his cacophonous screeching. I fed him, but he still wailed and voiced his disapproval of being dragged out for the day.

Mr 3, oblivious to his rancid, toxic odour spotted another family having a picnic and figured he'd join them. I think he just wanted to make friends with the other kids. Within minutes, the family disappeared, probably unable to consume their food.

I guess it was one way to ensure that we had the entire gardens all to ourselves for the day.  Needless to say, it wasn't exactly a relaxing picnic and we ended it as soon as possible.

From that day forward whenever our boys had one of those utterly disgusting poo explosions they were referred to as a 'Mt.Tomah'.

And that, my friends, is what I would call an epic parenting fail. Bows to applause. But it's all good, because I've been a perfect parent ever since. And slightly delusional, but we won't mention that.


Linking up for I Must Confess.

What is your most epic fail?

Thursday, 12 March 2015

Someone Else For A Day

If you could be someone else for a day, who would that be? This is the question I am pondering for today. There are so many choices.

I could be an animal. But which one would I be? A dog? A cat? Or a bird, so I could merrily poop on people? I'd only poop on people I like - it's supposed to be good luck after all!

I could be Mickey Blue Eyes just to see what it's like being married to me. Shudders. On second thought, no. Just- NO.

I could be one of my gorgeous boys, just to see what it's really like having me as a mother. But I'm not sure I really want to know.

I could be someone famous, just to see what it's like being one of the 'beautiful people'. But I don't like being the centre of attention so I'm not sure I would really like it.

I wouldn't mind trying out being somebody who was a total horrific bitch on wheels for a day. I'm curious to see what it's like. I'm so nauseatingly sweet and nice. I just want to experience being the total opposite of that. To try to understand such a person's thought process. But I can't really say who that person is. That would be like calling someone a bitch. I'm too sweet to do that. You see what I mean? Sigh.

I definitely wouldn't want to be the Prime Minister or the Queen or anyone in authority. I can't make decisions and intensely dislike conflict.

It wouldn't be bad being a wiry, gangly teenager or child or man who never puts on weight just so that I could eat and eat and eat non-stop for the whole day until I explode. Hell, yeah! Yes, it's interesting that eating and not having sex is the first thing that comes to mind for me if I could be a member of the opposite sex. I think that probably says a lot about me. Shut up.

 It might be OK to be our dog Cookie for a day. Every time I spotted her today she was snoozing. Lucky bitch. Even now she is curled up at my feet. Also, she's adored by Mr 10 and 6. 

 Yes, I do think I'd just like to be a carefree child or an animal for a day so I could just sleep, play, eat and not worry about anything. Yeah, I'm really deep, aren't I?

Oh well, if you were looking for deep and meaningful I guess you would never have clicked over here in the first place. So don't blame me. It’s your own fault. You knew that I’m shallow and you chose to read this anyway. So who’s even more shallow? I think we know the answer to that. Just saying.

 Another thought I just had was that I could be somebody who was a genius-like speed reader. Then I could get through ALL THE BOOKS I want to read and THE ENTIRE INTERWEBS in one day!

Or, if there is such a person, (in the Guinness Book Of Records or something) the World's greatest cake-eating champion! That way I could eat ALL THE CAKE and get it out of my system forevermore. Maybe. Probably. It's possible!

 So basically what I'm saying is I want to be somebody who can eat and sleep and read and surf the web all day. You know, just for something COMPLETELY DIFFERENT. Shut up.


Linking up for The Lounge.


Who would you like to be for a day?

Monday, 9 March 2015



I’ve never been good at making decisions. Sometimes I find myself agonising over the simplest of things.  Deciding what to have on a sandwich becomes this epic debate in my mind, fraught with fear and self-doubt. Should I have tuna or cheese and tomato? Perhaps a good old-fashioned curried egg and lettuce would suffice? Then again, there is left-over chicken in the fridge!  There are just too many choices!

Plus, what if it my sandwich filling choice just doesn’t delight my taste buds on that particular day? I’ve already consumed the calories! What a disaster! See? I knew I would choose the wrong thing! 

This probably explains why cheese and tomato sandwiches were my staple diet for many years. It eliminated the decision making progress to opt for the same thing time after time. If I really wanted to be totally wild and crazy I might mix it up by having toasted cheese and tomato. I’ve always been cutting edge.

This cutting edge tendency is probably apparent in my choice of attire. Boring, bland and predominantly black sums it up. Therefore, the amount of time I spend ruminating and pondering over what to wear is patently ridiculous. Who cares what I wear?  As long as I’m covered and clean that’s all that matters.

This doesn’t stop me from wasting an inordinate amount of time fussing over my outfit. It seems that I must be under some sort of grand illusion that I’m a celebrity about to be hounded by the paparazzi each time I leave the house. It’s as if I’m making the important choice of whether to wear the Prada or Gucci instead of the Best & Less or Big W. Often, I mix it  up and team Big W garments with Best & Less ones because, you know, that cutting edge thing again. And do you know what? Except for all the times I’ve been mistaken for Nicole Kidman*, this hounding by the paparazzi hasn’t happened yet! 

Don’t even get me started on grocery shopping. It’s the stuff of nightmares for a scatterbrain like me. So many aisles, so many decisions! I do take lists but still get confused once I’m in the supermarket and all those rows upon rows of choices are around me. Suddenly, things appear in my trolley that weren’t on the list. Of course they are always organic kale and herbal tea, not chocolate or cakies.  No way.

I mean, do you know how long I’d spend agonising over whether to get the Maltesers or Mars Bars? It just seems easier to get both. Ahem. Except that these days I’m on Weight Witches, so I just walk very fast past the confectionary aisle. Then I get to the check out and there they are, right in front me. Sigh. Life can be cruel sometimes.

Anyway, I spend so much time agonising over these mundane decisions it may have prevented me from making any reckless, life-changing decisions that I’ve come to regret. I’ve never taken illegal drugs, gambled away my life savings or robbed a bank.

Yes, there is an infamous mullet-perm in my past but a) it was the 80s, and b) it’s provided ample entertainment as fodder for this blog. So let’s give it another whirl.

I should regret this hairs style- but I won't. I know
you're laughing. You're welcome.

There is one mild regret lurking in my past. Rewind back to around 1992 or 1993. By this time I had ditched the mullet-perm for an attractive poodle perm. Like I said, I’ve always been cutting edge and classy. I was in my early 20s  and working at the State Library. Somehow, on my meagre pay I had managed to save a sizeable chunk of money. I was able to do this because I lived with my parents and didn’t have a car or a social life. This totally confirms my cutting edge status. Shut up.

In the back of my mind I had some hazy idea that I was saving the money to eventually buy a car or go overseas. There were two problems with this grand plan; a) I didn’t have a drivers’ license, and b) I didn’t have any friends to drag overseas with me. The idea of taking off on my own never occurred to me. I was still a tragic Mummy’s girl and ridiculously shy.

Luckily however, around this time I ended up joining Rootaract. Uh, I mean, Rotaract and thusly acquired something resembling a social life. Consequently, I met Mickey Blue Eyes.  My parents were in the process of planning a trip overseas to the UK. It crossed my mind that I had the cash to go with them. I quickly dismissed this thought as absurd. After all, mature, worldly, hip 22 year-old Mummy’s girls who lived at home and proudly owned an entire collection of Carpenters albums didn’t go overseas with their parents!  This would totally tarnish my now legendary cutting edge persona!
Case in point: The Carpenters were totally retro-cool in 1993! There was even an alternative tribute album recorded in their honour! This confirmed that I was ahead of the game and cooler than anyone gave me credit for. To my 22 year old mind I couldn’t risk the damage to my ultra-cool character. It would just be sad and pathetic to go away with my parents. Besides I would have to be parted from Mickey Blue Eyes for a whole month! We were still at that stage where we actually missed each other if we weren’t together every day.

Of course, 20 or so years later I’m wondering why this was even an issue. I see the  man all day, every day. Every. Single. Day. What was I thinking? A  month was a blip in the ocean in the scheme of things.

And the sad truth of the matter is, I would have enjoyed going overseas with my parents much more than going on some Contiki tour with a bunch of raucous, drunken twenty-somethings. Sad, but true.

So I guess what I’m saying is, if I could rewind back to 1993 I would have gone overseas with my parents. But it’s all good, because we’re currently in the process of obtaining our passports so I’m sure we’ll get there eventually. Except now we’ll have three lovely children to tag along just to make it extra special. This should be tremendous fun. I mean what could be worse: going overseas with your middle-aged parents when you’re young or waiting until you’re middle-aged and going with children? This is a totally rhetorical question, just in case you were trying to figure out the correct answer.

Oh well, I suppose I had better leave it there and go and decide what to have for lunch. After all, it could take a while.


 *OK, so I've never been mistaken for Nicole Kidman. But it could still happen! HMPH!

What decision would you change if you could?

Monday, 2 March 2015

Secrets Of The Heart

You might notice that the title of today's post sounds suitably melodramatic, just like the title of a Danielle Steele novel.  Once again it is time to reveal some more of my deep, dark secrets.  By now, my regular readers will be aware that I am an extremely brooding and mysterious individual.

Complex, multi-layered, intriguing and something of an enigma. Like many quiet people, hidden depths lurk beneath my tranquil exterior.

Therefore, my revelation is bound to come as a severe shock. Make sure you are sitting down.

I’m meant to reveal something I’ve never revealed to anyone before. There is a slight issue with this. You see, the thing is… And here comes my dramatic bombshell…

Imagine some ominous and dramatic music....

I’m actually rather boring.

I know! Shocking, right?!!

What you see is pretty much what you get with me. A quiet, boring, cake-eating Carpenters fanatic, who happens to have a husband and a few sprogs. That's it. But there must something I could reveal.
I suppose I could reveal that I sometimes read on the toilet. Well, let me clarify this. I sometimes take a book with me into the toilet just in case. I never actually sit there inhaling my own stench while I merrily read away. That would just be WRONG. Just in case of what, I’m not entirely sure. But let’s face it, you’re probably reading this on your phone while you’re on the can, so don’t judge me!

Admit it. You take your phone into the toilet! At least I’ve never done THAT. So ner.

I could reveal what a hideous slob and failure of a domestic goddess I am, replete with photos of my slovenly abode. But I’ll spare you.
I could reveal that I sometimes fantasise about telling people to fuck off despite my outward placid exterior. But I won’t reveal who those people are. I’ve never actually done it. Yet.

I could reveal that I scratch and pick my ears. But that's just gross and you don't need to know that. Oops.

I could reveal that every time I am making progress with Weight Witches and have a good loss, this seems to be my cue to self sabotage and stray off track. But it's probably what I deserve for posting smug updates on Facebook. No more smug updates from me. You're welcome!

I could reveal that I am STILL on green P-plates. I didn't get my license until I was well into my 30's, and I've just been too lazy  and haven't bothered going through the final testing to get off my P-plates.

I could reveal that previous to getting my license I walked everywhere or caught public transport. Now that I drive I've become one of those wankers who can't bear the thought of stepping onto a train or bus. *Shudders*. Additionally, I seem to have forgotten an important point that my Weight Witches leader pointed out: we all have one of the least expensive pieces of exercise equipment; a front door. Open it and walk out!

Interestingly, this ability to drive coincided with becoming somewhat pudgy. OK, that's not very interesting information, or very surprising. But I shared it anyway. What's the point of having a blog if you can't over share!

I could reveal my little shopping expedition the other week, when I lost my parking ticket. Frantic searching and re-tracing my steps through the shopping centre ensued as a replacement ticket would cost $35. When I returned sheepishly to the ticket station empty handed, the person on duty gave me a replacement ticket for free. Kindness isn't totally extinct, after all.

OH! This is a good one: I could reveal that I failed HSC English. Spectacularly.  I'm sure this is totally shocking. I mean, this blog would certainly never give any indication of that. Shut up.

I could reveal that I have this weird stimming habit of rocking, but I may  have already revealed this before. Can't remember. Fortunately, I never do this in public or my children might pretend not to know me.  Come to think of it, they already do. They want me to bugger off as soon as we arrive at the school gates. Weird. I'm not embarrassing. Am I?

On that note, I better stop embarrassing myself and end it here.

Linking up for I Must Confess.

What hidden secrets can you reveal?