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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Time Machine And Things I Know

I know that if I had a Time Machine I would blast myself back to the 1970's so that I could rock out in the mosh pit at every Carpenters concert. Shut up. Of course they had them.  Otherwise what else was Karen Carpenter doing below besides plunging into the mosh pit?

I know I would also go back and tell my younger self the current Lotto numbers so I could file them away for safe keeping.

I know I am deeply shallow to only think of doing the above two points when there are so many other historical events I could be present for; or disasters and crimes that I could potentially avert.

I know that it would be quite interesting to go back in time and attempt to explain to anyone in the past about our current technology.

I know that the whole concept of those Back To The Future movies was completely flawed. Think about it: Marty McFly goes back in time from the 1980's to the 1950's where he meets his future parents and has to ensure that they meet and fall in love so that he isn't obliterated from Earth for all time. However, wouldn't his parents tend to remember the dude who introduced them and notice the bizarre resemblance to their son years later?

I know that this lack of logic didn't stop me from avidly lapping up the films as a teenager.

I know that if I went back to the 1950's I would  definitely want to meet my Mum and be her bestie.

I know that I should stop fantasising about having a Time Machine and come back to reality and 2014 and do something constructive with my life.

I know that instead of doing the above I'll go meh and keep typing this drivel.

I know that I should quit procrastinating but I'll get to that later.

I know that I should probably do something about my rather significant facial hair, not to mention the entire forest growing on my  legs. 

I know that it's (the excessive hair) not a classy look unless I am planning on auditioning for the role of Chewbacca in any future Star Wars films. As a ranga, I'd be a sure thing for the part.

I know that I need a nanna nap.

I know that the pesky old Dinner Fairy won't show up tonight as per usual.

I know that some of my clothes are feeling not quite as snug, so perhaps this 'Get Healthy' stuff is working.

I know that I'm simultaneously pleased about the above and peeved that I can't have the same results while stuffing my face at will. Classy.

I know that I watch Offspring while rolling my eyes the whole time about how ridiculous it is.
.
I know that I'll still keep watching in spite of the above. It's a sickness really.

I know that I know everything about nothing.

I know that I have EFD. Big time.

I know that I haven't got a fucking clue in hell what do about having the above.

I know that nobody gives a fuck and will just think I'm lazy.

I know that I may appear to be lazy to somebody else judging from the state of my house.

I know that I do sweaty exercise every day so the above isn't true however much it appears to be. So ner.

I know that beginning a sentence with the words 'I know' starts to get really old after a while.

Therefore I won't do it this time.

I'm just mixing it up a bit . You're welcome.

In other scintillating news, I have raging, feral PMS AND I CAN'T HAVE CAKE OR CHOCOLATE!!!

I know that this is a TRAVESTY! OUTRAGEOUS!

I know that as a result of the above two points I am probably an utter joy to be around.

I know that the highlight of my day will involve folding washing while watching Dr Phil.

I know I should probably get out more.

With this in mind, I will be leaving the house tomorrow to watch Mr 12 march in our local festival with his school.

I know that there will be rather a lot of these strange things called people there.

I know that outwardly I appear to be one these strange things called people but I think we've established that I'm a completely different creature altogether.

I know that it's time to bring this pointless list limping to it's feeble end.

I know that if you're still reading at this point you deserve all the chocolate and cake that I can't have. Please avail yourself of this.

I know that I hate you if you did. Don't take it personally. I HATE EVERYTHING RIGHT NOW. It's the PMS. Or it could be....

I know that I'm not an owl but I'm wise so same thing, right? Shut up.

I know that the limping end to this post that I promised previously is now crawling. Apologies.

I know that I might as well jump to it. Over and out.

Linking up (belatedly) with Tegan from Musings Of The Misguided for The Lounge

Linking up with Ann from Help!! I'm Stuck! for Things I Know

                                                 Where would you go with a fictional Time Machine?
                                                
                                                  What do you know?

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Ten Things I Don't Get Or Like About Sport and Exercise

I could probably sum up this whole post in one word: EVERYTHING.  However, I'm the Queen of crapping on about nothing, so without further ado here are ten random, hodge podge things I don't get or like about sport.

1.Balls.

They are scary. I hate them and fear them. This aversion dates to back to childhood when I was perpetually in fear of a ball hitting me in the face during sport or in the play ground. There is probably a word for this particular phobia. Ballsophobia?  Who knows. Anyway, I have it. Therefore, it's ironic that I've ended up surrounded by males with their balls. I meant soccer balls. For goodness sake, don't be so juvenile. Just because I was juvenile enough to go with such a bad pun...ahem...

2.Sports Commentary

The kind where they (the commentators) make the most stunning announcements that seem like Captain Obvious by pointing out that the runners are at the starting line or a player has passed the ball during a footy match. I would never have noticed. Plus, there is the endless chatter and droning on before a match. It's boring enough, dudes. Just get on with it!

3. Garrulous/Annoying/Obsessive Spectators or Supporters

You know the kind. They are loud and proud supporters of their team, going to such extremes as dyeing their hair the same colours as their team. They will spend the entire match bellowing out helpful instructions, as if the players are wandering around the field bewildered; not knowing what to do until that moron in the grandstand yells at them to tackle for the umpteenth time. These supporters can also sometimes be one-eyed and don't accept losing very graciously. Alternatively, they may sob in utter despair if this happens. I'm never sure whether to feel sympathetic or just downright alarmed at the sight of a grown adult weeping like a baby over a sporting event. It's just a game, isn't it? Suffice to say, I don't get it.

4.The Same As The Above But Parents Of Children

My boys play soccer because it's better for them to be running around in the sunshine on a Saturday morning rather than sitting in front of a PlayStation. Apparently, some parents have other ideas about their children playing sport. They take it all a bit too seriously. They yell. A lot. Their faces become contorted as they break out in a cold sweat and then yell some more.

Sometimes they look like the are about to burst a blood vessel or take a fit as they implore young Jack/Stella/Lachlan to "RUN!"

"KICK IT!"

"WAKE UP!"

"WATCH WHAT YOU'RE DOING!"

They repeat this tirade incessantly for the duration of the match. I always end up feeling sorry for young Jack/Stella/Lachlan.

They are children for Christ's sake, not playing in the World Cup. Okay, I suppose budding sporting stars have to start somewhere, but I doubt that embarrassing the crap of your kid is the ideal way to fire them up. I wish these parents would just have a sausage sandwich and CHILL.

5. The Actual Rules

My knowledge of soccer pretty much goes like this: There is a ball, there are two teams and they try to kick the ball into a net to score a goal. The end. There is probably a bit more to it, right? Don't ask me what that is, though.

6. The Amount Of Money Sporting Stars Are Paid

I can't deny that sport is lucrative. It seems that at the top end, athletes are paid extremely well. Take Golf for example. Seriously - take it. Most. Boring. Sport. Ever. But Golf heroes like Tiger Woods are zillionaires. Why? On second thought, the money could be the only incentive to take up something so mind-numbing as hitting a ball into a little hole. There could be more to Golf than that but I wouldn't know. I've already tuned it out after 2 excruciating seconds.

7. Ridiculous Sporting Gear/Attire.

Luckily, leg warmers and thong leotards have been out of style for a decade or two now. At least I hope they are ( I can't be entirely sure since I never set foot in a Gym) because they are crimes against fashion. And what about the tendency to wear gym gear as regular clothes? I may be guilty of this, but only around the house. I change when I have to go to school pick-up. Unlike some parents, who turn up in head to toe Lycra. I guess they want everyone to know they've been working out. Fair enough. I hadn't thought of that tactic. Maybe I should wear my yoga pants to school pick-up. That way there is remote chance that it looks like I've been working out instead of surfing the net for half the day. I mean, I'd never do THAT. Nope. No way. Shut up.

Then there is the humble old track suit. Isn't this kind of redundant in the land of Oz? I mean in terms of actually doing any physical activity while wearing it? Nobody wears them for that, right? They're just for lounging around the house in. Or is that just me? Ahem...

8. Irritatingly Upbeat Instructors

These are usually seen on exercise DVD's. I have quite the collection of these because I'm that one in a billion bizarre person who likes working out at home, alone. It's hard to find one with an instructor who isn't as grating as nails on a chalk board.

"Don't you stop! If you rest you rust!" they holler while pumping away with determination.

"You're doing great!" they then announce while beaming in between spirited "Woo's!" and "Yeah baby's!"

"Yes! Yes! YES!" moans one instructor on a DVD I own. It sounds like she's trying to channel Meg Ryan's infamous fake orgasm scene in When Harry Met Sally. I'm reasonably certain that exercising or doing aerobics doesn't cause multiple orgasms because a) if it did, it would be SO much easier to motivate ourselves to do it; and b) if it does, then I must be doing it wrong.

9. Over The Top/Complex Workout/Aerobics Routines

This usually goes hand in hand with the above annoying instructors. They will be gazing out triumphantly on the cover looking ripped, while on the back cover the blurb assures you: This energising, fun workout can be done by anyone at home, with any fitness level, from beginners to advanced. Bullshit.

You unwittingly begin the workout feeling optimistic. All goes well for the first five to ten minutes as you warm up. You're able to follow the moves without any problems. You're actually getting into it! Exercise is FUN! Wrong.

"Okay, we're moving on now," beaming annoying Instructor announces. Suddenly she is telling you do things you thought were only applicable in Cirque Du Soleil. 

"Okay! Lets do 50 jacks, then drop and give me 50 push-ups!" she performs this feat effortlessly while you huff and puff away, ineffectually. She bounces back up "WOO!" she declares "Now stand on your head, do 10 back flips, pirouhette six times, balance on one finger, then the other finger, then mambo, then cha, cha, cha and give me ANOTHER 50  PUSH UPS! YOU CAN DO IT!!" 

Um no, I can't. Okay, I may be exaggerating slightly. But this is what it feels like.  A good old grape vine is as complex a move as I can muster. If you don't what they are then you obviously never did aerobics in the 1980's. Consider yourself lucky.

10. Trophies

My boys and Micky Blue Eyes have an assortment of soccer trophies. Don't get me wrong, I am proud of their sporting  achievements. But why oh why do all trophies have to be so hideously ugly? Naturally, they want to display these monstrosities proudly around the house.  Not only are they are an interior design nightmare in terms of aesthetics, but they are also horrific dust collectors. Then again, dusty and hideous seems to be the look we were aiming for around here so I guess I should quit complaining.

Thus ends my illustrious list. I just wanted to add that while I really dislike all sport, I particularly abhor cricket. Or, as I refer to it, The Three B's; which stand for: Bats, Balls, BOOOORRRRRRING!! 

And with that, I'm out of here before all you cricket tragics take after me with a bat...*ducks for cover.*

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

Also linking with  Emily from Have A Laugh On Me for Laugh Link.

What don't  you 'get' about sport?

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Things I Know On This Friday

• I know I’ll never have time to read all the books I buy even if I live to be 110 years old.
• I also know that this will never stop me from buying them.
• I know I will never get tired of hearing Mr 5 say: “I love you Mum! You’re the best in the World!”
• Ditto Mr 10.
• I know that Mr (almost) 13 is too cool for all that but I know he still loves me and I know I’ll still make him hug me occasionally.  
• I know that I ate my healthy salad wrap for lunch and didn’t crave a cake the size of my head afterwards for once. This hasn’t happened since…never mind….
• I know that theoretically there are six hours in between 9am and 3pm but this will always speed by as if it’s only half an hour. Tops.
• I know that when I mentioned that I’ve had a headache all day and Micky Blue Eyes said he did too; adding: “I’ll bet you I’ll have to lie down later." This was code for: “You’ll have to do school pick up. Don’t think you’re getting out of it.”
• Ditto whenever he asks me: “What are you having for lunch?”  I know this is code for: “Make me lunch.”
• I know that in less than two months I shall become the mother of a teenager. I don’t know if I’m ready for it, however.
• I know that my headache is getting progressively worse and this is frightfully rude.
• I know that it’s Friday and only a few hours away from wine o’clock AND I don’t have any wine!!
• i know that this is a first world problem.
• I know that I’ve turned the damn caps lock off but my keyboard is not co-operating and now it looks like I’m shouting at you!
• i KNOw that i’ll have to continue shouting at you because the damn thing won’t  work!
• i know that it’s ( the capitals/caps lock thing) annoying the crap out of me!
• I know that it’s probably annoying the crap out of you as read this, too, so i apologise!
• i know that I want to take to this keyboard with a sledge hammer!
• I know that if i wasn’t being deliberately shouty a few points back i am now, because i feel like shouting abuse at an inanimate object. BLoody F&$*King stupid B*@$h of a thing!!
• Once again I know this is a first world problem so I just need to suck it up and GET OVER IT OR fix it or GET A new lap-top. 
• I know I should stop shouting at you now.  over and out. 

LINKING UP WITH ANN AT HELP!! i'M STUCK! FOR THINGS i KNOW. 

WHAT DO YOU KNOW ON THIS FINE FRIDAY?

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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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Food, Glorious Food

I’ve always loved food and have a terrible sweet tooth. Which is quite obvious, considering how often I mention cake on this blog.  Fortunately, my sugar cravings were kept at a respectable level while I was growing up due to my Mum’s brilliant home cooking. Whenever we had cakies or sweets they were always homemade. In fact, one of my brother’s pet peeves was the fact that we never had bought biscuits!  These days I’m sure he’d prefer the homemade ones, but for some reason back then he just wanted Tim Tams or whatever was popular in the 70’s. Iced Vo Vo's? Scotch Fingers? Something like that, anyway. 

There was a period of time as a teenager when I used to take the whole a Mars a day helps you work, rest and play advertising slogan quite seriously. I managed to eat one nearly every day while still remaining slim. Oh, to have the metabolism of a teenager again!

Unbelievably now (considering I'll eat just about anything that isn't nailed down), I used to be quite fussy about what I would and wouldn’t eat, preferring my Mum’s cooking to any type of take away or packaged food.  If we visited any friends or relatives where we were served frozen apple pie my reaction was one of sheer revulsion. They may as well as have served me dog shit on toast such was my horror. Spoiled little princess that I was. However, you have to understand that I was used to my Mum’s homemade apple pie. And, as my nephew has stated: this is not just apple pie; it’s an experience. Yep, my Mum could have aced MasterChef if it had been around back then. Actually she still could if she wanted to, but she’s nearly 73 and probably sick of all the cooking by now. 

There was always a hot, tasty meal on the table at around 6pm every night when I was growing up. Even though it was often the standard fare of chops and three veg, roast chicken or spaghetti bolognaise, somehow my Mum managed to put that extra bit of love in it to make it taste better than anyone else’s cooking. It was a very rare occasion if we had take away.

Occasionally we would get dressed up and go out for dinner to a local Chinese restaurant.  For a long time I wouldn’t try any Chinese food.  I’d have my chicken and chips, sometimes followed by a banana split for dessert. Eventually my parents managed to coax me into eating the fried rice, then short soup and chicken omelette. And that was exotic for me. I didn’t really taste many new and different foods.

In addition to this, I really haven’t travelled a lot, so I’ve never had opportunities to try different foods. I did go to Holland with my parents when I was ten years old in 1981, but I don’t remember trying many different foods. I stuck with the sweet stuff and lived on custard while there.  I seem to vaguely recall that it was the custom there to smother hot chips with peanut sauce. At the time this struck me as the most revolting thing EVER. Thinking about it now, though, it occurs to me that it was probably a satay type sauce and that I’d really like it now. I was just a weird child. 

I think one of the reasons I’m struggling with my weight as a middle aged woman (apart from my cake and chocolate addiction) is that I’m finding that I just like a lot more different foods now which I would have once found completely disgusting. Certain imaginary (online) friends who shall remain nameless are repulsed by my penchant for Indian food referring to all curry as ‘spicy puke’. Once upon a time I certainly would have shared this view. However, my taste buds have developed and my arse has grown accordingly. My sugar addiction has continued in conjunction with these developing taste buds. Oh who am I kidding, I’m just a big glutton.  Shut up. 

The only extremely strange and bizarre food (to me) that I can remember trying is pig’s ear. I can’t say I found it very appetising. This happened when I was working at the State Library of NSW years decades ago and a lovely Taiwanese lady whom I worked with, invited me to her home for a meal. One of the things she cooked was pig’s ear. Maybe there is another term for the dish but I don’t recall, except that it was made with the pig’s ear.  I only remember the texture being rubbery and chewy and I’m not sure if I managed to swallow it. All of the other dishes the lady had prepared were fine but I definitely couldn’t get into the pig’s ear. Just thinking of it now makes me shudder. But hey, at least I tried it, right? When I Googled the term 'cooked pig's ear' a veritable feast of recipes appeared. I guess it is a popular culinary delight to many people but I think I'll pass. 

I may have to get used to some different types of food, though. In a moment of madness I have signed up for the Get Healthy service and will be starting my telephone coaching very soon; beginning my ‘get healthy’ journey. Oh fuck, I’ve just become one of those people who says they’re on a ‘journey’. If I start mentioning kale and quinoa then you know I've been abducted by aliens and it’s not me writing this blog anymore.  On second thought, I’m pretty sure I’ll leave them with the pig’s ear. 

Linking up with Kirsty from My Home Truths for I MustConfess.

And linking this up yet again for The Lounge.

 

What's the weirdest food you've ever tried?

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My Ideal Mother's Day

Apparently it is Mother's Day on the weekend. I know this because of the plethora of catalogues and commercials I have seen. In fact, if you were to believe these catalogues and commercials it would seem that all us Mums ever do is sit around in our pyjamas all day, soaking our feet in a foot spa, while eating chocolate and listening to Michael Buble. Hmph.

I must take umbrage with this preposterous notion. Admittedly, I'm not exactly sure what umbrage is, or if it is even a word, but it certainly sounds impressive, so umbrage it is. Yes, umbrage! HMPH! What a ridonkulous suggestion. As if I would ever do THAT. Meaning the foot spa, chocolate eating scenario I described above.

Of course I do sit around in my trackie daks, faffing around on the internet while eating cake and listening to the Carpenters. Which is COMPLETELY DIFFERENT. This is efficient multi-tasking, not lazy time wasting. No way. Sometimes I may even have a cling wrapped head just to complete this picture of sheer elegance. This is because I may be also home dyeing my hair as well. You see? Mutlti-tasking people!

Oddly enough though, this appears to be the only type of mult-tasking I excel at. Somehow, when I am attempting to cook dinner, fold laundry and help the boys with their homework simultaneously, it doesn't seem to work out so well. Sigh.

Anyway, I don't really want anything spectacular for Mother's Day. Just a couple of random, simple things in no particular order:

A new house
New 'everything in the above mentioned house'
A new car
A first class trip around the World
Diamonds
A new body (although I suspect this last one may involve ditching the cake, which is a damn shame)

That's not too much to ask for, is it? I mean, I already have a foot spa. And let's face it, I am fairly proficient at procuring my own chocolates. Okay, extremely proficient...

Seriously though, all flippancy aside (just briefly - sorry for the glitch in regular programming) I am keenly aware of how lucky and blessed I am to be a Mother. It's hard to believe now, but for a few years there it looked like it wasn't going to happen at all.  I know there are so many ladies finding Mother's Day and everything about it extremely difficult as they are still battling infertility or have had to accept a child free life. Therefore, I realise how fortunate I am. On Sunday morning I will receive my five dollar trinkets from the school Mother's Day stall from a beaming Mr 5 and 10. Mr almost 13 is too cool for all that but I'll be force cuddling him anyway. While I've never believed in force feeding, force cuddling is essential once they hit a certain age. I will be as thrilled and happy with my trinkets as if I had just received diamonds. To me, my boys are my diamonds. Sorry for going all mushy on you. Warning: more mush forthcoming.

My Mum and I at my 40th birthday
in 2011. I seem to have inherited
my antipathy towards having my
photo taken from her as I don't have
any current photos. Oops. 

Additionally, I am so lucky to still have my Mum and Mother-in-law, both in their seventies, still around to celebrate the day with. I am one very blessed Mum and daughter. My ideal Mother's Day is exactly this: spending the day with the people I love most in the whole World. And having a convenient excuse to get out of any cleaning, washing up and cooking for the day isn't bad either. Yes, I do need one! Shut up....

On that note, I am going to quit while I'm ahead as my computer and keyboard are doing some very strange things today, as if they are possessed. It's short and sweet from me today. As you were.

Linking up with Tegan from Musings Of The Misguided for The Lounge. 

                                                 
                                                           What is your ideal Mother's Day?

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