10 Ways you know you were a teen in the late 80s and early 90s in Hobart.....

I was just listening to some Veruca Salt and feeling a little nostalgic after I read an article on teens in the 90s - some of it made no sense to me, I was totally in my 20s when I cried over Dawson, Joey and that other dude with the big head.

Then I realised I was a cusp child!  I straddled the 80s and the 90s!  Plus I lived in Hobart which was technically 16 years behind the mainland and 24 behind the rest of the world (except New Zealand....)

Brain started clicking over and the hazy memories came back to me

So here is my list;

You know you're a cusp 80s/90s Teenager of Hobart if;

1.  You stopped using Impulse 'Captivation' deodorant and switched to the pump spray 'Norsca' because of CFCs and the ozone layer

2. You ate chips with strawberry chili sauce at Salamanca Market every Saturday you could

3. You spent time at Aeroplane Records thumbing through the vinyl even though you didn't have a record player

4. You bought your clothes mainly at Myer Miss Shop, Sportsgirl or Cherry Lane because there really wasn't anywhere else

5. You didn't ever go down the water slide at the Clarence Pool because someone told you a pissed off person had stuck razor blades in the joins

6.  You tried to get in to Phantom every Saturday night, or at least that's what you told people when you weren't there

7. You are of the generation that went from paper based MTT bus passes to the plastic tickets that got sucked into a machine that made a weird regurgitating noice

8. Unless you lived past the flannel curtain you never went further north than Creek Road without your parents for fear of being accosted by a chigger

9. There was more than one Parthenon Souvlaki bar and you ate at all of them

10.  You had no idea which was City Hall and which was Town Hall so you just followed to crowd to see RatCat (you still don't know which is which, so you followed the crowd to take your kid to the Play School Concert.....)

Amirite or Amirite!

Feel free to add more Hobartians!

From Teen Emmely....

What a shit present.......

Wedding Anniversaries.  They happen every year.  That's good.

I think I may have written about it last year as we  marked 15 years of married life.  16 years doesn't even have a traditional gift attached to it, unless you continue searching and you come across Topaz or hollowed silver (Easter Eggs?).

So this year we're lying in bed, I'm typing this and Simon is teasing our six year old by repeating everything she says until she bursts into tears.  You've got to find the fun where you can.

I bought Simon a present and he didn't buy me one (don't worry I'll make that work to my advantage later), I bought him some radox,bath salts because it's green like Topaz, amirite?  No I'm wrong, apparently Topaz isn't green.  Anyway he reckons we don't buy each other presents, but I think he's recalling our Valentines Day agreement in error.

I've been trying to remember all the gifts I've bought him over the years, but am struggling to think of anything and then I remembered........ I remembered the gift I gave him on our 11th Wedding Anniversary......

Some of you may know this story.

It was a relatively not balmy evening in March, the 7th to be exact.  We found ourselves in a local Italian eatery. Eating Italian.

It was only average food, kind of disappointing.  I had a couple of champagnes, they were above average.  We were a little tipsy so decided to walk the shortish distance home - I know where you think this story is going and you couldn't be more wrong.

We were about half way there and I felt an uncomfortable tightening in my tummy and some rather big cramping rumbles.  Happily chatting away I stepped ahead of Simon and gave him the first of my anniversary gifts - a thundering toot I knew he'd appreciate, because you know, married.

We laughed.  But only for a short while.

The painful feeling in the depths of my bowels was not alleviated.  In fact the expulsion of the offending gas bubble had only made things worse.   I had to hasten our pace because I really needed to get home.

We were nearing an intersection, getting closer to home but still a few blocks away.  It was here that I knew I wasn't going to make it.

I was running now.  But it was too late, I yelled at Simon

'She's gonna blow'

Then I found a spot at the rear entrance of a local club, a couple of steps down from the road and relatively hidden amongst some trees.  I stood.  I mentally prepared for what was going to happen. I had the foresight to kick my shoes off, they were new and I didn't want them full of shit.

Then I let go.  I released the beast.  I prepared for the feeling of warm liquid oozing down my leg.  To my surprise and relief the expelled matter remained tightly contained in my undies.

Being our wedding anniversary I had donned the obligatory 'sexy undies' to my initial chagrin they'd been a size or so too small, but I had soldiered on and to my great fortune this is what saved myself and my clothes from being completely soiled - they now in fact held the contents of my bowels.

Meanwhile Simon was running away from me down the street 'I'll get your Mum' he yelled from a distance.

'Why don't you just call her?' I yelled back.

He reluctantly returned and waited with me for Mum to arrive and pick us up.  She obviously thought I had explosive out of each orifice style gastro or something because she bought every towel in the house with her, either that or she was concerned about the upholstery in her Micra.

I sat in the front seat holding myself up with my hands, because to sit down pushed the warm liquid up my back.  It was an awkward silence and a horrendous smell that filled the car.  I'm 99.9% sure Simon had his whole torso out the window - the micra must have looked like a weird clown car - a midget driving (sorry Mum), a passenger half out the car and an odd acrobat not sitting but levitating in the front seat.

I waddled into the house, Simon ran around after me lighting matches.  Dad was there helping Mum babysit the kids, he left quicksmart on the guise of going to pick our car up for us. He couldn't look me in the eye.....

I showered.  Simon and I sat in silence for a while and vowed not to talk about it for at least a year.  I did ask why he thought running to get Mum was quicker than calling, he admitted he panicked and the flight part of his brain kicked in, I forgave him.

So Radox bath salts seems like an infinitely better gift this year - even if it is the wrong colour.

The SUV Diaries: A coming of age tale

I took my two little peeps on a road trip today.  I was pretty proud of the fact I said we were going to leave at 9.30am and we actually did!  Wouldn’t happen on a school day, holidays are the tits!

Letting your eldest sit in the front however, opens you up to being critiqued by a minor;

Why are you going around that car / Shouldn’t you have indicated then / I don’t think you’re supposed to do that

I pulled out a Dad line:

“When you get your license you can make comment as much as you like, until then zip your lip sonny”

He countered with an irritatingly teenagery line:

“Yeah well, when I get my license I think I’ll drive better than this.”

Touche.

I only braked sharply on purpose a couple of times, the hopes of only giving him a minor case of whiplash.But instead I got more lip; 

“gee Mum, are you sure you’re right to drive, ooh ow, you did it again.”

Completely baseless criticisms aside, I discovered it’s really awesome to sing super loudly all together to the same song! 

We worked our way through Charlie’s playlist on his iPod.  Disturbingly I somehow know all the words to Beauty and the Beat – and not just the Justin part (which I am freaking pitch perfect at, everyone agreed), but I can Nicki Minaj it up with any 5 year old that may care to take me on. 

“Beauty from the streets, we don’t get deceased every time a beauty on the beats….” Boom, take that Beliebers!  (oooohhhhhh body rock…… let me feel your body rock…)

I had forgotten that I had (thankfully) interspersed some of my music onto Charlie’s play list, it was magic to my ears when some Beastie Boys piped up.  What was not magic to my ears was listening to them bickering about what the ‘sound’ was in the middle of Shake your Rump

“It’s someone doing a wee’

“No it’s someone filling a bottle with oil”

“Nah it really is someone doing a wee”

“No, oil into a bottle”

‘Wee”

“Oil”

“Wee”
 

It took all of my inner strength and fortitude as a parent to not scream at them;

“It’s a bong, it’s a fucking bong ok, someone is smoking a bong, do you guys even listen to the lyrics???”

But thankfully some Rita Ora or something came on and we sang about someone’s ex girlfriend resting in peace even though she wasn’t actually dead.  Good times.

It felt refreshing to have some semi grown up time with them, car trips used to be about making sure we had enough wipes and nappies in arms reach, snacks a plenty and making road kill sacrifices to the sleep gods in an effort to persuade them to send our babies off to the land of nod. But being older and able to hold their bladders, they can chat and sing and play car games the whole way. It was, dare I say it, fun!

Of course that was only on the way down…..  no one really wanted to get back into the car to return.  Suddenly promises of me harmonising with the Beibs wasn’t as enticing as it was earlier and I still feel a little insulted that they asked me to turn the music up and my voice down.

Anywho, I made them run around like loons at our destination, in an effort to wear them out enough so they go to bed at a reasonable time tonight (school holidays shouldn’t ruin my evening adult time, but it just does…..)

Unfortunately I forgot to take into consideration the one and a half hour drive home………

 

 
Dammit, yes she slept the whole way back.  She is now rejuvenated and will be up until at least 10pm.

Brother / Sister hood of the screaming pants

School holidays.

Day 1:   I’ve been hiding under my doona watching shit on the internet.

I’ve willingly been sucked into the YouTube wormhole – it always starts with a bit of Dr Phil, then somehow I move on to watching the worst auditions for X Australian got voice talent idol factor, that’s good for at least 15 minutes until I get so sick of the judges expressions, I just want to see what their happy faces look like so I move on to the BEST auditions of X Australian got voice talent idol factor.

That’s when the tears start and I realise I had a bank of those babies just waiting to roll on out. I’ve been stock piling grief behind my eyes in little sack,s to pour out the minute I see an awkward geek who’s been teased all their lives surprisingly and shockingly belt out a Whitney song note for note, solid. 

Floodgates open, assume the sobbing position.

There’s nothing like a good cry to make you realise that you’re feeling sad, eyes are the pressure cooker of the soul. Tear ducts the release valve.

Once you start you just can’t stop, amiright? I watch every unexpectedly successful, pitch perfect Adele adaption, seeking out the UK and US versions for good measure and it appears I’m in it for the long haul so I’ll take the Italian and Ukrainian versions too thanks. Can’t understand what the fuck they’re saying but pain speaks every language, the anguished pitying looks on the judge’s faces are intercontinental! Sob!

Cue: “Muuuuuum I’m hungry……..”

“DON’T come in here – you don’t want to see me like this – get yourself a box of biscuits from the cupboard……’

After a cleansing amount of inspirational auditions  I glance around the room to make sure I’m definitely all alone,  so I can indulge in my secret YouTube guilty pleasure……  returned servicemen surprising their loved ones by returning home unexpectedly…..  I could cry for hours.

I get that it’s kind of weird and sure, I’m not really keen on wars anywhere, but the absolute shock, joy and love that these people feel when they see their clean cut and often uniformed family member is just contagious, it’s so real!  

Seeing grown men cry whilst they hold their sobbing nine year old daughter tightly gets me every.single.time.  

It’s amazing how many brothers surprise their younger sisters.  The fact that these young men have thought out a surprise for their sister is just as overwhelmingly beautiful to me as how the sister is ALWAYS super excited and happy to see them!  They always cry with joy and they ALWAYS run and embrace, not in a ‘Cersei and Jaime’ kind of way, but in a ‘really love and care for each other’ way.  It really makes my heart chambers ache.

As I sit here typing this I’m watching my two play outside, they’re making agreements not to squirt each other with the hose, but as soon as one has their back turned the other grabs the hose and squirts the shit out of them.  Then there’s a lot of screaming, name calling and crying.  They agree again that they don’t want to do it, 20 seconds later the other one cops it.

I really want to think that it’s these moments, these benign and forgettable events that forge an unbreakable bond and relationship between them.  I really hope they grow up knowing they are forever connected to each other, kindred souls in a way, always there for each other when needed.  I’d like to think that my daughter, who is currently calling her brother a ‘butt face’, will seek him out for help in the future.  I’d like to think that my son, who is currently feigning injury to get some sympathy, will know that she’s got his back when they’re older.

I would like to think that if one of them joined the armed services and served overseas for many months, that when they returned the other would jump gladly and excitedly into their arms crying about how much they love and missed them.

IF that happened, I would consider this parenting caper a success.

 

Ps:  Ronan Keating…..ermagherd he’s a god! There’s also an oddly attractive pirate looking judge on the Italian Voice, can’t tell if he’s an arsehat or not, can’t understand a  bloody word he’s saying.

Fifteen

Fifteen (15) years – we have been married for 15 years, I can’t quite really comprehend how much time that is and it’s not that I didn't think we would make it to 15 years, I just didn't really  think about it full stop.  Our totes (which wasn't a word back then unless you were talking about multiple short handled bags) ‘strayan honeymoon in Bali was all I was thinking about when I got married!

Of course anyone who has been married for a half of a third of a century would have some sage wedding day advice to give out;  so to any soon to be brides all I can say is make sure your bridesmaids are well versed in hovering near you with a full drink AT ALL TIMES.

The Traditional gift for a 15 year anniversary is crystal.  It’s not really my thing, (although possibly 15 years ago in the form of a nice dream catcher or sun prism…….) I wracked my brain for ideas for Simon, only came up with Cristal Champagne, which I promptly did not buy.  I have to admit I have my concerns about his idea of what properly represents crystal, half expecting a ‘lady of the night’ called Crystal to knock on the door later on, all in the name of spicing things up a little (I’ll get back to you on that one).

Being a child bride when I was married (seriously, 15 years ago I said……) I was very naïve I think about how relationships worked, it’s taken a long time for both of us to work out that we can’t bend the other persons will or break it to suit our own purposes, although Simon’s acceptance that I will use the credit card to buy new shoes on a bi weekly basis has been very good for our marriage, very therapeutic in many ways…..

I am by no means an expert on relationships or marriage itself, I've just been who I am and grown up a bit, so the below is not meant to be an authoritative or definitive list of what makes a marriage work – it’s merely observations I have made over the past 15 years.

15 things I've learned about marriage, whilst married......

1. Ego is a dirty word.  So is ‘budget’ ‘reduce’ ‘temporary’ and ‘clean-out’
2. List making can be annoying to your partner if they’re not a list maker
3. Giving pets the names you would give your children then limits the amount of names you can agree upon in the future
4. You can actually go to sleep angry – in fact sometimes it’s for the best……
5. Pretending to like Mint Slice biscuits can only last so long
6. Men do have feelings, they store them underneath their smallest toenail.  That is also why they cry so much when they stub their toe.
7. Life is not a soap opera – the story does not pause for 24 hours to simply return to the same spot.  If you want something, ask for it – gazing into the distance  with misty eyes wont help
8. No one is as vulnerable as a man ironing in the nude
9. Having a husband that is totally supportive of you whilst hungover and provides all manner of fried foods, energy drinks and child free sleep time is PRICELESS, priceless I tell you
10. Really bad smells are more bearable if you breathe through your mouth
11. Folding towels the correct way is not common sense to everyone
12. Not reciprocating that hangover supportive thing doesn’t make you a bad person
13. Letting someone else speak sometimes can actually offer some insight, even if what they’re saying is completely ridiculous and so wrong it makes your eyes water
14. Having children does change your relationship.  Sharing a bed with a minor will do that. 
15. Love can last beyond a decade, past arguments, through sleepless nights, survive bouts of hangry mood swings or self-indulgent body shape rants and ignore the worst of bodily functions.  If you want it to.

I do want to say though, that over the years we have seen friends or family break up or divorce. It has been very painful to watch and really heartbreaking to go through, if anything it’s made us realise how very lucky we are and we would assert to not take each other for granted.  It’s easy to forget that sometimes.

I would also like to acknowledge my beloved family and friends who are not ‘allowed’ to get married, may all the above prepare you for what you’ll be getting yourself in for in the not too distant future!  It will happen.

I wasn't allowed to do a speech at my own wedding, something that really grinds my gears to this day, so this is part wedding speech, part Oscars acceptance, part ode to my one beloved and best friend in the whole wide world ever.

x

Aint nothing sweet about that Lollipop.....

Do you find it amusing that a uniform or badge can give someone a bit of a power trip, no matter how menial the signified task is? I know that wearing the ‘School Bank Officer’ badge in Primary school gave me a certain edge of authority.  It didn’t quite allow me a seat in the staff room at lunch times as I expected, but I held a position of responsibility ergo a position of power. 

Although you give some people the slightest bit of authority and even the most level headed individual can be overcome with the intoxicating grasp that power and influence can have on you.  We've all seen fire wardens take the responsibilities of the red hat a little too seriously (for the record fire wardens do not have the ability to give out fines for taking your handbag out with you on fire drills.)

Faux uniforms are the worst, I consider the Lollipop crossing lady uniform a faux uniform – because really it’s just about the high visibility, there’s no power in that raincoat with reflective strips.  Just get the kids across the road and pop on out of my way.

Harsh, I hear you say (in fact almost taboo!)

I must confess to having issue with a certain tyrant of a lollipop crossing lady that has tainted my opinion on the whole sector.

She works the crossing at a school not far from my home.  We've established in the past I am not spontaneous, I’m completely a creature of habit, thus each day I automatically drive the same way to take the kids to their school, past this children’s crossing control freak.  I curse my own rigidity.

So the feud is about me being in my car, driving along, obeying school speed limits and this despot thrusting her hexagon stop sign out giving me the shortest moment in time to stop before she ushers small children onto the zebra crossing.  Every day she shakes her head in disapproval at me.

I spend my time waiting for the children to cross wondering what I have done to upset this lady, I can’t recall obliviously knocking over small children like pins in the past, I’m pretty sure I haven’t sped through here with a beer in hand and loud  inappropriate music blaring out the windows. So why does she dislike me so?

We’re getting to the end of term now and I can sense she’s reached her limit of assisting herds of children and their unruly parents across the road.  She must be able to sense I’ve had my fill of morning arguments about blazers, missing shoes and teeth cleaning, because that lady is really really pushing my buttons now.

Last week things came to a head.   I’m sick of giving my kids low speed whiplash (which really just makes them drop their left over breakfast/show and share item/my phone and yell out incredulously at the inconvenience), so I decided to play her at her own game.

Day 1 – Coming up to the crossing I slowed to 25kms readying myself to stop, she stayed on the footpath, so I increased my speed to 35 and BANG I was just mere inches away from the crossing when she sticks out the sign, steps on to the road and signals for me to slow the fuck down.

Because that’s what she does, even if I’m going 10 kms she always signals furiously in a ‘slow the fuck down’ kind of way.

This time she continued to signal at me to slow down even after I had stopped, a wry grin on her face as we stared at each other (if I was hardcore I would have been gunning the engine at this point)

It was too late to stop myself as I mouthed ‘fuck you’ in full view of the next group of parents and children now gathered at her designated ‘wait here to cross’ spot.  Dammit. I plastered a wan smile on my face.

She gave me the slightest nod and changed her grin to a grimace, then slowly limped back to the footpath.

A limp!  WTF, she totally does not have a limp.  It was game on from that point

Day 2 -  I thought I could get into her mind and psych her out.  I just stopped at the crossing even though she was still on the footpath – there was a child waiting I knew what she was going to do.  

I raised an eyebrow, curled my lip into a smile and nodded my head up and down

‘How do you like that one control freak  BOOM’

She shook her head and waved me on.  NO!  I pummeled the steering wheel and continued on my way.

Day 3 – I stayed on 40 clicks and head right at that crossing, I could see her step forward but I just kept  going, She began to step into the crossing but I still kept on going.  Then she stretched her legs in an unnatural alien like manner and was standing in front of the car before I knew it, signalling at me to slow the fuck down.

I stopped. She practically had her hand on the bonnet, shaking her head, I could see her talking with the parents crossing and they all glared at me like I’d just taken out the entire 1^st Grade.  One even patted her on the back.

NO NO NO NO NO I’m a good person, this is all her!!

‘She doesn't even really have a limp!’ I yelled out of the car window, shaking my head and pointing at her.

 

I could tell she was laughing at me on the inside so I did the ‘point my fingers at my eyes and point them at her’ gesture.  She waved me on.

Day 4 –  We went a different way.

This week I’m trying really hard to remember to drive the new route to school, also I don’t think I’m allowed to go the old way anymore, the crossing lady has a security guard now.

I’ve made an anonymous suggestion to the school that a set of pedestrian crossing lights would be a really good idea.

Vale Joan Gardner

This week I lost my Nanna.

It's hard to put into words what someone who has been in your life for your entire life, actually means to you.
I have tried to put feelings and memories into words.

I don't really think I can do her justice though, she was more than just a grandmother or an old lady.  She was an influence, a force, an example and someone who loved me dearly.

I loved her with a fierceness that I can't describe.

Vale Joan Gardner

With a sea scented gentle wind at back

Rocking a large pine unstill

The memory of lost voices give thrill

They line the walls

They fill the halls

A distant reflection in my mind

The rich love filled tones

Of lives spent, children grown

In a house by the beach

A house where she would teach

A pinch of this, a dash of that

Mix with love, mix with soul

Receive a lecture as you beat the bowl

Mind your mother,

Be kind to your brother

Never too much sugar in the ginger beer

Cook fish in its skin

Scraps in pit pot, not the bin

Duck eggs in fruit cakes

Always use paper lining when you bake

Christmas cheer is better when shared

Talk of neighbours, gossip it’s not

Just passing the important message you got

Ice in drinks

Cheeky winks

Rosy cheeks from being love pinched

Always love your family dear

Hold your lover near

Recite the lords prayer at night

And squeeze your children ever so tight

She shared true loves grasp with me

Now laid at rest

With her much loved best

Waiting to take her

On the next life’s path

E.

I couldn't think of anything worse.....

Do you ever have those moments where you’re doing something and you think ‘what could be the most embarrassing addition to this moment?’  Like you realise that you’re really picking your nose, like really trying to get one of those slippery big ones up the back, you’re sitting absentmindedly at your dining table opposite the glass doors, finger in past the knuckle and you think ‘wouldn’t it be awful if someone you don’t know well enough for this to be ok, like the kids principal, was standing there about to knock on the door just staring in disbelief at you…..

No?

Neither do I.

Lies – I do it all the time!  I was running across the road doing my skip, hop & hold jacket closed so no one sees my fat jiggle run, imagining what it would be like if I tripped over and everyone saw my knickers and I hit my face on the bitumen and made my nose bleed…..

Sometimes I use the loo at work and sit there for a bit just whiling away the time and then I imagine what would happen if I’d forgotten to close the door and one of my well respected colleagues walks in and sees me leaning with my elbows on my knees gazing at the ceiling legs kicking back and forward……

While I’m waiting for my coffee in the really noisy coffee shop, hardly able to hear anything,  just minding my own business  I ruminate about if I accidentally think someone is talking to me but they’re talking on their phone earpiece and I keep the conversation going  for ages before I realise that they’re not talking to me and everyone in the coffee shop knows, then I grab the wrong coffee and run out whilst the Barista yells ‘That’s not your light soy macchiato…...’

Then there’s the time I’m at a work drinks function, trying to be all mingly  and confident with people, I laugh heartily with my mouth open and head held slightly back (that screams confidence right?), sip my drink, say ‘oh excuse me I see someone I know’ and then step to walk away but imagine what would happen if my pointy toe shoe got caught in the cuff of my overly wide trousers making me fall forward and spill my drink all over the people sitting on the classy faux leather lounge……..

The potential embarrassment makes my cheeks burn red and my eyes water a little bit, I do kind of like this feeling, because the wave of relief that washes over me next, knowing that it hasn’t really happened,  is like some sort of euphoric hit of narcotics.  Oh except for that tripping on my trousers one, that one really happened, there was no wave of relief there (well actually the bosses wife got so drunk she vomited all over the floor, the relief knowing that everyone would be talking about that instead of my catastrophic, arm flailing nose dive was palpable.).

I do concern myself sometimes with the whole self-fulfilling prophecy thing – I have to mentally check that I’ve closed the toilet door, or do some crazy high step run to ensure my feet don’t slide out from under me on the road and I NEVER make eye contact with people in the coffee shop anymore!

What is this need to extrapolate things out to the worst case scenario?  I like to think of it as forward planning – if shit gets real I’ve got it covered because I’ve already thought of something much worse happening and whatever really goes down aint no thing. 

Although.............. the time I flashed my babs to a lingerie store  full of people, because the shop attendant came back and whipped the curtain open sooner than originally stated completely caught me (and the patrons) by surprise, didn’t see that one coming.

 

(Seriously curtains in a lingerie shop - you can't knock on curtains, get some doors already.)

 

 

A total fabrication.....

Dear Tradie Man,

I’m a fan of feedback, as long as it’s constructive. I’ve always thought a pat on the back is worth 2 in the bush (yeah that’s never made sense to me either), so it’s with the utmost respect that I would like to share my thoughts about the work we have had done with you, I would like to make this a positive experience for the both of us.

Our heating/Air conditioning Bills are grateful for the fact you painted the windows shut, thank you.  I’ve always said that fresh air possibly carries germs and contagions, the less of it we have in our house the happier I am.  If we could paint the doors shut you know we would.

Which is why I am a little confused about the gaping holes at the base of the skirting board – the draught coming through there could quite seriously power a windmill farm, is this a new movement in aerating homes?  Because I think I’ve already mentioned my delight in not having virus ridden fresh air in the house. 

After being on all fours investigating the source of the ankle chilling breeze I discovered your time saving technique of not removing all the carpet tacks from the edges of the floor boards, I marvelled at your efficient savvy ways as I inspected the pulsating bright red wounds in the palms of my hands.  Although working through the incredible pain I did notice that perhaps you hadn’t used the gloss paint we’d discussed on the walls because the handprint of blood, from where I leant against the wall biting my lip and trying hard to not blaspheme in front of the children (they go to Catholic school you know), was seeping into the paintwork in a caveman artwork kind of manner, is this normal? 

It was interesting watching blood bleed through paintwork, I was fascinated and spent quite a time watching it’s beauty until my husband pushed my head to the base of the skirting board so I could breathe in fresh (bacteria ridden) air because I’d been inhaling the varnish fumes for too long.  Varnish? I hear you ask.  Yes varnish, I had to think hard about whether the bees wax environmentally friendly wood finish for the aforementioned skirting boards would actually smell like varnish.  I imagined  perhaps it’s some kind of marketing ploy – smells like varnish, but is actually dolphin safe….. No.

Look I understand you have many clients and a lot of jobs you’re thinking about instead of mine, I know this because you left your appointment book behind (could it have been because of the confusion inducing (non) varnish fumes) but I am left to ponder how so very little of what we discussed managed to make it to the final product.  I am quite sure that if I did my job at the same percentage of agreed output vs result, I could very well be out of a job.

I don’t wish to end this on a sour note, I really do appreciate your efforts in working only when we’re out of the house, very convenient, thank you.  Can we please have our key back now?

 

Kindest regards………

Holler-days

Holidays schmolidays – this stay at home caper is way harder than going to work – hats off to all my SAHM friends, you either have the patience of a saint or are on some pretty heavy shit. I also know there are heaps of Mums that just love having their school aged kids home 24/7 and get disappointed when they go back. 

I’ve discovered I’m not one of them.

Seriously after the first week and a half  I was a wreck and clinging with a weak grip to Husbands leg as he departed for work each morning.  Pfftt hahahaha as if I was out of bed at that time….. But I would ring later and cry down the phone ‘don’t leave me alone with them *sob sob*’

I’m really bad at taking them to fun places on my own, I get all anxious and worried I’ll lose one or worse still, end up with an extra one by accident.  We’ve done the occasional play date and had people around, but for the most part we’ve hung out at home and played whilst I procrastinate about any kind of cleaning or tidying.

I do struggle though to play lego for more than 5 minutes (especially when Charlie’s definition of ‘playing’ is me watching him make stuff and handing him pieces that he needs) and if I have to stay in Lucy’s room for more than 30 seconds I start cleaning out her clothes and considering what new dresses she might need and *bang* I’m online buying shit again.

And the Bickering, oh the bickering.  I don’t know what the ear equivalent to scratching one’s own eyes out might be, but I’ve considered poking skewers in to burst my eardrums or putting bicarb soda and then vinegar in there so I can listen to the soothing fizzzzzzzzzzz INSTEAD of hearing;

‘AARRRGGGHHHHHH GIVE IT BACK’

Or

‘Muuuuum Lucy/Charlie just hit/scratched/punched/ro sham bo’d me….’

Oh heavenly wine, why is it wrong to drink copious amounts of you when in charge of minors, and/or before 10am?

There have been quite a few days that we haven’t bothered to get out of our jammies, of course these are the days my missing Christmas parcels turn up.  Apparently a 6 year old can’t sign for them and your arm out the door wont suffice, the post man has to see your unmade-up face and hairy bare legs so he can have his giggle for the day.

There is one thing I wouldn’t change at all though – we all eat dinner together at 6pm after Husband gets home from work.  Charlie has taken a shine to cooking and I’m in the process of teaching him how to do it neatly with minimal mess. We’re working our way through Jamie Oliver’s 15 minute meals – determining which ones to keep and use during the year.  Chicken Livers have made it to the no list.  It’s been fun although I am regretting making the Caesar dressing in my shake maker….. protein shakes are hard enough to get down without tasting like anchovy….

Also, Lucy and I love watching the Bold and the Beautiful catch up at 8.30am. We were both shocked that Bill got Deacon out of jail, our jaws dropped.  We do think Brooke has overreacted, the glassy eyed hysteria was a little over the top.  Hope needs to stop being a martyr, oh and it seems like Stephanie has been at the Drs office for a couple of days waiting for her diagnosis, I hope she’s not being charged by the hour….   Each day we’re both a little disappointed that half an hours viewing has progressed the storyline by 5 minutes but we can’t wait for the next ep!

I have had some overreactions of my own in recent days, like demanding the children don’t talk to each other and going ‘Pssht’ every time they do.  Realising that you’re chasing children around the house going ‘Pshht’ ‘Pshhht’ every time they open their mouths makes you reassess your ability to parent at all.  Some alone time may be in order.

Banning the television was another overreaction – once the words came out of my mouth I wished I could stuff them back in…. What the fuck was I think.  Television is my respite – take that sucker away and who do you think has to entertain them or listen to my favourite endless refrain of ‘I’m boooooooored, I’m huuuuuuungry, Muuuuuuuuuummmmm, where are youuuuuuuuu’  (hiding under my bed – where do you think?)

I’m so looking forward to the school book and uniform shopping – I especially can’t wait for school shoe fitting day…….. (that was sarcasm)

Ugh I have to go, I have a hysterically crying four year old who thinks the world is an unfair place because I’ve asked her to put the lid back on her 24 textas and stop drawing on herself.

 I feel sanity is becoming a distant acquaintance and patience is just somebody I used to know……

Happy Holidays!

Resolute

So 2012 draws to a close, I have much to prepare – various news years resolutions to make and also a shitload of previous new years resolutions to make good on because I thought the world was ending and I wouldn’t answerable to any of the rubbish I wrote last year

Each year I  make a list of things I want to do better or thoughts of making myself a better person, I think I may have mentioned them here before in a kind of ‘don’t really hold me accountable’ way

Looks like I’m going to say the same thing again, make a list of well-intentioned determinations that will be all but forgotten by Easter because I’ll be promising something else just to receive chocolate.

No no no no non (that last one is French, cause I’m all classy and shit)

This year they will not be selfish proclamations and declarations about my weight and constant quest for outer beauty (that seems to elude me each year like a bastard), but a determined purpose to make a real difference and these ‘differences’ shall fall into categories;

1)      Pay it forward;  whether it be to ensure that an arbitrary individual receives the hug they so richly deserve or perhaps giving a beat down to  those fucking arsehats that really believe you can just round the corner at the lights and change lanes at the same time without indicating….. mother fffuuuuucc

 

*ahem*

 

2)      Random acts of kindness; quite seriously this is an important one that I wish to embody in its entirety.  I want to randomly make people happy for no particular reason.  However I have horrid visions of handing off a bottle of wine to someone, wishing to congratulate them for being ace,  only to ignite their raging alcoholism and thus thrusting them into a downward spiral of negativity and self-flagellation.  But really, once you give a gift can you really determine how it’s utilised…. Surely not? It would be my mistake, move on.  I might keep it to the mundane by paying off peoples parking tickets instead…. Just in case.

 

3)      Give of yourself; I’m going to give it all over the place man…. in a charitable way, I’m going to give for those that run for cancer, walk for diabetes, grow horrifying facial hair for mens health, drink wine for dipsomaniacs awareness, eat for anorexics anonymous, drink fake  blood for those with an intolerable obsession for Vampires because they think True Blood is a documentary – whatevs – I’m all about the charitable, everyone has a cause, I don’t judge, just make sure that anything over $2 is tax deductable.

 

4)      Make time for what you love.  Well that’s easy, I love Savignon Blanc (cats piss according to my friend….. I’m ok with that) Pinot Grigio, Gewurztraminer and a jaunty Chardonnay that isn’t of the ‘house’ variety – we have many days to spend together, many stories to share.

 

Thank you for reading throughout 2012, I was pretty sure the world was going to end on some random date in December, but now that I know it’s not for a while yet I will be spending my time writing enlightening posts about personal revelations that may have a bit to do with the aforementioned wine.

 

Happy new year to my tens of readers – may you find your happiness in 2013 if you have not already

xx

 

ps: seriously though, they are some ace resolutions,  Pay it forward, Random acts of kindess, Give of yourself and Make time for what you love.  PRGM  - if you take nothing from these blogs - take that - PRGM.  It's catchy.

Positively Happy

Ok this is going to be an inspirational one peeps.

We’re getting to the end of the year – two public holidays in a row are looming upon us and I personally am starting to feel a little cray cray.

It’s harder to get out of bed towards the end of the year, it’s harder to be the energetic, effervescent ball of good time non-confrontational fun that people at work are so used to…..  it’s hard to cook the kids something that doesn’t go directly from the freezer to the oven.  I’m just tired – we’re all tired.  It’s December man, we’ve given up on giving a shit.

The last few days I’ve staggered around like a like a sleep walking elephant.  Glaring at the world through a twitching eye and a wayward fringe.  But something happened to me, yes something gave me the spring back in my step and it wasn’t my breakfast G&T this time.

It was ‘Positivity’ (I want to put pictures of flowers around that word).

What the? Who the? What?  (shit she’s on a detox again…….).

No really, I mean it.  I don’t mean positivity like ‘I’m a good person, I am a friendly person, I deserve to be treated more like a person and less like a slave’.   I mean this.

‘Hey *insert name of random person* you look super nice today!’

Or

‘Jolly Roger!  I saw that reverse park! you nailed it! Stranger high five!’

or

‘Wow I really liked the way you talked up sustainable printing practices at the staff meeting today, you really got me thinking’

Ok that last one was kind of tainted with sarcasm, but you get the drift – pump up someone’s tyres to get your own engine revving! (holla first and last mechanic type reference thing for the year)

It really works.  I said 3 nice things to people today, like totally off the cuff and random – I thought it, I said it and then I walked on a cloud of crazy happy with my chest puffed out a little.

‘Hey everyone – did you hear that – I said some nice shit for no reason!’  whoo yaay me right?!

I am running the risk at the moment of you thinking I’m a complete bitch most of the time, cause if you people already do this and 3 nice comments is you on a bad day when you have a hangover, gall stones and a raging thumbnail infection, well then I have to lift my game!

Having said that I already have an action plan in place. Tomorrow I’m aiming for five (and yes I have to work on the sarcasm), the next day 10 and then 15 and so on and so one until ALL I do all day is compliment people and voila serotonin crazed smiling freak Emily is here!  I can see after a while Husband is going to have to talk me down

“Come on Emily, you don’t need to do it, just say something mean again, say something mean, don’t praise randoms, put your iphone down, I know you’re saying nice shit on Facebook again, you can be happy without this, you just need some help, no no don’t wish the world happiness on twitter, you’re going to overdose nooooooooo………”

I will be placing a limit on this no need for reciprocation or recognition flattery.  Under no circumstances will I go in for the hug.  There’ll be no cheek kissing  or arm squeezing  – let me make that very clear from the outset.  So if I give you an unsolicited compliment don’t try it on, I’ll ro sham bo you as soon as look at you.

So rock it in the new world with me, get out there and compliment your pants off (ok that just went somewhere I didn’t intend…)

Oh hey! Yeah you reading this, you read that so fast, are you a speed reader or just really smart?  You seem smart.  I’m loving your hair right now……..

 

Ps: Jolly Roger isn’t a person – I’m trying to bring that back into my vernacular instead of saying ‘Holy Fuck’ because that’s apparently crass…..

If you don't have anything nice to say.....

So it’s awesome to have little people, little people that love you and feel so comfortable with you that they spout out whatever is in their tiny little, not able to filter brains……..  well actually it’s not that awesome really.

I’ve realised as my kids get older I find myself standing ‘on the sidelines’ of conversations,  listening to them commune with elderly relatives / people you used to work with / other parents / people you currently work with, just holding my breath and hoping they know what to say or are eloquent enough not come off sounding like loserville snot nosed bratty aresholes!

Unfortunately for me my kids pick the times when I think they need to shine to actually revert to rudimentary thought and action (they’re so much smarter at home…..)

I give you this example off the top of my head;

Shit day at work – pick up Charlie after school and take him to drama class ( I know, right! High brow much?), then pick up Lucy and dash back into work to wrestle with the scanner that refused to allow me to scan that 68 page document that must be emailed by 5pm on the same day.

Panicked  stress pants is an understatement to how I’m feeling.  Working part time somehow means you have this over abundant work ethic (must prove this job sharing caper is worth it….. I’m working so hard man you can’t even believe I’m only part time, yeah?).  So blinded by the need to prove I’m committed I rush in and leave the previously mentioned kid with the boss (mistake…….)

 My two senior managers dote on her, because a) she’s hella cute and b) it’s Friday afternoon and they can’t be fucked doing anything else.

Do you know what I get for my earnest, think about work first, conscientious ways?  This;

‘My Mum does really loud pop offs, but not as smelly as Dads’

When they told me about it all I heard was silence apart from the sound of a distant cricket, oh and  yeah, them snorting. 

I was fucking mortified.  Really?????  Really????  We practice your fucking ballet movements and sing the god damn ABC song 24 bloody 7 but you come out with that?

What is the point of having kids if they can’t reflect how awesome you think you want to be?

Have I lived it down?  No.

Do I take my kids to work anymore? No.  (actually that’s not true, sometimes I need to sit them there for a bit before their grandparents pick them up because the self-centred child carer’s won’t take them with that ‘weepy eye’….)

I guess kids say what you, as an adult, really want to.  That is before we get all narky and teach them what’s rude and what’s best left unsaid until you get home from the supermarket.  Why do we do that to them?  Is it because we want them to fit in with society or is it because we don’t want to be embarrassed by them?  Are we all just polite and silent because our parents didn’t want to be embarrassed by us?

Neither of them are immune to these outbursts of honesty, my six year old proved his inability to mentally check oneself before speaking when he loudly and confidently proclaimed to his younger sister;

 ‘That’s what will happen to you if you continue to not eat your vegetables’

He was pointing to a short statured person ( by that I mean a midget, dwarf, tiny person – what’s the right term these days?).  Embarrassed? Yes.  But also a little proud because he listened to what Husband and I had constantly pleaded with him about for the past few years, plus his sentence construct was undeniably awesome and he saw what he thought was action and effect; point and case (well sort of…)

I realy don’t want to stifle their amazing ability to draw completely left field parallels between the remarkable lessons their father and I teach them with the lessons of the real world.  They’re funny and have an amazing innocence and resonance about them.  But there is of course a point where I have to draw the line with these honest proclamations and this is it;

In the bathroom, my  darling 3 year old daughter cannot contain her excitement,  she is totally uber thrilled after seeing me in leggings and a singlet (this will be an overshare), she squeals in delight whilst jumping around and says;

 ‘There’s a baby in your tummy, I’m going to be a big sister!’

As if the whole ‘pop off’ incident wasn’t enough, I’m imagining her sharing this with the whole child care centre.

Firstly, I am not pregnant.  Secondly, if anyone else had said this to me it would have been a swift ‘fuck you’, and eye gouge,  but being that she’s who she is, well I love her enthusiasm and am happy to know that if the ‘accidental’ baby comes along she’ll be fine with it.

This was however, the moment I declared I would return to the gym forever and would also introduce the term ‘tact’ into any future teachings that happen within this household.

It’s so bloody hard shaping the considerate leaders of tomorrow……

Broken Plastic, Broken Spirit.

Since having kids I've noticed that my sentimentality meter has gone into over drive.  I get so attached to 'things' they have used and played with, it's almost like I believe a little part of my childs soul is attached to the object..... actually I think I  really do believe that!

Recently a much favoured tupperware sandwich box broke.  So did my heart.

Hyperventilating, I went to throw it out.

But instead I wrote this Ode

Ode to the broken Tupperware

Oh piece of plastic, so close to my heart

Sitting on the dish rack sides ripped apart

Sun gleaming through your almost see through shell

Why are you leaving us, what the frigging hell?

 

You contained bowlfuls of soup like a breeze

Held in all the left over ‘sketti with ease

We used you for morning tea and plentiful snacks

You did it all, no complaint, whines or cracks

But now the hinge that secures you closed

Has eroded and buckled like a cheap garden hose

With a life time guarantee you definitely weren’t cheap

What for? All you’ve guaranteed is me being left in a nostalgic heap

 

I see you in pictures of first days of school

Or holding a sandwich for a trip to the pool

Or that time long ago when you carried the cake

On that horrendous ill-fated trip to the lake (don’t ask)

 

You’ve done good work looking after food for my kids

Been so useful when we’ve lost all the containers with lids

I salute you and your millions of applications

So stackable and neat, you’re a heaven sent creation

For you to be thrown away in the rubbish seems so sad
 

You’ve been with us through the good times and the bad

Well…. you could still be useful, with some tape or blu-tack

I might just pop you in the cupboard……. right up the back………

You should have been around when I had to get rid of some ripped cot sheets...... hysteria!

Facebook Faceoff....

So I’m taking a month off Facebook – it’s a challenge.  A challenge of monumental proportions.

I removed the link from my internet tool bar (yes I am too lazy to type the URL in…), I have tried to forget my password, I have not allowed myself to use my iphone for anything other than text messages and phone calls.  I didn’t realise how often I just check in, how often I update people on my status….. I love it – I miss it.

I can’t do it, I can’t do it, my fingers are itchy, my eyes are twitchy and now I’m rhyming.

It’s been a tough two days……

What’s weird though is how often in my head I think in ‘Status update’ terms – my brain is swirling and whirling with sentences of what I’ve been up to.  Something will happen and I’ll formulate how I’m going to tell people about it.  That has to be some kind of syndrome surely?

" ‘overbearingus updateus repetetivea' (that’s totes Latin) – the need to continuously advise the public of your goings on, either in an upbeat perky way that will instantly derive derision amongst your ‘friends’ or in a sarcastic tone that will be misinterpreted as cockiness which will result in you being treated like a pariah on future status updates."

I’ve got it bad man, it’s real and I’ve simply got to get them out – so here they are, two days worth of status updates for you read whilst I prepare to be a pariah;

• Got the window washers around at the moment – it’s like living in a zoo – seriously how many windows can one house have and how are they peering in all of them at the one time? (on the flip side though – I am being an awesome parent right now…..so nice and calm….)

• Busted going to the toilet by the window washers – thought they were up the other end of the house.  Can’t palm those noises off on the kids…… red face.

• Oh gosh, I really can’t understand why so many people are so vindictive and nasty – even if I knew someone was guilty of something heinous I would never stand outside a courthouse and spit on them or yell shit at them.  I really feel for Lindy Chamberlain.  I’m pretty sure I saw a pitchfork in some 80s footage.

• Holy walnut crackers my windows are clean!
• Took  Lucy to the MCHN this morning for 3.5 year check up – appears she has a bung eye – have to get her eyes tested – am already imagining her in beyond cute, child sized adult glasses, is that wrong?
• Lara Bingle – really? I can’t…. I don’t…. I mean I….. what? Huh?
• Ugh – holla – gastro is in the house again
• I should really work out how to use twitter.  I’m not on a Twitter challenge.
• Seriously, didn’t even last 24 hours, Lucy finger smudges and ‘goodbye Daddy’ kisses on 80% of windows around the house.  I want my money back
• Have just cooked caramel slice, zucchini slice, choc chip biscuits and butterscotch pudding  - not sure why, perhaps it’s my passive way of teasing poor Charlie – he can’t eat any of it – although I think butterscotch self saucing pudding would make an excellent stomach/intestinal lining….
• Ate half a pack of choc bits – feeling a little queasy – is it the choc bits (and raw cake mix and zucchini slice and 4 cups of coffee) or is it Gastro……

Oh that felt good – my head is empty again and I’ve sort of had a facebook hit. Only 20 something days to go (when did I start again?  How many days in June?  Did I say calender month?....)

ugh, one more

• Have forgotten Twitter password.  It is taking FOREVER for them to send me through a new one.............

Case of the Whiskey Sours....

You now that song “Its the end of the world as we know it” by REM?  That crazy mother has been swimming around in my head like no ones business after getting pissed at a really rude shop attendant.

You know when you wish you could zing someone and you think of it 2 to 3 hours later or even worse only 5 minutes later in the car and it just wouldn’t be right to run back down and blurt it out with your hands on your hips nodding your head.... haven’t done that before.....

In my ragey drive home ‘It’s the end of the week as we know it and I need wiiiiiiiiiiine’ was going around in my head, along with some other choice words.  Then I thought how awesome would it have been if I had burst into song and totally gleeked it up –

I couldn’t help but rewrite some of the verses to suit my requirements.  Suffice it to say I’ll never win an Aria but I do feel fine now it’s all out!

(You may have to youtube the song to remember it, I’ve taken it from the second verse.....)

Check out chicks got the power, got yourself a case of sours. Ignore rude question spurn, in hell you hope she burns, remember tight lip grin, infuriating, head turning, price checking, grudge getting. Trolley doesn’t want to escalate, emotive agitate, watch the handle, check my motive, stop the frown stop the frown, what? My confidence, crushed, oh no don’t call me dear couldn’t you hear? A torment, a torment, a torment of whys?  Gonna give her a contusion, forgot my aperitifs, my patience unwinds

It's the end of the week as we know it.
It's the end of the week as we know it.
It's the end of the week as we know it and I need wine.........

The other night I dreamt of wives, living up their separate lives. Sipping cocktails in the (checkout) line, The Blenheim, Ruby Duchess, Grey Goose, Harvey Wallbang(er), you awful nasty, bitch face, check out chick boom! You sarcastic, simplistic damn bum head, right? RIGHT

It's the end of the week as we know it.
It's the end of the week as we know it.
It's the end of the week as we know it and I need wine.........

Sorry for getting that song stuck in your head. 

Oh and suck on it check out chick....

Catch youse – gotta go set up a flash mob at random supermarket in not to be mentioned suburb....... (check your facebook invites.....)