The Acidic Observer, Volume VIIII

First of all, let's get this out the way - the Duchess of Cambridge is in LABOUR! Hallelujah!

This is how I think it's going...

"Oh, bother it all, those contractions are just ghastly, Will dahling..." 

"Can I ask my manservant to ask the servant to get you some Finnish purified ice, Katie, my dove?" 

"That would be spiffy - could you put in the order for my epidural, these pains are positively BEASTLY!?" 

"Certainly, Harrington will fetch the doctor immediately, but it may be a few moments wait while we get the best anaesthetist in the world here..." 

"Stone the crows, motherfucker, get me my epidural now and shut the fuck up! Don't touch me! Rub my back! Get me ice chips! Stop touching me! Did I say stop rubbing my back!? Where's that fucking doctor!? Stop talking! It huuuuuuuuuuuurts!!!!!" 

"...????..."

Now Kochie can stop crossing to a live feed of Mel standing in front of a building trying to grasp for things to say and not look like Charlie at the window of the sweet shop, totally separated from the chummy, joy of those smug bastards on the inside.

Sucks to be the one who jumped ship first, doesn't it Mel?

Anyway, sorry for the impromptu hiatus of a couple of weeks. If you follow me on Twitter or Instagram, you'll notice we got a new member of the family.

He's a Great Dane, Irish Wolf Hound cross. His name is Loki - after the Norse God of Mischief.

Some people would say we're tempting fate with a name like that.

It's like having a new baby but a shit load worse because I can't make him wear a nappy and he chews everything, including my TOES. It's apparently completely normal - but given that I'm not a dog person, I haven't a fucking clue.

The only positive I can think of is that he doesn't eat his own shit.

Loki is The Man's longed for family pet. The Man has put up with my love of cats, tolerated their tendency to shit outside the litter box when we lived in an apartment, their love of shredding the couch and the armchair in the baby's room and their long memories and the resulting revenge.

So I felt it was only fair for him to finally have a companion of the dog kind.

And he's bloody lucky he's a cute dog, otherwise I'd have an attractive dog skin rug in the lounge.

Speaking of cute, The Man led me to my burn this week by making a passing comment that, according to some woman in the UK, babies have to be more than cute, they also can't be a red-head, to be loved.

Sometimes I think there are people in the world who should be bitch slapped. 

Repeatedly.

Her name is Katie Hopkins and she is a UK reality star. Not that this fact gives me any fucking clue who she is - but if my reality were the same as her's, I'd swallow a cyanide pill and end it all.

Katie is just one of many people who should not be allowed to speak. To anyone. Ever.

She chose to share this gem on Twitter: "Ginger babies. Like a baby. Just so much harder to love."

Hang on...like a baby? How does red hair make a baby anything but a baby? Unless they're an orang-utan - but they are still called BABIES!

Katie, clarify this for me - you're saying that I should stop loving The Jellybean because she has a tinge of the ginge? That somehow she is a sub-standard child because she is lucky enough to inherit the Irish red from my side of the family?

To assume that any child is difficult to love is a shameful thing to say. To assume that a child is difficult to love because they have a hair colour you're not fond of? You're an ignorant, despicable human being.

If I were you, Katie, red hair is the last thing I'd worry about. My biggest concern would be that my dumb-arsery was hereditary and, therefore, my kids would be doomed.

And just in case she didn't waste enough oxygen sprouting that load of crap, Katie continues on in her 'wisdom' that you can clearly identify what 'class' a child comes from, based on their name - and anyone with a 'lower-class' name is not welcome to play with her children.

Well, I don't think she needs to be concerned about the 'calibre' of anyone wanting to play with her children - no mother in the world would let their children be exposed to the offspring of a total fuckwit.

Obviously, Katie hasn't opened a newspaper, gone online, or stepped outside her bubble and realised that a child's name has NO bearing on their background. In case everyone has forgotten, Kim Kardashian named her daughter North West. One famous actor and his wife named their daughter Reignbeau. They have completely butchered the spelling of a natural phenomena. A NAME DOESN'T GET ANY MORE BOGAN THAN THAT! And this kid comes from a background that Katie would sell her cheap, reality TV soul to be associated with.

I find it ironic that the people who have the exposure, have the least to say to improve the world. Or just their own IQ.

Whenever I watch TV and see those poor starving kids all over the world, I can't help but cry. I mean I'd love to be skinny like that but not with all those flies and death and stuff. - Mariah Carey.

I've never really wanted to go to Japan. Simply because I don’t like eating fish. And I know that's very popular out there in Africa. - Britney Spears 

I'm not sure if it's funny or bloody frightening that, even with MENSA candidates like Mariah and Britney in the world, Katie is as close to being insightful as I am being announced as the new Queen of Atlantis.

Which is a shame because I've always thought I'd look good with a crown.

The Acidic Observer - The Territory Day Edition

It's been pointed out to me on several occasions that I appear to love bagging the shit out of the NT.

It's true - I do. But to be honest, it's not like I'm creating things out of thin air. All the things that boggle my mind are there through sanction of Government or the pure stupidity of some of the people that live here.

Between the irritating lack of competition in various areas which means we pay a premium for things like housing, to the outrageous cost of living because every provider loves to use the excuse of 'shipping' so they can add an extra 25%.

Last time I checked, the NT was still a part of Australia - we are not floating in the middle of the ocean, we are not only accessible by one man canoe and we have roads for trucks so you don't need to load up mountain goats and pack mules.

The greed of the minority shits me to tears and those that have the monopoly will never let it go.

Assholes.

I know there are dickheads everywhere, the NT isn't special in that regard - but I think because Darwin has such a small population compared to other capital cities, it's more obvious. And because the NT has always had a culture of 'come here and do what you like', it attracts all the tourists that should really be in jail.

The NT also has a knack for harbouring criminals. But it's that talent that means my Dad will never be unemployed.

To clarify - 99% of the people that live in the NT are lovely, respectful, normal people. It's the 1% that seem to take it too far and just make things harder. And the dickheads stand out like a sore thumb.

Yesterday was July 1st - and here in the NT that's Territory Day. Historically, this is the day in 1978 when the NT commenced self government. But I question exactly how many people actually know that, or understand why they live in a place where fireworks and ridiculous speed limits are the norm.

Territory Day has become an excuse for people to spend a shit load of cash on fireworks and go home to inadvertently amputate their own extremities, give themselves massive burns, or do the same for a friend.

Only a true friend would get blind drunk and light a firework in your butt crack. It's a documented fact.

I don't have any objection to the fireworks themselves - but I object to fuckwits being able to buy them. I also object to the dickheads who continue to set the fireworks off before and after the event. At 3am. On a Wednesday.

There is a lot of talk about whether 'cracker night' should be banned, and there's a part of me that screams 'YEEEEEEEEEES!!' and a part of me that sits back and says 'meh, whatever'.

When I first moved here, and the horrifying realisation that I had been relocated to a capital city with no major department stores wore off, cracker night was a massively redeeming feature for the NT. It was a consolation prize of sorts - you can't go shopping here, but you can have your own fireworks spectacular once a year.

Fabulous!

But I didn't count on all the yahoo's in the world descending on Darwin in a coordinated effort to blow the fucking city to the moon.

I also didn't count on their trials beginning a week before the event, and further trials continuing on until Christmas. Because that's awesome.

Not.

I don't care how free spirited or 'true blue Territorian' you are - being wrenched from your sleep by random explosions in the middle of the night isn't cool. Especially if you own pets.

One of our cats is already so high strung that a leaf blowing in the wind 500km's away will startle him. A firework explosion requires valium. Repeated firework explosions - well, not even valium can make that okay - I just have to accept that I will be wearing a cat-turban for the foreseeable future, secured by claws embedded in my eyelids and scalp.

Am I some out of town harpy, whining on about a tradition that is integral to the NT identity? Probably.

Am I the only one whining on about the dickhead factor? Hell No! In fact, one person has suggested that going outside on 1 July is just plain stupid.

This year, however, I think the NT News said it best...

"NOTHING says self government like allowing the public to set off Chinese-made fireworks in confined spaces. Those proud patriots were at it again, lighters in one hand, a beer in the other, celebrating Territory Day last night with the danger that freedom allows."

Danger. Freedom. We can't have one without the other. I just hope the consequences are worth it.

The Acidic Observer, Volume VIII

Tuesday just seems to roll around so fast, don't you think?

Maybe because the world seems to be so considerate lately, and has been pulling out the dumb-arses faster than I can register them.

Let's address the most obvious issue to begin, shall we?

If you've been living under a rock in the Himalayas, then you may have missed the fact that Kim Kardashian realised her baby was due around the same time as the royal baby, and decided that moment she needed a C-section to cash in effectively.

So last week, she had a baby girl. And probably a tummy tuck.

And last week, she named her baby 'North West'. There's no word on the name she's given to her tummy tuck.

And last week, we found out they call little North, 'Nori' for short.

Because it's not enough to give her a ridiculous legal name, but they have to give her a nickname that implies she will be wrapped around some rice and salmon, and served with chopsticks.

Why not cut out the middle man and name her 'California Roll'?

However, this week, Kimye is in fine company. I'm unsure of the amount of national coverage this story has received, but we all know Darwin can be a bit of a hub for - to put it kindly - the intelligence-challenged members of the world. Or fuckwit tourists, if you prefer.

I'm not sure why they all come here, and the ones who manage to get a drivers license are the ones who I think should be deported immediately. Except for the interstate visitors who come here with their fucking caravans and Winnebago's.

They should be banned from leaving their own driveways.

Recently one tourist from the UK, 28 year old Alex Neale, took 'dickhead tourist' to a whole new low and was busted riding around on the roof of a Coles delivery truck.

Image courtesy of the NT News website

When the driver pulled over and Alex dismounted, he had the nerve to ask the driver if he could take him home, before just strolling off.

Alex, the cost of a bus ticket in Darwin has gone up by a whole dollar. But I'm sure if you had called your Mummy, she would have sent you the extra dollar. Shit, she might even have sent you enough to cover a return trip!

We can only hope the return ticket would be from Darwin to London.

But just in case he doesn't go home, I think we should all encourage Alex to participate in the fashionable activity of standing on croc traps. I think he would be a natural.

Ah, crocodiles - culling the gene pool since the beginning of time.

And while we're looking at dickheads in the Territory - let's have a quick look at our Chief Minister, shall we?

I'm sure there are plenty of ways to eloquently tell the opposition to butt out. But why bother with such nonsense when "get out of the way, piss off" says it all!

Adam Giles is one step closer to greeting the Queen with 'would you like a shower, shit and a shave before we crack a tinny over breakfast?'

People say the NT is a bit rough - but I just don't see it.

The Acidic Observer, Volume III

Another week, another edition. I figure this could go on forever, given the dumb-arsery of some people who manage to get their opinions published.

It's currently 5:57am.

Between the myriad of thoughts in my head, the ongoing process of 2 different alarms going off and being snoozed by The Man (since 5am) and the noise of one cat licking itself at end of the bed, I thought I might as well get up and write this.

While I can return to sleep amidst endless thoughts and stupid alarms, I just can't ignore the cat.

My burn this week is centred on a series of comments in an article I read, titled 'The Retro Mummy', featuring the lovely Corrie from Retro Mummy, and Kate from Picklebums, amongst others.

The general overview of the article, written very well by Alexandra Carlton, is that there is a growing trend in women choosing to be at home with the family rather than prioritising a career, or being a working mum.

The article covers the position of stay at home mum and working mum quite well, and I honestly thought there wasn't anywhere else to go with it. Alexandra was open in her writing stating that being at home isn't something everyone can afford, which is very true, and Corrie admits to receiving emails regarding that very subject.

The article states that there has always been a Working Mummy Vs Stay-At-Home-Mummy situation, much the same as Breast Vs Bottle and Immunisation Vs Non-immunisation. We 'eye each other with faint suspicion, each fearing the other is living a more fulfilled life...', and it's true! Personally, I have been struggling with the idea that I won't be returning to work and I'll be a full time SAHM, because I worry I won't be of enough value to my family - that if I'm not putting money in the bank, I have no worth.

It's not true - being home with my girls and, hopefully, showing them that finding a balance between home and work is more than possible, is very valuable, and you can't put a price on that.

Although Centrelink certainly try.

But those points aren't my issue.

In closing the article, there were quotes from 2 women, Anne Summers and Clementine Ford. Summers is apparently 'exasperated' by the fact that some women are choosing their families over the 9-5. And I would like to quote her with "If women want to quilt and craft and sort out their linen cupboards on a weekly basis that is their business. But don't claim it is a superior way to live,". Yeah, because when I get out of bed all I can think about is making sure my tea towels are all folded the same.

Clementine Ford goes on to say that staying home is 'self sabotage' because the divorce rate is high and, when that happens to you, finding a job after you've 'cut yourself off' is difficult.

I have to admit, the sun is awfully bright in my eyes when I walk outside once a week to put the bin out. And there are these really loud machines that seem to contain people - my husband sits in one and it takes him to work every day. He calls it a 'car'. My husband tells me all sorts of stories about the outside world, and it sounds so exciting.

One day I hope to be able to read something called a 'novel'. But right now I'm in the middle of my Woman's Weekly Cookbook.

Anne and Clementine, thank you for your feedback, and thank you so much for claiming that the stay at home mum is dragging society back to the 50's and, in doing so, are reducing the value of women all around the world.

My blood boils at the accusation that a change in attitude towards work and family means my generation has wasted everything that the bra-burning days fought for. And while I could stand back and say 'I never asked you to burn anything for me, so go fuck yourself!', I should probably take a different path to the same conclusion, or risk having my house attacked by Germaine Greer clones, catapulting burning girdles at the windows and screaming "down with cupcakes!!"

It shits me to tears that Feminists are so high and mighty about what has been done to further the working woman, that they can't see a choice to be home or at work as another positive step for the feminist movement. Once upon a time, it wasn't a choice - if you were female you were home. No negotiations. There was a time where we weren't even viewed as worth educating. We were a burden, something our father's had to pay a man to marry and take away.

The last time I checked, baking a cake and learning to make a quilt aren't the indicators that we're returning to medieval times and we're going to start putting thrushes on the floor and use chamber pots - because, you know, we're home to empty them now.

What about those stay at home mum's who start a business based on a passion they found while home with their children? Are they dragging us back to the 'old days'? 

Trust me, there is nothing easy about choosing to stay home. Most working mum's will tell you that the days they go to work as their 'day's off'. I know mine sure as hell, were! Conversations with adults, 8 entire hours without having to watch anything from the Disney Junior channel and when you say 'no' to someone, they don't throw themselves to the ground and scream, until some stranger walking past labels you a 'bad person'.

And let me tell you bitches something, trying to write a scathing blog post while nursing a baby on one side, and comforting a sick 4yo on the other isn't easy, but that's what I'm doing right now.

Maybe there would be no mummy war about this if the feminists calmed the fuck down and stopped trying to find a culprit for a change in society that they don't like. Maybe the feminists are the ones who are struggling to keep up? Maybe the feminists are the ones regressing? Because having a whinge and a cry when things don't go your way, sounds awfully like the temper tantrums Miss 4 pulls when I tell her she can't have chocolate for dinner.

So put on your big girl panties, put your fucking bra back on and stop making women feel bad for their choices. Or else we'll put you on the naughty spot.

 

The Acidic Observer, Volume I

I've got my ranty pants on this week. Why?  Because the world has gone completely insane and I feel the urge to get on my soap box about it.

The title of this post is, hopefully, the first in a series of soap box posts. In my mind I see it as a newspaper edition - but instead of reporting current events from an all-angles, completely un-biased position, I am going to be taking the sarcastic, exasperated and outraged position and throw in some reductio ad absurdum, just to keep it interesting.

So beware world - if you make a stupid move, I'll be on your arse, ready to point out your idiocy.

To begin this inaugural edition, I would like to start with the 22 year old student who is suing McDonald's because she spilled coffee on her leg and it burnt. Honey, if everyone who spilled their Maccas coffee on their lap sued them and won, there wouldn't be a bloody Maccas! She states that the lid wasn't secured properly by the staff, and I believe her - 99% of the time the 10 year old serving me a meal is barely able to reach the cup dispenser, let alone fully secure a lid to a steaming cup of coffee.

What I don't understand is the need to sue them. Okay, the lid wasn't on properly and you spilled your half strength vanilla latte with 2 marshmallows and whipped cream on your lap. It burnt. Badly - second degree burns are no laughing matter. But can we really go about suing organisations or people simply because a series of events occurred and you inadvertently got hurt?

They put massive warnings on the cup that the contents are hot and may burn - it's not an invitation to test out the theory.

If you were at home and made a cup of coffee, tripped on your cat/dog/hairless mole rat and spilled it all over yourself, are you going to sue your pet? Are you going to sue your Mum, or your boyfriend if they served you hot coffee and you accidentally wore it? No. Because it was an accident - and this is no different.

If you ask me, this entire situation is the coffee equivalent of 'I'm going to sue the condom company because I got pregnant and the box didn't say the condom was ineffective if applied to any body part other than a penis'.

Next on my hit list is an advertisement by Subaru for their new vehicle that has not just a reversing camera, but 2 cameras that look out the windscreen and will tell the car to brake so you don't run down an innocent pedestrian.

The reversing camera makes perfect sense. I have one on my car, and I love it because I don't have eyes in the back of my head (shhhh, don't tell Miss 4) and I certainly can't stretch my vision to the rear bumper of my vehicle and reverse at the same time.

I DO have 2 eyes in the front of my head that happen to be able to look through a windscreen and judge when I should brake to avoid an accident or killing an innocent bystander. My suggestion would be, if you don't have this ability, to step away from the vehicle and get your seeing-eye dog out of the driver's seat.

Lastly, my attention is drawn to the recent arrest of Reese Witherspoon and her husband - whats-'is-face. He was pulled over for high level drink driving, and Reese tried the 'don't you know who I am?' move. It backfired and she got arrested for backchatting the police officer. And he honestly had no idea who she was, so she was wasting her booze-soaked-breath anyway.

It's not the fact that she attempted to talk her way out of it that annoys me the most - but the fact that they were in that situation to begin with. Reese, I'm sure you've made enough movies and get enough alimony from Ryan to be able to pay for a taxi - you have more money available on your credit card than some people could possibly imagine, and yet you both decided to drive and risk the lives of other people on the road because you were too cheap, or perhaps you thought too 'special', to take a taxi that other 'normal' people use.

Just because she's famous doesn't make her husband's actions any less dangerous. It doesn't make them invincible. It doesn't make them any less responsible for their choices - even if Reese did think she was famous enough to talk her way out of it. If Reese and her family were involved in an accident with a drunk driver, you can bet she would be on day time talk shows to rant and rave faster than flies on a shit. She would be the face of every anti-drink-driving campaign available, and she would be burning crates of whiskey in the streets, just to make a point.

But put her on the opposite side of the story, and suddenly being famous means you feel you can operate heavy machinery while soused. Interesting theory - glad we didn't have to discover the ultimate outcome from that idea.

And so ends the first edition of The Acidic Observer. I hope you enjoyed my withering reviews, and I have no doubt I'll be back next week with equally scathing reports on some more of humanity's best cock ups from the week.

 

A letter...

Sometimes I wonder what kind of world my daughters are growing up in.

When I got a chance to check my Facebook this morning, there were lots of posts from friends and family about people in Boston and sending love. I had no idea what they were talking about.

I turned on the television, and on the screen was the awful scene of bombs going off at the Boston Marathon.

Thus far 3 people are confirmed dead and 120 or more injured, many with limbs having been blown off. One of the dead is reportedly a child.

What kind of person, or group, sets coordinated bombs to explode at a foot race? I don't understand. Everyone at that race, runners and spectators, are just regular people - families and individuals there to watch loved ones cross the finish line are targeted.

Why?

I was talking with The Man the other day about the new advertisement for The History Channel - it covers all the major events in recorded history. And it occurred to me that 99% of the major events are wars. People killing other people.

I'll never understand the compulsion of some individuals to injure or take the life of someone else. I always think of war and I can't seem to look beyond the loss of life and the waste - I understand that our armed forces are trained for war and the defence of our country, and I am not blind to the fact that without generations of brave people before me I would not have the freedom I do and my family would not be as lucky as we are. It's always blatantly clear that a soldier's life may be the ultimate sacrifice. But why?

Why is the human race so determined to find a reason to hate, kill or maim?

My brother in law is in the army and I dread to think that he might ever be involved in a conflict.

But for all I know, Kim Jong Un might get his knickers in a tight knot, rather than just a twist, press his cranky pants button, and before you know it a nuclear war will have begun. And again, I'll ask, why?

We are all people, we are all equal, no one's life is worth more than another's. Money, religion, power, race, revenge - none of it is a good enough reason to start a war, detonate a bomb or start a shooting rampage in a school. But it happens anyway. And it scares me.

To all the people affected by the Boston Marathon Bombings, my thoughts are with you.

To all the families and friends of those in our armed forces, my own family included, I thank you for what you do and the sacrifices you all make to keep our country safe.

To all those who have lost their lives throughout history defending our country, trying to end tyranny or, victimised for being true to themselves - I can never thank you enough for your sacrifice and every day that my girls are able to play outside, eat fresh food, drink clean water, dress how they want to, speak their minds and learn without prejudice is a testament to you. Your sacrifice is not in vain and I hope that, one day, we can all live together with respect and acceptance.

I just don't know when that day will come.


 

FFS!? Friday: The Out-Law Edition...

It's been a restless night, people. Pregnancy aside, my anxiety was at an all time high after Miss 3 was on the receiving end of a hammer.

Now, to clarify - she's okay. A bit bruised and she has an impressive but superficial laceration behind one ear, but she is perky, eating, drinking and being her normal self. No concussion, no loss of consciousness, no loss of balance, pupils equal and reactive and normal reactions to stimulus.

It's times like this I'm glad my Mum is a nurse.

The Man is suffering a case of the guilts for leaving the hammer on the ladder, rather than putting it away. I'm suffering a case of the guilts for not having been in front of Miss 3 when we went into the baby's room - if I had, I would have got the light on faster, she wouldn't have bumped into the ladder and the hammer wouldn't have fallen on her.

Another score for parental guilt...just in case my MIL hadn't totally destroyed what was left of my self esteem.

It feels like this millennium century decade year week the MIL has really pulled out all the stops to be at the top of my shit list, yet again. If it was an Olympic sport, the committee would just express post the gold medal to her every 4 years so no one had to bother leaving home.

Our week was great until Wednesday morning. The MIL works at the hospital where my OB is, and I took Miss 3 to see MIL as a surprise after my appointment. This is an important lesson for everyone on how 'doing the right thing' will come and bite you in the arse...

• MIL decided it was important to let me know that she'd been discussing my fracture with her 'friends' and that clearly my lack of nutrition and weight are the reason I hurt myself...FFS
• Apparently my OB is a waste of money if she's not even bothering to do a check on my calcium levels (she has), and what is my OB doing about my appearance?...FFS

MIL then decided it was time to have a chat about the renovations we're doing in the house...

• She informed me that she an FIL are aware that "I'm getting myself all worked up over getting the house finished" and she thinks this is worthy of an eye-roll. And then she showed me how awesome the whites of her eyes are...FFS
• But she then made the concession that "I suppose it's understandable not to want construction happening when you bring the baby home". Gee, glad you said that MIL, I couldn't possibly think about having feelings without your permission...FFS
• MIL proceeded to have a dig at The Man. Why am I worried about getting things done in the next 8 weeks when I know The Man always finishes things off at the last minute?...FFS
• Your underwhelming faith in your son is awesome...FFS

The topic shifted to the fact that I'm on maternity leave. This is the point where I should have grabbed Miss 3 and run away...

• I was asked what I do all day. I dutifully listed off all the things Miss 3 and I have been up to. The official response was "so you don't do much of anything, then?"...FFS
• It was then suggested that if I had kept working then maybe I would have less time to be dramatic over the progress of the renovations...FFS

After all these pearls of wisdom were bestowed upon me, her attention then turned to their new car, some snide remarks about my SIL (The Man's brothers' wife), further wonderment over their new car, the fact that they were buying a new car and finally, in case I wasn't aware, the awesome news that they're buying a new car and I should look it up so I can drool over it.

Yeah - I'll be sure to do that. 

Snort.

Overall it was the surprise visit from hell - which completely fell in on itself and spontaneously combusted when a promise was made that they would 'pop over on the weekend'. 

It's been decided that from Saturday morning our entire weekend will be spent with the blinds down, lights off, scuttling around the house on all fours using sign language to communicate.

Either that or we're moving house entirely. I'll let you know how it goes.

The Name Game...

Before I became a parent, I thought choosing a name for your baby must be one of the coolest things to do. Ever.

Then we started our own family and had to start thinking about names. Holy. Freaking. Cow. Batman.

When Miss 3 was born, The Man and I had settled on a name and it suited her to a tee. Thank god for that, because it was the only one we had.

And now here we are, trying to settle on a name for our next baby girl.

I'm not entirely sure we'll have anything agreed before we've torn out all our hair in frustration.

Miss 3 has her favourite all picked out, and I'll admit that I am quite taken with it. We had a list on the fridge and, after asking me to read the names to her, she decided there was only 1 good option and has latched on to it with the same intensity as a newborn koala to its mother during a cyclone.

I think the name is beautiful and individual - exactly the same reasons we chose Miss 3's name.

The issue is I'm not sure The Man is entirely convinced. And I'm questioning the name since his mother voiced her (inappropriate!) opinion on it and his reaction was to tell me we should use the name just out of spite.

But I don't like it for spiteful reasons - I liked it before his mother opened her pie hole! And now I feel like she's put this taint on it that I can't get rid of.

Additionally, The Man has already told his brother and SIL what happened and his reaction so, if we did use the name I don't want them thinking that we would choose a name just to piss off a family member. Because we wouldn't!

Besides, if we really wanted to drive the MIL mental, we'd choose a name like Pinky Pie, Strawberry Shortcake or, my absolute favourite, Diva Muffin. If it was up to them we'd probably be choosing a Dutch name, and out of curiosity The Man and I did a search...and on the list was the option 'Floor'.

I wish I was joking. After that I started to suggest we should name our baby 'Nail Brush' or 'Shower Curtain'. Clearly the Dutch are very practical people and I have an all new respect for that.

I don't want The Man to agree to a name he's not truly happy to bestow on his daughter, but if his 'meh' opinion is based purely on feedback from a nitwit, then I'm 100% convinced he needs to re-evaluate.

Sometimes I wonder if choosing a name for your baby isn't a basic lesson in overcoming the opinions of others when it comes to your child. A way to help you develop a thick skin before the baby arrives and the rest of the world starts shoving it's ideas down your throat. Because we all know that regardless of the choices we make (i.e. cloth vs. disposable, SAHM vs. working mumma and the ugliest battle you'll ever come across: breast vs. bottle) there will always be someone who disagrees or thinks you're a complete moron for doing what you do.

In all honesty, if our daughter missed out on an awesome name just because one person has no sense propriety in their behaviour, isn't that just enabling their bad attitude? Allowing them to think that their opinion is so essential to our existence that we would change something as important as our daughter's name just to please them?

Well I say NO! You are entitled to your opinion, but the last time I checked this is our family, this is our baby and it is our choice. If you can't respect that, then maybe you need to have a good, hard look at yourself.

And that right there is the conclusion I've been looking for.

Who ever said blogging wasn't worthwhile clearly never had to name a baby.

FFS!? Friday...The REALLY Cranky Edition...

I've been working on this post all week. Since Tuesday in fact, because there were some things from the weekend that linger, and as the week has progressed, more and more people have been lining up to be on my shit list.

Well, I'm more than happy to oblige.

• Told the Inlaws Outlaws that we're expecting a baby girl! MIL's immediate response was 'oh, so you'll be having another one then, for a boy.' Are. You. Serious!?...FFS
• Miss 3 happened to let slip a name from our 'possible name' list that she has fallen in love with, and MIL's response was 'that's fucking hideous'. In front of Miss 3. I wanted to stab the woman in the eye with a fork...FFS
• The MIL also turned around to announce that clearly The Man is at fault for us having a little girl. Like it's a fucking crime!...FFS
• My father is going through mid-life crisis #3,234,665 and I am going to stab him in the eye with a fork if he doesn't stop being such an arse-hat...FFS
• I'm referring to him as my 'Father' rather than 'Dad' because I don't like him at all right now, and 'Dad' is too caring for how I feel right now...FFS
• He won't stop picking on my Mum about completing her nursing degree. Well, last time I checked she works full time, studies full time and still manages to see us regularly and look after a 56 year old husband child who makes snarky remarks about how on earth can she find the time to study when she's too busy looking after the rest of the world and not him...see, total arse-hat...FFS
• My father is very material and money is everything to him. Money becomes his only thought, night and day, during mid-life crisis mode. He has more than some people could ever dream of, and his selfishness is disgusting. It makes me want to slap him...FFS
• I feel like a bitch because my Mum cried on the phone the other day. She misses looking after Miss 3, but The Man and I aren't letting it happen because we don't want her around my Father's shitful behaviour...FFS
• Did I mention I feel like an evil bitch for making my Mum cry?...FFS
• My solution is to have Mum at our place as often as possible, but when she's here all she wants to do is clean and do chores so that I 'don't have to worry about it'...FFS
• If I didn't think it would set off her claustrophobia, I would cling wrap her to a chair...FFS
• My workplace is making it as difficult as possible for me to access my leave - I personally think this is in direct response to me having to go on leave early on advice from my OB...FFS
• I don't know why I'm surprised - I work with a bunch of women who's biggest concern in life is where their next drink is coming from and how soon can they get it. People like me are a waste of space because work comes AFTER family and I'm not a raging alcoholic...FFS
• How dare I put my health and the health of our unborn child first! There are spreadsheets to be done, wench!!...FFS
• If I see anyone from work on the street, I'll be hard pressed not to swerve onto the sidewalk and chase them with my car...FFS
• Daycare totally buggered up our fees etc and so now we have an account for $550 due to their system screwing up...FFS
• They only discovered the error after doing up our final paperwork for pulling Miss 3 from care now that I'm at home. If she was still at care they never would have known...FFS
• So much for going on maternity leave making life easier...FFS
• The Man is going to Sydney for a few days from Sunday for a company booze and feast-fest something-or-other. He says it'll be all work, work, work but I know that's a load of bullshit...FFS
• He also came home last night to announce he bought tickets with his brother to some music festival thing in Adelaide in March...FFS
• This is after he promised the next trip we took would be as a family since he took a boys 10 day trip to Bali in a villa with a butler, cook, maid and would text me about his massages that cost $5 for 2 hours...FFS
• The closest thing I get to a massage is the 2 cats clawing the shit out of my shoulders to indicate they're hungry...FFS
• I'm turning into Betty-bloody-Crocker and I'm afraid to get on the scales at the OB's office in 2 weeks time...FFS
• The insomnia has started to kick in and so it gives me more time to dwell on all the bullshit and realise how badly our ceilings need to be re-painted...FFS

So this week has certainly been a pain in the arse - all I can say is TFIF!!

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.

Hell Hath No Fury...

Like a woman scorned by morning sickness.

Or, in my case, all the fucking time sickness.

8.5 weeks gestation and all I can think is that this better end soon because I really want some ice cream.

The doctor gave me some tablets to take that will (hopefully) help. I was excited thinking I might get to eat dinner and not have a post-meal chinwag with the porcelain.

It was an awesome theory. Until the doc mentioned that I take this tablet 20mins before bed and I should be feeling better in a couple of days.

Arsehole.

I'm hungry, cranky and nauseated. Telling me that I need to wait another 48 hours or so for a chance to eat without hurling makes me stabby. And more hungry.

I've tried it all - ginger, dry toast, grated apple, pears, watermelon, flat lemonade, weak cordial. None of it helps. And it makes me cry.

I cry harder when I have Miss 3 sitting in the hallway outside the toilet, watching me, and I listen to her blow by blow commentary to the crowd of stuffed animals she's gathered for the performance. I always stare back at those bears and think how lucky those little bastards are with their lack of stomach content.

Fully aware of the 'just be grateful you're pregnant' band, I would like to clarify that I am NOT saying this isn't worth it, and I'm NOT saying that I am ungrateful for this chance. What I AM saying is that emptying my stomach contents into the loo on a regular basis is not one of my favourite activities and I will be glad when this stage has passed.

Besides, the last time I checked, they didn't stop drinking or whinging when they passed out in front of Uncle Sam's and spewed all over themselves.

Sorry, that was the bitch in me hunger talking.

I suppose the bonus is that I have been able to watch all the trashy TV I usually miss by going to work. Admittedly I booked annual leave for another purpose, but watching TV was always part of the plan. And it means that when The Man gets home there's no judgement for me being in the same position on the couch as when he left that morning.

Sure, Miss 3 has destroyed the house, the dishes are still in the sink and I may or may not have forgotten to round up the chickens so they don't shit on his pristine deck, but I manage to move as little as possible unless I'm running to a meeting with the Thunderbox. And that takes serious skill  and a serious lack of parenting.

Oh yeah, I am winning all kinds of awards this week. My mother would be ashamed proud.

So here's to the hormones that are making me sick as a dog just for the priviledge of having a baby. Some may think I'm an ungrateful whinger, but if they don't like it I'm more than happy to go around and spew on their doorstep.

A special gift to remind them never to piss me off when I'm pregnant.

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.



  

10 Reasons I Have Road Rage...

I know this topic isn't new. Many of us have blogged about the behaviors of other road users that send us into a hysterical rage.

But today, I'm going to be venting my own. Because I can. And because flashing the bird to everyone who pisses me off isn't changing anything.

#1: You drive 5-50km/hr UNDER the speed limit. Seriously, what the hell is wrong with you? If you're unable to read speed limit signs then you probably shouldn't be driving at all. Generally cars are provided with a pedal that increases speed. If you're using foot power then you should be in the bike lane.

#2: Driving along with your indicator on. Thanks for giving me the heads up - but we're on a highway and unless you're giving advance notice of a trip into the trees, I need you to turn it off. I'm also wondering if you've been reading 'The Secret'. Trust me, thinking happy thoughts and then randomly swerving into the safety barriers won't make a new road magically appear. If it worked that way I'd have my own road, away from people like you.

#3: Napping at traffic lights. The light has gone green, now would be the time to start moving. You may have narcolepsy, but I'm wanting to get to the shops before they close, so drink more red bull and get going. If I have to sit behind you through 2 rotations of light changes, I am going to sit on my horn until you get out of my way.

#4: Speeding through school zones. It's amazing, when we're in an 80km/hr zone you'll travel at 40km/hr, but as soon as it's required for you to travel at 40 km/hr you hit the accelerator and leave scorch marks in your wake. Again, what is wrong with you!?

#5: Swerving from lane to lane. I'm not sure when indicators became an optional extra. The people in catergory 2 have the off switch as an optional extra (and chose not to have it) - but apparently you've decided indicators are redundant. I'm happy for you that you're telepathic and you know what everyone else on the road is doing, but I'm still waiting for the Government to install my telepath chip so I need you to tell me where you're going rather than just cutting me off.

#6: Not choosing a lane at all. See those pretty white lines, painstakingly put there by the road workers you try to kill while speeding through slow speed zones? Well, you'll notice they separate two large black areas - also know as lanes. The idea of driving is to choose one lane, and drive within it. Straddling the white line isn't generally acceptable road behaviour, nor is driving along ON the middle white line. But judging by all the scrape marks down both sides of your vehicle, staying within the lines isn't only something you can't achieve when colouring with your children.

#7: You're too cheap to buy fuel for your car. At least, that's what I'm thinking the problem is when you've practically hooked your car onto my rear bumper. I know fuel is expensive - but it's going to cost you a lot more when I slam on my brakes.

#8: Your lights are for decorative purposes only. Honestly, I love that you have dark blue glass with stars and butterflies rather than standard lighting. It's whimsical, girly and combined with the flirty 'Crazy Bitch' sticker on your rear window that's made from pink diamontes, it makes me want to spew. But, unless those butterflies are going to scream advance notice of you stopping, changing lanes or reversing, they are completely, fucking useless.

#9: Demonstrating the 'Bend and Snap' for your male passenger while driving. It's entertaining for those of us watching you, but it's all fun and games until someone loses a car panel.

#10: That, despite the number of times I yell at you, give you the bird or honk my horn, you continue to drive. Because you piss me off and when I rule the world, you will be the first people to incur my wrath.

Dear Insurance Company...

You're making my head bleed.

Did you know that?

We were robbed on 17 May 2011. That means you've been arsing around for 4 Months and 17 Days.

Now, don't get me wrong, I love that you've settled about 20% of the claim and I am thrilled to have electronics replaced. That's wonderful.

What I don't love is getting a letter in the mail saying that we need to pay our excess on one of our cars because The Guru smacked someone up the arse (don't ask - when it happened I wanted to strangle him.) and they want their car fixed.

Well, that's lovely. Good for them.

CAN I ASK WHY YOU'VE DEALT WITH THEIR CRAP IN LESS THAN A MONTH AND WE'RE STILL JUMPING THROUGH YOUR HOOPS!?

Seriously - I thought you asking for a second quote 2 months after we supplied the first was annoying. But sending The Guru an email yesterday saying that you now need "Statutory Declarations from the people who gifted the items with a full description of the item, plus photo's of all the items and people wearing them" - well, this makes me feel stabby.

Very stabby.

Given your request, I will have to ask for your patience. It might take me some time to get my grandmother's to sign the pieces of paper, and let me take photographs modelling our family heirlooms.

You know - considering they're dead.

Oh, and that's right - THE ITEMS WERE STOLEN YOU JACK-ARSES!

I don't go around putting in claims for things I still have in my possession. It would certainly make this whole process redundant.

And do you honestly think if I had photo's that I would have spent hours trying to sketch everything down to the last detail?

My final assessment of you is that you're a bunch of dickheads. In future, I would appreciate if you would keep to the facts in your product disclosure statement. You could fit it on the back of your business card! Save printing all those booklets which are a waste of paper when a simple sentence will cover all your bases.

'We love premiums and making your head bleed. For all claims phone 1800-HAHAHA-WE-HAVE-YOUR-MONEY'.

The truth will set you free.

When Trust Fails...

"Nanna, the other kids at daycare hit me, I say stop and they keep hitting me. So I scream at them."

"Do you tell 'R' that the kids are hitting you?"

"No, 'R' puts me on the naughty spot for screaming

"Do you tell anyone?"

"Yes, I tell 'S' and she says it will all be okay"

This is the random conversation our daughter had with her Nanna yesterday, at the park.

Today, I'm angry. Last night I spent a lot of time in tears because I've failed our little girl.

How do you react when your child says that the other children at daycare hit her. And they keep hitting her. And when she finally gets upset her primary carer punishes her.

Well carer - fuck you.

It explains a lot. It explains why in the last 2 weeks the Toddler has, again, been hysterical when I drop her off. She avoids this 'carer' like the plague - won't speak to her, and looks at the floor when this carer approaches us.

She holds on to me so tight it's like a vice.

I've called the centre where the Toddler's best friend attends and they don't have a place available until January 2012. I explained the situation and they said they would look at taking the Toddler on as they're not at full capacity but had stopped taking children while they were upgrading the centre.

I appreciate their honesty and their help - I can only hope it all works out.

But until then - what do we do?

The guilt that I did nothing about this sooner makes me feel physically sick. I am so angry with myself for failing our little girl, I am so angry at this stupid 'carer' because she's a complete idiot and is treating our daughter with no respect.

I have no reason to doubt the Toddler. She's not quite 3. She doesn't know what a lie is - she wouldn't know how to make this stuff up. Her behaviour confirms her words.

The bruises I thought were the result of stumbles associated with energetic play I now doubt, and I wonder if they are from the hitting.

It breaks my heart. And I feel even worse for going interstate for work this week - I feel like I'm abandoning her at a critical time and there's fuck all I can do about it.

We will be having a meeting with the Centre Director tomorrow. We had a brilliant Centre Director who left to work closer to home. Her replacement quit before she even started. This new woman started at an unknown time and hasn't even introduced herself to parents.

The only reason I know she exists? Her name and title were at the bottom of a new set of orders, printed on the first page of our increasingly shitty newsletter, regarding having your child turfed out of the centre if you haven't paid your fee's 2 weeks in advance.

Obviously, she and I will be best friends.

I will do my best to remain calm and not loose my temper. But I can't promise anything. All I can promise is that if people ask me about day care centres in Darwin, I will be advising to run screaming in the opposite direction from this one.

Although if you get caught screaming, they will punish you.

For the Safety of our Children...

I was going to do a post on 9/11 today - but for the moment something else is more prominent in my mind.

That might sound strange or even selfish, because how could something be bigger in my head than 9/11 and how it changed all our lives.

Well, as much as it pains and scares me to admit, child abduction has become a prominent feature in our local paper and it scares the hell out of me.

In the past week, 5 reports have been made of attempted child abduction. While one has been proven a hoax (and why the hell you'd fake something like that, I don't know!) the others bother me. Deeply.

The police have released sketches of the 3 suspects:

Police have released these Comfit images of men wanted for questioning over recent abduction attempts. Image Credit

Now, we've been robbed this year and it made me furious that strangers could make us feel so unsafe in our own home. Needless to say we've made changes to our home that will make it interesting for them to try again.

But to have this happening, where we now have out gate padlocked even when we're home and where I don't feel comfortable for our daughter to play in OUR OWN YARD makes me so angry, and so frightened, I could explode.

I now question whether to take the Toddler to the park. She loves it - loves to run around and play. But even knowing I'm there and watching her like a hawk doesn't make it feel safer. Every male adult, in my mind, is a potential predator and I loathe feeling that way - because a week ago I didn't.

I don't want our daughter to grow up in a bubble, or locked behind a fence at home because there are disgusting pigs out there who want to snatch a child.

The NT has the highest per-capita police force in the country, and yet this doesn't offer any comfort. Maybe previous experience has me jaded in that they can't even track down home invaders, so how can I expect them to offer any protection for our family, or any family, against something so much bigger?

It makes me sick, angry, scared and over-protective. This is not something I thought we would ever have to worry about - and yet here we are.

It's disturbing.

Parents, please sit down with your children and cover the 'Four Rs':

• Recognise the danger
• Refuse any offer
• Run away
• Report it to the first person they feel safe with

For more information on child protection visit http://www.napcan.org.au/ or your State or Territory Police website, as listed below:

• NT Police
• SA Police
• NSW Police
• WA Police
• Tasmania Police
• Victoria Police

If you witness suspicious behaviour near schools, bus stops, parks or any public place near children, please contact the following numbers in your State or Territory:

• NT, SA, NSW, WA and Tasmania:  Police on 131 444 or Crime Stoppers on 1800 333 000
• Victoria:  Contact your local police station or Crime Stoppers on 1800 333 000

Remember: In an emergency, call 000.

If you have any information on the attempted abductions please contact NT Police on 131 444

Raging Against the Machine

Well, she proved us right yesterday - the official response is that she's advanced and should be in a group of 'like minded children'.

Suddenly, her size and any other objection they had previously, magically disappeared and they think it would be an awesome idea to move her up.

Honestly, if I had any concerns for my mental health, this experience would have me dialling 000 and booking myself into observed medical care. It was like everything they had said previously never happened. It was all praise and light and happy, happy, joy, joy.

BUT

Oh yes, there had to be a 'but'. Ha! It was never going to be simple...

Now the excuse is that they don't have the staff capacity to move her up to the pre-school room

I was a mixed bag of wanting to beat them all senseless with their their own arms after I tore them off, and happy that they finally have someone backing us and giving the feedback we were hoping for.

So their suggestion, while we wait for a pre-school spot to open up, is to buy her a musical instrument and enroll her in as many activities as possible on a weekend to keep her mind ticking over.

I'm thrilled - we've gone from having brochures for play therapy classes being shoved at us, to being bombarded with pamphlets and information on childrens music classes, dancing, calisthenics, gymnastics, scholarships to NASA and a briefing from the Prime Minister asking for the Toddler to solve global warming and cure cancer.

Obviously, we'll be retiring very soon and, the Toddler will never sleep again.

The trouble with Day Care...

Today I was anxious about dropping the Toddler off at day care. My stomach was in knots and I could feel myself sweating about it.

Because day care have arranged for a psychologist to observe the Toddler today. Day care tell me they think she has severe separation anxiety and anger management problems. They tell me that the Toddler might benefit from play therapy.

WTF!?

I want to tell them they're all a bunch of freaks and that my child will not be returning to their care.

This all came about because, apparently, the Toddler is getting frustrated with her peers. Gee, I can't imagine why. I would totally be cool, calm and collected if I tried to speak to someone and, rather than use words like I do, they babbled some indecipherable rubbish at me before snatching a toy or pushing me.

Chances are I'd push them back, too.

The separation anxiety thing, I know, is related to the patch we went through where she wasn't keen for us to leave her. But to be honest we've made such a massive transition in the last 3 weeks, it's like it never even happened!

The other thing that concerns us is that it appears only one carer has issues with the Toddler. And by that I mean, when this carer tells the Toddler it's not okay to push her friends etc, the Toddler apparently throws herself to the floor and has a tantrum.

This only happens with this one specific carer.

My question is, what is this carer doing differently from the others, that invokes this reaction from the Toddler? And excuse me, but I don't think it has anything to do with separation anxiety or anger management issues.

We have a susupicion that she's bored and needs stimulation and interaction on a new level. Hell, she just needs to be in a group of children who will speak to her, rather than dribble, grunt and snot in her face.

We're her parents, and so we're quite obviously biased. I'm not saying we've created a genius (in fact, some days I think we've created a monster), but she is further developed with her speech, language and communication than a lot of her peers. Probably because she's part of a family who speak almost non-stop from the moment they wake up until they go to sleep at night. And even then we don't stop - we all talk in our sleep.

Every child is different and every child develops at their own pace. What annoys me is that they say the Toddler's physically too small to move up a level, to the pre-school room. They admit she's got the mental capacity, but are holding her back because of her physical appearance.

The Toddler has always been small for her age, but it's not stopped her! Besides, the Toddler has a friend in day care, N, who is half the size and the same age - N's sister, who is 18months old, is twice her size. What are they going to do to poor little N?

'I'm sorry, N, we've decided you need to stay in the toddler room until you're 15 because you're small.'

Idiots.

I think it makes us even more annoyed because some of her friends who are the same age but just happen to be taller or bigger in general, are having half-day transition into pre-school.

I'm extremely grateful that day care decided to become ridiculous during the Guru's time off because he is there today, monitoring all the goings on, and will be having a meeting with the centre staff and the counsellor about it all once they have completed their 'observations'.

I can't wait to hear what they have to say, although I can't promise I'll be receptive.

Territory Day: Let the debate begin!

I've scheduled this post for 9am tomorrow morning.  Exactly when I won't be home to post this - I'll actually be sitting in a pathology office having blood taken and doing a glucose tolerance test. Ah, the joys of pregnancy...
*****************************************************************************
I totally fogot that today was Territory Day. July 1st - the day where we allow people to purchase and indicriminantly set off fireworks in the privacy of their own home/yard/street/suburb/city/state.

Except, it's not private. Even if you kept them indoors and set them off in your own living room, I would be alerted to this fact by a section of your roof landing in our pool. Flames and smoke are also tell-tale signs of an indoor firework display gone wrong.

I'm not saying we shouldn't enjoy fireworks - what I am saying is I'm not sure if having fireworks available for the general public is acceptable anymore.

Sure, people could read this and think that I'm just one of those people who's on the bandwagon of 'ban anything that could possibly harm our children or another person', but I'm not. What I am about, is not allowing irresponsible people to have access to this kind of thing. And yes, I feel the same way about hoons in their stupid cars, and anyone who seems to be unable to make a mature decision about a questionable activity.

But what makes me really ticked is when adults make dangerous and irresponsible choices that impact other people, not just themselves.

I don't think it's okay for adults to allow their small children to be a part of the lighting of fireworks. Last month I was part of a Burns Management course for GPs, and the images and treatment that were the result of a 3 year old being allowed to hold 15 lit sparklers all at once was horrifying. Can you image molten magnesium at 1000 celcius dripping down onto the hands of your child? Can you imagine having to have your childs hands debrided of all the dead flesh and magnesium stuck in the skin - repeatedly if it's not all removed the first time?

So when I see people allowing their children to do things like that, and not just with sparklers, it makes me want to smack them.

Every year there is a big debate in the NT about fireworks and if they should still be legal. Due to people being irresponsible and setting fireworks off day and night throughout the year, sale of fireworks was restricted to 9am to 9pm on Territory Day only. But that doesn't stop the idiot's setting them off whenever they feel like it, buying up big on this one day and having a stash for the next 12 months.

It's 3pm in the afternoon and I''m sitting at my desk - I can hear the faint whistle of fireworks being let off somewhere. What's the point in broad daylight? It's just plain stupidity and immaturity.

Cracker night is great, it's part of Territory life and something unique to our spot on the map. It's fun to go down to Mindil Beach and watch the professional fireworks display. The Toddler wears earmuffs and cuddles the Guru tight in anticipation of the big 'boom' but also the pretty spans of light that she loves to see.

I suppose the best we can hope for is that the sensible people keep making the right choices and keep the fun of the night alive. I know we plan to have a simple evening of observation and family time. Our cats will be staying inside, so they're not frightened and have somewhere safe to hide if they want to.

What's not fun is the endless stream of flyers and advertisements for missing pets after they've run away in fear. The injuries, the fires, the plain acts of stupidity, including people driving around and throwing lit fireworks at people.

Fireworks are much the same as alcohol and drugs. We can regulate and ban until the cows come home, but the idiots are always going to find a way around the rules and get what they want.

If only we could regulate stupidity.

So I want to know - do you think 'cracker night' is a good or a bad thing? Even if you don't live in the NT, I'm interested to hear your thoughts.

Dear Robbers: You Suck!

**I would like to apologise now for the level of profanity in this post. The day I get my hands on the shits who did this, I will be sure to invoke my rage upon them, and not blog it.**

As the title would indicate, we were robbed this week.  Yep, that's right.  Robbed.  Swindled.  Pillaged.

If it wasn't bolted down, they flogged it. The fuckers.

The list of what's gone is too long, but let's just say that the material side can be sorted out.  The sentimental value of some special items, however, is something that those assholes have taken and insurance can't replace.

The necklace that my grandmother gave me before she died, that her mother got for her 21st, that my grandmother got for her 21st and then passed it on to me when I turned 21. Made in the early 1900's and gifted to me in the ivory stud box that belonged to my great-grandfather, none of it can be replaced.

Least of all the heritage and value in my heart.

The necklace and earrings that belonged to my other grandmother, made in singapore, they are real, miniature orchids dipped in gold.

She loved them and, when my grandfather gave them to me after my grandmother died, it was a very special moment I'll never forget.

And while these complete and total dickwads can't take the memories, it's the thought of those worthless, miserable, fuckwit's having their filthy hands on something that represents so much love and history in our family.

Those items would have been passed on to our daughter on her 21st birthday. But those fuckers have taken that from us too.

I just can't believe it's gone. That there are pricks in the world that do this kind of shit.

It's all gone.

The jewellry that the Guru gave me for our first Christmas together. The necklace and earrings I wore on our wedding day that were a gift from my parents, and the Pandora bracelet with the charms the Guru gave me as a wedding gift, which also included charms from when the Toddler was born.

The video camera that had the only copy of footage from our wedding, which was our first dance. Trust me, I'm kicking myself that in 3 years I didn't find the time to take the movie from the camera and save it somewhere safe.

I'm so pissed. At them. At myself.

Because I thought I was clever putting all my important items of jewellry together, in a box that was hidden in a drawer I thought no one would look in.  I had another jewellry box in plain sight that I thought robbers would take and be done with.

And they could have it - there wasn't anything important in it.

It all pisses me off so much.  The Guru is blaming himself - he feels like he's failed the Toddler and I in not protecting us better.  But that's not something that even entered my head!  At the end of the day, they wanted to get in and pinch stuff. So they did.

No amount of anything would have stopped them.

In fact the only solution I can think of is to get a BIG dog with BIG teeth, and install an electric fence.

20,000 volts should do it.

I keep drifting between rage and sadness. Between acceptance and disbelief.  Between safe and scared.

I hate that they've made me feel nervous - IN OUR OWN HOME. How dare they! Who the fuck do they think they are!?

Are you so fucking useless you can't get a job? Can't earn money honestly? Because my husband and I, do. We go to work every day and earn every cent. Our taxes probably pay for the dole money that keeps you going between robberies.

We worked hard to buy a home. To fill it with love and safety and comfort.

We did not do it all just so you could come in and fuck off with it.

How DARE you come into OUR home and act like you own the place. How DARE you come into OUR home and poison the atmosphere with your fucking useless presence.

But we won't let you win. Oh no - you might feel like you've got the upper hand now, but trust me. It will all catch up with you.

And when it does, I hope I'm there to see it.