Passions

Those lovely ladies known as the Lounge Lizards apparently want to know what I’m passionate about. Well, duh, as if it isn’t obvious.

CAKIES!

From a young age I was always known for two traits. My unrelenting drive and passion. For cake. Or chocolate. This has propelled me to the dizzying heights (who wouldn’t be dizzy, with all that sugar in your system) I’ve reached today,  as a professional Fatty Boombah Bogan.

This was emphasised to me by an anecdote related to me by my mother of the time when I was around the tender age of three, or perhaps four, who knows. You expect me to remember back that far? I can’t remember five minutes ago!

Anyway, evidently Mum had taken me out shopping and paused to have a coffee. However, I had other ideas.  I kept repeatedly asking for “Something nice,” emphasising the word ‘nice’ with a posh little plum in my mouth.  This refrain went on for several minutes, while Mum attempted to enjoy her coffee.

She tried to ignore my demands. Undaunted, I continued my efforts.

“Mummy, can I please have something nice?”

Finally, after another five minutes or so of my constant nagging heartfelt pleas, Mum eventually threw me a sachet of sugar.

“Here,” she said, exasperated “have this!”

My little three year old eyes fell on it. With a tone dripping in condescension and derision I  scathingly declared:

“BIG DEAL!”

I was cute once. And I wanted something 'nice', not
a sugar sachet! HMPH.

How dare anyone thwart me from having my desired and much sought after slice of cake! CAKE, I say, not a silly old sugar sachet!

In between my frequent cakie consumption, I could be found curled up with a book, my other passion. Sometimes I traded the book for our dachshund dog, Samantha. I tried to smuggle Samantha into bed with me once. When Sammy went to doggy heaven, along came Penny and Skippa.  I was devoted to those dogs. The fact that I never had to actually clean up their crap probably added to their appeal. Penny and Skippa went on to have pups. In an essay written for school about my life, I remarked that I’d never seen anything cuter than those puppies ‘not even a human baby’.  Clearly I needed to get out more. Or all that sugar was affecting my brain. Or both. Regardless, I was besotted with books, dogs and cakies.  Not to mention chocolate.

Me with my mullet perm and Skippa, circa 1985. Classy.

My passion for baked goods and all things chocolatey, continued on in my teens when I proceeded to take the old ‘Mars a day’ slogan quite literally. I devoured a Mars Bar every single day after school, while remaining annoyingly slim. Annoying to others, I’m sure. Annoying to me now, knowing that this phenomenon will remain firmly back in 1985, along with mullet perms and bubble skirts.  The latter two can stay there. However, I want my fourteen year old metabolism back, thank you very much. Hmph.

Perhaps continuing with the syrupy sweet theme, I also developed a deep and abiding love for Carpenters music at around age 11 which has continued onto this day. This is yet another lifelong passion.  Ironically, Karen Carpenter died from an eating disorder shortly after I fell passionately in love with her voice and music. This meant I was now passionate about cakies – and the World’s most famous anorexic, something only I could achieve. So ner. After all, while others worried about trying to save the whales or the ozone layer, SOMEBODY had to focus on the important issues. What could be more important than cake and Carpenters? Don't answer that...

Then, one day, years later, there came an epoch in my life.  A ‘bend in the road’ as ‘Anne’ would say.  I was unable to become pregnant and it appeared that a little bit of weight loss might help the situation. Surprisingly, I was able to develop a new passion, a very unexpected one. Exercise.

It worked, and one by one, babies came along. With each subsequent baby my passion for exercise waxed and waned. Meanwhile, my devotion to cakies and chocolate continued unabated.  After all, I could have given them up, too, but I’m no quitter, as they say. Whoever ‘they’ are.

My singular determination and unremitting pursuit of all things sugary is what has shaped me into the person I am today. An overweight bogan with high cholesterol who knows the words to every Carpenters song. Not many people can boast about that.  Shut up.

Not to be beaten, I am now determined to reclaim my long lost passion for exercise. After all these years it appears that my love affair with cakies and chocolate must now tragically come to an end. It’s not me, it’s them. While I have passionately loved them, it appears that they do not love me. Cue hysterical sobbing.

It turns out that there is one thing that I am truly passionate about.  Yes, even above and beyond cakies and Carpenters. Three things, actually.  Three of the most important people in my life.  My gorgeous boys. I love them passionately. For them, I will give up (or cut back, anyway- ahem) on cakies. I will even move my rather large arse and break a sweat everyday, until it becomes slightly less large.  I will do it because I passionately desire to be around for a hell of a long time, to see them grow up and possibly even be a Grandma one day. 

And if I do live to be 80, then I'm eating cake EVERY SINGLE DAY until I die from a diabetic coma. You can't stop me.  

Linking up with Slapdash Mama Sarah for The Lounge.

 
Also linking with Cathy from The Camera Chronicles for Flashback Friday.

                                                           What are YOU passionate about? 

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About A Boy, Or Boys, Actually

The other day I went to pick up Mr 4 from kindy, Mr 11 and 8 trailing behind me. Both had 'graduated' from the same kindy, replete with caps and gowns. Can you believe it? Five year olds 'graduating'? Anyway, as we filed back out the door, the rather talkative lady who runs the day care exclaimed over how much the boys had grown, adding "Are you going to have any more, Vanessa?"

"No," I replied quickly "I'm too old."

She scoffed at this, then declared "But, you have to have a girl!"

Seriously? Is someone coming to arrest me if I don't? Is there a law saying we all have to have at least one child of each gender? Did I miss that memo?

Not that I mean anything against girls. Especially since I used to be one. I'm just bemused by the insistence in society that if your children are all male, you must have a girl. It's not the first time people have insisted this to me. In addition, I often get pitying looks and veiled comments that seem to imply I've been given a dodgy deal having three healthy, gorgeous boys.

Does the opposite happen to parents of only girls?

In a conversation with another Mum at Playgroup, who has one daughter, she confessed that she really wasn't keen to have any more children. The she suggested that I must have kept going for three to get that elusive girl. Not true. After five long years of infertility, I never thought twice about the gender of my children. I was just so grateful to be able have healthy children.

I was convinced I was having a girl, second time around, when I was pregnant with Mr 8.  This was due to a whole load of bollocks I was told by a couple of psychics.  They both predicted that I would have a boy and then a girl by age 32 or 33.

As I was 33 at the time, while pregnant, I believed it.  Well, of course they are going to say this. If someone is pregnant it is certainly going to be one or the other.  At least that way they have a 50% chance of getting some predictions (lies) right!

If psychics are going to make up this stuff, couldn’t they at least be more inventive and make up something really astonishing or super exciting such as 'you are going to give birth to a genius who will discover the cure for cancer.'

Anyway, because I was so convinced I was having a girl, I thought I would find out the sex.  Another boy! Another miracle for me.  We thought we might not have any children at one stage. Oh yeah, I already mentioned that. 

I truly didn’t have any disappointed, let down feeling. 

Even though Micky Blue Eyes goes around telling people that we thought we’d have a third to try for a girl,  such a thought honestly did not enter my mind.  I knew by this time that we only made boys for whatever reason. When I had a late miscarraige at 19 weeks with our third baby, another boy, I was devastated. It wasn't as if I didn't care just because it was boy. So,when we were lucky enough to have a fourth boy, again, I was delighted.

I like being a mother of boys. Yes, there are things that go with it that are tedious.  As much as I don’t have patience for many boy type things. Lego, Star Wars, Spider Man, Lego, Harry Potter, Lego, Lego and more bloody Lego.

Taken by Mr8: some of his favourite things.

 

Seriously, that stuff is the Cancer of toys. It seems to multiply and spread to the most inconvenient places. Just when you think you have beaten it or contained it one place, there it is again. Everywhere. In the bath tub, backyard, kitchen, and your bed. Right under your backside, naturally, when you heave your weary bones in at midnight, absolutely knackered. 

Plus, we haven't exactly had the most illustrious track record with the stuff, as it has necessitated two trips to the hospital thus far. Once, when Mr 8, then Mr 5, helpfully shoved a tiny piece up his nostril. Another, when Mr 4, then Mr 3, was suspected of swallowing a piece. X-rays confirmed that it was, in fact, a false alarm, thankfully. 

However, I suspect I would have even less tolerance for many ‘girly’ things. Particularly craft. I’m just not that into it. There, I said it. All that glitter, pipe cleaners, felt paper, beads and fiddly crap.

Plus, I don’t really do pink and frilly. Pink makes me puke, generally. No doubt if I'd had a girl or girls I would have crossed over to the pink side and went crazy buying pretty things. Therefore having boys has helped us to save money. (I'm conveniently ignoring the fact that we are flat broke bogans.) I do tend to assume that being boys, when they grow up they will go their own way, while a daughter would stay closer to their parents. However, I probably believe this because I'm still a Mummy's girl (and a Daddy's girl) at 42. Not every female is. Ahem.

As a mother of boys, I also made the decision to call their dangly bits by the correct term. A penis is a penis, the same as an arm is an arm, right? This mortified my mother who had told my brother growing up that it was a ‘Charlie’.  Apparently the look on his face the first time he was introduced to somebody named Charlie was priceless.

We definitely won't be having a daughter. We're done. I had a tubal ligation a few years ago. Therefore the relief I feel every month, getting a period is slightly ridiculous. It's just that after everything about pregnancy being slightly bizarre for me, I fear it could still happen. I tried for years, in my 20's when supposedly women are more fertile. At the time even fertility treatments did not work. With my first pregnancy I didn't even know it was happening until it was all over bar the shouting, as they say. Then, I became pregnant easily twice when I was over 35. Weird. I worry I could be that random strange person who could fall pregnant in my 40's, after having a tubal ligation. I don't want that to happen, even if I could be guaranteed to have a girl. My family is complete.

I feel blessed to have my boys and I hope I can bring them up to be decent men. Even if we are something resembling bogans, at least we are nice bogans. Or noice ones, as the case may be. Also, undoubtedly one of the best things about having boys, apart from all the cuddles, is that Micky Blue Eyes loves taking them out to soccer games and occasionally camping. Which gives me that much coveted quiet time. It’s a win/win  situation for us. 

And one day, I hope, they will eventually lose the fascination with Lego.

Do you have boys? If so, all I really want to know is how to you deal with the Lego?

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Too Much Testosterone

I must confess I don't really drive very much, which was today's I Must Confess topic prompt. So, instead I am confessing that I am totally over so many 'boy' things. They may very well be 'girl' things too. Just bear with me while I totally generalise, okay?

There is too much testosterone in our house.  A bevy of boisterous boys.  Oh okay, only three.  I'm not that mad.  I do not wish for a soccer team.  Although I'm pretty sure we could have produced one if we'd kept on going.   Always full of boundless energy.  Well, except when they are lazing in front of the TV.

Master 10 sits in his favourite recliner directly in front of the television and frequently hollers for a cup of tea.  Yes, he drinks tea.  At least he does say please.   Masters 8 and 3 will loll on the lounge and I will have a moments reprieve while they are engrossed in the TV, before they inevitably start arguing over Lego or Master 8's current obsession 'Trashies'.  Don't ask.

Living in a family where I am the only female naturally means I rarely ever have free reign over the remote control.  I will always be the last person to ever lay my hands on it.  Strangely, however, I am always the first person who is queried when it goes missing.

"Have you seen the remote?" Micky Blue Eyes will bark, eyes darting around the room. 
"No, " I reply, exasperated "When would I ever have it?  You just have to look for it."  So he does.

Now,  I'm not sure if this is the general male way of looking for things or only the males at our house, but his version involves standing in the middle of the room looking around vacantly, as if he expects the thing to come flying out to him by some sort of supernatural force of ESP or something, before announcing "I can't see it."

Of course you can't dear, you haven't moved anything, I think frustratedly.  Then his eyes will wander over to the couch, and, if I happen to be sitting there, rest suspiciously on me, until he says "Are you sitting on it?"

Well, call me stupid, but somehow, I imagine that if I had something remote control sized wedged underneath my (admittedly rather large) backside, I might reasonably be expected to notice it was there.
I sigh and get up reluctantly.  Minutes later it is retrieved, usually lodged down the side or back of Master 10's recliner.  Or his Throne, as it also known.

Being a mother of three boys, there are many things that I am completely over.  Searching for the remote is one just one of them.   There are many others.  Like these:


As promised, here is my list of all the 'boy' things I am over. For the purpose of this blog, I may be generalising a little. I'm sure there are lots of girls who like some of these things too. If not, then I'm assuming it would just be something else like Barbies, or beads or Bratz dolls or whatever it is girls like these days (frankly, I have no idea) that parents of girls would be over. I, however, in no particular order, am completely over the following:

HARRY POTTER:

Sorry J.K. Rowling, I know you are the biggest selling author of all time (at least I think so, I'm too lazy to actually check for sure) so, while completely in awe of you, I will not be reading your books. Ever. Yes, I know she's not losing any sleep over this, considering the gazillion or so of those things she's sold, but still, I must protest somehow.

I love reading. It's just that after being forced to watch endless TV screenings of the films (despite having the full DVD set, as well) I am truly over it.

LEGO :

There must be 700 gazillion Lego sets in existence, each containing 700 gazillion pieces. These sets are hideously expensive. Then, once you have forked over a fortune for them, you take them home, they require hours of patience to painstakingly put them together.

Following which, they will be played with for approximately ten minutes, before being smashed and all the pieces never found again. Plus, every parent of boys (and some Lego-minded girls) knows the pain of stepping on a piece of Lego. OUCH!

SOCCER and RUGBY LEAGUE:

My father and husband are are totally soccer obsessed. Now my boys are fast becoming so too, especially Master 10. In the tradition of the old saying "if you can't beat em, join em" I have tried to drum up an interest . This worked well for my mother, who now sits up at ridiculous hours with my father, watching Man United play.

Not so well for me, however. My eyes glaze over after only ten seconds. By 20 seconds I am considering stabbing my own eyes repeatedly with pins, just to make it more interesting. How do people get themselves so worked up over this that they actually sob if their team loses the Grand Final?

Additionally, ever since my brief crush at age 12, on Wayne Pearce evaporated, even the promise of very fit men, in very tight shorts can't seem to entice me.

STAR WARS:

And all things science fiction. May the force be with you. The force of my foot, booting you to oblivion. Incidentally, while I am on this subject, some folks develop life-long fascinations with Star Wars, Star Trek etc and seem to think that this makes them dark, mysterious and intensely interesting individuals. It does not. This fascination is just as deeply disturbing and mind-numbingly boring to somebody else as my Carpenters obsession is to you. Just sayin'.

SUPER HERO'S:

Spiderman, Batman, Iron Man etc. How many more movies can conceivably be churned out with these characters?

A lot it seems. There are new Spiderman and Batman films hitting the screens this year. Which means my boys will want to see them. As well as wanting every toy manufactured in conjunction with them too.

On the one hand, I am happy to let them watch something that will keep them riveted for an hour or two, so that I can do something else. On the other hand, it provokes emulating behaviours. Especially in Master 3, who will revert to wanting to dress like Spiderman every time we leave the house, a habit we've only just nipped in the bud.

WWE WRESTLING: Fortunately, they seem to have lost interest in this one presently. Thankfully, as no one should ever have to endure watching this particular form of torture.

However, as you all know by now, I have my own brand of torture as retribution. My Carpenters obsession. And I will be turning it up LOUD.

 Linking up with Kirsty from My Home Truths for I Must Confess.

 

What are you completely 'over' at your house? Any of the above? Or is something else driving you crazy?

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