February Is...

February is...

The shortest month of the year. Consequently it's often the month my dad chooses to go on a diet. He should probably trademark it and sell it. The February Diet. But I'm guessing somebody already has anyway...

February is...

Tricky to spell. Who knew there was a rogue 'r' in there? Okay, only me. Oops. 

February is...

The last month of summer.(If you live in Australia, that is.) Hallelujah! Cue glorious uplifting music. I am SICK of the heat and humidity. SICK OF IT, I tell you! Of course it won't be long before I am complaining about the cold. I like to be consistent in some things. I'm a very consistent weather whinger. Winning! 

February is...

When you're smashing all your resolutions and goals full steam ahead feeling smug and strutting about like a peacock owning 2018 already in month number two. Except I'm not doing that. Oops. 

February is...

The month when I remember the passing of the late great Karen Carpenter. She left this earth 35 years ago on February 4th, 1983. 35 flipping YEARS?! *sobs* 

February is...

The month of lurrrrve, romance, hearts, flowers and all that mushy stuff. Not into it. That's surprising, yeah? But Mickey Blue Eyes did present me with some lovely chocolates from Aldi, and I didn't get him anything. Therefore I decided a Facebook photo with a lovey dovey frame would have to do. And that is what I like to call romance, people. 

February is...

A month in which I have done so many exciting things. Including:

• Washing windows
• Tidying the linen cupboard
• Mopping floors
• Washing truckloads of dishes
• Folding vast mountains of clothes
• Borrowing library books
• Reading library books
• Writing lists
• Writing draft blog posts then never publishing them
• Going to a shrink appointment
• Going to a GP appointment
• Going grocery shopping
• Making beds
• Cooking food
• Eating food

And yeah, I think we're done with the bullshit bullet points. I'm sure you're all suitably jealous now. Snorts. 

February is...

The month after January. Conversely, it's also the month BEFORE March. I always feel the need to include a glaring Captain Obvious moment in my posts. Because why not?  January is my birthday month, so February is my one year and one month birthday. Or something. I don't know. I'm just making this up. 

What else have I been up to in this plodding fast-paced February? I'm glad you asked. The fact that you didn't is only a minor detail. I'll tell you anyway. You're very welcome. 

Recently I borrowed a book from the library called The Housewife's Handbook. See bullet list.  Inside, I found a newspaper clipping with a headline that went something like: "Fair distribution of assets when a marriage fails". 

Evidently someone who borrowed the book before me was also trying to be a top notch housewife. Until the day they decided, screw this, and promptly filed for divorce. I'd like to think that this woman (because only a woman would borrow such a book, I suspect) is now currently sunning herself on a beach in Greece a la Shirley Valentine. 

Meanwhile, I've been a contented little (or not so little) housewife of late. I've been merrily cleaning away. (Again, see bullet list). The other week, Mickey Blue Eyes, looking very concerned, asked me why. You'd think it was totally out of character or something!

Clearly he thought I'd either invited guests without telling him, or completely lost my marbles. Well, it definitely wasn't the former. So yeah, I'm wondering how long will it be before I wish to join my imaginary 'Shirley' on that beach? I think I'll keep Mickey Blue Eyes, though. Hopefully we'll get to that beach together at some point. 

In the meantime, farewell to you, February. Until we meet again. Same time next year. Can you please leave quietly and not incinerate us on your way out? Thank you. 

Now bring on March! 

What is February to you?

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Here I Am

Hello, dear people. It's been a while since I checked in  here. What's that? You didn't notice? How rude. HMPH.

Anyway, the reason for my absence was the passing of my mother-in-law (may she rest in peace) and being without a laptop. It has finally been fixed, so here I am.

Then, for some zany reason I cannot fathom, last Wednesday I became a dutiful housewife. I dusted. I vacuumed. I cleaned and tidied. I tidied and cleaned. I changed sheets and made beds. I SLAVED over dinner. It certainly was a tremendous effort to order the Chinese take away. I can only hope my family appreciates the extreme sacrifices I make for them.

Needless to say, this led to me being extremely lavish in my efforts to take rather long naps. In addition to all of this I also kept up my regular exercise routine. No seriously, I actually DO have a regular exercise routine. Please stop that sardonic laughter! Actually, I just felt like saying the word sardonic for the sake of it. Sardonic. Very satisfying. It's not like you get to say such words in everyday life, is it? Derisive works here, too. Take your pick. 

But what was I saying? Oh yes. Exercise. I exercise frequently. SUCH a shame that there never appears to be any visible evidence of this. Ditto the housework. Rude. So basically what I am saying is, I am wonder woman. I wonder what I'll do next? I'll probably type this sentence. See?

Then it hit me. This week it's Halloween. I can just leave all the dust and cobwebs and claim they're part of the theme of this week. It's actually like I've been prepared and ready for Halloween for all these years, before Halloween was even a thing in Australia. See? Who said I'm not organised?

But here's my Halloween dilemma. For the past two years we had a few trick or treaters knock on the door. However, I wasn't prepared, so I ended up giving them lame treats, like packets of sultanas or tiny teddies.  I'm wondering if I should stock up on lollies, but at the same time I don't want the temptation of having them around because I'll eat them. I'm classy like that.

My boys haven't expressed any desire to go trick or treating, and secretly I'm glad. It just doesn't appeal to me to go randomly knocking on doors asking for sweets, despite being a chocoholic. Halloween was never really a tradition in Australia when I was growing up in the 1970s and 80s. Maybe that's why I don't get into it. I never feel like I'm missing out on something because it just didn't exist in my childhood.It's like how some people from other parts of the world probably feel like Christmas isn't Christmas without snow. In Australia we never have a white Christmas, and you don't miss something you've never had. You don't even think about it.

Meanwhile, even my 74 year old mother is getting into the Halloween spirit. She was invited to a party and is planning to dress up. There was a time when I went to Rotaract  Halloween parties and dressed up as Morticia. Sadly, these days my only dress up option would be  a witch or ghost.  And all I'd need is the pointy hat, cloak and broomstick. No make-up. Sigh.

Come to think of it, I already became a fully-fledged witch at Weight Witches!  For some reason, there was no broomstick handed out. Furthermore, the nose twitching thing remains mysteriously elusive. Weird. Very weird indeed. Perhaps my magical powers will suddenly come out to play when it's Halloween? Think about it. It certainly would be handy to turn some one into a toad when they annoy you. Just kidding. I'm a nice witch. 

My Morticia days are over *sobs*

Anyway, it's really hard to believe that it's the end of October. Consequently this means that November is a mere week away. Wasn't it just January a couple of months ago?

This means that Mr 6 becomes Mr 7 next Monday and a week later it's mine and Mickey Blue Eyes' 20th wedding anniversary. Wasn't it just 1995 a few years ago? Shut up.

On that note, I still haven't started Christmas shopping. Apparently I like living on the edge. But I'm not alone. According to a comprehensive study I conducted, most people prefer to leave Christmas shopping until December where it belongs. Using 'comprehensive study' in the sense of a random Facebook status update I posted a few weeks ago.

It's all good, though. We are very close to obtaining our passports, which means we can now fire up the private jet and take off at a moments notice if we choose. Or, you know, just go to Dubbo again just because we're quirky. Quirky, dammit! NOT tight-asses. Ahem.

Speaking of random stuff, (we weren't, but you know me and my meandering posts) I actually bought something from Evilbay for the first time ever! I'm onto all the newfangled things just like all the youngsters. There's no telling what can happen from here. Hopefully not Evilbay addiction. Which is a thing, according to certain friends who call it Evilbay for that reason. Scary. But scary is the theme of the week.

So BOO!

Linking up with Kirsty, Alicia and Eva.

Do you celebrate Halloween? 

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A Day In The Life Of A Mad Boganville Housewife Part Two

As promised here is Part Two of the gripping saga that is my life.  Read on for drama, suspense and intruige.

PART TWO

Micky Blue Eyes has now returned and I am booted from the computer.  What to do now?   There are several truck loads of washing to be put away.  This strikes me as tedious, so I flick the tv on for entertainment while folding. 

First channel.  Infomercial about funeral plans. Too depressing, as I realise I don't really wish to plan for my death.

 Flick to the next channel.  Infomercial about miracle weight loss programme and exercise gadget.  Too depressing, as I realise I desperately need to lose weight. 

Flick to the next channel.  Infomercial about some wonder mop that will make mopping effortless, leaving all floors gleaming.  Too depressing, as I realise that the highlight of my day may involve mopping my filthy floors.  And there will nothing remotely wonderous about it.

Sighing, I switch off the tv.  Haphazardly, I start folding clothes.  On closer scrutiny it appears that most of them require a hideous process known as ironing.  This strikes me as tedious, so I convince myself the crumpled look is in and put them away as they are.

Then, I survey the living room.  There are toys everywhere.  In order to vacuum/mop I will need to clear approximately 20 tonnes of clutter.  Bugger that.   I procrastinate by making another cup of tea. 

Mick is still working away on the computer.  He starts talking to me about something Accountant-like as the kettle boils.  I try to not to look bored.  I retreat into the bedroom with my tea.

Sitting on the edge of the bed, I flip through my biography on Karen Carpenter for the millionth time and zone out.  Seems like only ten minutes go by but possibly an hour later, I glance up and catch sight of myself in the mirrored wardrobe.  I have a disgusting roll of belly flab, thunder thighs and a humongous double chin.  I am horrified.

Grimly, I pull on my holy joggers (as in they have holes in them, not as in they are sacred) and put on an exercise dvd. Within minutes, several pert, patronising aerobics instructors are beaming at me from the tv screen, looking scarily fit and promising me I too will have rock hard abs, buns of steel and melt away pounds if I work out with them.  So I do.

I begin the warm up, marching valiantly.  This is okay, I think, happily.  The pace picks up.  I start sweating.  The scary women bounce along effortlessly.  "You're doing great!" she shouts.  Why don't I feel so great?

"Time for some push ups!"  she announces as cheerfully as I would announce "Time to sit down with a cup of tea and a cakie!"
"Drop and give me twenty!"   Bugger that.  I jog on the spot instead.  I puff and pant.  Bugger that.  I march on the spot instead. 

Scary Woman bounces back up again.  "Now, go and get your Fanny Lifter. " she says.

My what??

"Position yourself over the Fanny Lifter."  Ummmm...okaay.  It appears to be some kind of bench/step thingy.  I improvise and do the squats without one.  Then we are huffing and puffing again.

There are several more references to the Fanny Lifter, which strikes me as a completely ludicrous name for an exercise gadget, so I am too busy laughing to exercise properly.  I improvise as best I can for several more minutes, before giving up and skipping to the cool down section.  At least I have managed to break a sweat, I tell myself, as well as make my head pound in earnest.

I swallow some painkillers and head for the shower.  Once there, I recoil in revulsion at the state and smell of the bathroom.  Might have to pull out the tub of Gumption first.  I half-heartedly give it a once over, then take a shower.  That done, my stomach growls.  Lunch time.

I then proceed to sabotage all my exercise effort by making Mick and I ham and cheese toasties. Then guiltily gobble a biscuit or other sweet treat with a cup of tea after the sandwich. 

There are several truck loads of washing up to be done.  This strikes me as tedious, so I dart back to the computer as Mick has disappeared outside for a few minutes.  I check my Facebook again. Yep, I am still a crashing, heaving bore compared to everyone else.

Mick comes back inside armed with yet another giant basket of washing from the line that I eye wearily.  He comments on the glorious weather and how it just makes him want to jump in the car and drive to Darwin. I try not to look alarmed.

Dismally, I do the dishes, wondering what to have for dinner.  I get the chops out.  Seemingly only 15 minutes have gone by but it is already time to get the boys. I set of to get Master 3 while Mick goes to get the other two.  This is the true highlight of the day, for when Master 3 sees me he his little face lights up, he runs to me joyfully, and I scoop him up in a big bear hug.  We head home.

Mick and the boys are back.  "Hi Mum," says Master 8, looking around dubiously "what did you do today?"

"Muuuum!" Master 10 shouts, already in his recliner/throne. "Can you make me a cup of tea?"

Stay tuned for Part Three, the stunning conclusion.  Coming soon.

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