This Is My New Year's Resolution...

Yes, it's me again! I am, indeed, still alive! That's always good news. Speaking of good news, I have SO MUCH to tell you! Obviously, since I haven't checked in here in months and my life is always a hot-bed of intrigue. Well, my bed is frightfully hot presently and I'm intrigued by lots of things. That's the same thing, I'm quite certain.

Anyway, I had better get on with bringing you up to date with all my doings! It's been epic, so you had better grab your beverage of choice and some popcorn and settle in. Or perhaps a nice piece of fresh fruit since it's the beginning of the year and a Monday, so the odds are high that you're on a health kick. We won't say the nasty little D word. The fact that I am on Weight Witches is completely irrelevant. It's not a.... (insert d word) it's a lifestyle! That's the lovely little illusion we tell ourselves as we munch our way through shit tonnes of salad and pay people to humiliate us with weekly weigh ins. Works for me!

But where was I? Oh, that's right I was about to enthral you with all my shenanigans. Yes, ENTHRAL is the correct word. On the other hand, I'm not really sure what shenanigans are, but they sound impressive. So let's get straight to it! Or should I waffle on for another paragraph? Waffle it is! I mean, the whole post is waffle anyway. So on with the waffling!

Sit back and prepare to be transfixed with all my entertaining exploits. Be thrilled by my fascinating adventures, riveting escapades and action-packed...um....erm....adventures. Okay, I already said adventures!  So what? HMPH.  But you will see what I mean.

Perch on the edge of your seat as you read with nail-biting anticipation of my numerous trips to  buy groceries, my pointless attempts at housework and my ongoing gig as reluctant nurse to Mickey Blue Eyes. Florence Nightingale, I ain't.  Get your own ice-pack, you lazy bastard. Just because you're on bloody crutches and in a knee brace is no excuse to be idle! Jeez, some people!

Read with undisguised envy of my weekly drop offs to physio-therapy appointments, repeated attempts to visit Medicare over the Christmas period and valiant efforts to convince three rambunctious boys that nobody has ever actually died of terminal boredom as yet. Yes, some folk may have considered flinging themselves in front of an oncoming bus or opening a vein during some particularly tedious times, but Terminal Boredom isn't actually an affliction. Get over it, dudes.

In addition to all of this flurry of activity, I have also made time to participate in an astonishing array of avant garde activities. These include:

• Sleeping
• Eating
• Walking the dog
• Whinging about the heat
• Turning the air conditioner on
• Preparing meals for three ungrateful offspring who do not appreciate my superb culinary skills
• Whinging about the heat some more
• Turning the air conditioner up
• Scrolling down my Facebook feed to see all the shiny, happy people living their shiny, happy lives
• Whinging about the heat some more
• Melting into a puddle
• Drinking gallons of water
• Peeing a billion times a day (see above)
• Staring into space
• Writing shopping lists which I forget when I actually go shopping
• Opening the fridge for the fiftieth time a day only to discover that it contains the same disappointing contents it did the previous forty-nine times I opened it
• Opening the fridge and cupboards five million times a day for three ravenous boys who not only find the contents disappointing in the extreme, but also blame you for this deprivation with unreserved scorn and vitriol. 
• Schlepping out to become insolvent by buying an extraordinary amount of groceries, only to lug them all home, have to put them away, figure out what to cook with them to please a family and your Weight Witchy self.  After which, you receive yet more scorn and vitriol with the added bonus of a shit tonne of washing up as well. Awesome.  
• Repeat the above point every two days, as all food seems to be devoured in this short amount of time. 
• Weep at the at the cost of all those grocery bills

I could go on, but I'm certain I'm making you all jealous. Okay, not really. 

As you may have guessed from all of the above, 2014 for me limped it's way to a lacklustre finish. Which was handy, because it was just in time for 2015 to limp in a similar lackadaisical fashion. But it's all good, because as we all know new years are the time for all that 'new year, new me' bullshit. 'You've just started a 365 page book, write a good one' and all that rah rah stuff.  So I may as well get on board and make a few resolutions. 

Here goes:

1. I resolve to read more! I already have a gazillion books waiting for me, so it seems a shame to just leave them lying around. Done!
2. I resolve to catch up on my sleep debt. I've got a good 14 years of sleep deprivation to catch up on. So it's nanna naps all the way for 2015. An exclamation point there would seem to imply rather more energy than is necessary for napping so I gave it a miss. 
3. I resolve to daydream more! After all, it's just like meditation, right? 
4. I resolve to learn more, this will require online research and web surfing.But it's all the name of self-improvement. Ahem.
5. I resolve to try new foods. After all, chocolate is food, isn't it? There must be so many varieties that I haven't tried yet. Sounds like a plan to me. 
6. I resolve to make new friends. On Facebook. Imaginary friends are so much easier. I don't have to clean the house up for them. So if you want to shoot me a friend request, feel free. 
7. I resolve to catch up with old friends. In person! In fact, I already did on New Year's Eve! So we're good until at least May, I reckon. 
8. I resolve to write more meaningless, random, waffling, ad hok drivel and post it here. You're welcome! 
9. I resolve to keep going to Weight Witches until I'm finally a witch like Samantha. The nose twitching thing doesn't seem to be working as yet. Damn. 
10. And finally, I have some vague hope that 2015 may be the year that I actually get that the definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over and expecting different results. Otherwise I resolve to go quietly insane.  Oh wait. Too late....

Happy New Year from a quietly insane woman

What is your New Year's Resolution? 

Read More

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.....
 

Read More

Hello Again

Hello there! Me again. Thought you'd gotten rid of me, didn't you? Sorry!

As George Costanza would say: I'M BACK, BABY, I'M BACK!  SO NER! The 'so ner' bit was from me, not George.

I just haven't bothered posting here for a while for the following reasons:

Laziness
School holidays
Dodgy internet connection
Nothing remotely interesting to post about
I was too busy totalling our old car (ahem)
We had to get a new car (see above)
Did I mention laziness?

So now that I've confessed that I'm tragically lazy, (just to tell you something you didn't already know), I have a couple more shocking revelations.

As I mentioned above, I managed to write off our old car. On the last week of term before the school holidays, I set off one afternoon to pick up Mr 13. As I was driving along the narrow street at the back of the school which leads to the car park, I spotted him walking towards me. In my stupidity, I kept my eyes off the road for just a second or two too long and BAM! I hit a parked car. Genius.

According to Mr 13 it happened because he is just so devastatingly handsome that I couldn't take my eyes off him. True.

It's hard to explain, but because of the way or angle I hit the other car, the entire front left tyre and suspension were completely stuffed. Fun times.

On the positive side, we had been intending to get a new car for ages so this sped up the process considerably.

Meanwhile, here is the most shocking revelation of all:

I haven't really missed blogging much. I know. How shameful. I often read about how passionate others are about writing and realise that I'm not. Once I get started I do like it and usually feel better, just like with exercise. However, I'm not passionately driven to do it everyday.

Therefore, I have two choices:


1. Quit blogging
2. Continue with my ad hoc blogging approach
3. Realise that nobody really cares one way or the other anyway, so just get a life and get on with it.



Oh okay, that was three choices. I'm not good with numbers.

I have heard of something called 'slow blogging', so I'm sure I could make 'ad hoc blogging' a thing. It's totally revolutionary! I could even come up with a printable! It would say something like:

AD HOC BLOGGING

Blog whenever you like, however you like!

On second thought, it sounds like too much effort to come up with that printable, so just write it on a sticky note, okay? Done.

In keeping with the ad hoc approach, I'm just jumping from one topic to the next, in a totally random fashion. Which brings me to the topic of this week's I Must Confess: Fashion. Specifically our most embarrassing pieces. Now I'm laughing at myself for calling my clothes 'pieces'. Snort. Pieces of crap, perhaps.

 It would be far too difficult for me to single out certain things that are more embarrassing than others. All of my 'fashion' (and I use that term rather loosely, just as I wear most of my clothes, coincidentally), is embarrassing. This is due to the fact that 90% of it sports a Millers tag. Classy. That is a shameful enough confession without providing photographic evidence as well.  Oh all right, if you insist....

Micky Blue Eyes and I looking windblown and ever so stylish
in the Blue Mountains about a month ago

The other 10% of my clothes sport an equally classy label such as Best & Less. I like to mix it up a bit. I've even splurged and bought some shoes a week or two ago from Payless Shoes. Are you detecting a theme here?


If that theme seems to scream: Lifestyles of the Broke And Aimless, then you've totally got where I'm coming from. On the plus side, at least you can leave my blog feeling smug and superior. Unlike other blogs or on Facey where everyone seems to be just better than you. In every way: clothes, lifestyle, holidays, diets, running.

So I'm providing a community service really. No matter how pathetic your life seems, there is always somebody more pathetic! ME! You're welcome.

Over and out for now. Stay tuned for the next ad hoc post. It might be tomorrow, next week, next month or next  year, you just never know! Ad hoc blogging! It's a thing! Spread the word. Or not. Whatever. Only if you feel like it. That's the idea. Ad hoc.

Later dudes!  

Linking up for I Must Confess and Laugh Link

What are you having for dinner?

(You see what I did there? Totally ad hoc question, in keeping with the ad hoc theme!)  Shut up....

Read More

Top Five

I've decided to regurgitate this oldie but goodie post simply because I can't be bothered writing a new one it was so brilliant it deserves a second viewing. You're welcome.

Today I'm confessing to my top five favourite celeb hunks. These are the dudes I'd love to have a 'free pass' for from Micky Blue Eyes if the opportunity ever, erm... arose.

Highly likely, since I'm always jet-setting off to the Oscars and hanging around the Glitterati. Glitteratai? Whatever. As long as it's not actual glitter. That stuff is EVIL.

It's hard to narrow it down to five. But I'll try. I'm thinking: Hugh Jackman, Colin Firth, Bradley Cooper, Ryan Reynolds and that Irish dude from Bridesmaids. Okay, he's not even that good looking but it's the accent. Shut up. 

The truth is, even if the all the above gentleman were agreeable to this arrangement, (and let's face it, why wouldn't they be? I certainly do ooze sex appeal and all that), Micky Blue Eyes certainly would NOT give me a free pass for ANYBODY.  How rude. You'd think I married him or something and made some sort of promise to be faithful, forsaking all others. Oh.

DETAILS!

The man is frightfully jealous. Well, you can't blame him. I did mention my undeniable sex appeal. This, coupled with my extremely flirtatious nature, would be a cause for concern. Snorts.

Seriously though, there would be no free passes for me. And I would never give him one either. Sorry dude, you'll have turn Jen Hawkins down. The poor lass will just have to settle for the Adonis she married. Poor old Jen.

If we ever wanted to indulge in our secret passions and crushes we'd have to resort to a good old-fashioned affair. There is only one problem with this option. Actually a few problems.


My Top Five Reasons I Could Never Have An Affair

5. I would have to become an expert liar. While I am quite adept at making up crap writing witty words for this blog, I am less able to glibly lie, especially directly to some body's face. Plus, my memory is so shocking I'd have trouble recalling my own web of lies. This would clearly make me the worst adulterer EVER.


4. I would be really bad at sexting. I'd need lessons from Warnie. Hmmm, then again, Warnie wasn't that great at it either, was he? I'd have no idea how to send my lover photos of my national geographics boobs. Worse still, I have no idea how to delete texts. I've only recently come into the 21st century and obtained an android phone. Shut up. 


3. I would actually have to shave my legs once in while. This would certainly make Micky Blue Eyes suspicious. Very suspicious indeed. Not to mention other areas that would require deforestation. I meant my 'moutache' and pits! Nobody wants to know about any other bits. 

EWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWW!!

Which brings me to my next point...



2. Nobody has propositioned me! Not once! EVER!

You'd think that in the space of almost twenty years somebody would have tried to get their leg over. But no. Unless you count that creepy old dude with trousers up to his arm pits who rubbed himself against me in a crowded elevator at the shops once. Nothing. 

Clearly it's my devastating sex appeal that is intimidating. I'm just too much woman for all these men. Way too much.

Okay, I suppose I do need to lose weight. Sniff. 

And the number one reason I could never have an affair....

Drum roll please! (You'll have to imagine it...)



1. I. CAN'T. BE. BOTHERED. 

Seriously, who has the time or inclination for all that sneaking around and sexting? It all seems like a bit too much effort to me. 

I'm sure there are certain websites with names like sleazebagsanddesperadosdotcom where I could hook up with some
creepy old dude with trousers up to his arm pits hot dude if I was that way inclined, but for some reason that I simply can't fathom, this just doesn't appeal to me. 


So there you have it. All the reasons I wouldn't have an affair.

Oh, those reasons and the fact that I'm truly, madly and deeply in love with Micky Blue Eyes and would never look sideways at another man....

Ohhhhhhhhhhhhh my! What were we talking about again? I got distracted doing my neck exercises. Okay, I'm off to do some house work more neck exercises. Bye! 

Linking up for I Must Confess ,Open Slather  and Mummy Mondays.

Who are your 'top five'?

Could you ever have an affair?

Read More

Monday Morning Moaning

I must confess that I have NO IDEA what little mini confessions I  can confess to. I'm desperately trying to think of something and coming up as empty and blank as...well, my mind. So this could be interesting.

Or, you know, as boring as batshit. But bear with me. You know you want to. Okay, you don't really want to.  Just think of me, if you will, as that crashing, heaving bore you sometimes end up sitting next to on a plane or at any social occasion. You know the kind. The ones that want to regale you with every intricate detail of their tedious existence. Meanwhile, you sit there apparently spellbound but really suppressing the urge to scream. But you're  too nice and polite so you  smile and nod instead. Or is that just me? 

Alternatively, I guess you could just click away right now. I can't really stop you.  Hmph.  

You're still here?  Oh. I guess that means I do have to come up with  something. Hmmm, let's see....

I've got nothing.

In which case, I might as well just steal every one else's ideas be inspired by others and list the things I'm completely over. Every other bugger blogger seems to have given this a spin and I like to be cutting edge and original.  Shut up. 

The things I am COMPLETELY over, in  no particular order, are:

SOCCER

More specifically, getting up on a Saturday morning and schlepping out to the boys games. This involves a complicated game of tag as there are three of them, two of us and only one car.  Therefore, I confess I am somewhat elated that the season has finally come to an end. HALLELUJAH! 

Moreover, I still remain firmly convinced that my boys should really have taken up cross-dressing instead of soccer as an extra-curricular activity. I'm sure getting on some fishnets and stilettos would be so much easier than those bloody soccer socks, boots and shin pads. Nightmare. 

HOME  IMPROVEMENT SHOWS

In particular the shows where they  de-clutter and make-over ordinary suburban homes. 

I'm always bemused by the after shots of such make-overs. The house is transformed from sheer chaos to sleek and stylish, complete with calming scented candles flickering away for added ambiance. 

Seriously?  Candles? With children?  If I lit any candles around here the house would be up in flames quicker than you could say 'insurance claim'.  Then again, I  HAVE paid the insurance. Ahem...

I'd love to challenge them to do our home. I'm sure if that Peter Walsh character took one look at our humble abode, his solution would be pretty clear cut. He would simply take out a hand grenade, detonate it, hand to me and RUN. 

FIGHTS OVER PLAYSTATION/COMPUTER

I have completely failed as a parent. Tragically, my boys do not  possess their own exclusive lap-top/PS4/Ipad/Ipod and any other device I probably haven't  heard of. I'm so broke mean. How can I deprive them of such luxuries necessities?  This means they have to do the unthinkable: SHARE.  Fights and indignation ensue. 

But why don't you just set them time limits I hear you ask?  You're the boss, after all. 

GENIUS. Why didn't I think of that? Oh wait. I did. 

It goes like this:

They are given a time and happily agree with rapturous thank yous. As soon as their time is up they immediately announce to their patiently waiting brother: "It's your turn, Bro!" 

They blissfully hi-five each other while beaming and the next person takes their turn. All is sweetness and light. 

YEAH. RIGHT. In my dreams. 

In reality there are furious shriekings of:

"That's not fairrrrrrrrr!!"

"Why does HE always get to go first??!!" 

"Muuum, he's  TEASING meeeee!!"  (If one smirks at the other as they reluctantly trade places). 

This can escalate to the point where they effectively try to kill one another while Micky Blue Eyes and I issue time outs and groundings.

Ahhhhh, the serenity. I mean, insanity.....

.

LASER TAG  PARTIES (OR ANY  PARTIES,  REALLY...)

I have been to two of these recently. Mr 5 was invited to one and then Mr 10. They are one big cacophonous wall of noise. It makes my head hurt just thinking about it. 

In spite of this, I know that when November rolls around and Mr 5 becomes Mr 6, I will dutifully book him one. This is still preferable than inviting people to our hand grenade worthy home. And infinitely preferable to me having to be the hostess to any party. I'll just make sure I have extra strength panadol with codeine on the day for the inevitable headache.

Which brings me to my next item....

HEADACHES

Micky Blue Eyes and I must be responsible for keeping the makers  of Nurofen thriving. On any given day, one or the other or both of us have a headache. Fun times.  

BROKEN SLEEP AND DISJOINTED, CRAZY DREAMS

Last night's blissful  slumber involved a  dream of passing an horrific car accident. I spotted a  severed  head on the road with huge pools of blood. Needless to say, I woke up feeling sick and shaken. 

I am not taking any illegal drugs, so where are these ridonkulous dreams coming from?  Perhaps I should just start a meth habit and be done with it? Except I have no idea where I would find anything like that in the classy old western suburbs of Sydney. 

That concludes my Monday morning moaning. Big sighs of relief all round. Well, I could keep going, but I'm sure we're all over crashing, heaving bores. Ahem.

Linking up forLaugh Link and I Must Confess. 

What are you completely over? 

Read More

Let It Go

I'm not sure if I can pin point one specific moment in my life that stands out above others. There was no moment when I could have chosen two different paths. I never really had any path. I just drifted along in my own little World. This has worked out well since I now have this space specifically for being in my own little World. See? I knew being a drifting daydreamer was a great Life Plan. Ahem.

It sounds a bit naff to say it, but probably the day that I first found out I was pregnant does stand out for me. It's a long story.  Suffice to say, I was already 26 weeks pregnant and had NO IDEA. But I was thrilled. For years I had believed that it could never happen. That day was better than winning the lottery. I wish I could bottle that kind of euphoria and sell it because I'd be a freaking millionaire.

While becoming a Mother was genuinely thrilling to me and I wouldn't trade it for anything, little did I know the sacrifices that were coming.

 In short, I have completely and utterly let myself go.

There was a time when I used to love dressing up. Donning a lovely frock was one of my favourite past times. Usually they were sewn by my Mum. I loved myself sick in these frocks. These days I hardly ever wear dresses.

Similarly, I enjoyed going to the hairdressers and whittling away several hours and a fair amount of cash to have my hair done. Although why I thought the mullet-perm was ever going to be a good idea back in 1987 remains a mystery.

I liked to wear make-up and would paint my face up with gusto.  I never realised that I was over-doing the eye shadow. Tragically, I believed that green or purple eye shadow were a good look, but at least I was making an effort.

Despite these efforts I've always had an aversion to high heels and pantyhose. I would occasionally wear them, though. Now they are like my once tiny waist - non-existent in my World. Sigh.

Yes, I certainly have let myself completely 'go'.

I know this because:

• I haven't seen the inside of a Hairdressers since....never mind....
• I'm looking forward to embracing my inner Prue or True and having a silver bob or pixie cut because I CAN'T BE BOTHERED ANYMORE.
• I have clothes in at least three different sizes. I convince myself that the larger ones clearly have the wrong label on them. Ahem.
• The real reason I have three different sizes is because most of my clothes are stretchy, floaty, elastic waisted or tunics etc.
• The rare times I do actually slap a bit of war paint on for a night out my son enquires in perplexed tones: Why have you got make-up on?
• I took a selfie or two for the first time ever, but only after carefully checking for poses that don't emphasise my double chin. Okay, chins.
• I often seethe inside at the injustice of how much easier it is to be a man. So much so, that I've seriously considered just shaving my hair off and wearing Micky Blue Eyes' clothes out to the shops. After all, these days I can manage to sport quite an impressive moustache, so I may get away with it. Until I speak. But it could be quite amusing to see the check out chick's reaction. No?
• The only clothes I buy are from 'Nanna' stores like Millers or the fat plus section at Best & Less. Classy.
• My skin care routine consists of slathering on a bit of sunscreen if ever I should log off the computer and emerge blinking and bewildered into the sunshine.  I may whack on a bit of the old Oil Of Olay once a week or so when I notice my sand-paper like skin.
• I wear make-up so infrequently that I appear to have developed an allergic reaction to it. As soon I apply the slightest amount, my eyes sting and water like crazy. Or I could just be weeping that there is no miracle cream to disguise double chins.
• I am clueless about the meaning of words like 'threading' and 'shellac' and have to Google them.
• I am baffled by the apparent burning urge of every woman in Australia to want to dress like Nina Proudman despite being a fan of Offspring.
• I look back at old photographs of myself and am astounded that I wasted so much energy thinking I was fat when I wasn't. Immediately a foreboding feeling washes over me that I may be looking back at current photos ten years from now and thinking the same thing. *shudders*

• If I posted an Outfit Of The Day, as some bloggers do, it would mostly be an alluring mix and match of joggers, track suit or yoga pants, jumper or polar fleece jacket.
• I never actually do yoga in the afore mentioned yoga pants. Shut up. I do aerobics in them. So ner.
• I still need to wear these items despite jumping around like a lunatic doing aerobics on a virtually daily basis. *sobs*
• I have never worn skinny jeans. See above.
• I believe all jeans are over-rated.

After writing this list I feel like a cup of tea and a good lie down. What I really need is a good long look in the mirror and to get a grip. On something other than cake. That might be handy.

Linking up for Laugh Link and I Must Confess.

Have you let yourself 'go'?

What moment in time would you go back to?

Read More

Conversation With My 18 Year Old Self

On January 15th, 1989, I turned 18. I went out to a restaurant at Rooty Hill RSL with my parents and a few friends because CLASSY. My parents gave me a beautiful amethyst ring. I had no boyfriend. I had no idea what I wanted to be when I grew up, despite suddenly being considered legally an adult. I had a mullet perm. Which probably explains the no boyfriend thing. Shut up, it was 1989. Besides, I was excruciatingly shy and quiet. Some things never change. Ahem.

I wonder what my 18 year old self would make of me and my life now. What would a conversation between my 18 year old self and my 43 year old self be like? What would my 18 year old self say? I'll tap her on the shoulder as she is about to cut her birthday cake...

My 18 year old self suddenly stomps in and eyeballs me furiously in all her mullet-permed glory....


What do you want? I was about to have cake! And so are you...for the love of God woman, clearly you don't have the same metabolism that I did anymore. Ditch the cakies and chocolate already! 

*Pauses with cake half way to mouth* Um, okay.

You're hiding cake behind your back, aren't you? Throw it in the bin!

I am not! Okay, yes I am. *Sighs and sheepishly throws it in the bin*

And any other cake or chocolate hidden in the cupboard or fridge! NOW! 

Look, I know you think you're special with that mullet-perm and tiny waist, but let me tell you, it won't last!

Exactly! Throw them in the bin! 

*Pouts* Okay, okay! *reluctantly throws all hidden stash in the bin*

Anyway, what's wrong with my perm? It looks good!

In 1989 maybe, but trust me, when you look back you will realise it was a very bad idea.

Well, at least tell me I have good hair in 2014. What does it look like? 

Um, well, it's going grey and...erm.. I don't really bother with the hairdressers anymore.

Oh, that's weird. But I guess you're too busy working these days! Of course, I had no idea in Hell what we wanted to do at 18, but I'm sure you've got it all figured out now! So tell me, what exciting career did we end up having? 

Erm, well the thing is...we don't really have a career...

What do you mean?

Um, we did work....for a time.. but....

But what? What did we do? Please tell me that I finally 'came out of my shell' like everyone keeps telling me to and we became an Oscar winning actress or pop star? *sits on edge of seat* 

No, but remember how you love books and reading?

*sounding skeptical* Yeeees...but...

Well, we sort of became a pretendy Librarian! *tries to make it sound exciting*

A  pretendy Librarian?! What does that even mean?

You're a Library Technician.

What's that?

Sort of like a Library Assistant.

Awkward silence.

Doesn't exactly sound like a proper Librarian to me. And it doesn't sound very exciting! *pouts*

Yes, but you will go and work at a Law firm when you're around 30 where they will obligingly allow you to pretend to be one for a while!

Wait a minute... a law firm? So, what you're saying is, there are no books actually involved? The fiction books that I love? 

Um, not really. Just legal books.

Oh! And then I develop a passionate interest in Law and end up becoming a Lawyer??!!

Erm no...but you'll work around Lawyers in Legal Libraries doing the filing.

Filing? That sounds utterly boring! 

Well, yes. But the good news is, you become so efficient at it that you are in demand with Library Locums and have to turn down a position because you've become a Mum!

Ohhhhhhh! That is good news! I've always wanted to be a Mum! So that must mean I got married first, right? Who is my husband? I imagine he's some sort of dashing Gilbert Blythe or Mr Darcy type?

Yes, you are married. But you'll realise that Mr Darcy and Gilbert Blythe are fictional characters and marry a perfectly decent sort of bloke called Mick.

Oh. Well, at least tell me that this Mick character is somebody interesting and exciting! Is he a musician, perhaps? Or maybe an artist? 

He's an Accountant.

He's a what?

You heard me.

At least that means he's good with money, right? We must be filthy, stinking rich and live in a luxurious mansion overlooking the harbour?! 

Not exactly. You do own a home. A simple, suburban home pretty much in the same area where you were born and grew up. 

*Sighs dramatically* So, you're telling me that I become a Library Assistant, marry an Accountant named Mick and live in an ordinary house in Dullsville??

You make it sound so bad! It's not so bad once you come off your high horse, Miss High And Mighty Mullet-Perm! HMPH! 

Okaaay...so, with all the money you've saved living in this 'modest' home, we must have been able to travel extensively. Am I right? 

Erm...yes.

Yay! So where have we been? London, Paris, New York?

We have travelled, just not overseas. But we've been to most places in Oz, though. Tassie, Perth, Cairns, Darwin, Queensland. Not to mention.. Dubbo....

DUBBO??!! You are kidding, right! 

Oh God..I said 'not to mention' Dubbo. Why did I mention it? 

*Hopefully* You were joking?

Erm...*coughs*

*Sobs*

Look, it's not that bad! I can tell you that even if it doesn't sound very exciting, you did end up enjoying those trips. Plus you were able to buy lots of books at Op Shops as well. 

I have to shop at Op Shops? Am I poor? *still sniffling*

No, no! Just...economical! So no more crying..

I'm sorry. It's just that my life is a perfect graveyard of buried hopes now...

Hang on a minute. You've been watching that Anne Of Green Gables mini-series starring Megan Follows again, haven't you? 

*Indignantly* So what if I have?

Sweetie, you need to turn it off and get out more. I hate to tell you, but your so-called current 'friendships' are going to go pear-shaped.

*SObs harder* It sounds like my whole LIFE has gone pear-shaped!!

No, not really. It's all good. Trust me, when your five year old son crawls onto your lap to hug you and says: 'I love you, Mum! You're the best in the World!',  you'll feel pretty content with your lot in life.

Ohhhhhh! *melts* That's right, I'm a Mum! So I have a son?

Three sons. 

How gorgeous! I imagine they are quiet, dreamy, poetic boys who love reading? 

Um.... yes. Yes, they are. *crosses fingers behind back* 

I knew it! So I'm a devoted Mum of three angelic boys and married to Mick. But I must have so much time on my hands when they're at school...

*Snorts* Um.....

What other interests do I have? I imagine I've totally left The Carpenters behind and have developed a cutting edge taste in music? After all, I can't wait to get Madonna's new album!  What does my current record collection look like? 

That would be Like A Prayer. 

What?

Madonna's 1989 album. 

Right. So I still love playing records?

Firstly, we don't really have records in 2014 anymore. Secondly, you still love The Carpenters...

I do? Oh. Well, if you're onto a good thing....

Exactly!  Plus, for about five minutes in 1994 they sort of become retro-cool and for once you are the coolest person in the Universe because you liked them all along...

Well, duh. But how do I still listen to them if there's no records?

There will be compact discs and then there will be iTunes available on the internet, although you haven't quite caught up with the technology...

You've lost me. The internet? 

Yes. You see, computers will become very common place and popular in the future. On them you will be able to access something called the World Wide Web where you can visit web sites. Among them will be social media sites where you can connect with others online. This will be one of your main interests....

Hold it. You rather rudely told me that I need to get out more, but you're saying that that you do most of your interacting with other people on a computer? Don't you STILL need to get out more? 

Ahem. Point taken. *Makes mental note to catch up with friends* However, it's through this world wide web that you are able to start writing a blog. 

What on Earth is a blog? 

Blogs are different things to different people, but I guess yours is kind of like an online journal that you write....

Ohhhhh! And that's when I finally become a literary genius and best-selling author just like my sixth grade teacher and my Mum always predicted??!! 

Christ no. You're too lazy for that. But there are quite a few people who like reading your blog and it's a good hobby and outlet for you. 

So....let me see if I've got this straight...I am never going to magically 'come out of my shell' and do anything earth shatteringly important with my life? Even with my awesome hair, big earrings and even bigger shoulder pads? 

Not really. But the point is, it's all okay. At around age 40* you will discover something about yourself that will allow you to redefine your own definition of success. 

Hmph. What is it? Clearly it's not the ability to be psychic. All my future predictions were incorrect. *sniffs*

You'll have to wait and see. Now go and cut that birthday cake.

I don't want to wait until I'm 40! That's ANCIENT! 

Hmph. 

Oh okay, but what should I wish for? The ability to resist cake?

*Sighs* You may as well enjoy it while you can. 

Will do! See you in around 25 years! 

And with that, I realise it has been 25 years since I was 18. Now I do feel ANCIENT. Sigh. 

*At age 40, I was diagnosed with Asperger's Syndrome.

Linking up late withLaugh Link and  I Must Confess. 

What do you think your 18 year old self would say to you now?

Can you believe that I had a mullet-perm?

Read More

An Interview With A Vampire

Kinking up this oldie but goodie for The Lounge today, just so that I can pretend I am still in this blogging game despite not blogging for over a month. Sigh.

 I've just realised that I wrote 'kinking' up instead of 'linking', but it sounds more interesting so I won't correct it. You're welcome. 

This post is inspired by the lovely Kylie Purtell. Last week she interviewed her husband Dave for her blog, which you can read here. I've decided that I might as well steal her idea and do the same, because;

a) it's a brilliant idea, and; 
b) I never have an original thought or idea EVER. It's just cake and Karen Carpenter swirling around in my tiny little brain. Otherwise- nothing. It's a vacuum up there. 

So without further ado, I bring to you: An Interview With A Vampire.

Um, I mean my husband Micky Blue Eyes. He actually isn't a vampire. He's an Accountant.

So you can see why I went with the vampire thing just to make him sound a bit more interesting. Ahem.

For ease of reading and comprehension please note the following:

Q is for question. Duh.
MBE is for Micky Blue Eyes, and indicates his answer (in bold).
Ness is obviously yours truly, and indicates my response to his answer (in italics).

I'm not sure how much longer he will actually be my husband once he reads this, so I'd better get on with it. 

Here goes:

Q: When and where did you first meet Ness?


MBE: Rotaract in 1993.


Ness: Actually it was at a Rootaract Rotaract outing to Studebakers Night Club in Parramatta, in late 1992, but that's close enough. Sort of. Kind of. Not really. Hmph!

Courting.  Or were we already married? Shut up, it's been a while. 

Q. Where did you take Ness on your first date?


MBE: Football/Club at Beecroft.


Ness: Um no. We went to see Sleepless In Seattle; as detailed here. This was really too overly romantic and sentimental a movie for a first date. Football (I'm assuming you mean soccer) would have been more fitting in terms of being prophetic. Years of freezing our bums off on soccer fields now in progress. 



Q. Why didn't you ever reply to those excruciatingly embarrassing heartfelt, yearning love letters that Ness wrote to you when you were dating courting? (Ness: Shut up. It's my blog and if I want to make this sound like a Victorian romance, I will). 

WHY dammit???


MBE: I don't write letters, I express [myself] by talking. 



Ness: Does this mean I've married one of those weird people who prefer talking over writing??!! *faints*



Q. What is the best thing about being married to Ness?



MBE: [She's] understanding and caring.



Ness: You make me sound like Mother Teresa. Which is fine. I could totally go there and do the whole Nun's habit thing, if you want. Oops. Too much information. Sorry! 



Q. What is the worst thing about being married to Ness?



MBE: None.



Ness: I assume you mean nothing. Which confirms what I've suspected all along. I'm perfect! And awesome! Or perfectly awesome. Or awesomely perfect. Or something....

Attending another 'Rotaract' wedding
while up the duff. Me, that is, not
Micky Blue Eyes. unfortunately.

Q. What do you like the most about being a Dad?



MBE: Bringing up children in a caring household.



Ness: Yep, it's just like The Brady Bunch around here! No wait....

In order for that analogy to work, I'd have to either die or do a runner. This would leave you 'busy with three boys of your own'.

You would have to become an Architect instead of an Accountant. Go by Mike instead of Mick, and marry a Carol who is 'bringing up three very lovely girls'. 

All this while secretly being gay (not that there's anything WRONG with that), and sporting a bad perm.  Bugger that. 

You're stuck with me. As a sit-com family we're more like Roseanne. After all, they were the Connor family too, right? As far as I remember, Roseanne's husband dies and she wins the lottery. MUCH better! 

I mean...shit NO! I don't want you to die! Just the lottery thing. Otherwise we're stuck resembling The Middle.  A chaotic, dysfunctional family of 'quirky' people, living their not-very-glamorous lives in a not-very-glamorous house. Sigh.


Q. What do you like the least about being a Dad?


MBE: None.


Ness: Sorry, it's too late for that.

Oh! You mean nothing! Clearly our children are also perfect. This is very good news indeed. Therefore you should have no problem with me taking a sabbatical and disappearing to visit imaginary (online) friends!! Yay!! *starts looking up flights*

Micky Blue Eyes living by his motto:
'Take it easy'  (even at our wedding)!

Q. You've been married to Ness for a long time (almost 19 years). What do you think the secret to a successful marriage is?


MBE: Enjoying good and bad times.


Ness: So the secret to a successful marriage is being a masochist? Fair call. 


Q. Does Ness ever share any cake with you?


MBE: Yes. 


Ness: Yeah, that's only the ones I tell you about. Ahem....

The time I swallowed an entire cake.

One final, very important question that I'm sure everyone will be bursting to know:


Q. Are your eyes REALLY blue?


MBE: Yes.

Me and Micky Blue Eyes a..*coughs* 'few' years ago...

Ness: They really are. The more important question is: what colour are MINE?


MBE: *thinks about it*...Green?


Ness: I would have preferred 'mesmerising pools of glittering emerald' or something more poetic, but I guess green will do. Sigh. Okay, thanks Micky Blue Eyes. 


MBE: Thank you.

Move over The Middle. We can do quirky and chaotic better!

And there you have it. That concludes my very illuminating interview with Micky Blue Eyes. Now I'm off to find that Vampire to interview....

Linking up forLaugh Link and I Must Confess. 

What else should I have asked?

Any Vampires who want to be interviewed out there?

Read More

In Search Of Slumber

I've decided that all my posts are so astonishing and BRILLIANT I should regurgitate another one! Why not? Don't answer that...

I feel like I could sleep for approximately a billion years. At least a decade, anyway. Maybe a year. A month, then? A solid eight hours, pretty please? Oh fuck it, I'll settle for a Nanna nap.

I never used to indulge in Nanna naps. Now they are become frequent happenings in my increasingly cutting edge lifestyle. I remember how my Mum always dozed off in the lounge chair of an afternoon or evening. I am turning into my Mother. Except I'm not. I never can.

You see, my Mother is one of those freakish people that are called: Morning People. Something I have never been. Never will be. Even growing human beings inside me and birthing them has not transformed me. Quite the opposite. You just become even more sleep deprived once you're a parent. If I ever am forced to be up early, every fibre of my being is violently protesting against it.

I remember reading Betty White's book If You Ask Me (And Of Course You Won't), where she talks about her passion and enthusiasm for life. Apparently she only needs four hours of sleep to be functioning and raring to go. The woman is about 150 years old. Or something. Really old, anyway. Four hours sleep? I couldn't function on that when I had a newborn that needed to be fed constantly, and I certainly can't function on it now.

My Mum, like Betty, also has that enviable ability to sleep for 4-6 hours, get up and keep going all day, sustained only by her chair snoozes. I, on the other hand, need a solid eight hours. Truthfully, ten would be even better. Even on the rare occasions when I achieve this, mornings are not my friend. I am still in a mental fog until midday. Oh who I am kidding, mental fogginess is a permanent state for me.

It probably helps that Betty White never had children. The sleep deprivation once they arrive is quite astonishing in intensity. Everybody warns you, but there is no preparation for it. It is like the most extreme jet lag you can imagine multiplied in intensity a billion times. Only worse, because you also have a shrieking infant to care for who is never going to let you catch up on your sleep debt. So this permanently jet-lagged, exhausted state just becomes a way of life.

For some inexplicable reason once you are already in the trenches of such sleep deprivation, you somehow convince yourself that it won't make any difference having that second or third child. HA! This is where you will discover how completely and absurdly wrong you can be. It gets worse.

Of course I am one of those nonsensical creatures who is capable of further complicating my quest for slumber. Each night, we engage in a highly intelligent game of 'Musical Beds'. This reminds me of an episode of the American sit-com The Middle, where Mum Frankie, (played by Patricia Heaton) says: If you're a parent and you're not doing this (musical beds), you're a liar. I'd have to concur with Frankie/Patricia. Meanwhile, I should possibly be somewhat alarmed instead of amused that we are almost like an Aussie version of the Hecks from The Middle. Classy.

Additionally, I am also an introvert and an Aspie. This means that certain things that others would find energising and refreshing, such as socialising, shopping or travelling, leave me feeling utterly drained. I need days to recover from such things. I have no idea how people manage to juggle work and a family. I am in awe of the parents who do this. I need to reserve my energy for coping with three beautiful, but boisterous boys. So I'm a stay at home Mum, even though I'm no domestic goddess. Ahem.

Another interesting element adding to our sleep deprivation dilemma is dreaming. Each day, Micky Blue Eyes and I wake up, looking shell shocked and hungover, and discuss our wild, erratic dreams. Neither of us seem to have a blissful night of deep, dreamless sleep. Instead we are constantly bombarded with these crazy dreams. It's as if we both have a secret drug habit, but I can assure you that the only ice I'm familiar with is the stuff I put in my scotch. And I only have one nip not an entire bottle!

My dreams are difficult to remember and so nonsensical and disjointed that they wouldn't make sense anyway. Some recurring themes of dreams I do remember fragments of, are:

Houses

Usually they will be houses that I spent time in as a child, like my Aunty Eileen's house, complete with the bright orange 1970's kitchen that I remember, but sometimes they are unfamiliar houses.

Toilets

The sheer desperation to find one fast! When I do, there is usually no privacy: no door, or a huge window and I have to keep looking. Not surprisingly, I usually wake up from these dreams bursting to pee.

Clothes

The inability to find any that fit me and a pressing urgency to be dressed and ready as I'm expecting visitors at any second.

School/Exams

I am due back at school with exams looming. Sometimes the clothes thing is combined and I'm looking for something to wear (obviously I can't bring myself to don a school uniform as an adult, even in a dream). I keep wondering why I have to go back and how to get out of it. I'm always so relieved when I wake up.

CONCLUSION: I am a deep and complex person with a pea-sized bladder, who fears exams, not having any clothes and wishes to revert back to childhood places?? Something like that, anyway. It's nice to have yourself figured out at this advanced age.

Anyway, I think I just need to surrender to this zombie like existence. Sleepless nights are not fading fast for me. Last week Mr 12 became Mr 13. Meaning, I am now heading into the teenage years. Yep, I can forget about sleeping. I'll just have to develop an ability to exist on Power Naps. I'm ready for The 30 Day Napping  Challenge, as seen floating around Facey.  I think I can give this a red hot go. Care to join me?

Linking up for I Must Confess.


How have you been sleeping? Do you remember your dreams?

Read More