My whole life is a domestic disaster

A peculiar sensation has come over me. I wonder what it is? Something so unfamiliar I cannot define it. I have to think about it before it unfolds in my mind. Yes, that's it. I'm smug.

I ticked off a list. That is HUGE. For me. I'm scatterbrained.

It seems to be a curious dichotomy about me that I crave order and routine, but am thoroughly inept and incompetent at actually creating at. Weird. 

I needn't have been so smug. Predictably my foray into organisation didn't last. And even when I have ticked these lists there is no discernible evidence of activity in my surroundings. My home still looks haphazard and sloppy. Sigh. 

This week I've looked into various organisational apps including  FlyLady, Habitica. Evernote and Todoist.

I was determined that the time had come when I would finally morph into a Domestic Goddess. With a capital D and a capital G.

Or maybe not. But that's okay, because what I lack in housekeeping skills I more than make up for in poetry writing skills. Yep, I'm poetic GENIUS. 

Here's proof: 

I need to have a schedule, a rythym, a routine
Make my home a sanctuary, immaculate, pristine

After all, I hear you say, you don't have an office job
You've no excuse for being such a lackadaisical slob

But, I reply, my house is frightfully pokey and tiny!
I glower and pout, all whingey and whiney

Before you judge me, why don't you do the math?
Don't patronise me with your presumptuous wrath

Residents total five, but rooms only seven
Hardly anyone's idea of domestic heaven

We live here in CHAOS*, clutter, confusion
Where 'Better Homes & Gardens' is just an illusion

And yes, I really must confess, it does cause stress
To live in pandemonium, such a muddled-up mess

But it seems that I'm a freak without the neat part
I want to clean it up, but don't know where to start

It's simple, you say, you have to make a list
Then tick it off, forget your daily Facebook tryst

Dutifully I write it down, commence the first task
It's tedious, time-consuming, school hours fly by fast

When the day is done there seems to be no reward
I'm grumpy, dissatisfied and frankly terminally bored

Snap out of it, you say, don't get into a tizzy
A dedicated Domestic Goddess must always keep busy

With my tears of anguish I slowly wash the dishes
The suds go down the sink along with all my wishes

Wishes for a gleaming home, all shiny and new
Lots of lovely, pretty things, a dishwasher too

Look, you say, all you need is a trip to Ikea
This is as appealing to me as explosive diarrhoea

But there's no time to waste, I have to cook dinner
Now's my chance to prove that I'm a culinary winner!

When I look inside the fridge my expression turns wary
Judging from it's contents I expect the dinner Fairy

Tsk, tsk, you admonish, don't you understand?
You should always have this sorted, make a meal plan!

Then get your children involved, everyone must help!
My kitchen is as big as a postage-stamp, I holler and yelp 

Ignoring your disdain, I defiantly order take-away
Getting out of bed was my biggest mistake today

Sure, I could have put some soup on and left it to simmer
But the chance of it being  eaten? Not even a glimmer! 

I should have tried harder, worked longer and faster
It seems MY WHOLE LIFE is a domestic disaster! 

Before long it's time to go bed and admit defeat
So I can get up and do all again. Rinse. Repeat. 

It's something that is terribly difficult to explain
It's not my fault that I have a typical Aspie brain

I struggle with something called executive function
Forgetting absolutely everything expect to have my luncheon

Now I sit here still feeling dejected and forlorn
I want a clean house, but I'm constantly torn

Somehow I never achieve anything no matter how I slog
For now I say forget it, I'd much rather write this blog! 

You're welcome. 


*CHAOS = Can't Have Anyone Over Syndrome

Side note: as I'm about to hit publish on this post, my house is actually surprisingly tidy (for me). So I've got about a half hour window for anyone to drop in right now. Oh wait. It's school pick up time. The boys will be home shortly. CHAOS again! Oh well, I tried! 

Linking up (late!) for I Must Confess

What is your biggest domestic disaster?

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A Continuing Theme

Those of you who have read my previous post may remember my description of my blogging style as being rather ad hoc. Therefore, it will probably come as no surprise to you when I reveal that my parenting style is, *coughs*..somewhat similar. Using the phrase 'somewhat similar' in the sense of EXACTLY THE SAME. Ahem...

But aren't we all just making this shit up as we go? Or is that just me?

Before I had children of my own, I had such lofty, ridiculous ideas of what a perfect mother was like.  For the record, Mr 5 informed me on Saturday evening that I AM one. A perfect Mum. I guess that settles it. Oh, and it involves giving them hot dogs for dinner and putting Scooby Doo on the telly, just in case you were doing it wrong. You're welcome.

My pre-children lofty ideals involved nothing of the kind. Sigh.

There is probably a reason why I was so deluded. Until I had children of my own at age 30, I really had little to no experience of being around babies or children. Except for being around a younger cousin or two, and perhaps nursing them now and again, absolutely nothing. I never babysat or really spent any time being a full-time carer of a child or children.

I was so judgemental of other parents. If I heard a child having a tanty in a shopping centre I would be the first person to roll my eyes in scorn. My children would never behave like that! If I saw somebody feeding an infant commercially prepared baby foods, I'd shudder. How hard could it be to puree  home made mush?

I have always been a shy, quiet and introverted person. I also have an official diagnosis of Asperger's Syndrome. This happened at age 40, three years ago. Somehow I did vaguely realise that my extreme need for solitude and quiet time would be a challenge for me once I had kidlets. However, I still wanted them. I figured I'd probably have two children at the most and that they would most likely be quiet little bookworms like me. Wrong.

My boys are quite articulate and love a good chat, particularly Mr 10. They're not shy and say whatever they think without reserve. They also make me laugh constantly, which is a plus. On the flip side,  there are heated arguments and rivalry. This means constant noise and attempts to smooth things over and restore peace.

I also didn't realise that having children meant remembering stuff. A LOT of stuff. Like their names. I mean, there's a reason I call all three of them 'honeybunch'. Shut up. It beats constantly tripping over their respective names until I hit the right one.

Don't get me wrong, I love my boys passionately. I'm the kind of mother who can hug her children and say 'I love you' a million times a day, but on a practical level I'm sadly lacking. I couldn't organise a piss-up in a brewery, as the saying goes. I'm also extremely ad hoc regarding routines. Even when I have managed to sustain a good habit, such as exercising everyday, I don't have a routine. I just do it whenever, at different times of the day.

I suck big sweaty balls when it comes to time management and multi-tasking. I'm constantly off with the pixies, so I suddenly snap out of my little world and realise it's dinner time when my stomach starts growling. Somehow, I'm quite astonished that the Dinner Fairies haven't arrived. I realise with a start that I'm the one whose supposed to be wearing the fairy wings and tiara. This is my job. 


 
When I do try to plan in advance and write lists, I'm STILL quite capable of forgetting essential stuff on the list. Alternatively,  I'll end up forgetting to take the list. This means that I'll try to rely on my dodgy memory and become confused about which ingredients I needed for which recipe. Plus, I agonise over making decisions about the simplest thing, so I don't really like grocery shopping. I tend to just randomly chuck things in to avoid this pointless indecisiveness and then end up buying way to much crap.

By the time I've lugged all the crap home I'm too overwhelmed to cook, anyway. I find cooking for a family everyday a chore and somewhat stressful, instead of the relaxing ritual it seems to be for some people. So I stick to the most basic, boring meals of meat and veg, or salad, spaghetti bolognase or roasts. Sometimes (okay, a lot of the time) I cheat and buy a cooked chook to have with salad or just order take-away. Then, I feel guilty that I'm bringing my boys up on crap.

I'm constantly going on at my boys about picking up after themselves, but the truth is, I'm just as disorganised and messy. At least I've got hypocrisy down to a fine art. Winning!

Unfortunately, Mr 13 seems to have inherited my tendency to forgetfulness. He forgets and leaves things at school, such as his sport uniform. Then I forget to ask him when I pick him up. I end up feeling sorry for him because I suspect a lot of 13 year olds are similar, except they have a mother who's got all that shit covered. On the positive side he also has a good heart and a sense of humour and I'd like to think he got some of that from me too, so it's not all bad.

When it comes to teaching my boys organisational skills, I may as well attempt to teach them how to speak fluent Japanese. NO FUCKING IDEA IN HELL.

I rarely talk about my Assburgers Asperger's here as I fear it will sound like me whinging and whining as weepy violin music swells in the background. I realise it's not a death sentence and I'm not in a wheel chair. This is the one of the best things about it and yet at the same time somewhat frustrating. Just because people can't see anything debilitating on the surface, that doesn't mean that I don't have genuine struggles.

The shrink (I say shrink because it's easier to spell) who diagnosed me assured me that some women on the spectrum that she sees are sometimes quite austere and don't like to show affection, not even to their children. She added that from a psychologist's (did I spell it right?) point of view this (showing love and affection) is much more important than routines and a spotless home. I cling to those words everyday. She may have just been trying to make me feel better but it's all I've got, so don't rain on my parade, okay?

So yes, my boys may always live in CHAOS*, but there will also be cuddles!  LOTS of cuddles. And cakies! Let's not forget about those. As if I could. Shut up.

* CHAOS stands for Can't Have Anyone Over Syndrome. I read this on somebody else's blog, but am unable to remember whose. So if I stole it from you, sorry! But I did mention my memory issues. Erm...what was I saying?

Are you a forgetful person?

Do you ever feel like a hypocrite?

Linking up for I Must Confess and Laugh Link

And a VERY belated link up with The Lounge.

 No, I didn't forget, I just have dodgy internet connection. Outta here.....
 

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The A - Z Of Me

A is for absent,  because I always seem to be absent from this space lately. Oops.  I’m an absent-minded sort of person as well. A is also for Asperger’s which I was diagnosed with at age 40 in 2011.

B is for boring as batshit. I’m even boring myself with this blog let alone anyone else which is why I’ve been so conspicuously absent. B is also for my three boys aged 12 (almost 13), 10 and 5, who are anything but boring.

C is for cake and Carpenters: my two obsessions. C is also for classy. Clearly I am.  Classy, that is. Shut up.

D is for daydreaming because I’m constantly ‘off with the pixies’ and a space cadet.

E is for effort. I find everything in life to require monumental effort while I’d much rather be daydreaming while eating cake and listening to the Carpenters. It’s weird that people won’t pay you do so. Hmph.  E is also for exercise endorphins. I have to force myself to do the former daily in order to achieve the latter. An even louder HMPH! . Did I mention effort? Why can’t you get endorphins by sleeping?

F is for forgetful. In fact, the only reason I’ve survived on this planet for 43 and a half years is because eating is the one thing I don’t forget. Which brings me to the other F: FOOD.  Some people eat to live, I live to eat. I mentioned that I was classy.

G is for great, galloping, gargantuan, garrulous guacamole. Oh okay, I couldn't think of anything for G, but that's pretty impressive alliteration there, right?

H is for hope. I’m hoping I’ll come up with something interesting. Nope. Sorry.

I is for Infertility. Unbelievably now, there was a time when I thought I’d never be a mother. My boys were all miracle babies. I is also for Introvert. I take introversion to a whole new level. I’m so introverted that I make other introverts seem like loud, exhibitionist extroverts. At least I'm good at something. Thanks to  Susan Cain we’re all the rage now. Introverts are awesome and all that. So ner to all you lowly extroverts.

J is for the juxtaposition of two of my favourite things. Read on...

K is for Karen. Carpenter, of course. I sort of like her a bit. Ahem. I realise this is just repeating part of C but I couldn’t think of anything else for K, okay? It’s ironic that two of my favourite things are food and the World’s most famous anorexic but I like to mix things up. This is what I was referring to above with the whole juxtaposition thing. I'm not really sure if that's a word to be honest but it sounds impressive.

L is for Lego, the evil nemesis in my life. This Cancer of toys seems to multiply and spread to every corner of my house while I run around trying fruitlessly to keep it one area. Sigh.

M is for Micky Blue Eyes because I should probably give him a mention seeing as we are coming up to our 19^th anniversary later this year.

N is for noise which I don’t like very much. N is also for Ness which is what most people call me and led to the title of this blog. I’m so original.

0 is for original. See ‘N’ above.

P is for People, those weird, scary creatures. I find them simultaneously fascinating and terrifying. But, as Barbra testifies, people who make people are the cluckiest people in the world. Or something. Therefore, I’m glad I made my little ‘tribe’ of people where I belong.

Q is for quiet. I have always been quiet. If I had a dollar for the amount of times I’ve heard expressions like: “You’re the quietest person I’ve ever met!” or “You should come out of your shell!” I would be richer than Gina Rinehart.  My greatest skill is the impressive ability to just shut right up. This is a skill that more people should consider developing. Shut up. Literally. It’s not that hard. I do it all the time.

R is for reading. I’ve always been a book worm. I’m happier with a bag full of dollar books from Vinnies than a closet full of designer clothes or shoes. R is also for ranga. I am one. The fact that I need a little..erm..’help’ (hair dye) to remain one these days is completely irrelevant.

S is for scotch which is a favourite drink.

T is for tea which is my favourite non-alcoholic drink.

U is for unicorn because I am a majestic unicorn. This meme says so. So ner. See also: R

V is for Vanessa because it’s my name obviously. Duh. Everyone calls me Ness, though. Except Mick and my parents who’ve stuck with the Vanessa thing. The boys call me Mum when they’re not calling me other things.  Apparently Mum originally wanted to call me Rachel or Rebecca but Dad wasn’t as keen. They briefly decided on the name Monique until Mum saw Vanessa Redgrave in the movie Camelot and thought she and her name were beautiful. Therefore I became a Vanessa. Thankfully, as I don’t think I look like a Monique but I look exactly like a young, beautiful Vanessa Redgrave. The resemblance is uncanny really.

Me

Vanessa Redgrave. It's like we're twins...

 

W is for weird. I’m quite weird. But you already knew that.

X is for x-ray. I’ve had one or two in my time which isn’t very interesting but I’ve never played a Xylaphone so that’ll have to do.

Y is for “Y’s a crooked letter and Z’s no better!” which is something my Mum used to say to my brother and I when we were children in reply to our constant round of “Why’s?”

Z is for the sound of everyone snoring by this point. My cure for insomnia is now complete. You’re welcome.

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

                                            Who can honestly think of anything about themselves for X, Y and Z??

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In My Own Distracted Little World

As the tag line underneath the title of this blog suggests, I am very easily distracted. Constantly off in my own little World. I simply can't help it if this alternative universe is preferable to the real World. It's not my fault. I've always been an off with the pixies space cadet. In addition to this I am constantly forgetting things. In fact, I recently came to the stunning conclusion that the only reason I've managed to exist on this planet for 43 years is because eating is the one thing I don't forget.

Seriously.

As my Mother is fond of saying "If my brains were dynamite, they wouldn't blow a part in my hair. She doesn't say it about me, she says it about herself; in spite of the fact that she has a sharper mind than me at almost 73.

Lately though, something very strange has been happening in the land of Nessville. Yes, I'm certainly as distracted as ever, but this time the distractions are not cake shaped with frosting. It seems that the real Ness has been abducted by aliens and in her place is this creature who is eating healthy food. Additionally, I've also been cleaning and attempting to be ever so slightly more organised. Who is this person? The emphasis is on the word 'attempting'. All of my past efforts to do this were monumental failures so we shall see how long this little foray into la la land pans out.

Case in point: I certainly haven't managed to become an organised blogger. Oops. Maybe I'll get there. One day. Eventually. Definitely. Maybe. Did I mention that I'm also indecisive as well as distracted?

The one thing that distracts me the most is my fascination with Karen Carpenter. I could spend hours watching every piece of retro footage that she appears in on Youtube. I belong to approximately ten million Facebook fan groups where we discuss every little detail of her short life and her music. This is quite bizarre when you consider that as a general rule I couldn't care less about most celebrities, particularly current ones. In fact, in most cases I couldn't even tell you who they are! However, when it comes to worshipping in the cult of Karen, I am shameless. The only consolation I have is that I am not alone. There are lots of other weird people like me around the interwebs. One of the good (and bad, depending on your point of view) things about the online world is that whatever your unique brand of crazy is, you can be sure you will find like-minded individuals in a Facebook group/Blog link up near you. Isn't that right, my fellow Karen devotees and bloggers?

Quite often when I am miles away in Carpenterland, the boys might be attempting to kill each other right in front of me while I'm utterly oblivious.

Micky Blue Eyes will bark at them to stop and then continue barking at me: "They were right in front of you! Didn't you see that?"

This will cause to me to abruptly have to land back on Earth with a thud and a sheepish admission that no, I did not see or hear because I was totally and blissfully tuned out. I do feel - perhaps selfishly- that if I am in my own house I should be able to indulge this inclination to tune out; to a degree, anyway. But Mick doesn't always agree with me and it can be a source of frustration for him at times, which I do understand. I can see that I could be a pain in the butt to live with, but aren't we all at times?

It's amazing that anyone manages to stay married when you think about it. We will be clocking up an impressive 19 years this year. Only one more year until the big two zero. It remains to be seen if we will do anything to mark the occasion. When it comes to birthdays and anniversaries we are a very low key and low maintenance family. If I've been able to remember them in the first place then I consider that a win. I don't want to push my luck any further by attempting to plan a party. I'm disorganised as well as distracted and forgetful. Plus, I'm notoriously socially awkward. Therefore, I'd rather be the quiet person in the corner at a party and not the hostess. Frankly, I suck at that. Especially those painfully awkward type of get togethers where you try to mix your family and friends and everyone just sticks to their own cliques while you're in anguish imagining that they are all miserable and not enjoying themselves.

It certainly seems easier to just book a party at the bowling alley, like we did for Mr 10 in March. That way I can just hover around drinking bad coffee as my eardrums burst and the paid for hostess does all the shouting. Works for me. Besides, the boys love it anyway. As long as there is cake, that's all that matters, right?

Speaking of cake, I appear to have gone cold turkey. ONE WHOLE WEEK cake free! I haven't exploded and died, surprisingly.  I was watching Australian Story the other day, which was about Olympic swimmer Kieran Perkins and I was struck by something his Mum used to say to him; which was: "Never give up on what you want the most for what you want at the moment." This seemed fitting since what I want at the moment is ALL THE CAKE but what I want most is to be healthy. Damn. So where's my Olympic medal? I most certainly DO deserve one for resisting cake! HMPH. After all it does take the equivalent of Olympic style dedication and herculean effort for me. It's like an addict trying to give up heroin. Sugar is my heroin.  Ahem.

My Get Healthy coach called yesterday to check in. I proudly reported all of the above.

"Have you noticed that you've been agitated and/or cranky lately?" she asked.

"I have, now that you mention it," was my rueful reply.

She told me this was likely to be due to sugar withdrawal. Apparently sugar does make you sweeter. Who knew?

If you are still unconvinced that I deserve an Olympic medal, then let me tell you the following; Micky Blue Eyes, my parents and I went for a drive out to Windsor for the day last Friday. While there, we had lunch in a pub where I watched them feast on steak with chips and gravy. Meanwhile, I stuck to grilled fish and salad.  Mr 12 is fond of drawling: "So? Do want a medal?" in response to just about any statement. Why yes, I believe I do want one. Hand it over!

Other than all of that, the most exciting occurrence in my life at the moment is watching Offspring on Wednesday nights and Call The Midwife on Thursdays. Yay! Okay, excuse me while I go and get a life...

Okay, later dudes. Over and out.

Linking up ridiculously and pathetically late with Kirsty from My Home Truths for I Must Confess.

Also linking up with Kylie Purtell: A Study In Contradictions for The Lounge.

                                                     What's been distracting you lately?

                                                     How do you celebrate birthdays or anniversaries?

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More Boring As Batshit Bogan Bullshit - Because I CAN

Hello from Boganville! Yes, I am still alive, thanks for asking.

I'm trying to write something here even if it's crap. It's hilarious how I put the word 'if' in that sentence. Funny me. I'm SUCH a comedienne. Or something.

Anyway, what can I say about all the things I've achieved whilst missing in action?

I'm a svelte size 10, addicted to exercise and healthy eating and planning an amazing trip to Europe on our private jet while we wait for our mansion to be built, Micky Blue Eyes having finally followed through on his promise of becoming a millionaire by the age of 40, ten years later??!!

Nope. Can't say that. I CAN bore you with the same old boring as batshit bogan bullshit, though. You're welcome.

In fact, I've been missing in action because I've been extremely busy doing lots of interesting, important things. What, you ask? Okay, you didn't but I'm telling you anyway. So ner.

Here is a comprehensive list:

Sleeping
Eating
Reading
Sleeping some more
Eating some more
Reading some more
Shopping - but only because I needed more food so I could resume;
Eating
Shopping again - but only because I needed more books so I could keep on:
Reading
Sleeping -because all that reading and eating is EXHAUSTING.

I may have showered at some point, too. After all, I would have needed to frequently with all that exertion. Exhausting. Phew.

In between all of this monumental effort I did manage to schedule in a pap smear which was fun. SAID NO ONE EVER.

I also managed to schedule in a Girls Day Out with some friends and a spot of shopping, having finally accepted that Christmas is not going to be cancelled. I ventured to the shops with some trepidation expecting the familiar wailing of Mariah Carey but instead there was more of the old Jingle Bell Rock action happening which is quite jolly and cheering at first. However, I suspect that in another 26 days or so I shall be Jingle Bell Rocked OUT. Says the woman who can listen to the same Carpenters songs over and over and over for 30 years. Shut up.

On that note, (listening to same songs over and over) I not only DO NOT care what a fox says but I do know what I would like to say to the creators of THAT particular ear worm as my boys are rather enamoured with it. If you do not know what I'm talking about, consider yourself lucky.

While shopping, after having lunch with the girls, I ventured into Target, being classy like that, where I spotted a fetching shirt and vest type arrangement which I thought would do for Mr 12 to wear to his Year 6 Farewell. I popped the vest over the top of the shirt to see what it would look like. When it looked good I took it to the cashier and handed it over absent-mindedly. The cashier proceeded to scan the shirt but not the vest just as absent-mindedly. I had unwittingly ended up with a bargain. Or became a closet kleptomaniac. One or the other. Ahem.

It also transpired that Micky Blue Eyes and I had completely forgotten that it was my mother-in-laws birthday that same day until my father-in-law reminded us. Therefore, I came home from lunch and went straight back out again for dinner with the the out-laws. The next morning yet more shopping was planned with my parents. This meant I had to go out AGAIN in order to drink coffee and spend money. I mean, honestly it's exhausting and extremely rude to have to suffer indignities. HMPH!

Also, Mr 12 had his final High School Orientation on that same Monday and I had forgotten to complete the necessary paperwork for his bus pass application and so forth. Oddly enough this kind of scatter brained forgetfulness does not seem to endear me to Micky Blue Eyes. Sigh.

In a futile attempt to become more organised I had printed out some calendars, filled them out with all of our upcoming things to remember and pinned them on a cork board near the computer desk. Somehow they managed to go missing. When Mick found them again I realised I had totally forgotten to take Mr 5 for a free hearing test at his Kindy the previous Friday. Oops.

I had actually managed to score a hatrick of forgetfulness. Mother-in-laws birthday, High School paperwork and a hearing test. This could mean I'm already on the slippery slope to Alzheimer's or that I have ADD. Or all of the above. Interestingly, I have taken online tests for ADD and scored through the roof for having it but what I am meant to do with this information I don't know. After all, it hasn't changed a thing worked out so well receiving my Ass Burgers diagnonsense. Sigh.

On a brighter note, at least I never forget to eat like some wacky people! So that's something, right? Ahem. And I never forget to feed my children. Mostly. They don't even have to dig for worms anymore! It's been raining so there'll be plenty of snails for them. Done. Dinner sorted.

And I don't even go to paid work! Can you imagine if I did? I'd probably forget my own children's names! Oh wait...

There's a reason I call them 'honey' or 'sweetheart' all the time and Mr's 12, 9 and 5 here. Oh dear.

On that note, I'm sure there was more I was going to tell you - but I've forgotten what it was...

Until next time, take it easy and I'll catch up with you later!

Ness

What have you forgotten about lately? 

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Bogan Mrs Bean

It is becoming increasingly clear to me that I am a kind of bogan Mrs Bean. Hapless, awkward. Constantly doing bumbling, embarrassing things. Actually it’s been obvious for a long time. Recent events have just emphasised this.

For instance, there was the day when I had an  appointment to go to. As is my usual  tendency, I have no concept of  time or time management. I figured I could easily  manage to dye my hair, have a shower, put a bit of slap on, blow dry my hair and have ample time to drive the half hour it would take to get to my appointment. Wrong. 

I had planned what I was going to wear, but when I put the dress on, it made me look distinctly pregnant. With quads. So, I figured I should stick to the ‘pregnant with twins’ look I normally go for and decided on a different outfit.

My hair ended up a glorious hue of bright orangey red. Sort of Julia Gillard meets Pauline Hanson. Classy. Then, when I was rushing to get out the door, I couldn’t find my handbag, glasses, keys and had approximately 500 brain explosions. Finally, I made it into the car, already running late and realised, oh fuck, I need petrol, as the gage pointed ominously pointed towards empty.

 I stopped at the first petrol station. I can never remember which side the petrol thingy is on, so I became all bewildered and bamboozled. Conscious of being I late, I frantically leaped out of the car, slamming the door and ripping my skirt which was caught in it.

Meanwhile, my Julia Gillard hair, which I so lovingly blow dried has been well and truly blow dried in the sense of blown to smithereens by the wind. I am not happy.

A few rather charming words later, I retrieve my ripped skirt and flounce around to the petrol bowser. I’ve forgotten to open the door thingy to  the petrol cap. Swearing, I stomp around and flick it open. So I think. However,it soon becomes clear I’ve opened the boot instead. Fuck, fuckity fuck, I’m late! After several attempts to get the pump going I finally have petrol. We have lift off.

I reach my appointment, mercifully only ten minutes late. Okay, twenty. But at least I cut out the waiting room time. I spend the next 30 minutes allowing my shrink to convince me that I’m a great Mum just by being loving and demonstrative. So what if I regularly forget what day it is, to sign school notes and the boys are being brought up in a messy, dishevelled house? I’m distracted, wondering if I left the iron on, until I realise, there is certainly no chance of that happening. I never do ironing. I may have left my hair straightener plugged in. I mentally prepare myself for a stern lecture from Micky Blue Eyes on the perils of doing so.

Leaving the appointment, I remember I need to grab some groceries on the way home. Naturally, the list I wrote is sitting somewhere at home. I head to Aldi anyway. It’s cheap and I can possibly scrape up enough cash for a few essentials. I have no change for the trolley. Trudging back to the car, I grab the pram from the boot, I’ll use that instead. I wheel it in there, receiving odd looks from other shoppers at the sight of me with a stroller, sans toddler. Studiously ignoring them, I load a few essentials onto the pram. Finally I make it to the check out. At which point I become panicky as they check through the groceries at break neck speed, I frantically throw them onto the pram and fumble for the cash in my purse. I hand it over, smiling weakly and continue throwing the rest of my things haphazardly onto and under the pram.

“Have a nice day.”the cashier says in a monotone, thrusting my change at me. She continues to survey me with a sour expression as I simultaneously struggle to grab the last few items and stuff the coinage in my purse amid audible impatient sighs from customers lined up behind me. Finally shoving my purse away, I heave the heavy pram, laden with groceries away from the the check out. Items tumble off onto the floor. I scoop them up hurriedly, ignoring the pitying glances of other shoppers as they wheel their tidily packed  trolleys out the door looking smugly superior.

I hate queues..but I'll queue
up for plonk

On the way out I spot the new alcohol section, a recent addition at my local Aldi. Deciding a five dollar bottle of plonk will be just the thing to help soothe my shattered nerves, I dump the groceries in the boot and head back in. Clutching my plonk, I join a queue yet again. I feel like I deserve a medal for bravery just for doing this simple task. Waiting in queues makes me feel ridiculously anxious for no reason. Clearly I am a thoroughly logical person. The young woman in front of me is holding the same bottle of plonk,  The cashier asks for ID but doesn't ask me. I decide there are some distinct advantages to being an old bag as I leave with my plonk and the young woman leaves empty handed.

Arriving home I realise that I've forgotten approximately five things that were on the left-at-home list. I may have to face the joy of going back again. But why do today what you can put off for tomorrow?

Fast forward to this week and I have continued in my space cadet ways by finally remembering to take some gifts/items to post to online friends, which were promised months ago, and, in some cases, even, years ago. Then, en route to the post office I suddenly remembered I did not have the addresses to post them to with me. Additionally, I'd also forgotten my mobile, so I could not text them to ask their address. Sigh.

On the plus side, I managed to buy a lovely bogan outfit from Millers (tres classy) to wear to my sister in law's black and bling themed 40th birthday party, where, no doubt, I will sit quietly in the corner. But, at least I will be sitting quietly in the corner dressed appropriately.

There are so many more silly things I've done, but naturally, I've forgotten them. Or, I want to forget them. Now, I'm off to the shops again to attempt to post these thing once and for all. I'm walking there for exercise. I won't ruin my effort when I get there by having a coffee and a cakie. Nope. No way. I never do things like that.

PS. I was so disorganised and sucky with my time management, yet again, that I ended up driving to the shops. Without the parcels I had to post.  Enough said.

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

Do you forget things? Or frequently have embarrassing moments? Please tell me I'm not the only one...

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