Dear Santa...

Dear Santa,

How are you? Season's greetings and all that. How is Mrs Claus and all the elves? I expect things are quite hectic as you're doing all your last minute preparations. 

Loading up the sleigh. Making sure the reindeers are well-rested for the big night. Checking your lists: one titled Naughty, and the other Nice. It must be a magical winter wonderland over there in the North Pole. I can only imagine, as it's summer here in the land of Oz.

However, I wonder if could be so cheeky as to interrupt your busy schedule to ask a few questions? They've been on my mind for a long time. Years, in fact. They're really rather important. I am a master at asking all the important questions, I think you will find. 

Okay, here goes. I will just fling them at you randomly and in no particular order. I've been over thinking about them for so long and I just need to get them off my chest:

• Where did you find FLYING reindeers? 
• Why are you always judging people? If they're naughty or nice? I mean, who are you to decide what's naughty? 
• And furthermore, aren't you actually somewhat of a... err... STALKER? Watching people when they're sleeping or otherwise is just plain creepy, Santa. 
• How do you fit enough presents for ALL THE CHILDREN IN THE WHOLE WORLD on one little sleigh?
• Likewise, how are you able to traverse the entire planet in a single night? I'm sorry Santa, it just doesn't make sense. 
• How do you get into houses or apartments that don't have chimneys? 
• And, if they do have a chimney, how do you slide nimbly down them, given your advanced age and ample girth? Sorry to be a bit personal there, Santa. 
• I need to know why I never received that much coveted Barbie Dream House when I was a child? I was nice! Mostly. Oh shut up, Santa. Yes, I know I got the Barbie Camper Van, but that's not the point! 
• Furthermore, how can you POSSIBLY be in every single shopping centre at exactly the same time? Have you figured out how to clone yourself? 
• And what about the poor little elves? Isn't it slave labour making them toil away in your workshop? Who's not nice now, Santa?
• Last but not least Santa, riddle me this: why is it that parents do all the work, and then you come along in your red suit and hat all jolly like and TAKE ALL THE CREDIT! RUDE. 

Well Santa, I'm waiting. I want answers. And I want them NOW!

*Silence*

AHA! I thought so! You can't answer these questions, can you? It's almost as if...

YOU DON'T EVEN EXIST. 

There, I said it.

I've suspected this for some time. Especially after my tragic revelation about the phoney old dinner fairy. Sigh. And not just any sigh. A deep, long sigh containing all the sorrow of the ages. 

The thing is Santa, maybe you're not real. And you can't ever answer my questions. But you know what? Who cares!

I know, I know! I did a few lines ago. Details!

The truth is, we all need a little magic in our lives. To believe in fairy tales. Well, at least sometimes... To revisit our childhood innocence. We need some Christmas cheer. We all need this more than ever right now.

So on with the show, Santa! Load up that sleigh. It's nearly Christmas Eve! I'll have carrots ready for the reindeers. And I'll leave you out some wine and chocolate instead of milk and cookies, because I know that's what you'd really prefer. 😉

See you soon, Santa! 

Sincerely, 

Ness.

Do you still believe in Santa? 

Image credit: https://www.pexels.com/photo/blur-celebration-christmas-cookies-260498/

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All I Want For Christmas...

I was tagged by the lovely Mim to answer these sixteen questions about Christmas. And since I'm such a jolly person I say ho ho ho and on with the show...

Um. Yeah. That's why it doesn't work when I try to be jolly or outgoing or any of those things. I just sound/look like an eejit. Oh well. Here's the sixteen questions anyway. Complete with answers, because that's how questions are supposed to work...

1. What’s your favourite Christmas movie?

Hmmmm good question. I'd probably say When Harry Met Sally, even though it's not technically a Christmas movie, it does have a bit of a Christmassy theme/feel. 

2. Have you ever had a White Christmas?

Unfortunately, no! 

Unless we're talking wine and pavlova and things like that? Then of course I have! 

3. Where do you usually spend your holiday?

It' usually spent at my brother and sister-in-law's place either on Christmas or boxing day. This year we did early (yesterday!) because they are going away. So I expect we will be at home (or my parents place) on the actual day. 

4. What’s your favourite Christmas song?

That's easy. It's The Carpenters Merry Christmas Darling. 

5. Do you open any presents on Christmas Eve?

Nope. I don't know why. Probably because "Santa" doesn't seem to be too organised around here... Ahem.

6. Can you name all of Santa’s Reindeers?

Um. Dasher. Dancer. Comet.Vixen? No... Blitzen. Or something. And of course, good old Rudolph. So that's only half.

Oh wait, I've got a feeling there's a Donner as well. Or I could just be thinking about kebabs? I'm always thinking of food. Classy.

So yeah, the short answer is no. No, I can't.

7. What holiday traditions are you looking forward to this year?

You mean aside from eating myself into a diabetic coma? That would be drinking likewise. Just kidding! I do have a wine or two but I'm not a drunk. I guess it would be just spending time with family and listening to Carpenters Christmas music. 

8. Is your Christmas Tree real or fake?

Fake as fake can be. And then I just let Mr 9 chuck whatever he wants on it. It's currently leaning sadly like it's dejected and forlorn and no amount of indiscriminate tinsel tossed at it will ever cheer it up. Poor fake tree. 

9. What’s your favourite holiday treat/food/sweet?

Pretty much anything that isn't nailed down. See 7. 

10. Be honest, do you prefer the giving or receiving of gifts?

To be honest I sometimes feel embarrassed about receiving because I'm always worried that my gifts are not as nice as what I've been given. Does that make sense? Yeah, I never make sense. As you were. 

11. What’s the best Christmas present you ever received?

I'm still waiting for twelve billion dollars in cash, a luxury European holiday and a glamorous waterfront property complete with staff to pamper me. HMPH. 

Seriously though, the best thing is getting a clean bill of health from cancer related issues for Mickey Blue Eyes and I. Nothing can beat that. 

But I wouldn't mind the clean bill of health PLUS the twelve billion just to see what that's like as well. Someone arrange that for me. Pretty please? 

12. What’s your dream place to visit for the holiday season?

Anywhere that isn't the equivalent of the seventh circle of hell, given that it's summer here in the land of Oz. 

13. Are you a pro present wrapper or do you fail miserably?

Fail ABYSMALLY.  They just get wrapped any old how. And I drive myself mad misplacing tape etc while I'm doing it. GRRRRR. 

14. Most memorable Christmas memory?

Gosh I'm not sure. Other than my boys first Christmasses.

I do have a vague memory of receiving one of those vintage 'Baby Chrissie' dolls when I was around four. You could pull their hair in and out or something. Anyway, I dragged it by the hair outside. Needless to say, my mum wasn't impressed because she'd had to pay it off back in the days of lay-by. That wasn't exactly the kind of heartfelt, touching tale you were looking for, right? Oops. 

15. What made you realise the truth about Santa?

I can't remember anything specific. It was just the slow dawning realisation that there was no WAY that Santa could be in all the shops at once. Nor did it seem plausible that he could traverse the entire world in a single night with a bunch of flying reindeer. I mean, come ON!

Plus if he really did exist,then what was going on with the fact that my cousin sometimes stayed with us for Christmas and would usually receive twice as much as my brother and I put together?This was after my aunt declared "She's not getting much this year." What? Ripped off! And anyways,Santa ends up getting all the credit after mums (and dads) do all the work! 

What I'm saying is, I still wish he WAS real. *SOBS*

16. What makes the holidays special for you?

It's kind of trite but I guess it's just spending time with loved ones. Well, that and the fact that all thoughts of diets, being healthy and all that nonsense can be forgotten for a month day and you can eat until you EXPLODE.  I did mention I'm classy. 

DONE. 

Big thanks to Mim for tagging me. That was fun!

I now tag:

 Denyse at Denyse Whelan Blogs

Dorothy at A Blog Of Her Own. 

Janet at Middle Aged Mama.

Ness at Normal Ness (I think her sarcastic take could be interesting!) 

However, if any of you are not into the tag thing just ignore me. On the other hand if you're totally into it, it's an open tag, so join in! 

Merry Christmas everyone! 

What are you doing for Christmas?

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Two Months Until Christmas

Hello there gorgeous blog reader! I am delighted that you are back here again. 

It's Monday, which always comes after Sunday and before Tuesday. I figured I may as well take my Captain Obvious to the next level. Why not? Rhetorical question...

So anyway, here I am. Back to entertain to you in my typical fashion! Which means that I have absolutely NOTHING to tell you. Not a thing. But that won't stop me! I will proceed to babble on about bugger all for several paragraphs. Right. On with it.

So where were we? 

Oh yes, not only is it Monday, it's also October 24th! And you know what that means, don't you? It's just two months until Christmas! 

This time last year I was walking around oblivious to the fact that I had cancer. Yikes. Thinking about this macabre fact reminds me of seeing Lawrence Mooney doing stand up on the telly.

He did a spot of black comedy about cancer. The observation went something like this: that you can stub your toe and be doubled over in agony. Meanwhile when you have cancer growing in your body - NOTHING. Not a twinge. Scary, scary shit. And so true, in my experience. 

I'm not sure what it is about this time of year, but we seem to like being all dramatic, getting cancer and stuff, conveniently right before Christmas. Aren't we show offs?

Yes, apparently Mickey Blue Eyes got his diagnonsense in October of 2004. So it's always been such a jolly old merry time for us. Yeah, NOT. Which brings me to what I want for Christmas: NOTHING. Meaning, I want this period of time to be extremely boring and uneventful. 

Anyway, I expect I should probably start shopping. Every single year I say I am going to be organised and every single year it sneaks up on me. Needless to say, I am not organised AT ALL. Which is slightly embarrassing, after boasting in this post about being organised. Awkward. 

Look, I have my own version of being organised. I have such a boring life that it spices things up to live dangerously and leave Christmas shopping until the last minute! It's all part of a plan. A not very well thought through plan, but a plan nonetheless. 

For example, last year I was a Christmas shopping NINJA. When I got my diagnonsense on December 4th, I hadn't done any Christmas shopping. So I went out the following Monday the 7th and did all my shopping in one day. Then I had surgery on Thursday December 10th. Winning! 

My GP was quite impressed. That I got on with it and did what I had to do. Looking back, I am too.

This may come as a shock, but I'm not exactly the jolliest person at the best of times. So yeah, 2015 wasn't a brilliant Christmas for me. Typically, at this time of year I would be all cynical and bah humbug. But not this year. I don't have to have surgery before Christmas, and chemo in the new year! YAY! 

The most exciting thing I want to happen during this period is listening to Carpenters Christmas music. You know, just for something COMPLETELY DIFFERENT. 

Yep, we're so organised around here. We currently have no idea what we're doing for Christmas. Usually we have Christmas lunch at my brother and sister-in-law's place. Where ever I am, I will proceed to eat myself into a diabetic coma. SUCH FUN! 

As a matter of fact, it suddenly occurs to me that I have started shopping. I have ordered one thing online. See? I told you I was organised! The current status in our family is this: only one boy(Mr almost 8), sorta kinda believes in Santa. He's not totally convinced, but he's clinging to it. Just in case. 

Last year I didn't send any Christmas cards, for obvious reasons. Does anyone actually do that anymore? Nope, methinks. Instead they start boring as batshit blogs. Related: this space began because of the silly old Christmas letters I used to send. It's my gift to the world! No, there aren't any refunds or exchanges! RUDE. 

Meanwhile, I am seriously considering putting up the Christmas tree early, though, just to get into the spirit.  Shit, I really must be ill. This is more serious than cancer, people. I've become one of those people on the left...

Save me! 


Linking up for Life This Week.

Also linking up for Open Slather and Mummy Mondays.

Which one are you? Jolly or bah humbug? 

Are you ready for Christmas? 

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Quiet Person, Loud Mind

Hello strangers. I haven't been blogging very much lately. I must confess I do miss it quite a bit.

I guess it's a combination of things keeping me away from this space these days.  For starters I've been quite busy actually leaving the house and doing other things for once. This has to be a good thing, right?

Additionally, I don't always have access to a working lap-top. For some reason our lap-tops and internet connection are dodgy. The other reason that I have to confess is just having a case of the 'blog blahs'. I feel like I'm boring myself with the inane nonsense I write, so I must be boring every one else. Sigh.

I feel like I should probably do something different with this blog at this point, but then I don't know what that something different is. After all, I've been blogging (erratically) for over three years.

I don't really know why but for some reason I am always some 20 years behind other people my age when it comes to confidence or something. I mean, it took me until I was 41 to even consider putting anything whatsoever that I wrote out there via this blog however good, bad or indifferent it was or is. So perhaps if I live until I'm 80 I should be ready to push it to another level.

I read other blogs and articles giving people advice and opinions regarding parenting or Asperger's Syndrome but somehow I never see myself that way despite being a mother of three with an adult diagnonsense of Assburgers. (You see how I never take anything seriously..)  Who am I to give anyone advice when I'm just another person stumbling along making things up as I go?

Disclaimer: This week I am living in raging PMS Land, so I'm all sooky la la and navel gazing and morose and moody. As opposed to all the other times when I'm upbeat and chirpy and optimistic. Shut up.

This popped up in my Facebook feed today:

Image source: https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/…/6632d79db6f1304a8195…

It's quite true. There is a lot of chatter in my head at the moment. Unfortunately it just seems to be nonsense chatter, so I do apologise for this post sounding scrambled and confused. As opposed to all my previous ones which were focused and insightful and purposeful. Coughs.

As I mentioned, I've been busy doing things. Principally I am about to finish my TAFE course. This is a Certificate 1 in Access To Work And Training. Now I'm pondering my next move. My first thought was that I might be able to do some further TAFE units in Library Practice. This is the diploma I obtained some decades time ago. I figured it might be a tad redundant by now, so I might be able to update or refresh my qualifications.

The only problem is that TAFE courses now cost an arm, two legs, a liver and a kidney. As well as an additional twelve billionty dollars and at least one of your children to be sacrificed with a gruesome bludgeoning. If you haven't got children they will take your bullocks or girly bits and bludgeon those instead because they figure you don't need them.

OK, I'm exaggerating slightly. But they are frightfully expensive. I spoke  to the dude who is the head teacher of the Library Practice course today and he's advised me that it may cost me at least four grand. Yikes.

Anyway, there is an information session next week which I will attend and see what they say. However, I'm starting to think it won't be an option if it's going to cost a fortune and take forever. I'm already quite ancient mature.

I think I may decide to do some volunteer work and then perhaps send my resume off to good old Library Locums and see what happens. Hopefully they will just ignore the vast, echoing, prolonged, empty and gargantuan gap in my resume. It's only 15 years since I've worked. That's nothing, right? 

Meanwhile, Mickey Blue Eyes has assured me that I don't need to worry about working from a money perspective because he's right on track with his Becoming A Millionaire plan even it's more than a decade behind schedule. But, as I like to say - details.

Therefore if I'm going to study I might be better off doing a writing course or a blogging course but I don't know which one. I mean, what courses are there for somebody who is already clearly a writerly/blogging genius? Suggestions please, bloggy friends!

In other news, Mr 11 is currently in Canberra on a school excursion. He'll be back tonight. Mr 13 is becoming Mr 14 next month and Mr 6 is his usual cheeky self.  He says so many funny things all the time, but now that I'm trying to remember them I can't. Weird.

I have their parent/teacher interviews coming up next week, so that will be interesting. Every time I go to these I feel like I'm a naughty child who is being sent to the principal's office or something. Is that just me? This is particularly strange since I was never a naughty or rebellious child and don't remember ever being sent to the principal's office when I was at school. Neurotic much?

In other news apparently half the year has vanished already. This means that the count down to Christmas will begin. Please DO NOT remind me of how many days there are to go. It will be all over my Facebook feed all too soon. Sigh.

The school holidays are also coming and we have NOTHING PLANNED. YAY!

We did consider going away but the boys were OUTRAGED by this suggestion. Clearly you can't fight genetics. The introverted/homebody gene is a strong one around here. Winning!


There is a trip to Wagga Wagga planned for September. Yes, we always stay classy. Besides, we have extended family there whom we will be visiting so it's all good. Can't wait! Except I sort of can. Because if it was already September, then there would be even less time until Christmas. I can't even.... Head hurts.

Oh well, I suppose I had better go and do some exercise and tick some more stuff off my To-Do list. So far I have ticked an amazing ONE thing off the list. Oh dear. Plus, it appears I should have added to the list: Do not lose To-Do list.

Um, where is my To-Do List? OK, I'm off to find it....

Until next time,

Hugs and cakie things,

Ness

PS: It turns out that I was sitting on the To-Do List. Oops.

Linking up (late, as usual) for I Must Confess.

Do you have a loud mind? What's going on in your head?

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Free Style

A funny thing happened. I started writing this post two weeks ago and my lap top decided to freeze and shit itself so I gave up. Then last night I checked in here and realised that my half finished draft had been published. Weird. Oh well, just as well nobody reads my crap anyway.

So here I am again. No point in explaining my absence since those two optimistic people who may still be reading at this point are used to me popping up whenever I feel like it. Suffice to say it involves a husband on crutches and a house in utter disarray. I decided it would be an extremely helpful time to have a major clear out. Somehow it ended up progressing to clearing out the carpet in two bedrooms. Now we need new carpet. I'm a very logical person. Sort of. Kind of. Not really. Shut up

As for Mickey Blue Eyes and his crutches, turns out he's even more logical than me. He was still playing soccer at 51. One dislocated knee later, he may finally quit. So that's me. Running him backwards and forwards to physio therapy and playing nurse. Somebody offered to loan me a sexy nurse costume. I'm sure I would look smokin' hawt in a matron uniform but I was thinking more Nurse Ratched than Nurse Racy. Muahahaha!

Meanwhile, I also decided to join Weight Witches because I've always wanted to be a witch like Samantha on Bewitched. I imagined myself just twitching my nose and instantly being lighter and healthier. Then I could just fly off on my broomstick and ditch the whole house wife gig, Because frankly, that part of Bewitched never really made sense. Why would a witch with magical powers want to forsake those powers to be a normal house wife? You can see that nothing has changed since my absence. I'm still asking the important questions.

Anyway, it turns out that there is no magic spell and you actually have to eat healthy food! How frightfully rude. However, cakies are allowed in small amounts. Phew. I'm only two weeks in and going well, but now that I've made a public announcement on this here blog just watch me fail! Let's just agree that you'll smile politely and not mention it if you see me and it looks like I've fallen off the wagon. Okay? We're good then. Deal.

It seems that while all of the above was happening Christmas has snuck up on me in it's merry little way. Thank goodness I don't have to worry about Christmas shopping! That's Santa's job, right? It's totally his fault if nothing turns up under the tree! Sorted.

I have managed to put up a dodgy little Christmas tree. But presently the house resembles something off an episode of Hoarders: Buried  Alive in preparation for having the carpet laid on the weekend. Then we'll be able to get back to normal and just resemble a regular episode of Hoarders. What a relief.

On Friday Mickey Blue Eyes has to see a surgeon and find out whether or not his knee will require surgery. Fun times. So there will be no holidays for us and unfortunately we'll have to cancel that lavish trek around Europe I had planned. I did! When we win the lottery. And we never take a ticket, so it's really looking promising. Oh well, I can dream, can't I? Sigh.

The boys are counting down the days until school finishes and Santa arrives. Mr 10 and 6 were the proud recipients of a Principal's Award. Oh  yes, last month Mr 5 became Mr 6! We celebrated in style with a party at Maccas. Clearly I made the right decision in losing the bogan theme around here. We're not bogans AT ALL!  Shut up.

Another funny thing keeps happening. Every time I sit down to write a blog post, this lap top freezes and shits itself, so I'm just going to quit while I'm ahead and end it here.  Happy Christmas and a Merry New Year everyone!  Or something....

Linking up for The Lounge.

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The Last Hurrah

Greetings Earthlings, from planet Boganville! Oh okay, it's more like a Sydney suburb in NSW, Australia, which as far as I'm aware, is on planet Earth. DETAILS. It certainly seems like we bogans are creatures from the planet Zorg, though, right? Don't answer that...

This post may be my last hurrah for the momentous year of 2013. And what a year it's been for myself and my family. Jam-packed with all our usual under achievements and boring as bat shit astonishing escapades.

I wouldn't even  know where to begin. Oh right - January. That's usually the first month of the year, I believe. Here goes nothing. I mean, seriously and truly - NOTHING. But I figure since I'm noted for posts about nothing, why break this record now?

JANUARY

We ventured up  north to Queensland and the beautiful sunshine coast where it was, not surprisingly, quite sunny. I'm taking a wild guess here and assuming that's why it's referred to as The Sunshine Coast. You think? While there, I turned 42 and did not discover the Meaning Of Life AT ALL. I blame it all on Douglas Adams, quite frankly. He shouldn't have set me up for such lofty expectations of this age. HOW RUDE.

FEBRUARY

This is the shortest month of the year. I only mention this because I can't remember a thing of what I did during it and I have to make up something. Traditionally, my Dad would always go on a February Diet for this reason. Instead, I broke the tradition by eating like a Wildebeest* (and becoming one) because, you know - REBEL and all that. Not to mention a glutton. Hey, we weren't mentioning that!!

MARCH

Mr 8 became Mr 9. Moving on, as I can't remember anything else from this month...

APRIL

Easter! Which means chocolate! That would be the highlight of April for  me. Shut up.

MAY

I'm sure something happened in May. At the very least I would eaten and showered and even fed my kids occasionally.  I think. I hope. Maybe. Well, they're still alive, aren't they? HUMPH.

JUNE

June was so crazy, action packed and momentous that I struggle to put it all into words! So I won't. You're welcome.

JULY

Mr 11 became Mr 12. There was cake involved.  Nothing to do with the birthday, there just always is  cake involved in my life. Which finally caught up with me when I had a blood test and discovered I had high cholesterol and blood sugar. Classy.

AUGUST

Micky Blue Eyes turned  50. There was more cake and yet more food. What else?

SEPTEMBER

What can I say about September? Seriously, WHAT can I say about it? Help me out, here. I need to make some shit up....

OCTOBER

Is the month that comes after September. Always has, always will. Interestingly, it's also the only month that begins with the letter O. I mention this purely because I don't want to mention cake again. Oh. Oops.

NOVEMBER

In this magnificent month Mr 4 became Mr 5 and Micky Blue Eyes and I celebrated our 18th Wedding Anniversary WITHOUT cake!!  I know! I can't believe it, either!

DECEMBER

Well, here we are folks, limping through to the finish line of the wonderful year we've called 2013. Mr 5 has 'graduated' from pre-school and heading to 'big' school next year. Mr 12 is also heading off to High School. He had his Year 6 Farewell this week and looked rather dashing in his outfit.

Meanwhile, yesterday I received the best and only Christmas present I want when Micky Blue Eyes has his annual procedure and received the all clear from Cancer for the 9th year in row!! Now, THAT'S worth celebrating! With cake. Too bad we didn't have any. Oh well, wine it is, then!

Cheers!

*Pauses to take a long sip*

Ahhhh - refreshing!

Now, where was I? Oh yes - December! Unfortunately, I failed in my frantic efforts to cancel Christmas, which means it's going ahead on the 25th as per usual. This year we are spending the day at home. I can't remember ever having done that since the boys were born so I'm actually looking forward to it.

Then, 2014 shall arrive and we are heading off for another one of our ubiquitous bogan jaunts. This time to the Central Coast where we shall be staying in a lovely cabin type arrangement, because why stay here in the cramped conditions of the Bogan Box with 3 boys fighting over a computer when we can go to even more cramped conditions and do the same thing there? Makes perfect sense, really.

Well, folks, that's it from me, except to wish each and every one (well - there's at least one) of my lovely readers a very happy festive season and a wonderful New Year!

*It turns out that Wildebeests mainly eat grass, not cake. Who knew?

Linking up with Robomum for The Lounge. Better late than never, right?

                                              Was 2013 an action-packed year for you?

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I'm Dreaming of A Cancelled Christmas....

Good morning Groovers and Shakers, welcome to another Monday, the most universally loathed day of the week. It occurs to me that there seems to be rather a lot of songs written about Mondays considering that it is a much despised day.

Think about it:

Manic Monday
Rainy Days And Mondays (always get me down)
Monday Monday (can't trust that day)
I Don't Like Mondays

Hmmm, I think I'm starting to see a pattern here.

Anyway, the point of this post was not to talk about Mondays but to confess to how I really feel about Christmas. Since I have just spent the last couple of months trying to desperately to cancel it - to no avail - I think my feelings are rather obvious. I'm trying to work out exactly where this antipathy to the silly season comes from. The only answer I'm left with is my rather unhelpful tendency to catastrophise everything.

After all, I don't really have that many people to buy gifts for. Nor do I sweat it out in the kitchen on the big day cooking a gigantic traditional turkey Christmas lunch with all the trimmings. No way. We tend to go with the seafood and salads option in our family.

Some people will be horrified at this declaring that it's not really Christmas without a Turkey or a roast dinner. However, my Mother being the sensible woman she is, steadfastly refused to ever cook a roast on a hot Summer's day when my brother and I were growing up, so it's never really been a tradition for me. We live in the land of Oz, therefore no White Christmas for us! It doesn't make sense to have roasts when you're already roasting, people!

Instead, we had this off beat tradition of going out for dinner on Christmas Eve to a Chinese restaurant, because if you're going to have traditions they may as well be classy ones. And what could be classier than spring rolls and fried rice?  Over the years this tradition faded, but we have finally decided to re-ignite it and are heading out with my parents for some sizzling platters on the 24th before coming home, leaving the carrots out for the Reindeer's and then bundling three excited boys full of anticipation and MSG into bed. Should be fun.

On boxing day we are invited to my brother and SIL's home for a good old fashioned Aussie BBQ. On the actual day nothing is planned. Besides being woken up at Stupid O' Clock by three excited boys screaming that Santa's been. Again - should be fun.

I have, in fact, begrudgingly accepted that Christmas is on and I am not able to cancel it, much to my disgust. I even tried to get into the spirit and put the Christmas tree up yesterday. Okay, technically it was actually Micky Blue Eyes who did it. Mr 9 and 5 helped to decorate it and the results were quite stunning. In a sort of abstract bogan way. No photos, so you'll have to imagine it.

The main reason I dread the silly season is basically because of the shopping. The fact that it is entirely my own fault that I tend to leave this until almost the last minute despite vowing never to do so again is completely IRRELEVANT.  Also, I have the internet at my disposal with a plethora of online shopping opportunities so why I don't plan ahead and do this is beyond my comprehension.

I tend to assume that it's all up to Santa.  So get that red suit on and the sleigh ready and get to it, old dude!  What do my boys want?

Mr 12 wants a PS4 which only costs an arm, a leg and a kidney, so I'm counting on you, Santa! Mr 9 wants Lego and some obscure Club Penguin paraphernalia which does not appear to exist in any store, so again - your job Santa! And Mr 5? Well- he only wants every Lego set made in the whole World Ever, all of which cost around a gazillion dollars. No problem, right Santa?? I'll consider it sorted!

Just one question - you don't hang out with that lazy old Dinner Fairy, do you?? If you do, she should definitely be on your Naughty List. She has been very naughty. Very, very, very naughty INDEED. And no - I have NOT been reading Enid Blyton again. Shut up.

Okay folks, that's enough from me.  Only 23 days to go - but who's counting? 

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

                                                
                                                      Have you been naughty  or nice?

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Life And Other L Words

You may have noticed that I have been missing from this space lately. If you haven’t then I would prefer it if you would please just pretend that you have for the sake of my fragile ego. I might cry otherwise and it wouldn’t be pretty. It would definitely be an ugly cry. Hideous, even. Not that you would be able to see it but I’m hoping that just the thought of having that image in your head would be disturbing enough.

The reason for my absence is very simple and can be summed up in one word *:

Life.

That shit gets busy sometimes.

Not to mention the other L word.

Lazy.

SHHHHHHH!! I said don’t mention that word!  Oh right, it was me who mentioned it. Silly me.  As if I would ever be so frightfully lazy that I simply couldn’t be bothered boring you with this blog. That never happens. No way. Well, not very often anyway. Ahem.

Anyway, I may as well bring you up to date with everything that has been keeping me as busy as a blue arsed bogan fly. On that point, do flies really have blue arses? I digress but you know me, always asking the important questions.  Back to being busy -I was going to let you know what has been keeping me so busy. In keeping with the lazy theme I will do so in the good old convenient ‘I can’t be arsed with anything else’ bullet point form.  You’re welcome. Here goes:

• Children: I have 3 of them. They are rather time consuming, requiring constant feeding, bathing and cuddling on a daily basis. Who knew? It was so much easier having a pet rock. (It was a 70’s thing. I’m showing my age. Sigh.) Except for the cuddling bit. Children are cuddlier, I must admit.
• Husbands: Actually just one husband.  He is here ALL THE TIME. All day. Every day. Constantly. He regularly attempts to engage me in conversations about things I have no idea about. Like finches or shares. He even made me feed his finches worms. This may be grounds for divorce. Did I mention that he is here ALL THE TIME?? Don’t get me wrong, I love the man. I’d just love it if he left the house occasionally too. Of course I’m conveniently ignoring the fact that he did go to Darwin for 10 days recently (which is why I had to feed the finches) and to Wollongong  just the other day. Minor details.
• Mr 4 became Mr 5 yesterday.
• Mr 5 had Kindergarten Orientation this week with two more sessions to go.
• Mr 12 had High School Orientation with more sessions to go.
• I bought a new Dyson. This has resulted in me momentarily becoming all domesticated and actually using it regularly.  I’m sure the novelty will wear off very soon.
• I am trying desperately to regain Exercise Addiction. Between this point and the former, I fear the end is near.
• I also bought some new saucepans. This was all good until I realised I had to rearrange the kitchen cupboards in order to fit them anywhere. And possibly even cook with them occasionally. Ahem.
• Counselling- my regular counsellor buggered off or something so I had to start over with another one. Hmph. Then, after I had one appointment and booked another, they had booked me in with yet another counsellor. It’s like a game of Musical Counsellors. Awesome.
• I finally rang up again about a so-called Adult Asperger’s Support group only to be informed by a woman sounding like a bogan Shazza (not that there’s anything wrong with bogans, of course) that the group was for carers of people with Asperger’s not people with Asperger’s. Natch. Why would we need support? We’re a bunch of self-absorbed, stimming, monologuing arseholes with no empathy. Silly me.
• Wallowing ,like the big sooky la la I am. See previous two points.
• Yet another L word – Lego. Dealing with Lego in some way or another takes up an extraordinary amount of my time. Buying it, assembling it, and cleaning it up from every corner of the house so I don’t suck it up with my Dyson.
• Children: Yes I know I already mentioned them. But they really do take up SO MUCH TIME that I thought they were worth another mention. I’m not complaining about this. In fact, I’ve been deliberately spending more time offline in order to spend more time with my boys. This has resulted in the following games, mostly involving Mr 5 and sometimes Mr 9:
• Pretending to be a dog. Mr 5, not me. I’ve gone so far as to actually give him water in a bowl. If I give him a collar and leash that would be taking it too far, right?
• Pretending to be a bird hatching out of an egg and building a nest. Mr 5 again. Ditto, if I put him in a cage that’s going too far, right?
• Hide and Seek- an old favourite. However, I can now no longer squeeze into the same hidey holes as I did when Mr 12 was little which is rather disconcerting. Apparently not quite disconcerting enough to make me pass on the cake for Mr 5’s birthday yesterday. Classy.
• Blue screen of death – this happened with one lap top which means we have only one and Micky Blue Eyes uses this for work. So I miss out until we get another one. Sigh.

Therefore, I will most likely continue to be missing in action until Christmas. Oh NOOOOOOOOOO, I said the C word!!  I tried to cancel it but nobody listened!! HMPH.  Okay, that’s it until the next exciting episode of Days Of Our Bogan Lives. I will be busy with all of the above when I am not sulking  in the corner about my failure to cancel Christmas. Sniff. 

Later, dudes.

What has been on your bullet list lately?

*The fact that I could sum it all up in one word did not stop me from banging on with another nine hundred or so. You’re welcome.

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An Open Letter To 2013

Dear 2013,

First of all, four words.

SLOW THE FUCK DOWN ALREADY!!

Okay, that was five words. I have more.

It seems like only yesterday that I welcomed you whole heartedly with my usual quiet night in wild, crazy party, eagerly anticipating everything that you would bring. As fireworks exploded in a frenzy outside (nothing to do with NYE, just a typical night in Boganville) I mapped out an exciting year filled with amazing experiences, opportunities and achievements.

There I was, picturing myself six months down the track, slim, sleek and superior having succeeded in sticking to that major health kick/diet/fitness extravaganza we all aspire to on January 1st. This was the year. It was all happening. No excuses. After all, I was turning 42 and I would finally know the answer to The Meaning Of Life. It's 42, right?

Therefore, I was poised to possess all the wisdom of the ages come January 15, 2013 when my 42nd birthday rolled around. Wrong.

Instead, I remained as clueless as ever. By August I all I had achieved was high cholesterol and blood sugar levels. Classy.

Additionally I was certain that 2013 would see us finally living in that McMansion in Boganville Heights but we remain firmly ensconced in the Bogan Box like happy little sardines. Or not so little sardines in my case. Ahem.

Apparently it already October. That cannot be right. That means that Christmas is around the corner despite my frantic efforts to officially cancel it for this year. Nobody seems to be taking any notice and I'm afraid that the next time I venture to the shops there will be tinsel everywhere and Mariah Carey warbling about all she wants for Christmas. MAKE IT STOP!

I mean, for goodness sake, 2013, couldn't you have just let the Autumn months linger for a bit longer this year? The leaves are all pretty, it's sunny through the day and cool enough at night to sleep which is a win/win situation for everyone. But now we're heading into Summer which means not only will it be Christmas but also frightfully hot and we can't have that or I'll whinge just like I whinge when it's too cold. At least I'm a consistent whinger. That's something.

I simply can't understand why, when there is so much technology these days that nobody has found a way to stop time. Seriously, 2013 you are just moving along frightfully, awfully, alarmingly, shockingly, astonishingly, amazingly and any other word you can bung 'ly' on the end of, fast.

Yes, I am well aware that an abundance of adverbs is the sure sign of a lazy, novice writer but I've never pretended to be anything else, have I? So ner. I'm going with it.

Furthermore, I had envisioned 2013 as the year when I would finally be able to write one of those smug, posturing end of year Christmas type posts/letters bragging about how completely fabulous, marvellous, stupendous, momentous and any other word you can bung 'ous' on the end of, the year had been for us.

Instead you will be stuck with my usual self-deprecating drivel. You're welcome.

Frankly it's all your fault, 2013. You have left me NO TIME to achieve anything. Okay, so I've had a whole ten months. Or nine months and 3 days. Minor detail. Ahem.

There is only approximately 80 something days until Christmas and in that time I have SO MUCH happening. Mr 4 becomes Mr 5 in a month's time and begins Kindergarten orientation. Right after he 'graduates' from pre-school. When did that start happening? Four and five year olds graduating complete with cap and gown?

I could have sworn he was only a baby five minutes ago. In addition to this, Mr 12 will be heading off to High School in 2014. While my heart will burst with pride, at the same time it's all a bit disconcerting that they are growing up so quickly and I just need to hit the pause button for a while. It's making my head spin.

At this rate they will all be grown up and become young men and I'm not ready. What on Earth will I blog or tweet about without my little men? I might have to actually get a life! Scary.

When I was a little girl 2013 seemed so far away and futuristic, now it's nearly over. I was certain somebody would have invented a time machine by now. Sigh.

I know you won't listen, 2013. You will be done and dusted practically before I finish typing. My head will spin right off my shoulders and I will spend months trying to catch up, still writing 2013 when it's 2014 just so you can continue to mock me. You win.

I'm off to try to frantically do ALL THE THINGS in less than three months. You have forced me to think about Christmas shopping in October. Who does that? Intelligent, organised people, you say? See? You're already mocking me. It's Mocktober. In fact, I've decided I'm over you, 2013. Bring on 2014.

2014 will be sensible and crawl along at a snails pace, right? Or I'll just start the whole mess over again...*sobs*

 Yours Regretfully,

Ness


Linking up with Robo for The Lounge.

                    
                                 Are you getting into the Christmas spirit? Or is 2013 spinning out of
                                                                 control for you?

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A Very Bogan Christmas Part One

Yesterday the bogan festivities began with a lunch with the out laws. They had wanted to take us out to a Leagues Club and shout us lunch.

The fun started when we were getting ready to go. I was my usual well organised self. I couldn't even find a bra to put on. I do hate the things with a passion.

You know you are becoming a tad tragic when you almost couldn't be bothered going out ever again, in your entire life, because you hate wearing bras.

Finally, I found one and shoved it on. Only problem was, it was white. I was wearing a black top with a lacy bit at the back through which you could clearly see the bra straps.

Oh well. Deciding that nobody on Earth ever even remotely notices or cares what I am wearing, I put it on. Then, I proceeded to tidy up my hair with a straightener thingy ma jig.

Meanwhile, Micky Blue Eyes started hollering that we were going to be late, in between his familiar refrain: "I'm trying to do WORK!!"

"Get your shoes on!" I screeched to the boys.

"Okaaaaaaaaay!" yelled back Mr 11

"I aaaaaam!" declared Mr 8.

I gave up on my hair and pointlessly applied lipstick. 

Some time later, we finally pile into the car, amid arguments about who should sit on the side with the dodgy seat belt. It's always Mr8, as he is smaller.

Then, my most dreaded event takes place.

Mick hands me a street directory and instructs me to look up the place where we have to go. I turn pale.

I had assumed he knew where it was and he hadn't mentioned that he didn't know.

Naturally, any 'normal' people might be expected to have a GPS device. Not these bogans. We still resort to the trusty (scary) UBD.

It is at this point that I have to let all woman kind down and openly admit I simply cannot read maps. At all.  Let alone in a moving car. The very thought makes me decidedly ill.

Frankly, I'm surprised we haven't already divorced over this. There were some rather unsettling arguments over this very thing on our honeymoon for God's sake.

After a nerve wracking trip, during which the boys refused to wind the windows up, we eventually made it there and went in to meet the outlaws. I exited the car with windblown hair, tousled and tangled,  a dishevelled wreck. So much for bothering with my appearance. Sigh.

Then came the dramas of ordering food which seemed to turn into covert operations as my out-laws had to procure whatever members only discounts they could for all our meals.

There had also been the promise of a 'Play Area' for the boys, but, disappointingly, it was shut and still under refurbishment, although my out-laws had apparently been promised it would be open.

Within five minutes all three boys were 'bored'. Luckily the food arrived quickly. Then, surprisingly the 'Little Nippers' bags they were given actually kept them entertained for quite a while and they coloured in and did the 'find-a-word' thingys.  During which, they only spilled their drinks two or three times. Not too bad.

We were considering whether we were brave enough to go and have a Santa photo taken afterwards, as we still hadn't gotten around to it. Seeing as though we were out and the boys were presentable, it seemed a good opportunity.

Leaving the club, we then drove off and drooled over all the beautiful houses we passed in this part of Sydney. I think we're not in Boganville anymore, Toto.

Passing a park, the boys exclaimed "Please! Can we go there!"

So we did.

The boys happily played away for a while. I turned my back for a split second, then I turned around, expecting to see Mr 4 still happily playing on the 'train'.

He was gone.

I called out, thinking he'd definitely crawl out from the tunnel thing on the train. He didn't.

Calling louder, I scanned the park, trying not to panic.

There he was.  Behind a tree and some bushes a few metres away.

I saw the look on his face and knew straight away.

The smell when I got closer, confirmed it.

 I was so happy to find him, I didn't mind as much as I normally would.

Naturally, there were no toilets anywhere to be seen, but the damage didn't appear to be too bad, so I decided we'd just get back into the car and go.

Although, the Santa photo option was now out of the question as I'd left Mr4's bag with a change of undies and clothes in it, at home. Handy.

However, Micky Blue Eyes decided that since we were headed that way to go home, he'd like to go to Rookwood Cemetery and look for his Grandparents graves. 

The boys groaned and grumbled, but we went anyway.

As we got out of the car, Mr 8 and 11 were slightly apprehensive about being in a grave yard.

"It's fine," I told them "dead people can't hurt you, they're dead." This is what my Mum had told me as a child and such common sense logic had seemed to work for me, as it did for the boys.

Thus, a lovely afternoon was spent roaming around the cemetery, fruitlessly searching for Mick's grandfather's grave. In the end, we gave up walking around and decided to drive up and down looking as Mick had somehow managed to find it previously with this method. No luck.

We did, however, find Mick's other Grandparents graves. His mother's parents. His grandmother had died in a motor cycle accident aged only 32 in 1945. We stood there, pondering it all.

Some people are gone from this Earth so young and others live until their 90's. Life is such a lottery, it seems.

The weather which had been visciously hot earlier, was now blowing up a strong gail. I spotted a grave of two young brothers, one had died at only 6 and the other 12. At first I assumed possibly from the same accident, until I realised their deaths were several years apart. So sad.

So many of the graves were obviously long forgotten and haven't been visited in a long time.

I hadn't really been taking any of this End Of The World stuff very seriously or I may have been even more reflective of what it's all about and what really happens when you die.

Later that night, at home, the boys saw something on TV about the supposed end of the world and completely freaked. I managed to reassure them that such predictions had happened time and again and so far have never came true.

Anyway, I hope not, because next month I am turning 42.

Apparently this is the answer to the Meaning of Life. So, hopefully, all going well, World not ending and all that, I will suddenly possess the wisdom of the ages and know what it all means on January 15th.

That, or I'll just eat cake, as always.

More about our Very Bogan Christmas, coming soon.

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My Christmas Wish List

 I just realised that I was tagged in the Christmas Wish List Thingy by Tegan from  Musings of the Misguided. Thanks Tegan!

Similarly, I only just realised it actually was going to be Christmas presently a week or two ago. I'm a tad slow. Anyhow, here goes:

1. I know I'm in the minority on this one, but if Mariah Carey would please stop warbling about All She Wants For Christmas everywhere I go that would be great.

2. I wish there really was a Santa, so I didn't have to brave the shops and consequently hear Mariah Carey warbling every five minutes.

3. I wish I could take the credit if my boys are blissfully happy with their gifts instead of bloody old Santa getting the credit.

On the flip side if they are less than thrilled with their loot, I'm more than happy to blame Santa. After all, what has he ever done for me?  He didn't even bring me a Barbie Dream House when I wanted one so desperately in 1980. Or a Ken doll. I had to make do with my brother's GI Joe with the dodgy leg that fell off when you tried to pretend they were having sex. (Come on, don't tell me I was the only one who ever did that. Was I?)

4. I would really love to have a time machine. What for? Well, then I could hop in and have it whisk me back to May 1972, so I could go and see the Carpenters perform at the Chevron Hotel in Sydney.  Oh, shut up.

This may or may not be the 1972 concert, either
way, I wish I was there. In the mosh pit.

It's not lame that I want that. Or even that I know that they did, indeed, perform at the Chevron Hotel in Sydney in May, 1972. And that, while here, Karen Carpenter bought a stuffed koala bear and named him Sir Bear Of Sydney and that is why I call myself that on Twitter. Again, I reiterate, shut up.


5. I wish that the afore mentioned time machine could not only whisk you back in time, but also figure out a way to make more time in the day so I could spend hours listening to Carpenters, blogging and reading and still find time for other stuff. Like those pesky kids I have. Ahem.

PS. I also wouldn't mind finally becoming Cashed Up Bogans and getting that McMansion in Boganville Heights. Oh, and world peace.

PPS. There is really nothing at all wrong with Mariah Carey. She can't help it that she's not Karen Carpenter.

Oh, and I should tag people. As I've mentioned I'm a bit slow and spacey, so if you've already done this, ignore me.

Homemaker Mummy

Mum's Take Five

A life of peace and gratitude

Mrs Sabbatical

MummyManifesto

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Why I Started My Blog

For this post I am linking up with Musings of the Misguided on why I started my blog. Here's why:

Some time ago I started writing Christmas letters. You  know the kind. The ones where you detail everything your family has been doing all year. You make your life sound so busy, wildly exciting and interesting. Then go on to boast about your children being over achieving geniuses.

Except that I didn't do that. I told the truth. We are bogans. We are boring (mostly). When we go on a holiday it is to somewhere like Dubbo. Not that there is anything wrong with Dubbo mind you. But some strange people won't think it is as interesting as Disney Land. Weird.

Anyway, my Christmas letters met with a very  favourable response. A couple of friends actually read them. I think. Maybe. They said they did! Bloody liars.

So anyway, I started to toy with the idea of starting a blog.  But I never did. I figured we are too boring to find things to write about every week.

I forgot about if for  a while . Then started thinking about it again on and off. I tend to over think things and agonise for no reason. So one day, on a whim, in a weird mood, I just went, meh, what the hell, and started one.

It was at this point that I realised that I didn't have a single clue of what I was doing. So I kept doing it anyway.  Nobody read it except my Mum, but that didn't stop me. In fact, it's still mostly my Mum reading it. Thanks Mum.

I had no idea of what was actually involved in blogging and the whole concept of the 'blogosphere' was alien to me. In fact, for some time I thought having a blog was similar to having a Facebook account, except with a little more detail.

 Yeah, I know, I was jolly ignorant. Frightfully so. And I may have read too many Enid Blyton books as a child. Oh okay, I have read them as an adult too.  Which brings me to my other reason for starting a blog.

For some time, as a child, I was convinced  I was the next Enid Blyton waiting to happen. This was due to the fact that, ever since I was in 4th Grade, or Year 4, or whatever they call it now, in primary school, I had teachers compliment my writing ability. The compliments and encouragement continued in high school.

 However, my love of all things Enid, has meant my brain has remained firmly 'up the Faraway Tree' ever since I first read the book.

I'm a total off with the pixies space cadet. I can barely manage to stay on the same train of thought to actually finish  a sentence, let alone a full novel. Or even a blog post at times. What was I talking about?

Oh yeah. So, sadly, my Year 5 teacher's prediction that I was 'gifted' and a 'budding novelist' have not come true. Still, I figured that with a blog I can kind of. sort of, pretend I'm a 'writer'. Ahem.

So basically my reasons for starting a blog are to tell it how it is, warts and all, being bogans in Boganville, while simultaneously pretending to be a 'writer'.

Yep, that's my logic.

Why did you start your blog? Don't have a blog? Would you consider starting one?

And please, can someone finally answer the question I have been pondering for a while now. How did Enid Blyton turn out to be (according to Wikipedia) something resembling a bitch? I need to know. Why, Enid, why?   It's like finding out that Santa is just some creepy guy in a suit...oh wait..

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T'is The Season To Be Jolly...Worried

A recent trip to the shops reminded me that Christmas is coming all to soon. The garish decorations everywhere and Mariah Carey belting out All I Want For Christmas were a bit of a give away.

All I've ever wanted for Christmas is Mariah Carey to shut up, but you get that.

Anyway,T'isThe Season to be Jolly and The Most Wonderful Time of The Year and all that. Apparently. Supposedly.

 I know I should really be happy and enjoy Christmas, especially having young children.

 Yet this time of year comes around and the normal low-level anxiety that seems to frequently linger around me is replaced by nail biting, heart gripping anxiety. No, it's not the fear of A Very Bogan Christmas. Although that will probably happen.

Every year, in December, just before Christmas, Micky Blue Eyes has his annual colonoscopy. He seems rather blase about it. I worry. Endlessly.

My reaction to hearing Mariah Carey for the
the millionth time is similar to this. Oh and thinking
about Mick's check up..

Normally, I forget every little thing on a daily basis. Where I put my glasses five minutes ago, what day it is, but the events of October 14th, 2004 are permanently etched into my brain. The day Micky Blue Eyes was diagnosed with bowel cancer.

Master 11 was Master 3 and Master 8 was only 7 months old. 

We had just returned from a holiday in Cairns.  One night Mick fainted in the bathroom. I urged him to go the doctors as it didn't seem normal to faint for no reason. So he did.

They found nothing wrong and all seemed well, until one afternoon about a week or so later he had a sudden attack of the runs with rather a lot of blood. Enough to be alarmed.

Back to the doctors. Blood tests revealed he was anaemic.  He was sent to hospital.

"It's probably an ulcer," the doctor informed him "it won't kill you."

They took him to theatre.

Then I got the news the doctor was coming around in the morning to meet with us. My stomach turned. This couldn't be good.

He got straight to the point.

"There is a growth," he said "there is absolutely no doubt that it's Cancer."

He had to have a blood transfusion immediately.

Dr Hack* called into the room to inform us how he intended to hack Mick apart and operate.

The surgery was being scheduled for Monday.

Meanwhile, he could go home for the weekend and relax.

Um, what?

I don't think I've relaxed since that day.

At home, Mick was not particularly relaxed either. Funny about that.

A family friend rang after my mother had spoken to her and told her the grim news.

Being a nurse, she was familiar with the surgeon who was planning to hack Mick apart on Monday.

She advised us to go to another specialist surgeon.

If he went through with the procedure on Monday, with Dr Hack "You'll be crooker than Rookwood**." Her words.

Frantic phone calls were made.

The doctor oozed condescension when I called to tell him of our intention of switching surgeons. I didn't care. All I cared about was Mick.

The surgery was scheduled for November 1st and went well. Then came the unwelcome news. He would have to have chemo-therapy. For six months. 

We were a month into that nightmare when the next bombshell came.

Mick's brother was also diagnosed with Cancer.

More about that next time.

Yes, all I really want for Christmas is for Micky Blue Eyes to have the all clear. And I still want Mariah Carey shut up.

What stresses you about Christmas?  Or is it only a happy time for you?

*Not his real name.
**Rookwood is a cemetery

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