I'm not dead or anything

Just still waiting for my laptop charger to arrive. THIS is why I NEED an iPad.

Losing An Arm and various other events...

Its been two days and I need my new laptop charger now. NOW PLEASE. It's really starting to get to me. My iPhone is great but there are so many things that are difficult, or just plain impossible to do with it. Although it seems to be simple to lose half a blog post... As I discovered ten minutes ago... It performs that function quite well. I am also struggling with making it put my line breaks in, so there's posts read like I'm frothing and twitching and raving like a madwoman. Although... I have been known to look like that occasionally... When speaking to people from call centres where Common Sense is definitely not their first language. Im also badly overachieving. My ironing is looking swamped by the basket, not the other way around. I've baked multiple batches of yumminess and even managed to put dinner on early tonight. I made it to my sewing machine and have stitched up a storm. Plans for Tigers birthday are well under way. But I'm also getting quite niggly. Especially at WonderMan. Who simply refuses to believe that I'm niggly because he's being an arse and instead insists I am on a permanent PMS trip or pregnant. Fat chance of THAT lover boy... If you can't open the dishwasher I can't open my lady garden... Simple. These things annoy me all the time but are exacerbated by my inability to find something else to do. I have books but it's hard to pretend I'm working when I've got my feet up on the coffee table and my coffee in hand perusing the leaves. Can someone PLEASE tell me how to code the line breaks in. Just reading these posts is making me edgy. I kept forgetting to pause and take a breath. I would do dark and terrible things to have that laptop charger in my hands right now...

For Fucks Sake Friday - The Valentines Edition

Valentines? What valentines? FFS. It was my birthday this week. I got: NOTHING FFS. We're broke again. FFS. The turtle doesn't like it's turtle food. It's fussier than the toddler. FFS. Despite much trying I managed to do zero housework and zero baking today. FFS. Frog went to sleep at school pick up as usual, and stayed asleep until 7pm. According to her, it's tomorrow already. FFS. Our dog never barks and is zero trouble. Next door has a dog that barks half the night. I know because their back verandah is at my top bedroom window height and if turn over in bed the fucker starts with the barking. FFS. It's Tigers birthday in nine days and so far I have printed the invites. FFS. I volunteered for a daycare market day and WonderMan sends me a text saying he's working this weekend. FFS. He only sent it after it was too late to ring and say I couldnt make it. FFS. He could tell me this but didn't bother to say he would be late home so I've been in anxiety land all evening. FFS. He had all the money and I needed to go to the shops to get stuff for tea. FFS. The kids ate sultanas and anything else I could scrounge and I made a whatever I could find pasta at 9pm after waiting for him. FFS. He doesn't get why I'm so upset at him. FFS. He's gone off 1000kms away tonight, and won't be back until Sunday night at the earliest. FFS. He's going somewhere he doesn't know, doing this job for the first time and the new boss has told him if he makes a mistake it's his job. FFS. Mums making me feel terrible about her coming up here for Tigers birthday next weekend. Because somehow it is further from there to here then from here to there. FFS. I got a letter from her for my birthday and all she did was whine about her hard life. I struggled not to rip it up. FFS. I'm typing this on my iPhone because my laptop charger does after working perfectly this morning. FFS. Even though it's being replaced for free it will take a week to get here. FFS. Frog has come up with some kind of UTI and is howling non stop, and I can't do anything about it at 1:12am. FFS. The stupid cat is back again yowling at my door. FFS. It's Saturday already, this kid won't sleep and the dog next door has started barking again. FFS. I have no chocolate. FFS. Linked up with Dear Baby G.

It's My Birthday And I'll Bitch If I Want To

Yeah yeah it's my birthday.

And it's supposed to be all sunshine lollipops and fucking rainbows but all I want to do is hit someone.

Because my birthday is the one that gets overlooked. Forgotten, thrown on the shelf.

It doesn't help that school's just gone back. Or that Tiger's birthday is in ten days and I still haven't organised anything. Or that I have a trip to Hicksville to be planned for.

Or that WonderMan has changed jobs again. I sometimes wonder if he will ever stick to a job for more than five minutes. It makes it very hard to build a life when you are constantly panicking about whether his shitty mood when he came home is going to translate to another job hunt. 

The change of job and pay dates means I'm put behind in my bills again because I can't magic money out of nowhere. I'm so sick of trying. Between him and his old stupid arsehole boss, they've put us right back where I was when I started this blog. Fucking broke and fucking depressed.

A year on and I get up in the morning wondering why I'm still doing this. 

And again my birthday comes and goes with barely a mention. In fact, if I hadn't mentioned it, no one would even have noticed. Not even my nearest and dearest, and all they could manage was a lousy text message. 

Tiger would have remembered. She's good like that. But given the fact that she has absolutely zero money and zero opportunity, the best she can manage is convincing Frog to sit still and squiggle some pictures on a homemade card. Which I love so very very very very much, they made me want to cry and laugh and kiss them a million times over.

And yes, the love of my children should be all I want but it's not dammit.

I want a birthday like other people.

One where I am treated like gold, and spoiled, and fussed over. Not a text saying "Hey sweety I hope your day is great" which is the same as I get Every. Fucking. Day. 

I want a present. One I have not asked for, saved for or bought myself in the throes of the depression caused by "Sorry sweety, I promise I'll get you something good later."

Why am I not worth spoiling? Why am I not worth more than a stupid card grabbed off a shelf, that, despite all it's cheap nasty appearances, is supposed to somehow make me all smushy inside. And I suspect was supposed to get me to put out on my own birthday as well.

Fuck you.

I want us NOT to be broke on my birthday. 

I want someone to go without for months and fucking months to buy me something awesome. Like I do for all of them.

I want someone to care enough to actually show it.

Stop talking about it. All your talk is hurting me, stabbing my heart because I know it's not the truth. That it will never ever be anything but words.

Happy fucking birthday to me.

Of biscuits and playgrounds, and new additions.

Come say hi...

His Name is "Splash".

He is teeny weeny and his habitat cost me more than a day's pay.

I am forgiving him because he has amazing powers of toddler sleep coercion.


This weekend was a little bit shit. Especially Sunday.


Tiger pushed every button I had and then hit the "Lose your freaking mind" one to top it all off. After a mild explosion we took a big deep breath and made some biscuits.

And we took some to the park, just because.

Fresh air made me feel better. But I can't go on the swings because A) my legs are too short and it's an unknown risk asking WonderMan to gently push me so I can swing, and B) I've discovered it puts pressure on my broken butt, and then I can't walk. This made me sad. It didn't stop WM having a good go though.

Frog made some random friends.

We went walking...

 
We went garage sale hunting...

And this made me giggle enough to shift some of my funk, before I went back to work today.
 

I'm still giggling. 

Happy Monday.

FFS Friday - the Are You Kidding Me? Edition

Right. So we're here. We're (mostly) unpacked. One kid at school, one started daycare part time, hubby in his new job. Things should be good right?

Well, mostly.

There's been a few tear my hair out, blood boiling, "Are You Fucking KIDDING MEEE??" moments. More than a few.

Cue ranty tanty.

Tiger took to her new school like a duck to water, after I did a "drop and go" on the first day because she's in year 5 and I figured she didn't need mummy to hold her hand. It was a confidence building experience, with much behind the scenes love.

She seemed happy and enthusiastic, but it was not going to last. Last Friday she came down with our nasty flu and I kept her home from school, emailed her teacher. All good. I asked vaguely for her diary all weekend... and got very suspicious on Monday morning when I was STILL asking for the fourth time. Turns out there was a bad behaviour note written in it. 

FFS

She had been hiding it from me deliberately which is something I get really riled about. My rules have always been "I don't care what you did but for god's sake own up and tell the truth". It seems none of this has got through, at all.

FFS

Turns out that wasn't the first note. She actually removed one which was sticky taped in on the SECOND DAY. And it involved harassment of another student, something she's never done before. And it took me at least three goes to get the truth from her, because it seems lying is the new black.

FFS

 Frog has screamed for almost two weeks straight. From angel to screaming demon spawn in point oh five seconds.

FFS

Her sleeping has suffered badly... well in truth MY seeping has suffered badly as she keeps hopping into our bed at midnight. I expected a bit of trouble with the big move, but unfortunately she is now big enough that I don't fit, and she wriggles INCESSANTLY. 

FFS

WonderMan had to start a new job this week, meaning slightly more travel, putting paid to my idea of getting up early in the morning for a stagger run. If I want to I would have to be running at 5:30am and that is the stupidest thing I have ever heard of.

FFS

His boss decided WonderMan really needs his B-Double licence ASAP. Meaning long days, long trips, and nights away. Exactly what I have been desperately trying to get him to avoid.

FFS

I am pretty sure I am developing serious anxiety just thinking about it. Some stupid hawkers banged on the door two days ago and I am STILL trying to stop the panic attacks they caused by giving me visions of policemen on the doorstep with their hats in their hands. They are very lucky I was too beside myself to murder them.

FFS

 I had a 2pm appointment at the doctor yesterday. At 3:40 I barreled out the door twenty minutes late for my appointment at the school. 

FFS

The first teeny tiny step on the road to putting my body back together starts with two follow ups, one xray, and one day surgery procedure. This is going to take A VERY LONG TIME.

FFS

WonderMan seems to have forgotten that I don't take that chauvinist pig, I-worked-eight-hours-I-now-get-to-sit-on-my-arse-all-night bullshit.

FFS

He has taken exactly ZERO responsibility for house, dog, kids, life since the move. I hate nagging. But I'm not going to do the job for him because them it becomes my job and he will never do it again. EVER.

FFS

He also seems to have forgotten that my wallet doesn't have a genie in it and is acting like all our financial problems are magically solved. He's been going through it at an insane rate. At this stage I am going to have to open secret accounts and start giving him pocket money like he's four years old. I really don't need another child thank you.

FFS

I've been very calm and grown up about most things so far. But if he rolls his eyes at me one more time when I say "We need to talk about some stuff" there WILL be murder done.

FFS

 A cat has decided it belongs to us and keeps hanging around. The dog thinks it's a playmate, and half heartedly woofs and scoots around after it only when he sees the murderous glint in my eyes as I shout "FFS what kind of guard dog ARE you!?!?"

FFS

Well that was cheaper than MOFO therapy.

This post is linked up with Dear Baby G

Being a Girl Is Too Much Work

Stupid, fiddly, time wasting work.

Here's my big confession - I have NO IDEA about beauty. None. Hair do's, make up, manis, pedis.... it's all just mumbo jumbo to me.

I WANT to know. But not really having friends as I went through high school and beyond, having babies and being poor have all taken their toll.

I can see the finest of wrinkles ready to appear. I have grey hairs on top of my head. But at the same time I'm still struggling with the most sentsitive, acne prone skin ever.

I need help.

Unfortunately, help mostly seems to come at a ridiculous price... and you can never be sure what will work. It's such a gamble. Years of visits to "skin specialists" have taught me it's more about pushing the new thing than what's actually good for me.


Aside from that I have a few basic beauty tools... I have a hair straightener. All I can manage with it is a dead straight, you-could-cut-metal-with-this-edge look, or the half-ironed-shirt-crinkle. Neither of them very stylish. 


I don't have curling tongs, and even if I did I have no idea how to use them either.


What's a pedi?


I first had my eyebrows waxed when I was twenty seven years old.


That tells you how bad this situation is.


Now, I can't afford beauty school, or a team of people to make me gorgeous before I get out of bed.


And I'm becoming aware of how much the waxing, mani, blow wave, can impact on my shoe obsession.


So today I enrolled in the "How Hard Can It Be?" school of home beauty.

Starting with a leg waxing kit.


I'm not sure if WonderMan is running a book yet, but I would give ten to one odds on light maiming within the first week.


At any rate I'm sure it will make for some good laughs at my attempts to become a girl.


How hard can it be?

I thought of you while I was scrubbing my toilet this morning...

I told you my writing happens while I'm cleaning. 

It arrives unannounced and swirls around in my brain in time with the swish of my broom.

It gathers speed as I tidy and tuck, settling into a rythym with the hum of the vacuum cleaner.

Today my thoughts invariably were about the tasks my hands were performing.

Questions were banging against my skull, yammering for answers.

As I went through my routines, almost on auto pilot, I wanted to know what other people were thinking as they scrubbed and swept, mopped and washed.


What motivates you when you're cleaning?


Do you daydream, or are you totally focused on the task at hand?

What's your favourite cleaning music?

What is the one thing you have to do each day, even if you only have five minutes?


Which job can you leave for another day, and which irritates you if it's not done regularly?

Is there something your partner does or doesn't do that drives you up the wall?


What is your favourite domestic task?


I clean because I crave order. Life is crazy busy, with a 9yo, 2yo, full time working husband, me working part time, a dog, family and friends.... I'm also quick to be brought down by the overwhelming tasks ahead of me. So I'm motivated by the need to keep myself happy, and a simple way to do this is to wake up to a sparkling sink and a sense of some kind of order, so I can go about my day feeling fresh and relaxed, not dusty and grumpy.


I am a dreamer - cleaning is something I can do with my hands without having to engage my brain, leaving it free to wander and think uninterrupted. I work through my stresses, I stumble upon ideas and creativity, I write letters, blog posts, chapters of unfinished novels in my head.


I love a good dancing tune, but sometimes I need silence, with just the hum of the washing machine.


I must make my bed each day. My mum always told me to do this, but when I was younger and just out of home I was swayed by the "I'm only going to sleep in it again" school of thought. When I look back on it now I can see how much of an impact that made on my thinking and feelings during that time. I can tell when I haven't made my bed now. I can't settle to a task, or I forget important things. I make my bed every morning before I leave my room and it sets my organised brain in motion. I'm still crazily absent minded, but I achieve so much more.

I love to iron but I don't mind putting it off for a day if I don't have time. I just do some each night and don't sweat it. It seriously irritates me if I don't clean the toilet every second day. I also love a sparkling clean mirror, so I can practice my duck faces.

I hate it when WonderMan leaves whiskers on the sink. How hard is it to rinse? I know he hates the fact that my hair moults continuously and can be found in every corner of the house, but I fail to see how that affects him the same. It's not like he has to wash his face in the carpet, like I do in the sink.


The one task I don't like to hand over control of is the laundry. Washing and ironing are MY THING. I used to follow my mother around and beg her to let me help with the washing every weekend. Despite having limited time and patience she eventually gave in and let me help. I graduated from ironing hankies and tea towels to dad's work shirts before I was in high school. I love fresh sunshiney sheets. When people say "What one thing makes you feel like you're home" it's the smell of the steam from my grandmother's flat iron.

 I've often said when I grow up I want to be a cross between Hyacinth Bucket and Mrs Slocumbe...  yesterday I answered the door to some irritating energy salesmen in my best clothes plus apron, with my gloves firmly in one hand. I try not discourage these blights on the face of humanity because they give me a chance to practice my haughty voice. 


I think I might be on track for this eventuality, don't you think?

The Fresh Horses Brigade

We decided to take the kids out to explore the district on Saturday which means we missed the inception of Edenland's Fresh Horses Brigade meme... and it took me a very long time to work out what all the fuss was about when we got back.

Plus I didn't want to let Eden know that I had missed her big announcement and was not avidly following every word that came out of her gorgeous mouth every second of the day.

BUSTED.

So to make up I wrote her a letter. You can read it too.

If you want to be in my Random Happiness Delivery address book just zip me an email with your address... and one day the postie will bring you some real mail too!

And Eden, I promise to faithfully stalk your blog and twitter feed from now on, and never ever miss a momentous occasion again... even if I have to give up eating and showering. Okay not the showering.... oh who am I kidding not the eating either.... but nevertheless I will be watching you....

What do you mean it's Sunday again?

I didn't even notice Friday... 

And I've managed to miss a couple of days of blogging yet again, so I'm falling back into this odds and ends routine I'm trying to hard to shake... I need a little consistency but the days just pass me by in a flurry.


I am composing a plethora of posts and ideas in my mind, mostly while I vacuum. The soothing hum and just enough noise to drown out the kids shrieking is the perfect atmosphere for daydreaming and creativity. 

I need a portable voice recorder to take down my ramblings at a moment notice. In fact, my iPhone undoubtably does this so I should really work out how to use it to avoid the blank spaces that appear when I've finished the housework and sit in front of the computer.

Because I can tell you, the posts I write while I'm scrubbing the shower are freaking awesome.

That just never make it to here. 


*SIGH*

Up and down like a yoyo on crack.

That title.. right there... yeah up there... that's me.

I know there is something wrong. Much more wrong than being generally stressed and depressed by the shitty ride our lives have been over the last couple of years.

Plus my body seems to be going the way of a cheap Chinese car left on a beach for a year.  
Bits are rapidly falling apart.

On my to do list is making a doctors appointment this week.

I'm wondering if you are able to book a doctor by the day because when I started writing down all the things I wanted to ask about... I had to use a second page.

For real.

Recurring nightmares of the trauma of Frog's birth.

The fall out from four years of getting poorer and poorer and all the important people in our lives dying.

Every time I'm on the brink of an epic nervous breakdown someone else has one and I am forced to rescedule. I'm now living forever on the brink. I can't find the trigger for the meltdown part anymore. I wish I could, then I could get it over and done with and get better.

Freaking out about open doors, open blinds, lights left on, things that go bump in the night. And I mean cold sweat freaking. 


Pain.


So much freaking pain. Here, and here, and there, and sometimes there, and if I do this, this stops hurting and that starts.


And let's not forget the broken bottom, or the epidural injury that makes everything else so much more complicated.

Being almost 30 and still having crappy skin issues.


My hair falling out a lot. 

A microesiotopic right eye. (Try and pronounce THAT after a few drinkies...)

Permanent tension type headaches.


Occasional migraines, but not enough to mean I get preventative medication. 


Contraception.


Weight loss.


Far OUT.


I am a mess.


I should just scrap this body and start again.

Most days I just get up and get on with life. But when you are halfway across the street and your leg decides not to work anymore you know you really should stop sucking it up and be a princess for a while.

I'm not sure whether the doctor will praise me for my monumental strength of character, or have to excuse himself to go and have a quiet giggle to the receptionist about the crazy woman who has so many knots in her yoyo string, small animals could make nests in it.

Either way, it's going to be like trying to untangled the rigging on Richard Hammond's Vietnamese Galleon.


I hope he's good at puzzles.


*NB I'm not being emo, I'm actually suprisingly upbeat today because WonderMan got a new job so there is a lot less stress for the moment. I am on the upswing.... but the downs are long and dark and scare me to death, so I've told you in the hope you kick my arse if I forget my doc appointment.