Things I've Learnt - This Time Around

Well, it's been 18 months since I last posted. Not that I haven't had anything to say in that time - the motivation to sit down and type it out wasn't there.

At. All.

I have been doing things, and generally speaking my Facebook page reflects that. The most significant events? Surviving being a SAHM to 2 of the most headstrong girls on the planet, the eldest starting transition (2014) and now Year 1 and discovering the terrifying world of school pick-up and school drop-off. If high school didn't prepare me for a world of 'your body fat percentage is over 1% - you are therefore a lower grade version of a person', then holy cow has being a school mum opened my eyes! Personally I think all these women have shares in a spandex production company and are afraid that demand is falling.

The beginning of year 1, January 2015.

On the bright side, it means I still get to be the cool mum who volunteers in the classroom and who knows all the kids names. I did it all through transition. Brain food prep, listening to the kids read, helping with craft - I rocked the shit out of it all!! Miss H has a cult following, but is far less comfortable with the popularity than I am. The kids are also fascinated by my bump.

Oh - did I not mention my bump? Well, it's just one more thing I've been doing...growing a baby brother for our 2 girls while trying not to lose what little sanity I have left. That's a daily battle which isn't always successful -  but I have high hopes of rehabilitation once I'm no longer pregnant.

Bump Announcement!

This pregnancy has been far from easy. I look back on pregnancy 1 and 2 with fondness and remember the carefree days of being able to waddle my way around without a care in the world. Yes, there was the odd occurrence of nausea and I'll admit to eating my body weight in chocolate donuts during my first foray into the world of cravings. There was even a moment of disgust and horror when I realised I had been sitting at my desk eating watermelon coated in gravy without a single hesitation.

Truly, I figured I had already conquered the dark side of growing people and there was nothing left to be afraid of.

Cue pregnancy 3.

Holy mother of all that is truly fucked up on this planet, was I wrong. I had never really heard of Hyperemesis Gravidarum before - and mostly it was in relation to Princess Kate when she was growing George. It seemed like an exotic and high class way of saying 'Kate is spending most of her days face-timing with her gold-leaf toilet block and not having the strength to wash the spew from her hair'.

I was in this unenviable position from weeks 9 to 30. And this included Christmas. Christmas, people! The one time of year you won't be judged for the volume consumed at the table, and then on the couch and possibly later, while laying in bed.

The exhaustion following Christmas shopping.

Browsing for the Christmas menu.

It also co-incided with The Man taking a road trip to Queensland with his brother. For 2 weeks. While I alternated between trying to keep a 5yo, a 2yo, a dog and a cat alive with removing my head from the toilet bowl long enough to sip some water.

It wasn't pretty, and to all those Mum's out there that have experienced this and had the strength/courage/insanity to risk it again and again to complete their families - you have my unending admiration and sympathies. We knew this baby would be our last, regardless. After The Man got home, I was fully prepared to perform his vasectomy on the kitchen bench with a blunt knife and then check myself in to a mental institution.

Bump progression.

By week 30, things had settled enough that my stomach no longer rattled with the volume of medications I was on. I was enjoying spending less time with the toilet bowl, and more time outside with my children and re-introducing myself to a lovely thing called 'food' and another called 'life'. I should have relished it more.

She lost her first tooth!

A certain someone learned to swim.

And this girl just continued with her Hayley Lewis skills.

Bump progression in bathers.

Participating in her school swim carnival. Participation was a lot different in my day!

We enjoyed the rain.

Further bump progression.

Someone upgraded to a big girl bed.

Week 32+6 - CONTRACTIONS!! Initially I thought it was just Braxton Hicks, but memory served long enough to remind me that they weren't supposed to hurt. Or come at regular intervals, specifically intervals that grew shorter while the pains lasted longer. Or give you the familiar sensation in your nether regions of birthing your second child...in the front seat of the car.

I remained in denial while The Man called the hospital. While the hospital issued orders to get my arse in the car. While my Mum came over to stay with the girls. I refused to take a bag, a change of clothes - I wasn't even bothered by the fact that I had left my phone on the charger at home because I KNEW it would all stop in the car and I'd be home from the hospital in under 2 hours.

Sometimes my reluctance to accept reality baffles even me.

Admission 1

I spent the next 3 days being pumped full of drugs to stop the contractions, hourly observations, regular tracings of bub and pain meds. Sleep had been a bit hit and miss, depending on pain, lack of comfort and general disturbance, but I really wanted to go home. I was released late on Mother's Day with threats ringing in my ears that if I didn't take it easy I'd be back in hospital. And as far as I was concerned I did take it easy!

Monitoring all those contractions and bubba movements.

2 weeks later I decided I was feeling awesome enough to take the girls to their friends birthday party at a local indoor playground. The Man had to go into the office, so made sure my Mum was with me 'just in case'. I told him he was being over cautious and I would be able to sit the whole time - what was the harm!?

The party started at 2pm and by 4pm I was back in delivery suite with some poor doctor trying desperately to find a vein that wouldn't collapse before he got the IV in. I was treated to another few days in hospital, regular hospital meals doing it's best to look like tasty, edible food and all the Facebook/Twitter/Instagram/Pinterest browsing time a girl could need. Except that between the contractions and the regular checks I was still getting almost no sleep. Even though they had given me pain meds to manage at home after I was discharged last time, I was reluctant to take them because they zonked me out and I've never been one to willingly lose control. And my reluctance was at an all time high knowing that I didn't want to be incoherant while my kids needed me at home!

Admission 2.

Panadol took some of the edge off, but never enough to really cut through the discomfort. So considering that sleep was still hard to come by after 3 and a half weeks, cue complete sobbing meltdown with the nurse. After which the doctor came in and stabbed me with pethidine. I knew very little of the next 12 hours. They told me it would offer 4 hours of relief. I view the extra 8 hours I got as a fucking awesome bonus.

Sadly, that meant they didn't administer it again. Bastards.

After another few days I was released home, yet again, and this time under strict instructions to keep off my feet, with horizontal being my main angle. 90 degrees was acceptable with elevated feet. Vertical, other than for the purposes of visiting the toilet, was right out. I was just relieved that I was still allowed to wipe my own arse.

Resting...

Let's be honest, I was never, ever going to be their ideal patient. Not with 2 kids at home and a husband who has a demanding job. Have I been breaking the rules? A bit - not enough to be back in hospital, but just enough to keep the house running, the kids alive when The Man isn't home to help and enough to keep me sane. Perhaps because baby brain is the least of my concerns when it comes to losing mental functionality.

Day time TV - you have a lot to answer for. Seriously, how are Ridge and Brooke having the SAME conversation, in the SAME room, wearing the SAME clothes they were 15 years ago?! More to the point, how on earth do I even recall the conversation from 15 years ago?! I blame my high school friends - they were all into B&B and I reluctantly* joined in so I could understand what they were talking about. (*reluctant may be the wrong word. A more correct term might be 'enthusiastically' but I'm not stating anything outright.) And the token Australian you stole from Neighbours - absolutely bloody awful! She's a countryman and I can't listen to her without wanting to claw my ears off.

But to be honest, between watching ABC Kids (Miss 3) and endless videos of other people playing Minecraft (Miss 6), B&B is sometimes the only adult interaction I have in a day. Which is tragic. And worrying because I'm starting to think shoulder pads need to make a comeback.

So there you have it - my life* in a post. (*not my whole life...I may have started this post 6 months ago...)

Tell me, what have you been up to?

The Acidic Observer, Volume IV

Reality television - it's endless fodder for acidic review.

And I'd like to focus on 'Embarrassing Bodies'.

The entire concept baffles me. If you had a terrible case of haemorrhoids, would you go on national television to have it assessed by a GP? Would you feel less embarrassed about your condition, knowing that people sitting down to dinner would be serenaded by your bum cheeks being unceremoniously spread?

And that in itself brings up some serious questions regarding scheduling. I don't know what kind of iron-stomached sadist is choosing when it should go to air, but holy crap batman, you need to rethink that one.

If you're too embarrassed to go to your regular GP - a closed environment, no cameras, total confidentiality - what the hell would possess you to jump into the back of a truck and have a doctor prod your privates while a cameraman hopes his wide angle lens can capture the 'moment'!?

And let's hope you jump into the back of the right truck, for starters. You'll give the Postman a fucking coronary if you sit down and start launching into a conversation that contains words like 'discharge'.

Trust me, your regular GP doesn't bat an eyelid at conversations like that. More importantly, if you haven't had a chance to wax in months and you need a pap smear in the depths of winter, your regular GP will be the only one to witness that. Most importantly, you don't have to apply foundation to every part of your body that a camera might need a close up and apply lipstick to all your lips - including your vag.

And they draw a curtain while you get dressed so they don't go home and giggle about you tripping over your knickers.

Now, don't lie - we've all had that moment where our toes haven't gone through the leg hole, resulting in a less than dignified nose dive into the floor. But there's no one there and you can pretend it never happened.

If you go head first into an examination table because your stiletto got caught on the edge of your lacy g-string, on television, the whole world will be laughing.

But just when I thought I had seen it all - every a-symmetric breast, every bent penis in the UK - and there was no where else for them to go, they come out with 'Embarrassing Bodies: Kids'.

What the actual fuck?

Are we seriously going to start parading our kids and their issues in front of television cameras? Well, yes, we are.

"Oh darling, I know you have an issue with going to the toilet, but we're going to see a lovely doctor in the back of a truck and the entire world is going to be able to share your 'learning to poo' journey. Won't that be fun!?"

And people claim bloggers are oversharers! Are you serious!? Yeah, I may write about applying lipstick to vaginal lips but I'm not attaching a 'how to' video!!

Regardless of my opinion, it's clear reality television has a strong following. Whether this is a good or bad thing remains to be seen, but what I do know is the next reality program needs to be 'Psychiatric Roadshow'.

There are a lot of Big Brother viewers out there who need to get their heads read.


 

'D' is for...?

"...I'm a lady. And, with that comes an estrogen- fueled need to page through thick glossy magazines that make me hate my body." Mayim Bialik, The Big Bang Theory.

This is pretty standard for being female - magazines, marketing, friends and family all have their own opinions on how we should look and what we should be doing to make this 'perfection' happen.

In my experience, my self-loathing didn't start until I was in highschool and suddenly the need to be skinny and blonde was bigger than the need to breathe. Cleo, Cosmo, Girlfriend Magazine and every single advertisement for clothing I saw told me that being short, chunky and not a platinum blonde meant my value as a person was negligible.

Sad, but true. And I have no doubt that my experience is similar, if not the same, as 90% of women out there...the 90% of us that don't fit the stereotype.

I hate that grown women are subjected to this kind of stupidity, and I'm always thrilled that people like Dani from Danimezza, Melissa from Suger Coat It and Nikki from Styling You are doing more and more to show the world that everyone can look and feel amazing, because they are. Full stop, no returns.

So when I was flicking channels and I came across a documentary on Austar titled 'Diet Crazy Mums', I thought it must be something about women losing the baby weight regardless of what it took. I was expecting to see women on a variety of diets and, when they didn't get the results they wanted, having their mummy-tummy's (and anything else that might have the slightest jiggle to it) liposuctioned, nipped and tucked with a few breast enhancements thrown in for good measure.

What I wasn't prepared for was a program that has the following prologue: "This documentary follows three mothers who are obsessed with counting calories and exercise and are teaching their children how to diet from a young age. The show also looks at how the mothers' lifestyle affects their children's views on body image and food. All the women featured believe they're doing the best for their children - despite facing increasingly harsh criticism from those who don't share their attitudes towards parenting."

Now, I'm all for parents taking an active role in their children's nutrition and health - hello, it's a part of being a parent in the first place. If nutrition and health were irrelevant, the breast-Vs-bottle war would never have got off the ground, much less have the polarising effect is does. But I do object to forcing your own body-issues on to your six year old.

I have never met a six year old girl who would respond to the question "Do you think there's anything wrong with the way you look?" with "I'm fat, and that's the truth." It's horrifying! I would be devastated if I thought anything I said or did made my little girl think she was anything but perfectly normal. At six years old, there is no need to be aware of 'thin' or 'fat' or to know what a bloody calorie is - for goodness sake, I'm 28 and I have no idea about calories, kilojoules or whatever they're called - they are just words written on the sides of packaging.

Miss 3 is allowed to eat whatever she would like to - within reason. I won't let her have a bag of lollies for dinner, but just because I'll let her have a few lollies over the passage of the day doesn't make me some kind of non-caring mum who's happy for her child to live on sugar. All it means is that I'm doing my best to teach her moderation and that we need to have a mixture of foods in our diet. If she tells me she wants a pear and some Jatz crackers for lunch, then fine, I'm not going to stress myself out over it.

All kids go through stages where they just won't eat anything other than a specific food, and working through this stage with your child can mean making some compromises on both sides  - they can have their coveted chicken nuggets, but they won't be allowed any dessert because they're not eating any vegetables. And if you ask me, it's a win win situation because a) you know your child has eaten and b) you're teaching them that they can't live on chicken nuggets and if they're not prepared to eat the healthy stuff, then there's no way the treats will be making an appearance.

I don't think, however, that just because a mother might have a terrible self-image that she should be subjecting her child/ren to calorie restricted diets, exercise regime's and constant weigh-in's. If a parent has genuine concerns about their child's health, there are ways to go about resolving those concerns without creating a home-based 'fat camp'.

One mum put her 2 teen-aged daughters on a strict diet that she followed herself, and would harrass them to be doing time on the treadmill everyday. The mum openly admitted that she was going to bed hungry and would constantly wake up in the night as a result. So, as much as I totally agree that physical activity of some kind on a daily basis is great, why should her daughter's want to slog it out on a treadmill when they're probably starving and have no energy as a result? Needless to say one daughter gave up quite quickly, while the other continued to try and meet her mum's expectations.

Giving your child an unhealthy relationship with their body and food from the moment you can make them understand is going to do more harm than the odd burger ever will. Kids are just that - kids. And they want to be able to experience things, do what their friends do and just have fun. Why ruin that by instilling fears in them that are unjustified?

There are enough hurdles to jump in life regarding appearance that our children will have to face - you want your child to be able to come to you for support and encouragement, not look at you as part of the problem.

As Miss 3 grows and begins to absorb these things on her own terms, I will discuss it all openly, but the message I will be passing on at every stage will be that she is wonderful just as she is and nothing on the outside is more important than what's on the inside.

Block-Rage...It's Bigger than Road-Rage...

I've confessed my love for The Block previously. It's 'my show' and I require solitude and silence to appreciate it.

Thank god for Austar and the ability to record things. Otherwise I'd never to get to see anything other than the thrill that is 'Mickey Mouse Club House'.

Although the silence I crave is usually shattered by hysterical screaming and threats to throw things at the TV screen.

It has nothing to do with Miss 3 or The Man. Nope. All the shenanigans are from me.

I've been clinically diagnosed by The Man as having a severe case of 'Block-Rage'.

It's usually brought on by judges who can't seem to tell the difference between a finished room that should win and an incomplete room that shouldn't. They also don't seem to realise that a room painted entirely in navy blue with a hideous green throw on a bed does NOT deserve a score more than zero.

Image from The Age

Do you know how hard it was to find a picture of this room in all it's gory glory? If you look on The Block's official website, they're too ashamed to put a pic of the whole room up. They just choose arty-farty shots that look at certain points in the room.

Spew.

I don't care if that stupid woman did spend $3,000 on bed linen ALONE. Just because it's expensive doesn't mean it's in good taste.

Case in point: Donald Trump...

Money clearly has no place in a wig store...

He has all the money in the world and yet he chooses to wear the hair of a 'ranga' badger on his head.

Idiot.

But my 'Block-Rage' can also be inflamed by contestants who spend their time grinding tiles in front of churches at 1:30am and getting pissy when they're called on it. I also find it hard to keep my blood pressure under control when these people either crack the shits for losing a challenge, or become the most disgusting winners ever by carrying on like a pair of pork chops.

Am I slightly over-involved? Yes.

Is it really worth losing my sanity over a TV show? No...yes

Will I ever regain control of myself? Maybe. Once the show has been over for 12 months.

But for now I am happy raging along and wanting to poke forks into the eyes of the judges. For some reason, Masterchef just doesn't invoke this kind of spontaneous-combustion-inducing rage.

Maybe that's because when food is bad, everyone knows it. There aren't people hanging around saying "Although the beef tongue is like chewing an old boot, this is so 'out there' that it has to be regarded as modern, chic food".

No. When tongue is served up, they spit it out. And make no apologies for the fact that your cooking on that day was crap-tacular.

Hear that Block Judges?! When it's wrong, it's wrong. It's not cool, it's not edgy - it's just plain wrong.

Look it up and use it more often.

Sadly it will mean that Dan and Dani never again win a room...

But I can live with that.

The Block (Heads)...

I love The Block.

L.O.V.E. It.

When it's on, no one is allowed to speak and I record it to re-watch later.

I was devestated to discover that I had missed the first week's worth of episodes for 2012, but I got to watch last night.

I have to say - I was slightly horrified.

Not by the shite-style building, not by the lack of hot running water and not even by the scungy toilet that they all have to share.

No, my main concern was the fact that they appear to have gone for contestants who have limited brain power. And I'm not sure people like that should be handling power tools, or even allowed to sit on a dining chair without a harness and a helmet.

There are 2 contestants that specifically worry me...

SOPHIE & DALE

Source

Now - Dale, he appears to have his stuff together. And thank god for that because the Missus arrived on day 1 wearing a Zimmermann dress and wore it while cleaning up the dump site that was to be their bedroom.

And proceeded to whinge about it.

Who does that!? If you can afford a Zimmermann dress, and afford to wear it while renovating a demolition site, then I don't know what the fuck you're doing on a program like this. Why aren't you lazing around the pool while Jeeves brings you another g&t and Sven works the shopping stress out of your shoulders?

And complaining about it on national TV actually just makes you look a bit stupid. Seriously. You could have changed your clothing - or accepted the fact that you've signed up for The Block, not Australia's Next Top Model, and Zimmermann dresses are inappropriate.

Even if your dress did look like it already had paint thrown on it.

I do have to say - their elimination round kids room was awesome! Miss 3 may or may not have seen that they put a swing in the room and demanded to know why she doesn't have a swing.

We're still in negotiations.

DANI & DAN

Source

Now, Dani has a head on her shoulders. And a foul mouth - I always like the ones who swear right from the start, it makes them seem more 'normal'.

But I will say she has a very competitive, outright 'bitch streak' in her. I understand that you're in a competition, but to ignore people when they say hello, simply over choosing a floor covering strikes me as a bit childish.

You might want to think about your strategy, Dani.

Dan is the one I worry about. His entire vocabulary seems to consist of 3 words. Oh. My. God.

Yep - we get the idea, dude - the job ahead is overwhelming and you're crapping your dacks that you've signed up for it.

However, there are so many other options, in terms of something to come out of your mouth.

Some suggestions I've put together include:

• Good grief Charlie Brown!
• My goodness, isn't this charmingly derelict?
• Good golly, I believe the shock has created a hole in my pants.
• Crikey!
• I'm a flamin' galah for thinking this would be a 10 week getaway (channel your inner Mr Stewart).
• We need a break, we need a KitKat!

It also worries me how bright Dan's teeth are. I'm thinking some form of radioactivity would explain both the vocab problem and the blinding tooth issue. Honestly, Dan, it looks creepy on Tom Cruise - add a deeper shade of orange to your tan and you could be his twin.

His creepy, night-light-tooth twin.

So, there's my take on The Block so far. Do you watch obsessively like me, or are you reality TV indifferent?



P.s: Thanks to the glory that is the internet, I've caught up on all the episodes I missed and I now feel I can sleep at night, not to mention form further judgements about the contestants and be a hero in my own lunchbox.

Because that's how I roll.

The cranky pants are on again...

So last night I lost my shit. Just a little bit.

I totally put it on Twitter, too.

Normally, I wouldn't care - but for once just once, I wanted the time to watch My Kitchen Rules, as it screened on TV.

Some ME time! Me time that isn't just another term for sleep. Because sleep is not really me time - I dream about what I need to do the next day for god's sake!

The Guru get's endless time to himself. Wednesday, Thursday, Friday and Sunday nights he logs on to his computer and isn't heard from again for the rest of the night.

So I tend to get a bit crank-tastic when, for a change, everything has gone to schedule and I can sit on the couch and watch MY program. By myself. Without interruption.

Needless to say, it didn't quite work out.

When Miss 3 decided she wasn't, in fact, tired at all and wanted to stay awake, pull all her toys out and then turn into the whinging whinger from whinge-town, I got a bit twitchy. And I turned off the TV. I put her back to bed. I turned the TV back on.

Repeat this cycle for 20 minutes. Add the fact that 50% of the parenting back-up is otherwise occupied, stir in threenager tantrum and I'd had enough.

I didn't yell, I didn't freak out (well, other than on Twitter). I put her back to bed.

And then I went to my own bed to cry. Because if I don't cry, I'll fucking scream.

For some reason, down time for me isn't doable. But down time is all The Guru seems to get.

It pisses me off.

And it pisses me off more because we've talked about it a thousand times.  He knows how I feel. He knows.

Its times like this I want to microwave his hard drive.



  

Polly Dolly: Ugg Boot Jerseylicious Girl

So I've been watching a lot of Jerseylicious lately, and when I saw Ugg Boots as the theme for this week, I knew I had to do a Jersey Girl outfit.

Besides, I'd just watched Tracey attend a boot camp in white fluffy boots. So obviously they have a place in a Jersey girl's heart.

Everything is 'go big, or go home' - hopefully, I won't be sent home.

Playing along with Danimezza's Polly Dolly Challenge

Cropped t shirt
joythestore.com

Splendid cotton tank
$65 - stylebop.com

Oasis legging
£15 - oasis-stores.com

UGG® Australia boots
$180 - productwiki.com

Mulberry bag
£300 - start-london.com

Dorothy Perkins zebra print jewelry
£7.50 - dorothyperkins.com

Roberta Chiarella post earrings
$68 - maxandchloe.com

Gold bangle
$298 - alexisbittar.com

Christian Louboutin studded bracelet
$225 - alexisbittar.com

ASOS safety pin necklace
$14 - asos.com

Jane Norman headbands hair accessory
£5 - janenorman.co.uk

FLIRT! BIG FLIRT Thickening Mascara
$12 - kohls.com

Lancome La Laque Fever
$27 - neimanmarcus.com

Amazon.com: Purple Crisscross w/ Glitter Pre-designed Acrylic/UV Gel...
$15 - amazon.com