Soggy Sandwiches And Other Sagas

As usual I've been busy, busy, busy! Especially this week with the Oscars happening. I'm sure you spotted me on the red carpet. No? You just weren't looking hard enough. OF COURSE I was there! I dashed over on my private jet. Yes, I took my Dinner Fairy with me! Duh! OK you got me, I made that up.
 
As a matter of fact, I believe I would rather gauge my eyeballs out than attend this grandiose affair. It's much easier to sit at home in my leggings and t-shirt and wistfully survey all those glossy genetically blessed and surgically enhanced stars. I haven't seen one single movie that was nominated so I have no opinion about who should have won, I just watch it for the frocks. Anyway, the Oscars are like SO four days ago, so who even cares anymore?

Let's move on to more interesting topics. ME! Shut up. I'm fascinating. For instance, this week has involved packing school lunches, grocery shopping, exercising, doing crossword puzzles and listlessly flicking through TV stations.

Oh yeah, I did start a TAFE course. I've already learnt one VERY IMPORTANT thing:

Packed lunches SUCK.

No wonder I constantly fish out soggy sandwiches from the boys school bags. Bleurrrrrrgggghhhhhh.

Yes folks, it's always about the food with me. I'm still attending Weight Witches but haven't quite got my broom stick yet. Shut up.

So why I am doing a computer course when I'm already a technological GENIUS?  Well, it gets me out of the house. That's something. And maybe, just maybe I might end up getting one of those things that people do. Um....ah....oh dear... I can't even say the word. A..j..j..jo.....

Nope. Can't say it. But it has three letters. Starts with a J. Rhymes with 'cob'. Shudders. I haven't had one of those since....

Never mind.

One of my TAFE teachers was most encouraging, saying that she had another lady in one of her class who'd been out of the workforce for 14 years and ended up getting a job as a result of doing the course. So you never know.

But now that I've splashed all the details of my Weight Witches and TAFE all over this utterly fascinating blog you can be sure to be entertained by my EPIC FAILS.  As soon I make a public statement that I'm going to do something I'll fail. Yay me. So just pretend you didn't read this when you spot me a year from now corpulent and  unemployable. Thanks for that.

Anyway, it's all good. It's not like I'm going to end up destitute and homeless if it doesn't work out. So I figure I may as well give it a go. If it's not meant to be I've still got my Sugar Daddy, aka Mickey Blue Eyes. A much older*, wealthy**man to keep me in the this glamorous and lavish lifestyle to which  I've become accustomed.

Case in point: yesterday we finally got a plumber to fix our leaky taps, toilet and shower! Mr 10 nearly burst with excitement and pure joy at being able to do something as simple as turn a tap on and off with minimal effort. Last week involved a visit from the electrician to fix our dodgy power points which were full of ants. Guess what?

Now we can do something really avant garde:  PLUG THINGS IN! AND THEY WORK! See? I told you it was grand around here! Why on Earth would I want one of those things that start with a J anyway?

Our WiFi was also resurrected yesterday. It's been down and out as there was work being done in our street for this NBN thingamajig.  The boys reacted as if we'd won the lottery yesterday when they arrived home from school.

This Saturday is the return of the phenomenon known as Schlepping To Soccer At Stupid O' Clock. As you can see, my life is always action packed and exciting!

Anyway, must dash. Have to go and do something else that's super riveting and totally out there: Make a sandwich for lunch. At least  it won't be soggy this time. 


* He's over 50. He can get pensioners insurance. Snorts.
** Bahahahaha! He thinks he's wealthy!

Linking up for The Lounge.

Tell me, how do you stop sandwiches from going soggy?

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The Middle Muddled Riddle

Welcome to another glorious Monday! Don't you just love that feeling when you wake up on this most revered of days and the sun is flooding the room with it's mellow rays? Birds are chirruping an enchanting tune outside your window. Your eyes sparkle with uncontained enthusiasm as you fling back the bed covers bursting with joy and energy, ready to start another week?

Yeah, me neither. Farking Mondays. Who invented them, anyway? And I don't even go to work. Ahem. Shut up.

This morning we actually woke up stupendously late and then had to dash about like mad things with motors up our bums. It was most amusing. Unless you were us. In which case it was just plain annoying.

Additionally, the weather is dismal and gloomy. Grey clouds are looming with the promise of more rain. But this rain won't cool things down. It will still be hot and humid. Ridiculous. But I shouldn't complain. Except I just did. Oops. At least I'm not in Queensland, where Cyclone Marcia has wreaked her havoc. I hope everyone up there is keeping safe.

Anyway, without further ado, I now announce that the rest of today is officially cancelled. Of course, as usual I have no authority whatsoever to do this, but that has never stopped me before. DETAILS.

Please note that by the time I get around to actually posting this it will no longer be Monday, rendering all of the above obsolete. Except I have discovered that Tuesday mornings are no better. And all weekday mornings. Even Saturday is about to become fraught with early morning soccer for the boys. So frankly, all mornings suck. The end.

And now, moving on to other pressing matters.  Today I am making the monumental confession of my middle name. I know you've spent many hours pondering this, tossing and turning unable to sleep at night without this vital information. I must put you out of your misery. Therefore, I can now announce that my middle name is....

Drum roll, please.....

RAPUNZEL.

Worth waiting for, wasn't it? Quite ridiculous really. Vanessa Rapunzel. Hmmm, it does have a ring to it. I did have really long hair as a child, too. But there's only one problem.

I made that up. It's not really Rapunzel. Had you fooled, didn't I?What? Not for a second? HMPH. You smarty pants.

Fancy a multiple choice quiz? You don't? Too bad, you're getting one anyway!

May I present to you my middle muddled riddle!  OK, technically it's not really a riddle, it's a multiple choice question. But why do you have to be so pedantic? I've been reading WAY too many Dr Suess books with Mr 6, so just humour me, OK?  My middle name is:

a) Esmerelda
b) Jane
c) Anne
d) All of the above
e) None of the above

If you answered with c, then I WISH you were right. I would love to have Anne with an 'e' as my middle name. But alas, my parents didn't choose any of those names. The correct answer is, of course, e. Tricked you!

The suspense is killing you, right? Or you couldn't less, one or the other. If it's the latter, then we're done here. Click away NOW. See how easy that was? Now that we're rid of the riff raff, I can finally make my stunning revelation.

My middle name REALLY is.....

Bring back that drum roll....

FAYE!

With a totally redundant e on the end! Yay for redundant e's!!

This is exactly the same as my Mum's middle name.

But do you want to know something really funny? Like Mickey Blue Eyes' middle name? It's... wait for it...  Raeburn. Snorts. Seriously. It really is. I shouldn't laugh, because it was his grandfather's name or something.

Oh well, who really uses middle names anyway? Only when you fill out forms. In which case you just want something short and simple, so Faye fits that criteria.

And now you will have a blissful nights sleep tonight replete with that fascinating information. You're most welcome.

Stay tuned for the next thrilling update when I reveal something even more earth shattering. As soon as I figure out what it is...

Linking up for I Must Confess.

What's your middle name?

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He Called Her Cookie

For such a long time he had wanted a dog. Not a cat. Not a rabbit. Certainly not a guinea pig. It had to be a dog. And not just any dog.

"I want a golden retriever!" Mr 10 begged with imploring eyes.

A majestic golden retriever, with a glossy coat, melting, mischievous brown eyes and boundless energy. They could play and lollop and frolic and have so much fun! Mr 10's eyes shone with such grand visions.

But there would be poop, I reminded him. LOTS of poop.

"I'll clean it up!" he insisted. 

Mickey Blue Eyes and I looked at each other, nonplussed. We were slowly warming to the idea of a dog. Mr 10 had his heart set on it. But we weren't convinced about a golden retriever.

I'm not really a fan of gigantic horse-like dogs. Or tiny little over grown rat-like yappers. But I do like some dogs.

Wise, warm-hearted dogs who are fiercely loyal and full of character. Like Samantha, the sausage dog we had when I was a child. She was like a human trapped in the body of a bandy-legged, rotund dachshund. She was amazing. I wanted Mr 10 to have a dog like that. A furry best friend.

We scanned the Internet looking for just the perfect pooch. There were many tears of frustration from Mr 10 who wanted it all to happen NOW. The idea of being able to save a dog from death row at the pound appealed to Mick and I.

Accordingly, we set off one afternoon to check out the possibilities. Upon entering the pound we were greeting by a cacophony of raucous barking. Menacing mutts the size of Mexico roared their indignation at being behind bars.

Mr 10 and 6 promptly burst into tears. Meanwhile, Mr 13 had wisely waited in the car. He wasn't as keen on the dog idea. Eventually, we were able to coax the boys to have a further look at all the cages. It was very dispiriting. The dogs were all obviously unsuitable. Although I felt awful seeing them all locked up like that, at the same time I would have been fearful of them being let out. 

We returned home with a dejected Mr 10. A few weeks passed. More Internet searching ensued. This led to discovering Sydney Dogs And Cats Home.  One Sunday, Mick took Mr 10 and 6 for a drive there.

A few hours later Mr 10 came bounding into the house.

"Mum, we have a dog!" he was beaming. He led me outside and there she was. A beautiful and gentle fox terrier cross. We're not exactly sure what the 'cross' part is, but we're guessing corgi. She wasn't a puppy, but she was wise, loyal and full of character. He named her Cookie.

It seems like it was meant to be. Now she's part of our family. She's a bit of tart in that she loves everyone and anyone. An extrovert dog in an introvert family. She'd be completely useless as a guard dog. She'd welcome any thieves with a wagging tail and be excited to meet new friends!

She sits at the back door, gazing in with her mournful eyes. Other times, when I walk past, there she is, head tilted, expression quizzical. Yes, dogs DO have expressions.

The funniest thing is her antics in regard to Henrietta, our pet parakeet. Cookie bolts down to Henrietta's aviary in the backyard in her headlong fashion.  Reaching the cage she tenses, ready to pounce. The hairs on her back stand up as she lunges her little fox terrier frame frantically at the cage, eyes never leaving Henrietta.

Henrietta is totally unruffled. She saunters down from her perch to the edge of the cage and proceeds to taunt Madam Cookie.

"Hello!" she chirps, chest proud.  Cookie hurtles higher up to the cage, incensed.

"Hello!" Henrietta keeps mocking her.

It's like watching the cat and mouse shenanigans of Tweety and Sylvester. Hilarious!

Cookie would indeed relish the opportunity to have Henrietta in her clutches.  Funnily enough, she never barks at her. She just keeps lunging at the cage repeatedly. Despite the fact that this pursuit  never pays off, she is quite persistent in her efforts, our little Sylvester,.. I mean, Cookie!

Afterwards she will bound back across the grass to Mr 10 and rest her paws on his legs, tail pulsating. She is happiest in these moments.

She snoozes on the back porch throughout the day, waiting for her beloved boy to return home from school for cuddles and play. They already have an unbreakable bond. I'm glad they have each other. Having a dog was such a comfort to me as a child. I love to think of Mr 10 having that same comfort. 

It's also good finally having another girl in the family, even it is only a dog!

And yes, Mr 10 cleans up her poop. Someone has to and it might as well be him. He has to learn, doesn't he? Ahem. Besides, I've cleaned up enough poop in my time.

Cookie will be a part of our family for many years to come. When she finally goes to doggie heaven we'll most likely adopt again. It's good to have a furry friend.

Linking up for The Lounge.

Do you have any pets?

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YAY!

I have no idea what I'm blogging about and am just rambling because my laptop/internet connection has suddenly decided to work  and I just  need to type while it works. Because it will just decide to shit itself again and it will be another six months before I can post  here and i know I'm not  using proper grammar and punctuation because I'm  in such a raving rush. 

This week has been a week of new beginnings. I started going to a writing group and enrolled for a  TAFE course. It's something about skills for further employment or some such palaver. I think  about  perhaps  attempting to  work in library again but then I never do anything about it, so we'll see. Remains to be seen where I'm going with this  because every time  I think about the dreaded old job interview I feel sick and hysterical and COMPLETELY FREAKED OUT. I haven't been for one since..... Never mind. 

It was a bloody long time ago and it didn't go well. But enough about that. I'm jumping topics and not making sense. 

I wish I didn't have to rush and this is total rubbish. One day I may write an entire sentence that is well thought out, interesting and expressive. This isn't one day. Sorry. Not sorry. Sort of sorry. Oh God. Save me.

All I want is a laptop and an internet connection that work. Is that too much to ask? And time. Lots of lots of time.

Mickey Blue Eyes and I were just having a discussion this evening about people on the internet. We decided that I am a very good lurker. Not just online, but in real life. I lurk around our house. I'm lurking through life. I like to lurk. I could probably put down lurking as a skill on my updated resume. No?

Mickey Blue Eyes is making me a cup of tea. That's interesting information, is it not?

I guess it's back to writing on paper for me. You remember those weird things? Pens? Paper? Swooon. I love writing with pen and paper.

Just to prove how utterly classy I am, here's some further evidence:  I am becoming a KMart fan. Oh well. At least it's a change from Big W and Best & Less. Admittedly not much of a change, but still a change. Sort of. Oh OK, it's still cheap and nasty. But that's what's good about it! I can buy shit. And as long as I don't think about those folk slaving in sweat shops in Bangladesh or China just so I can buy an eight dollar top it's all good. Gulps.

Mickey Blue Eyes is doing the dishes. I knew there was a reason I married this man. One day I will have a gleaming new kitchen with a dishwasher. This isn't one day.

Yesterday I went to my writing group. I actually read some shit out loud in front of people and didn't explode and die.  Who knew?

Today I went out for lunch with my friend Kimmy. Tomorrow I have a counselling appointment and Thursday and Friday I start my course. For this introverted Aspie with a preference for lurking that is FULL ON.

Related: I've been doing some of those personality profiling/testing thingys. You know, because I'm totally self-absorbed and all, and anyway, it's really freaky how accurate they are! I'm an INFP.  

Which obviously stands for Intelligent, Nice, Fabulous Person! Or something....

You know those days when you go out for a really lovely lunch and then come home full, not really caring about whether you have dinner or not.  Right on cue, all three boys: "What's for dinner?"


Similarly, if we go out to an occasion where there is shit tonnes of food served, such as on Christmas Day. You roll back into the car afterwards feeling like you never want to eat EVER AGAIN. Or, you know. at least until tomorrow. Cue all three boys: "I'm hungry!"

One day there will FINALLY be a Dinner Fairy in this house. I mean, I'm sure the boys would look quite cute in fairy costumes. Today isn't one day.

On the weekend two out of three boys signed up for the soccer season again. So now we'll have the joy of schlepping to soccer training several nights a week and waking up early on Saturdays for games again. Yay.

Mr 13 wants to give a new club a try, so he's also signing up very soon. This means I'm going to be super busy between soccer, Tafe, Writing Group and Weight Witches. Yes I know, all you full time working Mums out there, I can hear the violin music too. Sad, is it not?

What else can I tell you? Surely I can make something up? Oh! We started applying for passports! And you know what that means, don't you??!!!

Absolutely nothing!

We'll apply for them and still end up going to Dubbo for our holidays!

One day we will embark on an extravagant, adventurous around the World trip.  London, Paris, New York! THE WHOLE ENTIRE WORLD! It has to happen, people! This isn't one day.

So to round off this completely ridiculous, rambling post, I'll leave you with this quote:

Never do today what you can put off until tomorrow.

Hang on, is that right?  Oh well, whatevs, as Mr 13 would say.

Stay tuned for the next rambling stroll down Nessville Lane!
 

 

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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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