The Month That Was August

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Another month has breezed by. Farewell August, you contradictory creature! You provided us with lovely days, then changed your mind and brought out blustery, bitterly cold days. There were days suffused with sunshine, interspersed with days spent with feet and hands like blocks of ice. I'm glad the latter is over. 

Reflecting upon the month of August makes me realise something: I need to get out more. I certainly don't have an action packed schedule to report.

However, one very exciting and fabulous thing happened. I had my tits crushed. Also known as a mammogram. Okay, so that part wasn't exactly fabulous. The results were! It was all completely normal! I am totally cancer free! YAY! Happy dance. 

Image credit: http://www.reactiongifs.com/crazy-dancing/

I reckon the only times I left the house during August were to go to grocery shopping, do the school pick up, go to a Weight Witches meeting or to have my tits crushed. Additionally, I went to the library. I like to be cutting edge.

Oh, and I got jabbed the other day. Meaning I had a blood test. While we're on that subject, it's pretty disconcerting to realise that I'm 45 years old, I've given birth four times and beaten cancer, but I still get freaked out and nervy having a blood test. What the...? Of course this phenomenon is now multiplied by a billion, because I'm even more paranoid about test results now. Brilliant.

The blood test is simply a routine thing to check my cholesterol, thyroid, sugar and hormones. Because I now have menopause thrown into the mix. Fun times. I see my GP next Wednesday to get the results. In the meantime I haven't had any urgent phone calls, so I hope that's a good sign. 

Meanwhile, today I am back to see my specialist/surgeon. My GP already informed me that my mammogram was all good. It's hard to believe that I'm already having my first six-monthly check up since my diagnonsense. So basically that is the highlight of my very ordinary August. 

I also became quite wistful and reflective. On the 24th it was the ninth anniversary of the day I gave birth to my deceased baby boy, Daniel. It's weird. These days I don't always think about him on the exact day, but at other random times. It's been nine years, which seems bizarre. On the one hand it seems like yesterday, but on the other, a billion years ago. So much has happened since then. Anyway, I can think of him with a smile and only a hint of sadness now. I imagine what he might have been like, and wonder if he'd be as cheeky and gorgeous as his brothers. I wonder how he would be different from them, too. My boys are all different. 

Oh yes! I finally got my very own laptop. As a result I think I've blogged a bit more consistently throughout August. Well, for me anyway. I'm always so ad hoc here.  

In other news, I now possess a full head of curly hair. Consequently, I finally understand curly hair problems. Related: I am going to be the whitest woman ever with a 'fro.  Except it doesn't look cool and cutting edge. I just look like a Nanna with a bad perm. Sigh. Well, my GP reckons I have a young face. So ner! A young face with Nanna hair and a double chin. Different. 

What else can I tell you about August? I could report that Weight Witches isn't going well. Oops. In fact, I am going to retire my broomstick. It isn't working out for me. Even though I admit some of it is my own fault due to lack of commitment, it also irks me somewhat that they keep changing it. Just when you have become used to one way, it's all changed. This means you have to purchase a lot of stuff all over again. I find this rather annoying. I don't cope with change. But that's a whole other post. I'm still aware that I need to shift some weight and stay healthy, so I'm going to discuss some other possible options with my GP. Wish me luck! 

So that concludes my rather lacklustre August. But if there's one thing I've learnt in the past year it's this: boring is GOOD.

Bring on a boring September!

And I can't resist going out with yet another happy dance!

Image crhttp://www.reactiongifs.com/seinfeld-happy-dance/edit:

Linking up with Sanch for 

The Month That Was and Grace for FYBF. 

How was your August? Any happy dance worthy moments? 

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Winging It

 Another Monday has rolled inconveniently around. They have a tendency to do that, the rude things. I must confess that my brain feels like cotton wool this morning even post coffee, so this post will most likely sound like meandering gibberish. Which is quite similar to most of my posts really. Consistency is important. 

Over the weekend Mr 9 became Mr 10. He had a bowling party which he enjoyed. I must confess that that I find the wall of noise in those places quite challenging. I've only just got my hearing back. However, I'd find organising a party at home even more challenging. Couldn't organise a piss up in brewery. Or a meat raffle in a butcher's. Or an orgy at a nymphomaniac convention.  You get the picture. 

With this in mind, I decided to finally get with the 21st century and purchase a new phone so that I could start using the calendars and reminders and things to help me become more organised. Shut up. It could happen. I could possibly even take a selfie for the first time EVER. I know - I haven't even LIVED. Apparently people can't possibly live these days unless they take selfies every 17 seconds and photograph their food before they eat it, so that's how I've come to the conclusion that I haven't lived. 

However, I must confess that I STILL haven't worked out how to use the contraption. I did point the  thing at my face thinking I'd take a selfie and recoiled in utter horror. Do I REALLY look like that? I think there is a reason I've never taken one. Nobody needs to see that. 

In other scintillating news I had my first tit crushing experience last week which was quite painful bracing. I have to admit to being a big scardey cat and feeling quite anxious about it. But it was over with in a jiffy. As they say, Mammogramming your boobs is more important than Instagramming them. Not that there is any danger of me doing that. I can't even Instagram my face let alone my National Geographics. But yes - PETRIFIED before hand. You'd think nothing would scare you anymore after experiencing childbirth, right? WRONG.

Especially since experiencing childbirth usually means you now have children. Which is scary. Because you worry about them all the time. I must confess that after watching this report about a paedophile ring and all the media coverage about the Daniel Morcombe case recently that I've felt sickened and horrified. It makes me question all humanity and the wisdom of blogging at all. Sigh. 

Now I need to mention cake again quickly just to lighten the mood. CAKE. There, that's better. Yes, I did have a lovely cake filled weekend because of Mr 10's birthday and Micky Blue Eyes loading up with a few cakes from an old favourite cake shop we hadn't been to in years. He isn't helping my addiction. He is furthering it. I knew I married him for a reason. 

Anyway, it appears that there is a mountain of washing awaiting me to be put away so I had better end this gibberish here and get on with it. 

Later dudes. 

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

                                      What is on your mind on this fine Monday morning?

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The Stuff I Would Outsource

Today I am contemplating the things or areas of my life that I would wish to outsource if I could. I'm thinking that they are going to be pretty freaking obvious. I mean, who wouldn't outsource all house work and mind numbing chores if they could? If you answered that YOU wouldn't, it's likely that you are deeply insane and require therapy immediately.  Or that you are simply a too good to be true anal retentive perfectionist. If so, unfortunately we can't be friends because I could  never invite you into my dishevelled house for a cakie and a cuppa. Which would be devastating for you. I'm pretty awesome, after all. Even if my house isn't.

Clearly, all house work would be at the top of my list of potential out sourcing. Is it one word, or two? Who knows. Whatever. If I never had to scrub a toilet again it would be way too soon for me. Ugh. Especially as I live in a house with four males and we only have one toilet. Because that is how non-cashed up bogans do it.  We don't live in double storey split level Mc Mansions with six bedrooms and four bathrooms.  Fark, imagine having to clean that many bathrooms? Frankly I don't want the Mc Mansion unless it comes with a cleaner as well.

Of course there is also the lovely little problem of Lego. I would love to have a Lego Fairy as well as a House Work and Dinner Fairy. We seem to possess truck loads of the stuff and while I do insist that Mr 5 and 9 pick it up themselves, somehow it has a mind and a will of it's own and still seems to migrate to every possible corner and crevice of the house.

When I'm getting dressed and notice something odd inside my shoe. Lego.

When I ease my weary, aching body into bed of an evening only to find something uncomfortable in my nether regions. Lego.

When I'm frantically searching through my handbag or car for a coin for the trolley at Aldi. What do I find instead? Lego.

When I want to just be able to plug the vacuum cleaner in and give the house a once over. What do I find? A million bloody random tiny pieces of Lego that are inevitably going to be sucked into my brand new 500 hundred dollar Dyson and begin rattling away. Sigh.

Another area of life I wish I could outsource or at the very least, avoid,  is Awkward Conversations With Acquaintances You Don't Know Very Well. You know the kind. The person you might walk past almost everyday during school drop off and pick up. You don't really know them but you still feel obliged to say a polite hello. Then you might mention the weather and how much your children have all grown, at which point you've completely run out of things to say to each other. So you mumble something about how you better get going and flee. Rinse. Repeat. Everyday. Or every other day. Same thing. I am truly awful and hideous but how many times can you have the same banal conversation? Of course, I suppose the only way to get to know people is to actually talk to them but...jeez, don't get all logical on me. Okay, I'm just an anti-social biatch! Deal with it. Hmph.

I would also love to be able to clone myself so that I could outsource all of those horrid, mortifying doctors appointments such as Pap Smears. The only conversation that is more awkward than the ones you have with acquaintances you don't know very well are the ones you have with your GP or Gyno while they have a cold speculum inserted in your doo dah. Look, I was going to go with va jay jay but changed my mind at the last minute. Doo dah it is. Not the technical term but you know what I mean. Shut up.

Which reminds me, I am going to get my tits squashed (ie. Mammogrammed) for the first time next Monday and I expect it shall be not only awkward but frightfully painful. Why don't men have to have their bollocks squashed to buggery? So unfair. I am pausing to pout and sulk a for a little while as weepy violin music swells in the background. Right, sulking ceased. Violin music fades.

On with the show. Other things I wish I could outsource:

Packing: I am a chronic over packer. If there was such a thing as Over Packers Anonymous I would certainly be a member. Plus, I tend to become overly stressed over the whole procedure. Despite extensive list making I always seem to worry that I'll forget something vital.

Cooking: I am constantly waiting for the old Dinner Fairy that never shows up. Sometimes I don't mind cooking but when you have to cook everyday for a family of fussy eaters it becomes a tad tedious. The resulting washing up is even more tedious especially when you don't have a dishwasher. Yep, we're certifiable.

Parent/Teacher Interviews: I sometimes wish I could clone myself for these or outsource them too. For some absurd reason they make me squirm. I somehow feel like I'm back at school doing some sort of exam or test and I'm never sure what questions I'm supposed to ask. Also, I'm embarrassed to admit that I don't understand the boys homework should the subject come up. Mr 12's parent/teacher interviews are coming up and I've suddenly realised that now that he is in High School I'll have to see several different teachers instead of just one. Save me.

Well, there you have it. That's the stuff I would outsource.  I should probably think about outsourcing this  blog too but I won't because it's got my name on it. So ner.

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

                                             
                                                  What areas of your life would you outsource?

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