Stupid things I have heard/seen this week include:
Most people who have a licence. Seriously, we HAVE to devise a test that actually means you demonstrate you can DRIVE, not "operate a motor vehicle" which is not the same thing at all.
Frog sitting in a cardboard box singing "Row row row your boat" and insisting Mummy "get in other boat!" which would not have fitted my butt let alone the rest of me. She stayed there all evening, with no nappy, and only stopped to tell me the dryer had finished.
Anyone who uses a "15 items or less lane" while pushing a trolley. Enough said.
Frog calling the checkout chick at my supermarket "Thomas" because Thomas is her favourite person in the whole world. She wasn't flattered for some reason.
My attempts to understand Twitter "trending". Don't care, will bash along anyway (although any help would be appreciated).
My friend and I facebook stalking each other while sitting at the same table in our local cafe, because we are too cool to talk out loud.
SuperGranny calling PA "my little love bucket" and the look on his face *priceless*
Me doing zumba in my pyjamas, because they are soooooooo comfy and have inspirational type pandas on them.
Answering the door in my above mentioned groovy pyjamas to the guy I forgot was going to drop off a parcel this morning.
Watching him try not to giggle! Or look at the panda on my chest.
Realising it wasn't my stylish pyjamas that were making him giggle, it was the spastic cockatoo look I had going on with my bedhair *cringe*
The grin on WonderMan's face when discovered a mega monster orange bigger than a coffee cup on our tree. And how hard it was to get him to stand still long enough for SuperGranny to take a photo.
What stupid things have you seen this week?
Saturday, 30 July 2011
Thursday, 28 July 2011
I'm an oxymoron
Like most people I hate stereotypes
It's mostly because I don't fit into them very well.
I'm a motorbike racer, and ballet dancer. I listen to 50's rock and roll back to back with LMFAO, Party Rockin my way through my housework.
I adore high fashion, stacked heels and would sell my soul for one of the $1400 colour block Fendi clutches I spied this week. But my $20 jeans from Rivers are so fricking comfortable I literally live in them. I would sleep in them too if WonderMan would let me.
I'm an old fashioned mummy in a lot of ways, insisting on manners at all times and so proud of myself because my two year old says "please/thankyous" to everyone for everything. But she also calls everyone "cool duuuuuuude" and I have a nine year old that comes home on Friday arvo and declares "It's the freaking weekend yahooooo!" which would have got me a clip around the ear from my mother but elicits a high five from me.
I adore vintage decor, but can't wait for the day I can build a smart home that does what I want just by coughing.
I read Top Gear mag and Shop Til You Drop. I can't choose between the fine dining of a high end restaurant and pancakes for brekky in my pyjamas.
I want an SUV, but still dream of a Triumph with my kids rocking it out in a sidecar...
I can't be defined because I'm at polar ends of the scale. It's something that WonderMan has even commented on. In his own words "I've known you for almost four years, and even though I loved you from the first minute I still don't know who you are". Well honey, neither do I!
I think this is the root of my struggles with life. I can't define myself, I am seeking my place in this world and my place with others, but it's starting to dawn on me that I should be making my own place - and I have been doing this lately.
In fact I've always been doing it without even realising. As a child I never fitted any of the girls groups at school. And of course a girl couldn't hang out with the boys, even though they turned out to be the best mates a girl could have and they have been the ones that pick me up when the blackness of life engulfs me. I did what I wanted regardless but it churned me up inside and I lived with a lot of fear. Fear of not fitting in, fear of more bullying, fear of being labelled different.
I'm letting go of the fear. People who don't like me can go jump. Because I like me. For the first time ever. I've stopped questioning why WonderMan loves me and started basking in the glow of that love.
This week I let the sunshine break out from this black cloud I've been carrying. I let my smile shine, and couldn't care what my in-laws are talking about behind my back... because if they are behind me I can't hear them. I won't live my life looking over my shoulder, I am looking into my future today and every day.
This morning I turned on Twitter (which I adore, and will continue to live on for the rest of my natural life!) and saw this tweet from @TheDailyLove ~ Release anyone & anything that doesn't support your happiness. Life is too short to tolerate anyone's B.S. ~
They then followed it up with this ~ Let go, give the Uni-verse room to make miracles in your life ~
Says it all really!
It's mostly because I don't fit into them very well.
I'm a motorbike racer, and ballet dancer. I listen to 50's rock and roll back to back with LMFAO, Party Rockin my way through my housework.
I adore high fashion, stacked heels and would sell my soul for one of the $1400 colour block Fendi clutches I spied this week. But my $20 jeans from Rivers are so fricking comfortable I literally live in them. I would sleep in them too if WonderMan would let me.
I'm an old fashioned mummy in a lot of ways, insisting on manners at all times and so proud of myself because my two year old says "please/thankyous" to everyone for everything. But she also calls everyone "cool duuuuuuude" and I have a nine year old that comes home on Friday arvo and declares "It's the freaking weekend yahooooo!" which would have got me a clip around the ear from my mother but elicits a high five from me.
I adore vintage decor, but can't wait for the day I can build a smart home that does what I want just by coughing.
I read Top Gear mag and Shop Til You Drop. I can't choose between the fine dining of a high end restaurant and pancakes for brekky in my pyjamas.
I want an SUV, but still dream of a Triumph with my kids rocking it out in a sidecar...
I can't be defined because I'm at polar ends of the scale. It's something that WonderMan has even commented on. In his own words "I've known you for almost four years, and even though I loved you from the first minute I still don't know who you are". Well honey, neither do I!
I think this is the root of my struggles with life. I can't define myself, I am seeking my place in this world and my place with others, but it's starting to dawn on me that I should be making my own place - and I have been doing this lately.
In fact I've always been doing it without even realising. As a child I never fitted any of the girls groups at school. And of course a girl couldn't hang out with the boys, even though they turned out to be the best mates a girl could have and they have been the ones that pick me up when the blackness of life engulfs me. I did what I wanted regardless but it churned me up inside and I lived with a lot of fear. Fear of not fitting in, fear of more bullying, fear of being labelled different.
I'm letting go of the fear. People who don't like me can go jump. Because I like me. For the first time ever. I've stopped questioning why WonderMan loves me and started basking in the glow of that love.
This week I let the sunshine break out from this black cloud I've been carrying. I let my smile shine, and couldn't care what my in-laws are talking about behind my back... because if they are behind me I can't hear them. I won't live my life looking over my shoulder, I am looking into my future today and every day.
This morning I turned on Twitter (which I adore, and will continue to live on for the rest of my natural life!) and saw this tweet from @TheDailyLove ~ Release anyone & anything that doesn't support your happiness. Life is too short to tolerate anyone's B.S. ~
They then followed it up with this ~ Let go, give the Uni-verse room to make miracles in your life ~
Says it all really!
Wednesday, 27 July 2011
An open letter to my in laws
Dear WonderMan's family,
I have taken some time to come to this decision but I feel it is for the best.
You see, I'm filing for divorce from my in-laws. (That's you.)
I don't make this decision lightly, but now made, will not be reversed.
My reasons are detailed below, in no particular order.
You have not at any point been welcoming to me, except in odd bursts that make me highly suspicious of your motives. In fact, I remember your first words to WonderMan (after the snorting and laughing and realising he was serious) were "Oh well, she'll be gone soon and you will have learned your lesson."
For months I watched you struggle with barely civil conversation. And worried over what I had done when I seemed to offend every time I opened my mouth and showed I wasn't some dense whore who had her brain removed.
I have struggled deeply with the constant invasions of privacy. After finally not being able to cope any longer I sat down with WonderMan and we decided on what about our lives was acceptable to tell his family and what I did not want broadcast to the entire district. This caused major waves and constant roundabout prying, and much calling me up for no apparent reason because you wanted to trick me into telling you the details of my life and my relationship.
I will never forget the day I left my front door locked because I was sick as the proverbial dog and didn't want any visitors to encroach upon my pregnancy related misery. You would have thought I had disappeared of the face of the planet, or pushed the world war III button or something. After many many phone calls which I was too busy being ill to answer, WonderMan was called and ended up coming home from work to sort out the war being reenacted in our front yard.
You see, I don't like it when people walk in my door without knocking, or any knowledge that they are there until I walk into my kitchen and find them brewing coffee. It gives me nightmares and makes me feel like someone has ripped open my chest and peered into my private soul. And because I didn't want anyone to visit on one particular morning you all took it as an excuse to wage war on the "stuck up bitch" who insisted on her right to a little privacy.
You refuse to acknowledge that I am anything other than a gold digger. Trapping WonderMan into a miserable, hen pecked existence.
Let me mention this, before we go any further.... When I finally accepted WonderMan's proposal after about the 25th time, it was certainly not because he had any money. At that stage I was earning four times his income and well and truly coping on my own financially.
I also had many many serious discussions with WonderMan about the fact that he was choosing to take on a FAMILY and not just me for a good time. He was well and truly aware of this, and understood the seriousness of his decision even more than I believed possible. He may be the youngest child of the family but he is so much more mature and wordly than any one of you.
It hurts me that you have never given me the chance to tell you this. And that you woudn't have believed me even if I did.
I am not one to impose on other's feelings, but want it acknowledged that I feel the pain of WonderMan's father passing as much as anyone else.
I gave up my life and relocated my family so that WonderMan could be near you during the worst of times. At a critical point in my career I threw it away because of love for my partner, and those that he loves. I did it with an enormous amount of fear in my heart - about not knowing anyone, going somewhere I had never been before, about our future and what it held, about how I would fit in to your family, and most of all the fact that I had no FUCKING clue about cancer and had never ever been touched by it before. I walked into a family in early mourning and did my best.
It was the biggest struggle I had ever been through. Early on WonderMan and I discovered a growing Frog and we had to deal with that as well. I didn't really appreciate the snotty lectures and bullshit you piled on top of WonderMan about finances, coping, babies putting too much stress on a partnership (that one was brought up often, and I believe deliberately in the hope he would pack it in and go running to Mummy). We were having a baby. I had one child, she wasn't deformed or neglected and was a perfectly happy 7 year old. She and WonderMan had (and still have) a wonderful relationship, despite no blood relation. Why you thought we were incapable of having a child is beyond me.
What hurts the most is that Frog was planned. A decision between a wedding that lasts one day and might have had to be called off after so much planning and effort - and a beautiful grandchild to brighten the dark last days of her Pa's life. We chose life over darkness and gave him 6 months of joy, and for that you persecute me.
I spent hours of every day in your kitchen, making endless pots of tea and doing your housework (while mine went neglected) because it was all I could do to help. I couldn't grieve because I was the one who held up those who were struggling around me. I was blindly trying to find my place amongst people who shut me out of family discussions, but were happy to call on my family ties to drop everything and run around after them.
I dressed him when you were too overwhelmed and running around after the drama queens in the family. I held him up when his medication dosage wasn't right yet and he couldn't walk in a straight line.
I cried every day because I was so scared and felt so helpless.
I carried WonderMan and all of you through the dark days, and out into the light. I have given so much and asked for so little in return.
But you keep wearing me down. Discussing my life between yourselves, and anyone else you feel like. I'm getting tired of people I thought were friends demanding details of whether WonderMan and I are having problems, and are we still together.
I die a little inside when I think of what you have given for your other grandchildren, but you push Frog away when all she wants is a hug. You don't have time for my family, when we have given all of our time to you.
I don't want sunshine and lollipops. Every relationship needs work, and understanding. I've given it four long years but I can't do it anymore. The veiled threats and constant pressure on WonderMan to admit you are right and leave. The way you come to my home uninvited and torture me in my one remaining safe place.
It is quite obvious you are not prepared to accept me. That you will never stop. I've realised that I must not allow your hatred to be my cross any longer.
I will not allow you to rain on my wedding day, a day of happiness for me.
I will not allow you to teach my children that it is okay to hate and persecute without knowledge, or reason.
I QUIT.
I have taken some time to come to this decision but I feel it is for the best.
You see, I'm filing for divorce from my in-laws. (That's you.)
I don't make this decision lightly, but now made, will not be reversed.
My reasons are detailed below, in no particular order.
You have not at any point been welcoming to me, except in odd bursts that make me highly suspicious of your motives. In fact, I remember your first words to WonderMan (after the snorting and laughing and realising he was serious) were "Oh well, she'll be gone soon and you will have learned your lesson."
For months I watched you struggle with barely civil conversation. And worried over what I had done when I seemed to offend every time I opened my mouth and showed I wasn't some dense whore who had her brain removed.
I have struggled deeply with the constant invasions of privacy. After finally not being able to cope any longer I sat down with WonderMan and we decided on what about our lives was acceptable to tell his family and what I did not want broadcast to the entire district. This caused major waves and constant roundabout prying, and much calling me up for no apparent reason because you wanted to trick me into telling you the details of my life and my relationship.
I will never forget the day I left my front door locked because I was sick as the proverbial dog and didn't want any visitors to encroach upon my pregnancy related misery. You would have thought I had disappeared of the face of the planet, or pushed the world war III button or something. After many many phone calls which I was too busy being ill to answer, WonderMan was called and ended up coming home from work to sort out the war being reenacted in our front yard.
You see, I don't like it when people walk in my door without knocking, or any knowledge that they are there until I walk into my kitchen and find them brewing coffee. It gives me nightmares and makes me feel like someone has ripped open my chest and peered into my private soul. And because I didn't want anyone to visit on one particular morning you all took it as an excuse to wage war on the "stuck up bitch" who insisted on her right to a little privacy.
You refuse to acknowledge that I am anything other than a gold digger. Trapping WonderMan into a miserable, hen pecked existence.
Let me mention this, before we go any further.... When I finally accepted WonderMan's proposal after about the 25th time, it was certainly not because he had any money. At that stage I was earning four times his income and well and truly coping on my own financially.
I also had many many serious discussions with WonderMan about the fact that he was choosing to take on a FAMILY and not just me for a good time. He was well and truly aware of this, and understood the seriousness of his decision even more than I believed possible. He may be the youngest child of the family but he is so much more mature and wordly than any one of you.
It hurts me that you have never given me the chance to tell you this. And that you woudn't have believed me even if I did.
I am not one to impose on other's feelings, but want it acknowledged that I feel the pain of WonderMan's father passing as much as anyone else.
I gave up my life and relocated my family so that WonderMan could be near you during the worst of times. At a critical point in my career I threw it away because of love for my partner, and those that he loves. I did it with an enormous amount of fear in my heart - about not knowing anyone, going somewhere I had never been before, about our future and what it held, about how I would fit in to your family, and most of all the fact that I had no FUCKING clue about cancer and had never ever been touched by it before. I walked into a family in early mourning and did my best.
It was the biggest struggle I had ever been through. Early on WonderMan and I discovered a growing Frog and we had to deal with that as well. I didn't really appreciate the snotty lectures and bullshit you piled on top of WonderMan about finances, coping, babies putting too much stress on a partnership (that one was brought up often, and I believe deliberately in the hope he would pack it in and go running to Mummy). We were having a baby. I had one child, she wasn't deformed or neglected and was a perfectly happy 7 year old. She and WonderMan had (and still have) a wonderful relationship, despite no blood relation. Why you thought we were incapable of having a child is beyond me.
What hurts the most is that Frog was planned. A decision between a wedding that lasts one day and might have had to be called off after so much planning and effort - and a beautiful grandchild to brighten the dark last days of her Pa's life. We chose life over darkness and gave him 6 months of joy, and for that you persecute me.
I spent hours of every day in your kitchen, making endless pots of tea and doing your housework (while mine went neglected) because it was all I could do to help. I couldn't grieve because I was the one who held up those who were struggling around me. I was blindly trying to find my place amongst people who shut me out of family discussions, but were happy to call on my family ties to drop everything and run around after them.
I dressed him when you were too overwhelmed and running around after the drama queens in the family. I held him up when his medication dosage wasn't right yet and he couldn't walk in a straight line.
I cried every day because I was so scared and felt so helpless.
I carried WonderMan and all of you through the dark days, and out into the light. I have given so much and asked for so little in return.
But you keep wearing me down. Discussing my life between yourselves, and anyone else you feel like. I'm getting tired of people I thought were friends demanding details of whether WonderMan and I are having problems, and are we still together.
I die a little inside when I think of what you have given for your other grandchildren, but you push Frog away when all she wants is a hug. You don't have time for my family, when we have given all of our time to you.
I don't want sunshine and lollipops. Every relationship needs work, and understanding. I've given it four long years but I can't do it anymore. The veiled threats and constant pressure on WonderMan to admit you are right and leave. The way you come to my home uninvited and torture me in my one remaining safe place.
It is quite obvious you are not prepared to accept me. That you will never stop. I've realised that I must not allow your hatred to be my cross any longer.
I will not allow you to rain on my wedding day, a day of happiness for me.
I will not allow you to teach my children that it is okay to hate and persecute without knowledge, or reason.
I QUIT.
Tuesday, 26 July 2011
Cheapskate Tuesday
Today I want your cheapskate ideas!
I'm still on my decluttering mission, and today I am in my lounge room. Which currently looks like this:
The decluttering I can manage, my problem (which I am requesting your help with) is that disgusting maroon/red wall. I can't make my living room look like I want to live in it. It's doing my head in and I cringe every time someone enters via the front sliding door, and that is the first thing they see. It's the only space in the house that I hate.
When cleaned and decluttered it doesn't look much better. The first thing I need to get rid of is the exceptionally huge and ugly tv. But even if I could afford to cover the wall in plasma screen it would still be all wrong.
To make matters worse, we rent, and I'm having trouble convincing my landlord to remove the great big dead tree that is threatening to fall on the house, let alone allow me to REPAINT the damn wall.
I will post some decluttered pictures later today, and I will be welcoming any and all cheapskate but stylish decorating ideas to help me fab up the ugliest room in the house.
I'm still on my decluttering mission, and today I am in my lounge room. Which currently looks like this:
 |
| Can you tell I've been working a lot? |
When cleaned and decluttered it doesn't look much better. The first thing I need to get rid of is the exceptionally huge and ugly tv. But even if I could afford to cover the wall in plasma screen it would still be all wrong.
To make matters worse, we rent, and I'm having trouble convincing my landlord to remove the great big dead tree that is threatening to fall on the house, let alone allow me to REPAINT the damn wall.
I will post some decluttered pictures later today, and I will be welcoming any and all cheapskate but stylish decorating ideas to help me fab up the ugliest room in the house.
Monday, 25 July 2011
I Hate Mondays
And I'm allowed to. In fact, most of the population of the world doesn't like them much either...
But I survived today, despite Frog insisting SHE was laying in bed this morning and MUMMY was bringing her coffee....
I didn't achieve what I wanted, I haven't vacuumed my floors, and there may still be suitcases remaining unopened in the laundry because I couldn't be bothered.
But hey, it's okay.....
Here's a few more things I'm okay about today:
- The happy dance I was breaking out when I arose from my slumber and realised "SCHOOL HOLIDAYS ARE OVER YIPPEEEEEEE!"
- Putting my favourite hat on because I couldn't be arsed trying to do something with my stupid hair. For the second day in a row.
- Pretending that me and my beanie are trendy, in an alternative kind of way..... instead of admitting I look like a dag.
- Letting Frog rock the "rudey bum!" look (her words) all arvo with the heater on instead of making her wear pants. Free range children have the most fun!
- Not shutting WonderMan's closet doors - which meant that Frog spent several hours climbing in and out and making a cubby with his neatly folded clothes.
- Not mentioning it to him so when he finds his favourite tshirt all crinkly and whines I can say "How about we spend the half a second to shut the doors then hmmmmm?" in a smarmy voice.
- Insisting WonderMan shaves before the hedgehog on his face jumps off and murders me in my sleep.
- Deliberately misinterpreting the smouldering look he's trying on me now he HAS shaved.... and asking him to stop squinting in that odd way...
- Drinking beer on a Monday. Because I had to drive a very tiddly WonderMan home from the city for FOUR HOURS yesterday and now it's my turn!
- Hating dishes so much I will offer to mow lawns and walk the dog for the rest of my life instead.
- Wishing fat women would not wear low riding jeans several sizes too small. If I want to stare at muffins I will visit a bakery.
- Wondering if the terminally ugly should be forced to only come out at night when there is no moon. Because Mondays just aren't made for someone ugly and stupid to be in front of you in the 15 items or less lane arguing about the 5c they want back for bringing their own bag (on their head).
- Writing up a contract and polishing my soul to ensure Frog will continue to sleep all night in her own bed.
Thursday, 21 July 2011
Cleaning Is Cheaper Than Therapy
I've just come back from a lovely weekend away.
A working weekend but if I hadn't been working we wouldn't have gone which would have meant I was in Hicksville for the weekend, doing nothing.
I enjoyed every minute of it. Even while I sat on the deck and exercised (my arm, by lifting my wine glass repeatedly).
I packed so well that it all fitted into my Astra without suffocating our children. The food was lovely, the wine was better, and EVERYWHERE made beautiful coffee. Except the place we grabbed one from as we left. That was a mistake, made better by stopping at the next pituresque town and getting a double shot supersized one to make up!
So I was feeling quite good by the time we got home.
I should have known my smile would trip the bitches radar.
Within ten whole minutes of arriving back in Hicksville and stopping to give SuperGranny and PA gigantic kidlet hugs, the bitch was on the phone demanding attention in the way only she can manage it. Full of lies and drama and insisting SG and PA shut their business and rescue her now.
The terror crept over me almost immediately. The gut churning desperate desire to pack my house and move to France.
I spent the rest of the day and half the night pacing, swearing, crying and wondering how soon I could be picking up a coffee in Charles de Gaulle.
Then I got up the next morning and my kitchen looked like this:
Only it was worse because I had huffily put away a whole heap of crap before remembering to take photos.
With my current state of angst it was like pushing daggers into my soul.
So I cleaned it. It took a whole day and much swearing at the idiot who decided lots of wood pannelling and decorative cornicing was a great idea. This was quite obviously not designed by the person who had to clean it, EVER.
Now it looks like this:
If you look inside my cupboards you will see utensils and containers arranged in neat orderly rows.
I discovered I had three melon ballers, two can openers, and some thingo I can't remember buying and don't know what it's for.
The bright flash in the middle picture is half of WonderMan in his goofy council shirt, which is brand new, and so bright I have to wear shades while he wears it.
He was telling his mate on the phone "The wife's having a hard time" which he could tell by the fact that I was obsessing over the fact that I had an uneven number of cleaning bottles, and I didn't know which one to throw out. And because I almost went into meltdown when he happened to lean on my fantastically polished bench.
WonderMan understands.
He's been around long enough to know that cleaning is my therapy. And judging by the shine off my kettle this morning, he knows I'm not doing so well.
This is my way of coping when the bitch sends me into a depressive, suicidal tailspin.
It's much cheaper than spending an hour on an ugly, uncomfortable button backed sofa while some idiot in thin glasses and even thinner lips tells me I had a traumatic experience in the womb.
You can tell how I feel by my determination to have my house looking like a magazine inside a week. Tiger has cottoned on and is currently hiding her possessions in her mattress. WonderMan is jumpy and refuses to sit still in case I suck him up with the Kirby.
And it's not going to get any better...... because it looks like the bitch is here to stay.
A working weekend but if I hadn't been working we wouldn't have gone which would have meant I was in Hicksville for the weekend, doing nothing.
I enjoyed every minute of it. Even while I sat on the deck and exercised (my arm, by lifting my wine glass repeatedly).
I packed so well that it all fitted into my Astra without suffocating our children. The food was lovely, the wine was better, and EVERYWHERE made beautiful coffee. Except the place we grabbed one from as we left. That was a mistake, made better by stopping at the next pituresque town and getting a double shot supersized one to make up!
So I was feeling quite good by the time we got home.
I should have known my smile would trip the bitches radar.
Within ten whole minutes of arriving back in Hicksville and stopping to give SuperGranny and PA gigantic kidlet hugs, the bitch was on the phone demanding attention in the way only she can manage it. Full of lies and drama and insisting SG and PA shut their business and rescue her now.
The terror crept over me almost immediately. The gut churning desperate desire to pack my house and move to France.
I spent the rest of the day and half the night pacing, swearing, crying and wondering how soon I could be picking up a coffee in Charles de Gaulle.
Then I got up the next morning and my kitchen looked like this:
 |
| WonderMan's dishes he promised to do |
 |
| The sideboard everyone thinks is a dustbin |
 |
| The table I wanted to sit at to eat my breakfast. |
With my current state of angst it was like pushing daggers into my soul.
So I cleaned it. It took a whole day and much swearing at the idiot who decided lots of wood pannelling and decorative cornicing was a great idea. This was quite obviously not designed by the person who had to clean it, EVER.
Now it looks like this:
 |
| Holy cow I can see my microwave! |
 |
| My super duper empty and polished bench. |
 |
| I actually have quite a bit of room here if people stop dumping their shit on it |
I discovered I had three melon ballers, two can openers, and some thingo I can't remember buying and don't know what it's for.
The bright flash in the middle picture is half of WonderMan in his goofy council shirt, which is brand new, and so bright I have to wear shades while he wears it.
He was telling his mate on the phone "The wife's having a hard time" which he could tell by the fact that I was obsessing over the fact that I had an uneven number of cleaning bottles, and I didn't know which one to throw out. And because I almost went into meltdown when he happened to lean on my fantastically polished bench.
WonderMan understands.
He's been around long enough to know that cleaning is my therapy. And judging by the shine off my kettle this morning, he knows I'm not doing so well.
This is my way of coping when the bitch sends me into a depressive, suicidal tailspin.
It's much cheaper than spending an hour on an ugly, uncomfortable button backed sofa while some idiot in thin glasses and even thinner lips tells me I had a traumatic experience in the womb.
You can tell how I feel by my determination to have my house looking like a magazine inside a week. Tiger has cottoned on and is currently hiding her possessions in her mattress. WonderMan is jumpy and refuses to sit still in case I suck him up with the Kirby.
And it's not going to get any better...... because it looks like the bitch is here to stay.
Wednesday, 20 July 2011
Blogger - I don't have the patience for this shit right now....
Blogger.com has just lost an entire blog post.
One I spent an hour on, including much uploading of pictures to demonstrate my fabulous cleaning ability (only brought to life when I am angsty and depressed).
I'm now cranky, angsty and depressed, and must scrub my bathroom sink before my head explodes.
We will try again tomorrow shall we? Minus the irritating stealing of my blog posts into random cyberspace hmmmmm?
One I spent an hour on, including much uploading of pictures to demonstrate my fabulous cleaning ability (only brought to life when I am angsty and depressed).
I'm now cranky, angsty and depressed, and must scrub my bathroom sink before my head explodes.
We will try again tomorrow shall we? Minus the irritating stealing of my blog posts into random cyberspace hmmmmm?
Tuesday, 19 July 2011
Cheapskate Tuesday
I'm getting good at this cheapskate thing...
But I'll let you in on a secret.... I HATE it. I want to spend money. On anything I like just because I like it and that should be bloody good enough. I want a new couch. I know mine still lets me sit on it without sagging, and is quite funky (and washable) but I have moved enough times to have an insane loathing of it that wells up every time I glance in it's direction and think of the backbreaking agony it has caused trying to fit it through doorways for the last five years.
WonderMan is with me on this. He does not like going shopping with me because I am a complete grocery Nazi. This does have it's advantages in that he stays home with the children while I shop in peace..... but it's not much fun considering the overwhelming stress of sticking to budget and not being able to afford pork or prawns even though they are my favourite foods.
I want to eat fancy cheese. Not homebrand cheddar in a kilo block cut into silly shapes to make me feel better when eating them on my on special rice crackers.
I LIKE esspresso coffee and dislike instant very much, but I drink instant every day because I haven't managed to justify the pennies I would spend on a coffee machine to grace my rented kitchen bench. I do use my budgeted spending money to buy coffee from my favourite cafe a couple of times a week, and yes I could put that money towards the above mentioned coffee machine from heaven but that would mean a LONG time between Cafe Mochas and I just don't think I have strength to survive it.
Fresh food is insanely expensive which is probably why I am struggling to lose weight. It's cheaper to bake biscuits than buy apples. About a third of the price in fact. It's cheaper to buy coke than milk. I live in Hicksville which means no Woolworths, Coles or Aldi for a minimum of 80kms, so I am not in any way benefiting from the price war *DAMN* I also watch Landline which means I feel guilty if I do happen to buy supermarket branded milk and imagine that I am causing farmers down the road to go on holiday to Queensland instead of France this year, which means more of them clogging up my supermarket aisles whinging about how poor they are. (And yes, I do understand the finances of farming, but when you drive a 2011 Landcruiser and just got back from Tahiti like most farmers where I live, you will forgive me my lack of sympathy.)
I am a fashion lover. Every day that I get up and I cannot afford a Fendi clutch KILLS me. I can't even afford to rent one and can't find anywhere to go out where someone might actually know what a Fendi is even if I could. I want cashmere sweaters and silk summer frocks. I want peep toe heels in every colour of the rainbow. I want to buy WonderMan a Rolex, and a Triumph. So that he can look smouldering and sexy before handing me the keys and letting me take it for a ride....
I know that simply going back to work, and saving pennies off my grocery bill will not achieve this. Neither will forgoing my weekly Mocha, which for anyone around me would be a considerable health risk. But it would be nice to be able to go on holiday and not have a "daily spending budget" to ensure we don't go broke half way through and have to eat the grass outside our tent. It would be nice to buy some wardrobe items that matched because they were bought in the same season instead of two years apart, which is about how often we are able to afford new clothes.
I want some fancy in my life.
I want to go to the theatre. And the movies. And to lunch with my friends. I want my kids to not have to be told "no" because we can't afford what everyone else has, I would like the choice of telling them yes or no based on how much I think they really need it or whether I object to it for some made up reason that it's every parents perrogative to have.
A lot of my love of fancy stems from living in a place where ugg boots and Adidas trackies are considered the height of fashion. It must have a label or people treat you like dirt. And no, not the kind of label I'm talking about (like Chanel, or Scanlan and Theodore) they are obsessed with Billabong and Nike, and spend their lives between the pub and the local footy club. Put on a pair of Jimmy Choo heels and (god forbid) a frock, and people stare at you like you grew two heads. Suggest dinner and tickets to a cabaret performance and their brains visibly start melting.
This is why I find it so hard being a cheapskate. Because I don't want the big house and the new car that everyone assumes I want. It's a lifestyle I'm missing.... and the funds to enable us to move to a place where we can enjoy the things we love - like coffee, and wine, and good music. With people who understand that it's not about ensuring yours is bigger and better than what everyone else has - but having access to the things that make life an enjoyable experience.
I would enjoy the heck out of a Fendi clutch I can tell you.
But I'll let you in on a secret.... I HATE it. I want to spend money. On anything I like just because I like it and that should be bloody good enough. I want a new couch. I know mine still lets me sit on it without sagging, and is quite funky (and washable) but I have moved enough times to have an insane loathing of it that wells up every time I glance in it's direction and think of the backbreaking agony it has caused trying to fit it through doorways for the last five years.
WonderMan is with me on this. He does not like going shopping with me because I am a complete grocery Nazi. This does have it's advantages in that he stays home with the children while I shop in peace..... but it's not much fun considering the overwhelming stress of sticking to budget and not being able to afford pork or prawns even though they are my favourite foods.
I want to eat fancy cheese. Not homebrand cheddar in a kilo block cut into silly shapes to make me feel better when eating them on my on special rice crackers.
I LIKE esspresso coffee and dislike instant very much, but I drink instant every day because I haven't managed to justify the pennies I would spend on a coffee machine to grace my rented kitchen bench. I do use my budgeted spending money to buy coffee from my favourite cafe a couple of times a week, and yes I could put that money towards the above mentioned coffee machine from heaven but that would mean a LONG time between Cafe Mochas and I just don't think I have strength to survive it.
Fresh food is insanely expensive which is probably why I am struggling to lose weight. It's cheaper to bake biscuits than buy apples. About a third of the price in fact. It's cheaper to buy coke than milk. I live in Hicksville which means no Woolworths, Coles or Aldi for a minimum of 80kms, so I am not in any way benefiting from the price war *DAMN* I also watch Landline which means I feel guilty if I do happen to buy supermarket branded milk and imagine that I am causing farmers down the road to go on holiday to Queensland instead of France this year, which means more of them clogging up my supermarket aisles whinging about how poor they are. (And yes, I do understand the finances of farming, but when you drive a 2011 Landcruiser and just got back from Tahiti like most farmers where I live, you will forgive me my lack of sympathy.)
I am a fashion lover. Every day that I get up and I cannot afford a Fendi clutch KILLS me. I can't even afford to rent one and can't find anywhere to go out where someone might actually know what a Fendi is even if I could. I want cashmere sweaters and silk summer frocks. I want peep toe heels in every colour of the rainbow. I want to buy WonderMan a Rolex, and a Triumph. So that he can look smouldering and sexy before handing me the keys and letting me take it for a ride....
I know that simply going back to work, and saving pennies off my grocery bill will not achieve this. Neither will forgoing my weekly Mocha, which for anyone around me would be a considerable health risk. But it would be nice to be able to go on holiday and not have a "daily spending budget" to ensure we don't go broke half way through and have to eat the grass outside our tent. It would be nice to buy some wardrobe items that matched because they were bought in the same season instead of two years apart, which is about how often we are able to afford new clothes.
I want some fancy in my life.
I want to go to the theatre. And the movies. And to lunch with my friends. I want my kids to not have to be told "no" because we can't afford what everyone else has, I would like the choice of telling them yes or no based on how much I think they really need it or whether I object to it for some made up reason that it's every parents perrogative to have.
A lot of my love of fancy stems from living in a place where ugg boots and Adidas trackies are considered the height of fashion. It must have a label or people treat you like dirt. And no, not the kind of label I'm talking about (like Chanel, or Scanlan and Theodore) they are obsessed with Billabong and Nike, and spend their lives between the pub and the local footy club. Put on a pair of Jimmy Choo heels and (god forbid) a frock, and people stare at you like you grew two heads. Suggest dinner and tickets to a cabaret performance and their brains visibly start melting.
This is why I find it so hard being a cheapskate. Because I don't want the big house and the new car that everyone assumes I want. It's a lifestyle I'm missing.... and the funds to enable us to move to a place where we can enjoy the things we love - like coffee, and wine, and good music. With people who understand that it's not about ensuring yours is bigger and better than what everyone else has - but having access to the things that make life an enjoyable experience.
I would enjoy the heck out of a Fendi clutch I can tell you.
Wednesday, 13 July 2011
You Guys Make My World Go Round
Seriously, you all rock, in a mega way.
Every one of you who takes the time to read my crazed ramblings on an (almost) daily basis. Everyone who doesn't run away screaming when you see my gazillion Facebook status updates. Who listen to me bear my soul, pour out my heart and laugh life shit at the snooty people I meet everyday.
The ones who rock up on my doorstep in the afternoon, knowing that what I told you was only half the truth, with a bag of groceries in hand and a smile on your face.
The ones who pop up and say "HI!" when you feel like you must have relocated to Mars due to lack of human contact.
The ones who make stupid faces at you through the window as they drive past.... or crack you up while they scan you're shopping at the supermarket, making you laugh so hard you almost pee, which is better than a pill from the doctor any day.
The ones who hold your hand when things are tough. Who don't waste words with no meaning, just give you a squeeze that says it all, and don't mind if you snot on their good shirt.
The ones who appreciate your kids, and assure you that they are mpre beautiful, intelligent, and downright funny than any others (except their own of course!)
The ones who know what I mean when I shout "Hey dickhead, beers tonight? I will charcoal something for us to dine on, sweeeeeeet"
The ones who are just quietly there, that I might not seem to notice, believe me I do. You are every day in my heart, and I just want to say I love you.
The ones who fall off their chairs with you while watching Rodney Carrington. (If you have never fallen off your chair watching this you have a heart of stone.)
The ones who pick you up when you fall over in your stacked heels you insisted on wearing, despite the fact that there were $3 cocktails and you had to walk a kilometre to home...
The ones who don't snigger at you when they rock up and you are in your pamda pyjamas, but want to know where you got them so they can rock it bedhead style just like you.
You know who you are.... but you might not know just how much you mean to me.
I LOVE YOU THIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIS MUCH!
Just thought you should know xx
Every one of you who takes the time to read my crazed ramblings on an (almost) daily basis. Everyone who doesn't run away screaming when you see my gazillion Facebook status updates. Who listen to me bear my soul, pour out my heart and laugh life shit at the snooty people I meet everyday.
The ones who rock up on my doorstep in the afternoon, knowing that what I told you was only half the truth, with a bag of groceries in hand and a smile on your face.
The ones who pop up and say "HI!" when you feel like you must have relocated to Mars due to lack of human contact.
The ones who make stupid faces at you through the window as they drive past.... or crack you up while they scan you're shopping at the supermarket, making you laugh so hard you almost pee, which is better than a pill from the doctor any day.
The ones who hold your hand when things are tough. Who don't waste words with no meaning, just give you a squeeze that says it all, and don't mind if you snot on their good shirt.
The ones who appreciate your kids, and assure you that they are mpre beautiful, intelligent, and downright funny than any others (except their own of course!)
The ones who know what I mean when I shout "Hey dickhead, beers tonight? I will charcoal something for us to dine on, sweeeeeeet"
The ones who are just quietly there, that I might not seem to notice, believe me I do. You are every day in my heart, and I just want to say I love you.
The ones who fall off their chairs with you while watching Rodney Carrington. (If you have never fallen off your chair watching this you have a heart of stone.)
The ones who pick you up when you fall over in your stacked heels you insisted on wearing, despite the fact that there were $3 cocktails and you had to walk a kilometre to home...
The ones who don't snigger at you when they rock up and you are in your pamda pyjamas, but want to know where you got them so they can rock it bedhead style just like you.
You know who you are.... but you might not know just how much you mean to me.
I LOVE YOU THIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIS MUCH!
Just thought you should know xx
Tuesday, 12 July 2011
It's Not Freaking Fair!
What about me!
Today I am going to have a mega whinge. Because I think I am bloody well due for one, and because even though I can complain with the best of you, I'm not one for sulking about my situation day after day, or carrying around a great big "It's everyone elses fault" chip on my shoulder.
The reason behind this is that I have been waiting for my pay from my new job for four days after they said they paid it.
I've reached the limit of my "last resort" meals and ways to conjure up $4 for a bottle of milk. We have not eaten bread for six days. I seriously need that pay.
Why haven't I been paid? Because some people can't tell the difference between a Super Choice form and a bank account number. I hadn't given them my bank account number, but assumed I had and had forgotten because I was told I'd been paid. Cue the waiting for several days and hoping like hell the bank would sort out it's shit and drop some money into my severely depleted account.
Today I have woken up with an overdrawn bank account, no milk, bread, meals, eggs, or nappies in the house, and a FINAL DEMAND letter on my doorstep.
FFS - I'm seriously on the edge because this is just the latest in a life long series of cock ups that I have no control over.
To give you an idea of why I'm so deseperately upset over this last one, let's take a look at some of the things that have happened to me over the last ten years.... and for which I am not actually responsible (yes I know, it sounds like one of those It-couldn't-possibly-be-my-fault scenarios but please bear with me and try to understand).
I was a single mother for quite a few years, after suffering an extremely abusive relationship for two years before that. Which meant I was the number 1 customer of good old Centrelink (social security for those overseas) for quite a time. Even when I was working full time and child care brought up Tiger, I still had to report earnings and fill in forms every fortnight to receive my very much needed top up which meant we had clothes on our backs instead of flour sacks.
During 8 years of dealing with Centrelink, they have randomly cut off my payments with no warning and no apparent reason at least 30 times. I'm not kidding you. When I was relying on benefits and desperately searching for a job (because I HATE living on welfare, and refused to be that feral girl we all know, chewing gum, smoking and swearing and whining about the government not paying me enough to sit on my arse) they cut my payments off at least five times in six months. I spent my entire life on the phone to their call centres trying to find out what the hell was going on.
When all you have is a meagre benefit going into your account every fortnight, it has to be there on time. There's no chance for mucking about. If it's not there, you can't pay your rent and the eviction notices start arriving. You can't do the shopping so your child survives on rice bubbles and scrambled eggs for a week, which doesn't make for a happy toddler. You sit in the dark because the power company couldn't care if you have been paid or not. The phone company cuts you off so you can't ring Centrelink to find out why you are starving. It's not fun. At one point I got so sick of them telling me I hadn't filled in a form I had never been sent, that was completely unrelated to my situation, and I had in desperation filled in and posted, faxed and filled in on the internet at least three times - that I put my last $20 in my car and drove the 200km (one way mind you) to the closest Centrelink office and delivered it by hand. I got a letter the next week saying I was no longer eligible because I hadn't filled in the form. And it would be six weeks before I could apply for more benefits. You can imagine my reaction.
Years later and they still stop paying me my family allowance randomly without warning whenever they feel like it. It's a complete joke.
Despite my Centrelink troubles I scrimped and saved my heart out to buy a car, because it was getting ridiculous trying to push a pram the 1km from my house to the street in the pouring rain. On the day I bought my car I took it for a drive as I had an appointment in the next town, and 15 minutes into the trip it blew up the engine completely with no warning.
The car dealership I had picked it up from that morning "didn't have time" to send their tow truck to get me. My father had to close his business to waste hours towing me back to town at 40km an hour.
Then they wanted me to pay for the replacement engine, despite them obviously not doing the "thorough vehicle check" they assured me had shown no issues. I came to an agreement about the amount I was willing to pay towards a brand new engine, and ate at my mothers for two weeks to afford it.
Two days after I got it back it started making an awful noise and I discovered the front wheel was about to fall off, after they reused some very essential locking nuts that are meant to be thrown away after you break the lock.
Six months later my "brand new engine" blew up. Then my clutch.
Good luck to the guy I sold it to, he probably never made it home!
My next car was bought by my then partner, after taking out a substantial joint loan that refinanced his existing car loan and added the new car to it. Fine, except that I never wanted the bloody awful station wagon, and it was cursed with more problems that I can count, and none of which were ever fixed despite my partner being a mechanic, and the car being bought from the dealership at which he worked. It regularly ran out of fuel while telling me it had half a tank to go. It performed strange movements when attempting to turn left. And the gearbox had a gremlin which shifted all the gears into a different order as it wished. All this in a car less than ten years old!
He spent hours and hours over a year apparently "playing with my car to see if he could fix it". I have a funny feeling he was playing with anything he could get his hands on, except for the gearbox that so desperately needed fixing.
During the break up, I got left with the car, and the entire loan, which included the $4000 we had refinanced form his car. Four years on and I am still paying it. I was forced to refinance after he insisted on ringing up and requesting a mailed statement on the account every week (at a cost of $25 a pop). After two months of that malarky I had lost my patience.
My car dies regularly about every six months. And because we own two cars this means approximately the time I finish paying the mechanics bill for the first car I am three months late on the bill for the second one and the first dies again.
Tiger's school sneakers disintergrated a couple of weeks ago, a week before I started working and the same fortnight that I paid all my bills up to date, and rationed every potion of food in the house so that we didn't get into serious financial trouble. The cheapest pair I could find were $50. I had an overdrawn bank account, and no shoes to put on my child's feet so she could go to school. SuperGranny stepped in to help, otherwise Tiger would have spent two days at home with a "cold" until payday.
Even though we have medicare I have just received a bill that is 60 days overdue (despite never receiving the original bill) for a trip to the A & E at the hospital and an xray on WonderMan's hand. Including a charge for "overtime". A & E visits are supposed to be fully covered by Medicare, and should not be charged through the doctor's surgery. It's a public frickin hospital for heaven's sake! Apparently I owe them $291 ($170 of it the overtime charge) and have seven days to pay even though I've never seen it before.
This fortnight I only did a week's shopping and paid all the bills because I knew my new job's pay would go in at some time about in the middle of the pay fortnight. It's the end of the fortnight tomorrow and I haven't got my pay and even http://www.supercook.com/ has run out of recipes for me to create with the one potato and two eggs I have in the house.
WHY IS IS ALWAYS FREAKING ME??
You would think that after ten years something would go right occasionally.
But there are a million more examples I can give you, and with the knowledge that if it can't be fixed today I have to go and suck up to SuperGranny for a little help (AGAIN) you will understand why I've had quite a major "IT'S NOT FAAAAAAIIIIIRRRR!" meltdown this morning.
If it can go wrong for me it will. For those of you who have lived throught he new computer saga with me you will understand my meaning.
It will rain when my hair is perfect. I will be going out when it sticks up like a deranged cockatoo.
Frog will decide to crawl on the wet lawn when I was supposed to be at work ten minutes ago, and will walk down the road instead of getting in the damn car to go to daycare. Then the daycare ladies will frown at me, and no doubt ring me up halfway through the day, to tell me Frog is sick and I must collect her, and when I get her home realise she is not sick at all they are just bitches.
The amount of money in my purse decreases phenominally every time Tiger has something she has to pay for at school, in relation to how many minutes late she is.
The tax office finds some way of taking my entire tax return every year, despite everyone I know who is in relatively the same situation getting thousands. What the F*** did I ever do to those ATO pricks?
We will have to PAY WonderMan's work to allow him to take holidays after the million times he has taken time off for various illnesses, injuries, and random "supposedly helping me but causing blood vessels to burst instead" moments.
My doctor pays no attention to anything I have to say and isists I am just FAT. I am a little overweight, I am working on that quite seriously, but that has no relation to the insane symptoms I have been telling him about for six months. My former doctor now practices 400kms away and I will have to go to him just to get some help. Because I really have the time or money to take a trip like that for a half hour doctor's consult..... yeah.
It's Not Fair. And that's all I have to say.
Today I am going to have a mega whinge. Because I think I am bloody well due for one, and because even though I can complain with the best of you, I'm not one for sulking about my situation day after day, or carrying around a great big "It's everyone elses fault" chip on my shoulder.
The reason behind this is that I have been waiting for my pay from my new job for four days after they said they paid it.
I've reached the limit of my "last resort" meals and ways to conjure up $4 for a bottle of milk. We have not eaten bread for six days. I seriously need that pay.
Why haven't I been paid? Because some people can't tell the difference between a Super Choice form and a bank account number. I hadn't given them my bank account number, but assumed I had and had forgotten because I was told I'd been paid. Cue the waiting for several days and hoping like hell the bank would sort out it's shit and drop some money into my severely depleted account.
Today I have woken up with an overdrawn bank account, no milk, bread, meals, eggs, or nappies in the house, and a FINAL DEMAND letter on my doorstep.
FFS - I'm seriously on the edge because this is just the latest in a life long series of cock ups that I have no control over.
To give you an idea of why I'm so deseperately upset over this last one, let's take a look at some of the things that have happened to me over the last ten years.... and for which I am not actually responsible (yes I know, it sounds like one of those It-couldn't-possibly-be-my-fault scenarios but please bear with me and try to understand).
I was a single mother for quite a few years, after suffering an extremely abusive relationship for two years before that. Which meant I was the number 1 customer of good old Centrelink (social security for those overseas) for quite a time. Even when I was working full time and child care brought up Tiger, I still had to report earnings and fill in forms every fortnight to receive my very much needed top up which meant we had clothes on our backs instead of flour sacks.
During 8 years of dealing with Centrelink, they have randomly cut off my payments with no warning and no apparent reason at least 30 times. I'm not kidding you. When I was relying on benefits and desperately searching for a job (because I HATE living on welfare, and refused to be that feral girl we all know, chewing gum, smoking and swearing and whining about the government not paying me enough to sit on my arse) they cut my payments off at least five times in six months. I spent my entire life on the phone to their call centres trying to find out what the hell was going on.
When all you have is a meagre benefit going into your account every fortnight, it has to be there on time. There's no chance for mucking about. If it's not there, you can't pay your rent and the eviction notices start arriving. You can't do the shopping so your child survives on rice bubbles and scrambled eggs for a week, which doesn't make for a happy toddler. You sit in the dark because the power company couldn't care if you have been paid or not. The phone company cuts you off so you can't ring Centrelink to find out why you are starving. It's not fun. At one point I got so sick of them telling me I hadn't filled in a form I had never been sent, that was completely unrelated to my situation, and I had in desperation filled in and posted, faxed and filled in on the internet at least three times - that I put my last $20 in my car and drove the 200km (one way mind you) to the closest Centrelink office and delivered it by hand. I got a letter the next week saying I was no longer eligible because I hadn't filled in the form. And it would be six weeks before I could apply for more benefits. You can imagine my reaction.
Years later and they still stop paying me my family allowance randomly without warning whenever they feel like it. It's a complete joke.
Despite my Centrelink troubles I scrimped and saved my heart out to buy a car, because it was getting ridiculous trying to push a pram the 1km from my house to the street in the pouring rain. On the day I bought my car I took it for a drive as I had an appointment in the next town, and 15 minutes into the trip it blew up the engine completely with no warning.
The car dealership I had picked it up from that morning "didn't have time" to send their tow truck to get me. My father had to close his business to waste hours towing me back to town at 40km an hour.
Then they wanted me to pay for the replacement engine, despite them obviously not doing the "thorough vehicle check" they assured me had shown no issues. I came to an agreement about the amount I was willing to pay towards a brand new engine, and ate at my mothers for two weeks to afford it.
Two days after I got it back it started making an awful noise and I discovered the front wheel was about to fall off, after they reused some very essential locking nuts that are meant to be thrown away after you break the lock.
Six months later my "brand new engine" blew up. Then my clutch.
Good luck to the guy I sold it to, he probably never made it home!
My next car was bought by my then partner, after taking out a substantial joint loan that refinanced his existing car loan and added the new car to it. Fine, except that I never wanted the bloody awful station wagon, and it was cursed with more problems that I can count, and none of which were ever fixed despite my partner being a mechanic, and the car being bought from the dealership at which he worked. It regularly ran out of fuel while telling me it had half a tank to go. It performed strange movements when attempting to turn left. And the gearbox had a gremlin which shifted all the gears into a different order as it wished. All this in a car less than ten years old!
He spent hours and hours over a year apparently "playing with my car to see if he could fix it". I have a funny feeling he was playing with anything he could get his hands on, except for the gearbox that so desperately needed fixing.
During the break up, I got left with the car, and the entire loan, which included the $4000 we had refinanced form his car. Four years on and I am still paying it. I was forced to refinance after he insisted on ringing up and requesting a mailed statement on the account every week (at a cost of $25 a pop). After two months of that malarky I had lost my patience.
My car dies regularly about every six months. And because we own two cars this means approximately the time I finish paying the mechanics bill for the first car I am three months late on the bill for the second one and the first dies again.
Tiger's school sneakers disintergrated a couple of weeks ago, a week before I started working and the same fortnight that I paid all my bills up to date, and rationed every potion of food in the house so that we didn't get into serious financial trouble. The cheapest pair I could find were $50. I had an overdrawn bank account, and no shoes to put on my child's feet so she could go to school. SuperGranny stepped in to help, otherwise Tiger would have spent two days at home with a "cold" until payday.
Even though we have medicare I have just received a bill that is 60 days overdue (despite never receiving the original bill) for a trip to the A & E at the hospital and an xray on WonderMan's hand. Including a charge for "overtime". A & E visits are supposed to be fully covered by Medicare, and should not be charged through the doctor's surgery. It's a public frickin hospital for heaven's sake! Apparently I owe them $291 ($170 of it the overtime charge) and have seven days to pay even though I've never seen it before.
This fortnight I only did a week's shopping and paid all the bills because I knew my new job's pay would go in at some time about in the middle of the pay fortnight. It's the end of the fortnight tomorrow and I haven't got my pay and even http://www.supercook.com/ has run out of recipes for me to create with the one potato and two eggs I have in the house.
WHY IS IS ALWAYS FREAKING ME??
You would think that after ten years something would go right occasionally.
But there are a million more examples I can give you, and with the knowledge that if it can't be fixed today I have to go and suck up to SuperGranny for a little help (AGAIN) you will understand why I've had quite a major "IT'S NOT FAAAAAAIIIIIRRRR!" meltdown this morning.
If it can go wrong for me it will. For those of you who have lived throught he new computer saga with me you will understand my meaning.
It will rain when my hair is perfect. I will be going out when it sticks up like a deranged cockatoo.
Frog will decide to crawl on the wet lawn when I was supposed to be at work ten minutes ago, and will walk down the road instead of getting in the damn car to go to daycare. Then the daycare ladies will frown at me, and no doubt ring me up halfway through the day, to tell me Frog is sick and I must collect her, and when I get her home realise she is not sick at all they are just bitches.
The amount of money in my purse decreases phenominally every time Tiger has something she has to pay for at school, in relation to how many minutes late she is.
The tax office finds some way of taking my entire tax return every year, despite everyone I know who is in relatively the same situation getting thousands. What the F*** did I ever do to those ATO pricks?
We will have to PAY WonderMan's work to allow him to take holidays after the million times he has taken time off for various illnesses, injuries, and random "supposedly helping me but causing blood vessels to burst instead" moments.
My doctor pays no attention to anything I have to say and isists I am just FAT. I am a little overweight, I am working on that quite seriously, but that has no relation to the insane symptoms I have been telling him about for six months. My former doctor now practices 400kms away and I will have to go to him just to get some help. Because I really have the time or money to take a trip like that for a half hour doctor's consult..... yeah.
It's Not Fair. And that's all I have to say.
Monday, 11 July 2011
MONDAYITIS!
Monday is my Friday this week!
So by my reckoning, that means I get two Fridays this week...
Pity every day of the last two weeks has felt like flipping Monday! I feel like I am battling permanent Mondayitis as I wade through my ever fuller diary and try to feel in control of everything. Which I am so very not, and couldn't be more disorganised if you sent a tornado through my house and my head.
Even so I got out of bed (at the excruciating hour of 5:45am) with much enthusiasm knowing that it was my last day of week this week. By work I mean paid work.... work for which I must iron my pants, put on my face, and be on time.
WonderMan made me coffee, and Frog raced up the hallway to tell me at jet engine volume level "MUMMY! CUPPAS TIME NOW! GET UP NOW MUMMY! CUPPAS READY!" The usual.
WonderMan trotted off to work just before good old Waybuloo, meaning it was Mummy who was required to get down on the hardwood floor on her knees to do Yogo with Jojo (kitted out in some rather fetching panda pyjamas!).... I did manage to get up after my third try.
Tiger got out of bed without requiring the use of a crowbar, a sure sign that it is school holidays.
After making the obligatory quick-oats and hot chocolate milks I attempted to sit down to enjoy my second cup of caffienated joy when Frog decided that today was the day to be a complete and utter pest, beginning with refusing to use a spoon and scooping her oats into her mouth with her fingers. Although into her mouth is probably not accurate.... more dripping all over the table and making pretty patterns, with the odd oat occasionally making it's way into her mouth via her hair.
YUK. I really didn't have time to convince her to have a bath, or once she was in there to coax her out again! I pulled out the baby wipes and thanked the powers that be that I hadn't got her (or me!) dressed before brekky.
Tiger went off and got dressed in record time (again, it's definitely holidays!) and I tried to dress Frog. And tried...... and tried................. and tried................................. and tried.............
She ran away and giggled, shouted "NO! I don't like get dressed!", pulled off the pants I managed to put her in as she bolted past, and finally - ran up the hallway, yanked off her nappy and mooned me before disappearing with much hysterical toddler giggling.
*SCREAM*
I gave up and got myself ready, all the while calling out to Frog in the hope she would eventually relent and change that "NO DON'T LIKE IT!" to "Of course mummy darling, anything for you".
She did brush her teeth, but clothes were not happening.
In desperation, and with fifteen minutes to drop off the kidlets to SuperGranny and get my butt to work, I pulled out my best one armed grab, lined up her clothes and launched her into them before she knew what was going on, or had a chance to pull them off again.
You can understand why I'm glad I don't have to go to work any more this week. One morning of it exhausted me!
Tomorrow I will still be working, however I will be attired in my artistically crumpled Panda PJ's and matching bedhair - sitting at my sewing machne with WonderMan supplying coffe at regular intervals, and making sure the fire is at hearth melting temperatures all day long. Yes, you read correctly, WonderMan is at home for yet another week, after an accident in a piece of machinery today, managing to damage the muscles at the top of his neck. (I'm starting to wonder if doctors get paid a commission on WorkCover certificates because they seem to hand them out like jellybeans here.)
And if Frog doesn't want to get dressed I'm quite happy for her to rock the nude butt trend all day, as long as she's not waving it at me from the end of the hallway......
So by my reckoning, that means I get two Fridays this week...
Pity every day of the last two weeks has felt like flipping Monday! I feel like I am battling permanent Mondayitis as I wade through my ever fuller diary and try to feel in control of everything. Which I am so very not, and couldn't be more disorganised if you sent a tornado through my house and my head.
Even so I got out of bed (at the excruciating hour of 5:45am) with much enthusiasm knowing that it was my last day of week this week. By work I mean paid work.... work for which I must iron my pants, put on my face, and be on time.
WonderMan made me coffee, and Frog raced up the hallway to tell me at jet engine volume level "MUMMY! CUPPAS TIME NOW! GET UP NOW MUMMY! CUPPAS READY!" The usual.
WonderMan trotted off to work just before good old Waybuloo, meaning it was Mummy who was required to get down on the hardwood floor on her knees to do Yogo with Jojo (kitted out in some rather fetching panda pyjamas!).... I did manage to get up after my third try.
Tiger got out of bed without requiring the use of a crowbar, a sure sign that it is school holidays.
After making the obligatory quick-oats and hot chocolate milks I attempted to sit down to enjoy my second cup of caffienated joy when Frog decided that today was the day to be a complete and utter pest, beginning with refusing to use a spoon and scooping her oats into her mouth with her fingers. Although into her mouth is probably not accurate.... more dripping all over the table and making pretty patterns, with the odd oat occasionally making it's way into her mouth via her hair.
YUK. I really didn't have time to convince her to have a bath, or once she was in there to coax her out again! I pulled out the baby wipes and thanked the powers that be that I hadn't got her (or me!) dressed before brekky.
Tiger went off and got dressed in record time (again, it's definitely holidays!) and I tried to dress Frog. And tried...... and tried................. and tried................................. and tried.............
She ran away and giggled, shouted "NO! I don't like get dressed!", pulled off the pants I managed to put her in as she bolted past, and finally - ran up the hallway, yanked off her nappy and mooned me before disappearing with much hysterical toddler giggling.
*SCREAM*
I gave up and got myself ready, all the while calling out to Frog in the hope she would eventually relent and change that "NO DON'T LIKE IT!" to "Of course mummy darling, anything for you".
She did brush her teeth, but clothes were not happening.
In desperation, and with fifteen minutes to drop off the kidlets to SuperGranny and get my butt to work, I pulled out my best one armed grab, lined up her clothes and launched her into them before she knew what was going on, or had a chance to pull them off again.
You can understand why I'm glad I don't have to go to work any more this week. One morning of it exhausted me!
Tomorrow I will still be working, however I will be attired in my artistically crumpled Panda PJ's and matching bedhair - sitting at my sewing machne with WonderMan supplying coffe at regular intervals, and making sure the fire is at hearth melting temperatures all day long. Yes, you read correctly, WonderMan is at home for yet another week, after an accident in a piece of machinery today, managing to damage the muscles at the top of his neck. (I'm starting to wonder if doctors get paid a commission on WorkCover certificates because they seem to hand them out like jellybeans here.)
And if Frog doesn't want to get dressed I'm quite happy for her to rock the nude butt trend all day, as long as she's not waving it at me from the end of the hallway......
Saturday, 9 July 2011
Saturday Sillies
I've had quite an amusing day so far....
Frog woke me up early, somehow cuddled up to me despite having her own entire bed, room and walk in robe I would kill for...... Her day started with quite a lot of wriggling next to mum, who obviously didn't appreciate the brilliance of 5:53 am and needed some subtle hints to realise it was day time and therefor sleep was no longer needed.
I tried my hardest, but failed miserably in my enthusiasm - rolling over and prodding WonderMan in the hope he would either A) get up, light the fire, play with Frog and let me sleep or B) at least make me a very strong coffee before I lurched out of bed.
Neither of these two things happened. *FAIL*
Instead, Frog started playing with my hair and pushing on my earrings - all the time proclaiming "Mummy pwetty eawwings! Frog have pwetty eawwings?" and trying to pull them out without worrying about what happened to Mummy's actual EARS in the process.
So I reluctantly turned over and attempted to convince her that she really wanted a sleep in. "Okay Mummy, Frog sleepys now" *WIN*
*FAIL*
Snuggling down to sleep wasn't as simple as I thought. It involved much tossing and turning, dramatic sighing, tugging at the quilt and finally shouting "MUMMY! MINE BLANKETS!" and insisting on having them all.
So it was time to get up and start my day..........
Frog jumped out of bed with WonderMan and made plenty of noise in the kitchen "helping" him make Mummy's coffee. This included numerous trips up the hallway to stand at my bedroom door and shout "Mummy's cuppa! Up now cuppas time!"
I would like to say I jumped out of bed and skipped down to the kitchen to greet the day brightly from my kitchen window.... but sadly I find my nose starting to grow just thinking about it.
Instead I EMERGED immersed in my usual morning cloud and groped blindly for my delightful ducky dressing gown which is supposed to make me feel bright and cheery and just makes me want to know how much prozac i would need to be as damn cheery as those duckies....
I was ordered down the hallway by Frog and her insistence that I hurry up and drink my cuppa right that second, and the second I sat down shouted "No Mummy! Frog brekky! Frog eat brekky now, mummy getit!" Then Tiger got up and Frog spent the next hour frantically running around insisting that every single movement, breath or blink was "MINE BLINK! NO TIGER BLINK!
*GROAN*
Frankly I was so happy to go to work I almost broke out the happy dance before 9am!
Work was an absolutely frantic 3 hours of mayhem, but noone shouted "Mine breathing" once and there's always the knowledge that you will clocking off from work at some point of the day, unlike toddlers......
And I discovered that the creature in bare feet and a beard is actually a woman, bringing to a close a long running and quite heated debate.
Now I'm home for my one whole afternoon off this weekend, with a cuppa in hand and Ebay to amuse me in between being climbed on by Frog who still wants my earrings.....
WonderMan is baking with one hand while pushing back the seagulls with the other, and trying to work out how to give them equal licks of the spoon.....
The majority of the housework is done, the fire is keeping my toes toasty and so far noone has required a trip to the after hours clinic at the hospital....
All is right with the world.....
Frog woke me up early, somehow cuddled up to me despite having her own entire bed, room and walk in robe I would kill for...... Her day started with quite a lot of wriggling next to mum, who obviously didn't appreciate the brilliance of 5:53 am and needed some subtle hints to realise it was day time and therefor sleep was no longer needed.
I tried my hardest, but failed miserably in my enthusiasm - rolling over and prodding WonderMan in the hope he would either A) get up, light the fire, play with Frog and let me sleep or B) at least make me a very strong coffee before I lurched out of bed.
Neither of these two things happened. *FAIL*
Instead, Frog started playing with my hair and pushing on my earrings - all the time proclaiming "Mummy pwetty eawwings! Frog have pwetty eawwings?" and trying to pull them out without worrying about what happened to Mummy's actual EARS in the process.
So I reluctantly turned over and attempted to convince her that she really wanted a sleep in. "Okay Mummy, Frog sleepys now" *WIN*
*FAIL*
Snuggling down to sleep wasn't as simple as I thought. It involved much tossing and turning, dramatic sighing, tugging at the quilt and finally shouting "MUMMY! MINE BLANKETS!" and insisting on having them all.
So it was time to get up and start my day..........
Frog jumped out of bed with WonderMan and made plenty of noise in the kitchen "helping" him make Mummy's coffee. This included numerous trips up the hallway to stand at my bedroom door and shout "Mummy's cuppa! Up now cuppas time!"
I would like to say I jumped out of bed and skipped down to the kitchen to greet the day brightly from my kitchen window.... but sadly I find my nose starting to grow just thinking about it.
Instead I EMERGED immersed in my usual morning cloud and groped blindly for my delightful ducky dressing gown which is supposed to make me feel bright and cheery and just makes me want to know how much prozac i would need to be as damn cheery as those duckies....
I was ordered down the hallway by Frog and her insistence that I hurry up and drink my cuppa right that second, and the second I sat down shouted "No Mummy! Frog brekky! Frog eat brekky now, mummy getit!" Then Tiger got up and Frog spent the next hour frantically running around insisting that every single movement, breath or blink was "MINE BLINK! NO TIGER BLINK!
*GROAN*
Frankly I was so happy to go to work I almost broke out the happy dance before 9am!
Work was an absolutely frantic 3 hours of mayhem, but noone shouted "Mine breathing" once and there's always the knowledge that you will clocking off from work at some point of the day, unlike toddlers......
And I discovered that the creature in bare feet and a beard is actually a woman, bringing to a close a long running and quite heated debate.
Now I'm home for my one whole afternoon off this weekend, with a cuppa in hand and Ebay to amuse me in between being climbed on by Frog who still wants my earrings.....
WonderMan is baking with one hand while pushing back the seagulls with the other, and trying to work out how to give them equal licks of the spoon.....
The majority of the housework is done, the fire is keeping my toes toasty and so far noone has required a trip to the after hours clinic at the hospital....
All is right with the world.....
Friday, 8 July 2011
TGIF!
As I wake up today knowing when WonderMan gets home tonight I will still be working, and have four days of work to go while he stays home for the weekend..... I have a few things I am grateful for to get me through....
- Frog did not quite cough herself to death last night and seems to be in a good mood, despite not being able to go to kindy.
- Granny is an angel and despite being exhausted herself, she is at this minute padding the house and stocking up on wine so she can look after Frog all day and afterwards we can both have a well earned drink!
- There is still wine in the world!
- Now I'm working I can afford to buy some of that wine... even if I can't yet afford to live on a diet of cosmopolitans and mojitos...
- Tiger isn't sick (YET)
- WonderMan works normal people hours and will be able to keep the home fires burning, and make soup for me to sip while moaning about bed when I drag myself home each day.
- I have dry work clothes and at this point my tumble dryer still works, so none of us will be going naked in this freezing bastard weather
- It doesn't snow here
- There's only 1 1/2 months left of winter
- I don't have to work in the rain, I work in a warm cosy shop and all i have to do is press one whole button to stay warm all day instead of cutting down my neighbours trees and smothering myself in whale blubber....
- It's school holidays after today which means sleeping in (depending on Frog of course) and only getting out of my pyjamas if it is esential I go down the street or to work. Visitors will find me curled up on the couch for two weeks and are welcome to make their own coffee, raid the biscuit tin, and join me in their fluffly tweety bird feet slippers!
Thursday, 7 July 2011
I'm back!
Oh my darling bloggy type fans..... I have missed you! *air kisses*
I have been sitting in front of the (finally materialised) new fancy schmancy netbook which is my latest love, since lunchtime yesterday... and I still don't know where to start... considering I assumed (stupid me) that I was only going to have a short break while waiting on delivery of my new computer..... 10 weeks later...... and I've lost the thread of anything I was trying to say when I started blogging a few months ago.
Right now I'm sitting at my local op shop shop where it is ICY COLD despite running the heaters flat out since I arrived. And where I have seen one person in one hour, and she was waiting for the other op shop to open. *yawn*
Why am I here? Let me explain.....
You may remember me ranting (for quite a while probably, there may have been spit involved) about the fact that I couldn't get a job. That I felt unequal in my relationship, taken for granted as in "mum will do it so why should I", and that I was going completely and utterly batty being within the four walls of my house each and every day, which was why I could be regularly found at my friend's houses participating in extreme coffee drinking and gossiping whilst declaring it "Housework Avoidance Day".
Well I decided I couldn't continue this way and decided to put my self taught sewing talents to good use by (after much debate) starting up a handmade home business. Visit a few markets, sew in my spare time, doing something I loved and making myself feel better about my enforced SAHM situation.
So I've spent the last few months sewing up a storm and preparing for the beginning of the market season. I am supposed to be heading off in a WEEK and I am nowhere near ready....( I will be taking No-Doz and living off double shot espressos for a few days so best to stay out of my way!)
It's taken a fair amount of time and in the meantime I was still looking for some part time work to give us a steady income, simply so that we had something that could loosely be termed "disposable income" at the end of the fortnight, instead of fighting off the very patient call centre workers who don't mind when I cry every time they ring.
Then I decided to make my time even more valuable.....
I had the opportunity to do something I had been passionate about for a long time but had no chance to do.... I travelled to the big city at very short notice to attend Zumba instructor training, figuring if I wanted it so bad out here in Hillbilly Hell I better get off my bum and organise it! I've been busting my butt in my loungeroom ever since, trying to be prepared for an hour of making other people happy and fit while not falling over and dying myself.....
But there's been a bit of a hitch in this plan...
On my four hour drive to the big city the night before my training I received a phone call from an employer I had totally forgotten I had applied to work for. You guessed it, just as I was looking at making my own way I had a job. A short term contract for a few months, but requiring quite a lot of work during those few months. It would make me busy, but was not unachievable.
YAY WORK!
I was doing the happy dance all day and night, and felt like I was on top of the world. Somebody finally wanted me for something, I would be making real money for my efforts! Christmas would get a much needed boost this year.
Hang on, is that my phone ringing??
It was, with news that the opshop I had offered to volunteer at (because I was at home doing nothing and felt like I lived on Mars due to lack of human contact) needed me. Thankfully on a day Frog attends daycare so I was happy to slot it into my diary.
And then the phone rang again.
Yeah, you guessed it. I got a job. Another one. Excited jumping up and down and then the realisation hit.... my diary only has so many spaces..... and I think most of them are already full.
Cue the insane juggle that my life has been over the last two weeks.
I "change jobs" at least twice a day. At 3pm when I close the op shop for the day, I will be doing a light speed dash to the supermarket to provide something for WonderMan to cook for dinner, and pick up coffee for me so that I don't fall asleep during the 4 1/2 hours of ballet I about to go and teach. Then I will come home and sew flowers, hot glue fabric rings (and probably my fingers) and fight some errant bias binding so I'm somewhat organised for next week's market. And in between I may gulp some dinner while completing my home study exercise for my contract and ironing my clothes for work tomorrow.
WonderMan doesn't know what has hit him (and doesn't know how close he came to being fatally hit after the week I have just endured, of which I will spill details when I can get them into some sort of order in my scrambled up head). He is being sat down twice a week and ordered to "synchronise his diary" so I have some assurance he won't forget the kids when he comes home from work a full two hours before I do.
I feel like I'm insane.... but at the same time I finally feel alive for the first time since I gave up work to move away with WonderMan. My brain is switching back on, and even though it's a struggle to work out how to greet a customer without my default setting of toddler speak, I am loving every single minute of the craziness.
And I think I may actually be slightly fit, due to my determined Zumba wiggling and insisitence that I will be ready to start teaching very soon. Maybe I won't be needing those spanx pants so often from now on......
I have been sitting in front of the (finally materialised) new fancy schmancy netbook which is my latest love, since lunchtime yesterday... and I still don't know where to start... considering I assumed (stupid me) that I was only going to have a short break while waiting on delivery of my new computer..... 10 weeks later...... and I've lost the thread of anything I was trying to say when I started blogging a few months ago.
Right now I'm sitting at my local op shop shop where it is ICY COLD despite running the heaters flat out since I arrived. And where I have seen one person in one hour, and she was waiting for the other op shop to open. *yawn*
Why am I here? Let me explain.....
You may remember me ranting (for quite a while probably, there may have been spit involved) about the fact that I couldn't get a job. That I felt unequal in my relationship, taken for granted as in "mum will do it so why should I", and that I was going completely and utterly batty being within the four walls of my house each and every day, which was why I could be regularly found at my friend's houses participating in extreme coffee drinking and gossiping whilst declaring it "Housework Avoidance Day".
Well I decided I couldn't continue this way and decided to put my self taught sewing talents to good use by (after much debate) starting up a handmade home business. Visit a few markets, sew in my spare time, doing something I loved and making myself feel better about my enforced SAHM situation.
So I've spent the last few months sewing up a storm and preparing for the beginning of the market season. I am supposed to be heading off in a WEEK and I am nowhere near ready....( I will be taking No-Doz and living off double shot espressos for a few days so best to stay out of my way!)
It's taken a fair amount of time and in the meantime I was still looking for some part time work to give us a steady income, simply so that we had something that could loosely be termed "disposable income" at the end of the fortnight, instead of fighting off the very patient call centre workers who don't mind when I cry every time they ring.
Then I decided to make my time even more valuable.....
I had the opportunity to do something I had been passionate about for a long time but had no chance to do.... I travelled to the big city at very short notice to attend Zumba instructor training, figuring if I wanted it so bad out here in Hillbilly Hell I better get off my bum and organise it! I've been busting my butt in my loungeroom ever since, trying to be prepared for an hour of making other people happy and fit while not falling over and dying myself.....
But there's been a bit of a hitch in this plan...
On my four hour drive to the big city the night before my training I received a phone call from an employer I had totally forgotten I had applied to work for. You guessed it, just as I was looking at making my own way I had a job. A short term contract for a few months, but requiring quite a lot of work during those few months. It would make me busy, but was not unachievable.
YAY WORK!
I was doing the happy dance all day and night, and felt like I was on top of the world. Somebody finally wanted me for something, I would be making real money for my efforts! Christmas would get a much needed boost this year.
Hang on, is that my phone ringing??
It was, with news that the opshop I had offered to volunteer at (because I was at home doing nothing and felt like I lived on Mars due to lack of human contact) needed me. Thankfully on a day Frog attends daycare so I was happy to slot it into my diary.
And then the phone rang again.
Yeah, you guessed it. I got a job. Another one. Excited jumping up and down and then the realisation hit.... my diary only has so many spaces..... and I think most of them are already full.
Cue the insane juggle that my life has been over the last two weeks.
I "change jobs" at least twice a day. At 3pm when I close the op shop for the day, I will be doing a light speed dash to the supermarket to provide something for WonderMan to cook for dinner, and pick up coffee for me so that I don't fall asleep during the 4 1/2 hours of ballet I about to go and teach. Then I will come home and sew flowers, hot glue fabric rings (and probably my fingers) and fight some errant bias binding so I'm somewhat organised for next week's market. And in between I may gulp some dinner while completing my home study exercise for my contract and ironing my clothes for work tomorrow.
WonderMan doesn't know what has hit him (and doesn't know how close he came to being fatally hit after the week I have just endured, of which I will spill details when I can get them into some sort of order in my scrambled up head). He is being sat down twice a week and ordered to "synchronise his diary" so I have some assurance he won't forget the kids when he comes home from work a full two hours before I do.
I feel like I'm insane.... but at the same time I finally feel alive for the first time since I gave up work to move away with WonderMan. My brain is switching back on, and even though it's a struggle to work out how to greet a customer without my default setting of toddler speak, I am loving every single minute of the craziness.
And I think I may actually be slightly fit, due to my determined Zumba wiggling and insisitence that I will be ready to start teaching very soon. Maybe I won't be needing those spanx pants so often from now on......
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