Confessions Of The Noncompetitive Kind

Today's revelation will probably come as a huge shock. Wait for it. The truth is,  I don't have a single competitive bone in my body. I know, right?!! Who would have guessed? 

The fact that I'm a spectacularly unsuccessful blogger and undomestic goddess with no career whatsoever would never have given that away. Winning! 

This probably explains why I've never enjoyed games of any description: board games, sport games, card games, PlayStation, Xbox and anything else that I've never heard of and don't want to. I also abhor Candy Crush, Farmville, Stick Run and all Facebook games. So there's actually no point in ever sending me gaming requests if we're Facey friends. Just saying. 

The thought of sitting  at a Poker Machine mindlessly dunking in shit tonnes of cash makes me want to poke my eyeballs out. Come to think of it, I don't even take any interest in competitions or giveaways or even purchase lottery tickets. I don't even have a 'you've got to be in it to win it' attitude. Weird.

I don't get into any sport whether it's playing or spectating. I've tried, but I just can't drum up even the smallest amount of enthusiasm or interest in anything. Not for soccer, rugby league, AFL, tennis and especially not cricket. Bats, balls, BORING! 

On the positive side, it's helpful to not actually give a flying fuck when the State Of Origin or Grand Final is on. I couldn't care less who wins or loses. While every one else is sobbing into their stubbies or lamenting their team's wooden spoon status, I'm thoroughly unconcerned. Meh.

However, for success in life in general it would probably be useful to have a bit of fight and competitiveness. After all, we do live in a competitive society. 

I don't know why, but I've never been some one who thought about life in the sense of setting goals and having ambition. I've just drifted along aimlessly. I've always been an off with the pixies space cadet. This isn't exactly helpful in life. I often dislike this trait and wish I was more of a go-getter. More driven, focused and disciplined. 

Maybe it's just that it's hard to strive for something when  you're not exactly sure what it is you should be striving for. It sounds weird but when you struggle with basic things in life like I always  have (anything from talking, to driving to feeling comfortable in my own skin) all you really want is to be 'normal'. Whatever that means.

Apparently you're supposed to hit 17 and suddenly have all the wisdom of the ages and have the utmost clarity of what your calling is. Or something.

But I was so ridiculously shy, quiet, awkward, introverted and just plain old weird that everything seemed out of my reach. I knew emphatically that I did not want to be a teacher. Imagine a whispery voiced Ness attempting to control a room full of children ( I often can't manage my own three, but that's another story. Shut up). So that was out. A careers adviser suggested that I study journalism since my English teachers felt I had writing ability. This seemed absurd to me. I figured that to be a journalist you had to be pushy and possibly even aggressive. So that was out. I couldn't be a nurse or anything in a medical setting because I'm squeamish. So that was out.

I thought, one day I'll wake up and have the confidence or ability to do these things at an certain age. I too, can be mediocre Mrs Average. Have a run of the mill office job, friends, a car, a house, a husband and two point five kids (even though I've never quite understood how you can have point five of a child, but then again, I've never been good at maths)  and be a socialising, multi-tasking soccer Mum. Technically I can tick a few things off that list, but the job remains elusive, while the multi-tasking and socialising with ease are still somewhat fraught and difficult.

The only thing I ever knew with any certainty that I wanted to be was a Mum. Imagine my chagrin to find that I am quite hopeless at the above description. Okay, I won't say hopeless. That's a pretty dire 'all or nothing' word, but it's all challenging for me.

You'd think that being dreamy and whimsical would be helpful to become a writer, but I reckon focus and discipline would be much more helpful. 

I can get lost in writing and forget everything. It would be better to be able to do it for an arbitrary amount of time and then switch attention to other tasks, something I struggle with. Additionally, in order to succeed as a writer you have to be competitive and good at self-promotion. I SUCK at self-promotion. 

Mr 6, on the other hand, is extremely stubborn and competitive. He can't stand losing. I'm not sure if this is good or bad. He's not above making up his own rules in an underhanded attempt to win noughts and crosses. I do put aside my aversion to games in order to play with my little man. 

I suppose I can always comfort myself with the old tortoise and hare fairy tale. The idea that 'slow and steady wins the race'. This is an apt analogy for some one like me who is definitely slow and steady and hates the old 'come out of your shell' cliche. The fact that this is a fairy tale and therefore hogwash is completely irrelevant.

There are times when I witness the behaviour of competitive parents at children's sporting events and come away rather bemused. Of course I want to encourage and support my boys, but wailing at them and berating them like a deranged and possessed demon? Um no, I don't think that's helpful at all.

These days the trend at schools is to give all children participation certificates at school events and not highlight winners and losers. Even though I totally missed out on any sort of competitive gene, I'm not sure I agree with this. This is in spite of the fact that I was always the reject that nobody wanted on their team when sport captains were made to choose their team mates. I still remember the one and only time I did receive a sport award at school assembly and how special I felt. Sadly it didn't propel me into becoming a competitive, driven 'winner' but I suspect nothing ever will.

Just for shits and giggles I looked up the synonyms (the same) and antonyms (opposite) for the word competitive and this is what I found:

Antonyms: 

Passive
Noncompetitive
Unambitious. 


Synonyms:

Aggressive
Cutthroat
Antagonistic
Vying
Combative
Dog-eat-dog
Killer instinct
Emulous
Opposing
Streetwise


Therefore I've come to the conclusion that all of you competitive folk can have your dog-eat-dog, aggressive World. I'm happy in my own little passive one. There are unicorns, cakies and rainbows over here and strictly NO GAMES!! 

Just a random doge meme instead. 

For no other reason than Mr 6 finds them hilarious and the doge doggy looks vaguely like our dog Cookie. You're welcome.

 Plus, we are having tacos for dinner tonight. See? I can be organised and driven when there is food involved!!

Meanwhile, when I logged into Blogger the other day to write this post, I discovered that some one had stolen my old blog spot address and was passing it off as their own with one of my archived posts. Maybe I'm winning at life after all if some one wants to pretend they're me complete with the ubiquitous bogan status!

So I guess I'll just keep plodding and dreaming through life and let all of you winners and strivers get on with it. As you were.

Linking up with Kirsty, Alicia and Eva.

But before you go please tell me:

Are you a competitive person?

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Our Outback Adventure On Father's Day

There was a time when Mickey Blue Eyes was quite the fan of the Sunday drive. We would all eagerly get into the car and set off on our Sunday adventure.

The mountains, the beach, the city. The World was our oyster. Or something. What does that expression even mean? Besides, oysters are gross. Shudders. Why couldn't the saying be 'the world was my cake'? MUCH better. Anyway, what was I talking about? Oh yeah, Sunday drives...

Alas, the years have drifted on and the boys have gotten older. For some reason they are not as enthusiastic to schlep out for the day with their parents. I can't imagine why. I mean, we're completely fascinating and entertaining people, aren't we? Cutting edge, hip and cool type parents. Okay, maybe not...

Does any teen or tween ever think their parents are cool? Just the fact that we use the word 'cool' renders us to the totally lame pile. Everyone knows 'cool' stands for 'constipated, overweight old lady'. Duh.

Cue Fathers Day.

I figured that this would be a perfect opportunity for Mickey Blue Eyes to bribe entice the boys out for one of his whimsical magical mystery tours.

"Let's drive to the central coast and have fish and chips!" he exclaimed, upon waking up. There was a collective groan from all three boys.

"Okay, we'll go to Windsor instead," he bartered.

I shuffled into the shower. The sound of the doorbell rang through the pulsating water.

Two of the boys mates had shown up.  If they weren't interested before, they were certainly less so now.

The shower fog seeped into my mental fog and I suddenly remembered I should have given Mick  his present.  Once dressed, I put together our dodgy gifts in gift bag and woke up Mr 6 who groggily marched out and proffered it to his father. Mickey Blue Eyes looked at it in a dismissive fashion.

"You didn't have to get all that," he muttered.  It was only some booze, nuts and a five dollar mug from the school Fathers Day stall, but I pretended that it was a supreme sacrifice.

"That's okay," I said, hoping I looked all weary and worn out from the effort.

It didn't appear that we were going on the afore mentioned drive so I got straight into my five km run and shit tonnes of housework. Snorts. Just kidding! I settled in with a book and fell asleep. I woke up in a daze a short time later and Mick and the boys were taking the dog for a walk.

I rang my Dad to wish him a happy Fathers Day. I'd already seen him twice through the week. I reflected about how lucky I am to have my Dad.  Happy memories were in mind of all the tickles and stories and games of red light we played in the cul-de-sac where I lived growing up. He's also an excellent Grandpa. He and Mr 14, in particular have a strong bond with their shared passion for Manchester United.

My Dad also has some classic 'Dad Jokes' which he still treats my boys to.  

Joke Number 1:

Him: Want a lolly?
Child: Yes!
Him: Go to bed and kiss your dolly! BOOM TISH 


Joke Number 2:

Him: You know what?
Child: What?!
Him: You're mad and I'm not! 

I know, right?! You can see where I get my comic genius from.

After the phone call we had some lunch and pondered going out for dinner.  Outback Jack's here we come. Because CLASSY.

Mick decided to tease the boys by asking them if they were going to  have the crocodile or kangaroo. They weren't impressed. Yay for Dad jokes! See above.

Image credit: http://www.instanthumour.com/tag/daddy-jokes/page/4dd caption

We arrived at the restaurant, settled into our booth and ordered. The boys were bored witless almost immediately. This led to us dropping some serious coin into one of those chocolate machine contraption things. There was a whole shit tonne of enticing chocolates and treats perched perilously on the edge just waiting to be pushed over. It looked so easy. It wasn't. Eight or so bucks later all we had was one pathetic Freddo which was dropped when opened. Awesome. 

Our food arrived. I can only say one thing; the burgers are better at Hungry Jacks.  In fact, the burgers are better anywhere except Outback Crap. 

As we left the restaurant it was raining and Mr 14 wanted to navigate us home. It's a charming game that he and Mick play. Mr 14 gives directions which take us around the World before we finally arrive home.

Consequently, we did end up going one of Mickey Blue Eyes' entertaining Sunday drives. This also involved one of his little touches called 'here we go round the roundabout a million times until everyone feels nauseous'. Okay, it was only about three times around each roundabout, but that's enough to make me nauseous. Fortunately there were no other cars including a police one around, or the night would have become even more interesting... 

Thus ended our entertaining Fathers Day of 2015. Fun times. 

Image credit: http://www.keepcalm-o-matic.co.uk/p/keep-calm-and-tell-dad-jokes/

Linking up with Kirsty, Alicia and Eva. 

How do you celebrate Father's Day? 

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Seven Signs Spring Has Sprung

It's that glorious time of year yet again. Spring is finally here! Well, it's here officially tomorrow, but details! Don't you just feel like singing? 

I always look forward to it because now I can finally get all my spring cleaning done. Snorts. Meanwhile, Christmas is only around the corner! BRING. IT. ON! 

Actually, all sarcasm aside, I do love spring.  During these particular holidays we are going away to Wagga Wagga to visit relatives, so I'm looking forward to it. 

Plus, in November Mr 6 will become Mr 7 and Mickey Blue Eyes and I will celebrate 20 years of wedded stress. Oops, I mean bliss. 

I always know when spring is just around the corner. There are several giveaway signs.

Here are the seven signs that spring has sprung:

1. I need to shave my pits and legs. This requires an industrial strength lawn mower. At which point, I realise that it probably wasn't a great idea to allow them to grow long enough to plait. Is that just me? Okay, no need to answer...

2. I start sneezing. A lot. ACHOO!

3. All the inevitable posts reminding me that Santa arrives in only X amount of days/weeks suddenly start flooding my social media feeds. I resolve that this is finally the year that I'll be organised and get all my Christmas shopping sorted before the end of September. Then I promptly do nothing until the end of November or beginning of December. Apparently I like living on the edge. 

4. I gradually begin to thaw out a little each day. Then I finally emerge blinking into the sunlight. During the winter months I decided to divide my time between bed and the shower. Those are the only places I can warm up despite everyone insisting that it's 'easy' to warm up during winter. 

5. I begin to dread summer and the scorching, searing heat that comes with it. As much as I dislike winter, I also have an aversion to summer. So at least I consistently whinge about the weather all year round. Gotta be consistent people. 

6. I frantically start doing 700 crunches a day to get myself bikini ready for summer. Just kidding! I never do that. I realise that I've actually forgotten to buy a bikini for the 44th year in a row. Oops. I figure it probably wouldn't be a good look for me. (See point number 1). Instead, I stock up on industrial strength 50 plus sunscreen. I'm a ranga. I need to drown myself in that shit. 


7. I sneeze. A lot. Yeah, I know I've already mentioned that, but seriously, it's all the freaking time! ACHOO! ACHOO! ACHOO! 
I certainly do love spring but it doesn't love me. Hello season of sinus headaches. Sigh. I guess I'll be stocking up on Zyrtecs as well as sunscreen. 

Despite all this, I'm glad that spring has finally sprung. I'm feeling so optimistic that I may even decide to do that spring cleaning after all! Shut up. You never know. 

Linking up with Kirsty, Alicia and Eva. 

What does spring mean to you? 

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I Love Lobster (But Liebster Is Good Too)

Why hello groovers and shakers! I'm back after a brief interlude. I was busy sunning myself in Hawaii, drinking cocktails and reading romance novels. Oh wait... 

That was in my fantasies. Sigh.

In reality I was busy with sick kidlets and the general busyness of this thing called life. While it appeared that I wasn't doing anything unusual, my mind was in a constant overdrive of over-thinking about stuff and getting more and more confused. It's a gift people. 

Anyway, a few weeks ago the lovely Rhianna over at Rhianna Writes nominated me for something called a Liebster Award. Thanks, Rhianna! 

At first I thought it was something to with Lobster and I might get a Lobster meal out of it. Nope. Damn. I love lobster mornay. 

I really want lobster now. HMPH.

I just have to answer a few questions. Here goes:

What makes you happy?

That's easy! Cakies and Carpenters music. Oh, and my family of course! I also do a bit of aerobicising every day to get a few endorphins happening. 

Why did you start blogging?

I used to write those awful Christmas/Year In Review letters to my friends and family. They were such a hit that it became clear that I was a comic genius and I should bring my particular brand of self-deprecating bullshit wit and humour to the entire world via a blog. You're all welcome. 


What is the best thing anybody has ever said about your blog?

I've had so many people BEGGING me to write a book. Okay,  it was only one or two people who have kindly suggested it. Another also suggested I should do stand-up comedy. Which is hilarious, because I'm so shy. Somebody else said it shows who I am. Now that I think about it, I was blogging about being a bogan at the time, so I'm not sure if that was a compliment...

What are your top three bucket list items?

Um. The thing is I don't do bucket lists, but my fuck it list is quite long, as the joke goes. 

I suppose if I thought about it I'd like to move to a better house and have an overseas trip with my family. For the third thing I'll say I don't know exactly, but maybe I'll surprise myself and do something I have never even thought of. Okay, it's a long shot, but you never know... 

What is one thing you can't live without?

Oxygen, food and water. Wait, that's three things... 

Um. I'm guessing this question wasn't meant to be taken quite so literally? But what do you want from me? I'm an Aspie!


What is your favourite Australian travel destination?

We've made repeat trips to Cairns and Tassie. So it must be those places. As well as Dubbo. Who could forget about Dubbo? Shut up.

What two countries make you the happiest to visit?

I've only been in two. Australia and Holland when I was a girl. I think I was happy while there. There is actual video footage of a ten-year-old Ness skipping through the tulips in existence, but I have no idea how to upload it here, so you'll have to imagine it. 

Image credit:http://7-themes.com/6975495-tulips-field-holland.html

I skipped through these in 1981. Well, not these actual tulips,
but similar ones. Details.

What is your favourite and least favourite word?

I love words. I can't possibly single out one favourite. There are so many. Myriad, ethereal, curmudgeonly, dishevelled..  Not to mention CAKE. Who can choose?

As for least favourite, again there are several, but I really hate hearing the word retard. Sadly, there have been times when my boys have said it and I turned seventeen different shades of purple and green and have to keep on reiterating that we never say that word. Ugh. 

If you found out that due to a mix-up at the hospital that one of your children wasn't yours, would you give them back?

No, not now. It's far too late for that. They've gone over to the dark side at this point. Now that you mention it, none of them are quiet and shy. Maybe they aren't mine? But I seem to recall being there when they were born. Weird. 

Now, apparently I have to nominate people. This is the part that I find difficult because I am really not very good at this blogging community thing. (I'm trying to be better, but I'm still a space cadet. Oops). By the time I get around to joining in, every other blogger has been nominated already. So I'm just going to nominate the three link-up hosts who I'm joining in with today. Firstly because they're all awesome, and secondly because at least I know that they might read this. Lets face it, the only people who read my musings are other link-up bloggers and my Mum. Which is a shame because so  many people are missing out on my genius. Such a tragedy. Sigh. 

Anyway, over to you Kirsty, Alicia and Eva.

If you've already been nominated, just ignore me or answer in the comments. You can answer any of the above questions or alternatively these ones:

Do you like lobster mornay?

Are you an over thinker? 

Over and out. 

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Making Mondays Marvellous

Hello Monday, you marvellous creature! It's the start of another week and there is so much to look forward to!

But Mondays suck, I hear you exclaim. That is one way of looking at it. However, I am here to argue that the much maligned Monday has much to offer.

• Every body knows that Monday is usually the day that you start diets. Which means that by around lunch time (or morning tea time) you can look forward to eating your body weight in ALL THE FOOD and abruptly ending the Monday diet madness. Or is that just me? 

• It's often a public holiday. 

• It makes you appreciate Fridays even more. 

• It's the only day of the week that starts with an M, making it unique. 

• There are lots of famous songs inspired by Mondays: I Don't Like Mondays, Manic Monday, Rainy Days And Mondays (always get me down...) The fact that they are all negative songs is COMPLETELY IRRELEVANT. 

• Lots of restaurants offer kids eat free deals on Mondays. Since you've already screwed your diet at lunch time, you might as well  forget about cooking and go for it. 

• You can plan all the things you have to do this week and start ticking them off. Alternatively, you can just tick of the days until the weekend.

• You may have a favourite television show which airs on a Monday. I'm not even sure which shows are on on Mondays. What am I like? 

• If Home And Away or Neighbours ended on a cliffhanger on Friday you have all the pent up anticipation of the next episode to look forward to. Surprisingly I don't watch either show. Come to think of it, I don't really watch any shows. Weird.

• The BEST reason of all that Monday ROCKS: It's usually the day I share a new post here on Nessville!!!!!

Admit it, it's the only reason you wake up, right? 

Anyway, lets get down to my exciting list of things that are happening in the land of Nessville this week:

Monday

Most likely I will get out of bed.  If you are reading this then I have managed it. I will certainly look at Facebook. I will post this blog. It's my gift to the world. Just to make your Monday so much better. You're welcome. 

Tuesday

Mickey Blue Eye's birthday is on Tuesday! This of course means one thing: CAKE!!

I also have a doctor's appointment on Tuesday. I had a routine blood test done last Wednesday. This is just for a check-up for my cholesterol and sugar levels as well as my thyroid. So I'm going back to see how it went. I'm quietly optimistic that it's all good. I haven't received any phone calls. Last time I had a blood test, my GP rang me immediately the next day to tell my that my sugar levels were a concern and I had to have a Glucose Tolerance Test. So far, no phone calls this time around. That has to be a good thing, doesn't it? This Weight Witches thing may be paying off after all. Oh my stars! 

Wednesday

I will probably stare into space vacantly after exercising vigorously. At which point I will come to the conclusion that since I just exercised and it still must be some one's birthday somewhere, I can justify having yet more leftover birthday cake. Winning! 

Thursday

I will probably have a cup of tea. Actually several cups of tea. I always do. 

Friday 

I have my monthly weigh-in at Weight Witches. SUCH a glamorous life I lead. At this point I've scheduled in some sulking when all my cake-eating catches up with me. Following this brief period of sulking, I've then scheduled a firm kick up the bum to myself to make myself get back on track. As soon as I figure out how to become a contortionist....

I suppose I could get Mickey Blue Eyes to kick me up the bum. Otherwise, I'll kick HIM up the bum. I mean, it was HIS birthday cake! It's totally his fault that I ate cake! Come to think of it, my Mum and Mr 14 also had birthdays in this past month. More cake! Therefore, it's totally my family's fault for FORCING me to eat ALL THE CAKE. SO rude. 


Saturday

Two out of three boys have soccer. I'm sure it will be as thrilling as last Saturday when Mr 6 informed me "We lost 7 - nil, but I scored TWO GOALS!!" 

Not exactly sure how that works. I think he inherited his logic from me. So proud. 

Sunday

On Sunday I will be sleeping in. There are no other exciting plans. What could be more exciting than sleeping in? 

This will conclude an action-packed week. Just in time for another marvellous Monday! Can't wait... Can you? 

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

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Rules to live by

This week's I Must Confess topic has certainly made me think. Which probably  explains that burning smell. I do tend to over think, but usually about cake. I had never thought about what rules I live by.  I used to believe stuff like that was wanky and pretentious. 

Now that I'm older I feel that living with a few 'rules' or values is worthwhile, but only if they have personal meaning to you. On the other hand living by rules because they're expected of you by others doesn't seem so wonderful.

At first I seemed to be a bit stuck on this topic. I figured that's because I'm such a cutting edge rebel. Always breaking the rules and all that. Yep, it's totally that.

Anyway, I pondered and ruminated some more. As well as being cutting edge, I'm a deep and intellectual thinker. And I still had nothing. 

Except this random, ad hoc list of 'Rules To Live By' Ness style:

• My mental health is always more important than what some one may think of me. Seriously. This is my mantra in life at the moment. 

• Life's too short to quit sugar.  Unless you have to because you might have diabetes. In which case life's too short to NOT quit sugar. Or something...

• You wouldn't worry about what other people thought of you if you knew how seldom they did. Thank you, Dr Phil.  Hang on, this sort of cancels out my mantra. Oh well, they're my rules. They don't have to make sense. So ner!

• Accept myself the way I am in all my flawed glory. I'm shy, introverted, Aspie, scatter-brained. A space cadet daydreamer and a bit of drifter rather than a planner or driven. So what? I'm still okay. It takes all kinds of people to make a World. Including space cadets. So space cadets unite! If we remember...

• Ditch 'shoulds'. A lot of the time I have a long list of 'shoulds' roaming around my mind. I should be outgoing. I should have a career. I should be organised. Blah, blah, blah,blah. Therefore, a worthwhile rule is ditching the word should. I know I should, but it's hard. See??!! 

• My bra is the first thing to come off at home. 

• Random drop-ins. No. Just - NO. 

• A house without books is like a restaurant without food.

•  I need to move my body every day. Sometimes I rail against this, but that's the way it is. I'm not a naturally sporty person. Far from it. I've had to accept that my body still needs exercise whether I like it or not. 

• If you haven't got anything nice to say, don't say anything at all. And people wonder why I'm so quiet...

• There is that meme that floats around Facey about how every one is fighting their own battle that you know nothing about. Just be kind. Or something like that. Sort of sounds cliched, but I reckon it's true, so I always keep it in mind. Treat others the way you like to be treated and all that Seems like an  okay rule to live by. 

• Avoid toxic people and drama queens. Some people are just genuinely arseholes and drama queens.  So I don't surround myself with these kind of toxic people. I suppose it helps if you're inclined to keep to yourself for the most part. 

• Push myself out of my little comfort zone World occasionally. I'm working on this, but I  do find myself wishing that comfort zones weren't quite so..well, comfortable. Sigh. 

• Hug my boys and tell them I love them approximately ten billionty times a day. 

• Stop and eat the cake. I mean, uh...stop and smell the flowers. And STOP eating ALL THE CAKE. I dislike this rule. Sniff. WHY can't I eat the cake? Perfect example of rules that are meant to be broken, if you ask me...

• Drink cups and cups of tea. Pots are even better. Plus, tea goes perfectly with cake. And it has antioxidants or something. That balances out the cake, right? 

• Keep a journal. It's fascinating and rather amusing for future you to read what past you was thinking and feeling. 

• Make sure you keep the afore mentioned journal password protected or under lock and key. It may not be quite so amusing for your loved ones to read if they stumble upon it. Ahem. 

• Always wear clean undies in case you get hit by a bus. Actually, this is a rule I've heard a lot, but I'm not sure it's really that important. I mean, if you saw a bus hurtling towards you, I'm sure your undies wouldn't be clean for too long.  

• On the other hand wearing clean undies every day (whether or not you get hit by a bus) seems to be a fair enough rule. And, you know, just wearing undies, period. It seems that filthy, stinking rich celebs regularly forget to wear them or can't afford them or something. Weird. 

• And finally, always laugh at yourself. If you can't laugh at yourself then give me a call and I'll laugh at you, as the saying goes. Plus, if I didn't laugh, I'd cry. And that's alright. A good old cry is helpful at times, but laughing is always great every day. 

There you have it!  My comprehensive list of rules to live by. Now it's time for a cup of tea. It's the rules! 

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

What are your rules to live by?

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Our House

It is a truth universally acknowledged that every home has a neglected room.  You know the kind. The sad little lonely spare room filled to the brim with a dusty treadmill and all those scrap booking projects you were going to get around to?

The double garage crowded with absolutely everything - except cars. The office that is so badly organised or poorly lit that you rarely, if ever, work in there. 

The gargantuan 'theatre room' where you never have the time to watch all those movies you envisioned. The gleaming bathroom resplendent with super-sized hot tub that you rarely indulge in because you're most likely just weird and only wanted the damn thing to just SHOW OFF in the first place. And no, I'm not jealous AT ALL! HMPH. 

You see, here's my confession: I don't have any of these rooms. Yes, none of the rooms in my house are neglected and unused.

The reason for this is simple. And here's the second part of my confession: our house only consists of a grand total of... wait for it:

Drum roll please...

Seven rooms!  

With five people living here. You do the math. This means that every room is used and thoroughly lived in. This also redefines the concept of togetherness.  

I must admit I have a bit of a  love/hate relationship with our humble abode. I do love the fact that we own it and not a bank. But I might be developing a tiny case of claustrophobia. 

It's also frightfully difficult to keep clean and tidy due to lack of space. This is pretty much the way I grew up back in the good old days of the 70s and 80s. Or the 'olden days' as my boys call them. In a simple, three bedroom Aussie Battler home in the 'burbs. Classy. 

Um I have no idea what 'recaulking' is but I do indeed have those nasty
energy vampires snapping at me. Maybe I should check my neglected Pinterest account?

Having said all of the above, our bathroom is a tad neglected at the moment and in need of some Gumption attention. Ahem. Did I mention that I hate cleaning bathrooms. Who wants a big McMansion with six bathrooms? Only if it comes with a cleaner, thanks. 

Thinking about it further, the entire house could do with a coat of paint. Or, you know, a bulldozer, to knock it down and start over again. Okay, this dilapidated old box quaint little cottage could do with a little bit of TLC. But we haven't been nominated for House Rules or won the lottery. We just seem to be in something resembling a box-shaped rut in regards to doing anything about moving. But I'm sure it will happen one day. That, or I'll die here. Which is fitting, because it's as big as a coffin. BOOM TISH. 

I jest. Actually, it's all good because there are amazing benefits to living in a small house.  

Without further ado I bring to you the top five benefits of claustrophobic living:

5. No mortgage.
4. No mortgage. 
3. No mortgage.
2. No mortgage.

Aaaaaaaaaaaand... bring back the drum roll... 

The Number 1 benefit to living in a small house is:

1. You guessed it - NO MORTGAGE!! 

If we really wanted to have a McMansion we could, but we'd get a mortgage instead of fries with that. One of these days Mickey Blue Eyes will be a millionaire and I'll be his smokin' hawt trophy wife and then I'm sure it will happen. I might need shit tonnes of plastic surgery to make the latter happen, but details. 

Anyway, home is where the wine is. Which reminds me, I don't have any wine. I have no space for a wine rack. How rude. 

The thing is, initially when we bought this charming dwelling we believed that we might never have children. It would have been fine for the two of us. It was still fine when Mr 14 made his momentous appearance 14 years ago, funnily enough. Then we had our second boy, now Mr 11 and it still seemed fine. They were only babies. Around this time Mickey Blue Eyes had Cancer and improving the house or moving took a back seat. Then a few years later, I was expecting another baby and suffered a late miscarriage. I suppose I could say life is what happens when you're busy making other plans. Except I stole that from John Lennon. Somehow we were always so busy dealing with emotional stuff that we never got around to thinking about practical stuff. 

Then one day we woke up and I was up the duffian yet again. Mr 6 made his appearance and here we were still in our cramped little quarters. Then Mickey Blue Eyes decided to take the plunge of working for himself at home and in order to do this we've had to put any ideas of moving on hold for a while. But at least we know the meaning of true togetherness and NO MORTGAGE. 

Sorry, I just need to keep saying that to remind myself that there is point to this sardine-like existence.

And now I suppose I had better go and crack open that tub of Gumption and clean my match-box sized bathroom while you go and watch movies in your theatre room or enjoy your hot-tub while your cleaner scrubs your five bathrooms. Sniff. 

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


What is the most neglected room in your house? 

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