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? 

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Free Style

A funny thing happened. I started writing this post two weeks ago and my lap top decided to freeze and shit itself so I gave up. Then last night I checked in here and realised that my half finished draft had been published. Weird. Oh well, just as well nobody reads my crap anyway.

So here I am again. No point in explaining my absence since those two optimistic people who may still be reading at this point are used to me popping up whenever I feel like it. Suffice to say it involves a husband on crutches and a house in utter disarray. I decided it would be an extremely helpful time to have a major clear out. Somehow it ended up progressing to clearing out the carpet in two bedrooms. Now we need new carpet. I'm a very logical person. Sort of. Kind of. Not really. Shut up

As for Mickey Blue Eyes and his crutches, turns out he's even more logical than me. He was still playing soccer at 51. One dislocated knee later, he may finally quit. So that's me. Running him backwards and forwards to physio therapy and playing nurse. Somebody offered to loan me a sexy nurse costume. I'm sure I would look smokin' hawt in a matron uniform but I was thinking more Nurse Ratched than Nurse Racy. Muahahaha!

Meanwhile, I also decided to join Weight Witches because I've always wanted to be a witch like Samantha on Bewitched. I imagined myself just twitching my nose and instantly being lighter and healthier. Then I could just fly off on my broomstick and ditch the whole house wife gig, Because frankly, that part of Bewitched never really made sense. Why would a witch with magical powers want to forsake those powers to be a normal house wife? You can see that nothing has changed since my absence. I'm still asking the important questions.

Anyway, it turns out that there is no magic spell and you actually have to eat healthy food! How frightfully rude. However, cakies are allowed in small amounts. Phew. I'm only two weeks in and going well, but now that I've made a public announcement on this here blog just watch me fail! Let's just agree that you'll smile politely and not mention it if you see me and it looks like I've fallen off the wagon. Okay? We're good then. Deal.

It seems that while all of the above was happening Christmas has snuck up on me in it's merry little way. Thank goodness I don't have to worry about Christmas shopping! That's Santa's job, right? It's totally his fault if nothing turns up under the tree! Sorted.

I have managed to put up a dodgy little Christmas tree. But presently the house resembles something off an episode of Hoarders: Buried  Alive in preparation for having the carpet laid on the weekend. Then we'll be able to get back to normal and just resemble a regular episode of Hoarders. What a relief.

On Friday Mickey Blue Eyes has to see a surgeon and find out whether or not his knee will require surgery. Fun times. So there will be no holidays for us and unfortunately we'll have to cancel that lavish trek around Europe I had planned. I did! When we win the lottery. And we never take a ticket, so it's really looking promising. Oh well, I can dream, can't I? Sigh.

The boys are counting down the days until school finishes and Santa arrives. Mr 10 and 6 were the proud recipients of a Principal's Award. Oh  yes, last month Mr 5 became Mr 6! We celebrated in style with a party at Maccas. Clearly I made the right decision in losing the bogan theme around here. We're not bogans AT ALL!  Shut up.

Another funny thing keeps happening. Every time I sit down to write a blog post, this lap top freezes and shits itself, so I'm just going to quit while I'm ahead and end it here.  Happy Christmas and a Merry New Year everyone!  Or something....

Linking up for The Lounge.

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A Continuing Theme

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Are you a forgetful person?

Do you ever feel like a hypocrite?

Linking up for I Must Confess and Laugh Link

And a VERY belated link up with The Lounge.

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

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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....

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Life Hacks: Ness Style

At the rather *ahem* mature age of 43 I have certainly learnt a few things. Chiefly, how to make all those mundane and never-ending daily tasks slightly less painful. 


So it's only fair that I should share with you my profound wisdom. 


So here goes: 



Five REVOLUTIONARY Life Hacks



1. Google it. Or, the more blunt version: JFGI! Which stands for: Just fucking Google it! 

I recently discovered the best way to clean a microwave by this unique and innovative method. Incidentally, this involves placing a jug with some water and vinegar into the microwave and putting it on for five minutes. The resulting steam will then efficiently loosen all the debris and you will be able to wipe it clean easily. Yep, I'm a GENIUS. 



2. Purchase all pairs of socks in identical colours. This way there will be less chance of them escaping via your washing machine to that parallel universe where all the odd socks and lost pens live. But there will still be an annoying odd one. There is ALWAYS an odd one. There is nothing you can do about this. Just make a sock puppet with it for your kids. Alternatively, you could always go completely feral hippie and just avoid wearing all socks and shoes altogether. Winning! 

3. Make a daily to-do list. On this list make sure you always include breakfast, lunch AND dinner. That way, there is a good chance that you'll tick at least three things off for the day. Add morning and afternoon tea as well for bonus points. Unless you are one of those bizarre people who consistently forget to eat, in which case I've got nothing for you. If you have to be reminded to eat there is no hope for you. 

4. Multi-task. For example, I have been known to cling wrap my hair (while waiting for a dodgy DIY home dye to work), soak my feet (for a dodgy DIY pedi) and simultaneously drink coffee while surfing the net and watching TV. Again, I reiterate: GENIUS!



5. Never iron sheets, table cloths, tea towels, undies, or, in fact, any clothes at all. After all, ain't nobody got time for THAT, as the now infamous saying goes. Plus, if you're classy like me you can just be the Queen Of Polyester (or any other cheap and nasty synthetic fabric). No ironing required! 



And, finally, my most important life hack: ignore all advice! 


Particularly mine....ahem. Unless it works for you. We can only do our best and whatever works for us. There is no right or wrong.

The only thing I INSIST that you do is to have a cup of tea and cakie! Pronto! Works for me! 

Winning! 

Linking up for I Must Confess and Laugh Link. 


What are your life hacks? 

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In Praise Of My Parents And Parents-In-Law

Today I'm confessing to what I REALLY think about my parents and parents-in-law. This could be interesting. But it's actually pretty straight forward for me.

The truth is, I think they are all AMAZING. And they didn't even pay me to say that! Seriously.

Micky Blue Eyes and I consider ourselves to be extremely lucky and blessed to have both of our parents still alive in their 70's and still actually married to each other for decades. Impressive.

I mean, they've stayed married for that long without attempting to kill each other. How did they manage to do that? Ahem...

My parents, Alison and Michael, were married in 1966. My brother arrived in 1968 and I made my way into the World a few years later in 1971. 

My parents on their wedding day, November 11, 1966.  It's obvious
where I got my striking good looks from.

Growing up with my parents was a wonderful experience. My parents provided just the right amount of firmness with an abundance of unconditional love.

This is still the case today, for myself, Mick and my boys. The boys have doting Grandparents. Not 'dotting' as Micky Blue Eyes sometimes mispronounces it. He has this weird habit of doing that. Mispronouncing words. But that's a whole other post....

Me with my Mum and Dad (and a certain little man)
 on my 40th birthday, January 15th, 2011.

To be perfectly honest I'm still something of a Mummy's girl, even at the ripe old age of 43. Shut up.

But to all you naysayers who think cutting off the apron strings is long overdue, I say this:

First of all, my Mum never even wore an apron! (Okay, it may not have been meant quite so literally....)

Secondly, Mum is like my best friend as well as my Mum, and I wouldn't have it any other way.

 

 

Thirdly, she makes THE BEST apple pie and cakies in the whole entire Universe! And I'm the Cakie Queen! Winning!

On a more serious note, from what I can gather, a fair amount of folk out there do have a somewhat fraught relationship with their mother and/or parents. I'm very aware of how fortunate I am.

My parents-in-law are extremely private sort of people, so they may not like me talking about them in this space. Therefore I won't say too much. Only that they've always accepted me into the family in all my weird and quiet wonderful ways, and how very much I appreciate it.

 At our wedding a hundred 19 years ago, Micky Blue Eyes became a tad tongue-tied during his speech. This resulted in him thanking his parents for 'bringing him up under a roof that didn't leak'.  It was funny at the time, but you had to be there.

Well, not only did they bring him up 'under a roof that didn't leak', they also brought him up to be an exceptional human being. I am very thankful for this, because I benefit from having such a wonderful husband and father for my children.

Nauseating, but true. I apologise, I should have provided sick bags for this post.

I've just realised that I don't have many recent photos of my parents or parents-in-law. It seems as though we're all camera hogging exhibitionists. Or something.

I'm not even sure why I get so stressed when the silly season rolls around.  My parents and parents-in-law are such good sports that they don't force us to race around like mad things to their respective homes and stuff ourselves with multiple Christmas feasts on one day. We've always been lucky enough to alternate each year between spending Christmas day with one side and boxing day with the other.

And it's actually not an ordeal to spend time our families, at Christmas, and throughout the year. How lucky are we to be able say that?

All together now.....Nawwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwww!

It's a short and sweet post today. Sickly, sickly sweet. I sincerely hope you're all feeling warm and fuzzy right now and not terribly ill. Oops. Over and out.

Linking up for I Must Confess.

How do you REALLY feel about your parents and/or in-laws?

Or, if that's a loaded question, just tell me a joke instead....

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Introverts Are Still Awesome!

You may remember my lovely little self-indulgent stroll down an introverted lane. Well, I now want to take another wander down this path and present my much anticipated Part Two! I know you've probably been waiting for it with bated breath. What's that? You have no idea what I'm on about? HMPH. You can read it here.

Anyway, as I was saying, I am really quite the massive introvert. Even alcohol doesn't 'bring me out of my shell'. Instead, I just feel sleepy and mellow after one or two drinks. After a third I'll either feel light-headed and sick or slip into a coma. I'm SUCH a party animal!

Fortunately, I never attend many parties. Unless they are children's parties. Nobody appears to have 'at home' parties anymore. Or, if they are, we're not being invited. This means that I may have to sit in a McDonald's/Play Centre/Bowling Alley with a few other unfamiliar parents and make polite chit-chat. Not surprisingly, I suck at it. 

I'll either go with my favourite option: mutism. Or, alternatively, I'll completely put my foot in it and blurt out way too much information. 

Like the time one Mum was chatting away about a friend who had tragically lost a baby half way through her pregnancy, yet still had to give birth.

"I couldn't imagine having to go through that!" she said, almost in tears "It would be terrible!"

"Yes, it is," I replied, without thinking "the same thing happened to me." 

The poor woman looked thunderstruck. Of course there was no way she could ever have known that. I wouldn't say it was exactly helpful of me to bring it up. She apologised, clearly wishing the ground would swallow her. Good one, Ness.

Ditto the time when I used to attend Playgroup with Mr 5 before he started school. One of the Mums there expressed her worry about her Dad who was having a colonoscopy that day. I proceeded to inform her how Micky Blue Eyes has one every year after having had bowel cancer in 2004. Her worried expression turned to one of terror. Well played yet again, Ness.  Way to go with the social gaffes!

As Mr 10 would say in a faux American drawl:

AWWWKARRRRD!

No wonder I mostly stick to what I'm best at. Shutting right up.

Yes sir, selective mutism and I are besties. 

ALL VALE NESSKI: Bringing you awkward silences since 1971!

Another phenomenon that came into play during the Play Group era was my introverted tendency to suffer from a 'social hangover'. I briefly touched upon this before.

Playgroup only consisted of a measly two hours a week of social interaction.  That's nothing, right? So why did I go home every week and feel like sobbing from exhaustion? The next week would roll around and I'd feel barely recovered.

Meanwhile, the other Mums revealed how they schlepped their kidlets to various groups on multiple days of the week. I was STUNNED to learn this. Seriously. STUNNED. 

I couldn't have been more shocked if they'd revealed that they liked to snort cocaine off a hooker's arse while their kids watched. 

Okay, I may be exaggerating just a teeny bit. But it is quite amazing to me how you weirdo extroverted folk like this socialising caper so much. 

I guess I could force myself out of my comfort zone once in while. Speaking of which, I'll be attending Mr 5's school assembly this afternoon. There will be crowds, noise, parents, children and off-key singing. Last time I attended Mr 10's assembly I accidentally sat in the wrong spot in the school hall. This resulted in me being mistaken for a casual teacher twice.

It only occurred to me later that I should have totally went with it Jack Black/School Of Rock style and pretended I was. I'm sure I could have had those kids belting out Carpenters songs before school ended! Shut up, they are rock! CLASSIC rock, I tell you! Oh all right, classic soft rock. Adult contemporary? Okay, so they're bloody easy listening! So what? HMPH. 

I'm rambling again, aren't I? Oh well, this is the only place where I do it, therefore I'm allowed. So ner!

It is quite interesting being a shy, introverted Aspie and being a mother of three amazing but noisy boys! On the one hand, I often crave peace and solitude. On the other hand, my family are my coat of armour against the World.

An oldie but a goodie 

In all my many awkward moments I can remind myself that I don't have to worry about what others think of me. I have Micky Blue Eyes and the boys who love and accept me. We are a family of introverts. The only difference is, my boys are certainly NOT shy! 

I'm still plodding through Susan Cain's Quiet: The Power Of Introverts In A World That Can't Stop Talking and finding it fascinating.  See, introverts ARE fascinating! I knew it! I'm totally riveting. So the fact that you're probably nodding off around now is not my fault. No way. 

Anyway, Susan Cain has a Manifesto for Introverts.

 I'd like to make up my own manifesto, but I'll have to think about it further in order to come up with something poetic and wise.

In the mean time, you can always count on good old Grumpy Cat:

Linking up for The Lounge and Laugh Link.


Do you have a manifesto?

What does family mean to you? 

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