The Acidic Observer - The Home Edition

It's been a while since the last Acidic Observer, and for that I'm sorry. I have been quietly swallowing my burning views, instead of ranting about them here, like a sanctioned looney.

Thankfully, that mistake is being rectified as of now. And my aim, this week? The Darwin Housing Market.

The Man and I have been looking at building a new home over the past few weeks - probably a more sensible use of our time would have been investigating the value of internal organs on the black market.

Darwin property is at a peak, right now. To be honest we were lucky to have been able to buy a house when we did, back in 2010. Since then, the cost of property has skyrocketed. Why? Because of the Itchy Project! Well, it's actually the ICHTHYS Project, but calling it the Itchy Project makes me feel better.

It's all about gas mining and other boring stuff. Well there's more to it, but I'm just not that interested. Darwin was expensive enough without this sudden influx of interest - and while I'm sure local business, and not forgetting local developers, are loving the boom - the rest of us aren't!

Well, not me, anyway.

I also blame the state and local Governments for being so greedy that they release land in pissy amounts, driving up the price as people compete to be the newest owner of a fucking postage stamp.

I'm sorry, but when land is costing the same amount as the home we want to build, I kinda lose my shit.

And when I say kinda, I mean I morph into a wolverine and rip the head off of any unsuspecting realtor/developer who might enquire as to whether we are interested in purchasing this block before anyone else does. Even though we'd be lucky to fit a garden shed on it!

Trust me when I say that those who are renting are being shafted left, right   and centre, too. People/investors/greedy fucking bastards know they can make money from the influx of new employees of Itchy who need a home for their families. So what do they do? Up the rent to a bonkers level, dump the current tenants who can no longer afford it, and happily give it to a mining exec and their family who can afford $800+ a week because they're not paying for it. Gina Reinhardt is!

Well, maybe not Gina - but you get the idea.

Of course, just to really rub salt into the wound, I'm dumb enough to go onto realestate.com and look at the cost of building new in our hometown, in SA. Cue complete fucking meltdown as I ask the gods to strike down every single person in the NT who is contributing to the demented costing factor of a home.

I feel like for the prices we're looking at, we should be living in Sydney or Melbourne. Next door to Hugh Jackman. With Nicole, Keith, Sunday Roast and...and...the other ones on the other side. We're not looking for sea views, we're not looking for 3 hectares and some livestock. It's Darwin, people! You know, the place where mangoes cost $4 each and are brought in from Queensland, even though there are mango farms down the road. Where diesel is 20-50 cents a litre more than anywhere else...everything takes twice as long and is twice the price because of 'shipping', and then when the Ghan derails (again) it means the shops start advising us that stock will be low and we will have to make our own deodorant and toilet paper until the train can get here again.

IT'S DARWIN! We don't have a single department store. Even Freedom Furniture abandoned us!

We only have 1 power and water supplier which is Government owned. But our power systems haven't been maintained properly so now the prices are increasing by 15% so the Government can afford to upgrade and bring Darwin out of the middle ages so the power won't drop out when a gerbil on a treadmill gets struck by lightening.

The Darwin City Council slogs you $40 parking fines for being over your time limit in street parking - for the privilege of parking under a fucking frangipani tree where the flowers glue themselves to your car when it rains and secrete this disgusting white milky stuff everywhere. And then, of course, the bats shit all over your car. And then the rain clouds part and bake it all into the paint of your car so it needs to be re-done every 2 years.

The housing situation is just one more tooth in the cog of 'what the fuck, Darwin!?'.

It's all so painfully typical, I have no idea why I even get shitty anymore.

I'd say it was hope that makes me think things will change - but really, it's denial. And it get's me through, until we want to move on with our lives.

So overall, screw you Itchy, screw you Government and, today, screw you Darwin.

You are all on my shit list until further notice, Or I win the lottery.

Then I'm gonna move in next to Hugh.

The Friend Filter...

I always remember my Mum giving me advice on friendships. She was never outright critical of a situation, she would listen and then give her thoughts and let me deal with it as I wanted, but I knew full well she would be there to support me.

But how do you teach your 4 year old about good and bad friendships? How do you make them understand that there is a difference?

Miss 4 has developed a relationship with 4 of the 7 children that live next door. In the beginning, I didn't have a problem with it. She was thrilled to have some friends, close to the same age, that lived right over the fence. I was more than happy to have them over to play.

But in the last month or so I have noticed a shift in their attentions. At first I thought their constant requests to come over were cute and I was glad they had so much fun. But when I can't even go down my front steps to do a load of washing without them hanging off the fence, begging to be allowed to come over, it's a bit much.

I've noticed that Miss 4 has been coming inside, in tears, asking me why her friends can't come over. They just won't let up and they bug her to bug me about it. She becomes distressed and frustrated with me because no answer is good enough for them and, therefore, not good enough for her.

I couldn't work out where her special treats were going - I always have a little stash of chupa chups in the cupboard for a treat when we go to the park or just because I know she loves them. I couldn't work out how she was going through an 8 pack of fruit boxes in an afternoon, when we had just bought them.

When entire boxes of Barbecue shapes were gone, I decided to watch a bit more carefully. I was worried I had done something to make her think she couldn't be honest with me, so I was quietly observant.

Turns out the neighbour kids are using her as a food and beverage delivery service. She was sneaking food out of the house. She has never had to 'sneak' food EVER. Miss 4 knows that she can go to the cupboard or the fridge any time she likes if she's hungry or thirsty. There is always fruit and water on the go.

I'll admit, I know that Miss 4 and The JellyBean appear to have everything, and the kids were astonished at her toy collection. But she is only 1 of 2 children and our family is lucky enough to have the earning ability we do. The neighbours have 7 children and are both parents are on pensions. They also appear to have some serious 'substance and anger issues', but I won't go into that.

Fair enough, the kids think Miss 4 has it all and they want to have some too. If you are a guest in our home, then yes, I won't hesitate to make sure you have a snack and drinks as needed, but it makes me angry when they use Miss 4 as a portal to food and drink.

After I found out what was happening, I sat down with Miss 4 and tried to explain to her that good friends don't make us do the wrong thing for their own benefit. I tried to put it in perspective by asking her 'do K, C or A ask you to sneak food and drinks from the house?' When she said no, I went on to say that if her 'friends' were over to play, then yes they are welcome to a snack and drinks, but if they are at home then they should ask their Mummy or Daddy for a drink or something to eat. Miss 4 seemed satisfied with this, and promised not to sneak anything from the house anymore, and if her 'friends' asked her to do that, she would come and tell me right away.

In no time at all I was putting the kybosh on their relentless requests to Miss 4 to get them food and drinks. I told them no, that asking Miss 4 to sneak food was wrong and they had to go ask their parents because they were at home.

Their response was to completely shut out Miss 4, despite her standing at the fence calling to them. It broke my heart and I brought her inside to play games together and we did some painting. She cried and asked me why they didn't like her anymore.

The following day they started to talk to Miss 4 again, but the endless requests for food and drinks came back and when she said no, they ignored her again.

You're probably wondering why I don't just have them over to play. Fair question. My response is to say that the last time they came over turned into a nightmare when they started world war 3 over every single toy, broke toys when they didn't want to share (I'm thinking it's a 'if I can't have it, then no-one will' type response). When they got bored of that, they convinced Miss 4 to bring them the iPad and they played games on it and completely ignored her. 

When I walked them home after 5 hours, their front gate was locked and I had to wait until their Mum decided she was ready to have them back.

When she finally did come to pick them up, she gave me a glazed smile and slurred something about having been over 3 or 4 times to collect them but it sounded like they were having so much fun she didn't want to disturb them.

I might not have minded so much if it was the first time that happened, but it wasn't. And I was just outright pissed off with being used as a free babysitting service.

Issues with the parents aside, I didn't think I would have to be teaching my 4 year old to protect her little heart, so soon. To be honest, this isn't an issue I had even considered and now I'm not sure what to do. How do I give my little girl a 'friend filter'?

We have been thinking for a while about selling and moving. Part of that involves repairing the fence and it means the kids won't be able to communicate through it anymore. I feel horrible for saying this, but I'll be grateful when that happens - every time her little face falls because she refuses to do the wrong thing and they shun her, every time they send her up and down the stairs, repeatedly, to ask me if they can come over and I say no because they don't have any respect for Miss 4 or her belongings and she gets upset - all of it makes me want to scoop her up, lock the door behind us, hang a 'for sale' sign on the fence and drive away.

I do everything I can to make her realise that real friends don't treat you differently, depending on what you're prepared to do for them. We go on lots of playdates, we spend lots of time with family and friends and we spend lots of time together. I hate feeling like I can't let her play on her trampoline or just play with her dolls in the yard without the neighbour kids harassing her. I hate feeling like our own property isn't comfortable because they are ALWAYS THERE. Always wanting something from her.

There's probably no immediate solution to this, other than to continue doing what we're doing, and I hope that repairing the fence and eliminating the lack of privacy issue will go a long way to solving some of the problems.

I love my little girl so much and I want her to be as open, free spirited and heartfelt as she is for as long as she can, but I won't stand for that to be taken advantage of. I may be soft and fuzzy but, I'm still a mama bear and, you'll be feeling more than just regret if you mess with my little one.

But what about you Mama and Papa bears out there? Have you ever had to deal with something like this, so soon? Am I completely out of touch or are kids growing up a lot faster these days? I feel like this is something I should be talking to Miss 4 about in another decade.

For now, it all feels too soon and too much for such a little bear.

'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.

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!!

Pregnancy, Construction & iPhones on a FFS!? Friday...

Oh Friday - I love you. You herald the beginning of another week in this pregnancy and one less week for everything to be done that I've decided MUST be done before this baby arrives.

Good times.

But let's cut to the chase, shall we?

• My self esteem is at an all time low when it comes to my appearance. So when The Man happens to mention that a model in an underwear advert reminds him of his brother's wife, my ground level self esteem begins to dig a tunnel to the centre of the earth...FFS
• He tried to make me feel better by saying it was the models face that reminded him of his SIL- it had nothing to do with her body. But we all know the more you explain, the worse it gets...FFS
• When The Man and his brother were demolishing part of the house, they managed to have an entire section of wall bring my laptop, crashing to the ground, with it...FFS
• Missed The Man's computer by a mile, of course...FFS
• Miss 3 has managed to lose her iPod. I know it must be in the house but I can't find it and it means my phone is often recruited as a replacement. I only discover this fact after she's gone to bed and I find my flat phone buried in the couch...FFS
• I'm sure my friends must think I'm a rude bitch for not answering my phone or replying to messages...FFS
• Miss 3 doesn't bother with The Man's phone. Only mine...FFS
• The Man, his brother and a carpenter mate are completing the walls to the new baby's room tomorrow. I have an impending sense of doom about the idea of nail guns being used...FFS
• Perhaps this is because they are the most accident prone people alive, especially when together...FFS
• I also keep having premonitions of a visit to the emergency room...FFS
• I found some awesome maternity clothes in the newest Big W catalogue. But I forgot that I live in Darwin and the idea that I could buy something advertised is completely ludicrous...FFS
• The OB has me on maternity leave because I need to be able to rest a lot to allow my ribs to heal. Not sure how that's meant to work when I have a baby using them as monkey bars...FFS
• And just in case my life sounds far too glamorous, the all-the-time-sickness hasn't gone. I had to throw up in my handbag the other day...FFS
• This awesome retching also does nothing for the rib situation...FFS
• I've developed a disturbing addiction to pancakes. This does not bode well for my plan of minimal weight gain in this pregnancy...FFS
• My nesting is in full swing and it's turning me into a nut job. But it's not my fault, THE HOUSE AND EVERYTHING AROUND IT IS JUST SO DISORGANISED!!...FFS
• The biggest issue is that as soon as I've put something away, I can't remember where I put it. Such as my house keys or my child...FFS

So there you go...now if you'll excuse me I have to go clean all the things I cleaned yesterday and put things away in the hope that I'll remember where I put them.

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.



  

FFS Friday...

Ah, another FFS Friday. Given it was my Birthday and Valentines Day this week, I really didn't think I'd be pulling out a FFS post.

And yet, here I am. But I swear on all the Marian Keyes books I own that this will be the last whinge about the biggest husband fail in my married life, so far.

Let's get cracking shall we??

• The Guru forgot my Birthday - FFS
• It was almost lunch time before he thought to tell Miss 3 it was my Birthday and to give me a cuddle - FFS
• He went to get a haircut on my birthday (fair enough - I really wanted him to) and took Miss 3 for the ride. He said he couldn't get a cake while he was out because Miss 3 needed to go to the loo and interrupted his shopping mojo. But he came home with his Iced Coffee - FFS
• The Guru called me at 3:10pm on Valentines Day to tell me that Interflora had called him to say they couldn't fit his order in - FFS
• WHO ORDERS FLOWERS ON VALENTINES DAY!? - FFS
• He then tells me he told them not to worry about it and he'd bring flowers home from 'somewhere' (read: wilted leftovers from Coles) - FFS
• He gets home with NOTHING - FFS
• He tells me he couldn't find a florist that was still open, but I passed 3 on the highway that were open late for husbands like him - FFS
• Getting recognition for 7 years valuable and dedicated service at work (not too sure about the valuable or the dedicated part...) at the Staff Meeting on Valentine's Day meant they had done more for me than my own husband this week - FFS

Right, so that's it now, no more talking about it.

This week is officially done and can I just say - thank fuck for that.




  

Dear Me...on a FFS Friday...

Dear Me,

Well, today has just turned out to be a winner, hasn't it? In terms of a FFS Friday, it's right up there. But mostly you brought it on yourself. Maybe that's why it stings??

Let's review the facts for this morning, shall we?  It started to go downhill when Miss 3 went into a dramatic moment over a pair of socks that she didn't want to wear. No biggie, you said she could find the socks she wanted and you'd put them on for her.

After she got off the naughty spot for screaming in your face about not wanting to wear the socks you'd picked.

Then she couldn't find her blueberries. And so she went into full meltdown. And continued for a full 40 minutes.

Yeah - not her finest hour, and certainly not yours either, judging by the result.

Okay, so she was carrying on like a pork chop in the driveway as you put her carseat back in the car. So what? Are you worried the palm trees are going to judge your parenting skills? They're too busy dropping fronds the size of the Titanic on your lawn and sprouting berries that attract bats to shit everywhere. They have their own way of pissing you off, they don't give a shit about tantrums!

Yes, the carseat was being a prick as usual, it was hot and you were running late. Well, when you have a child, live in the NT and snooze the alarm for 2 hours, this is what happens. Take a cement pill and harden the fuck up, princess.

Okay, she didn't want to eat her breakfast. At least, not the breakfast you had for her. But let's be honest, she was crabby because she wanted left over's from dinner and you had just finished feeding said left over's to the chickens. It's most likely a parenting win that you didn't open the coop and read a book while Miss 3 had left overs with Stewie and Ice-Cream.

Okay, she kept screaming and gaining volume and pitch and didn't want to get in the car. To be honest, neither did you. And she didn't manage to blow out the windows on the car, so what's the problem?

Yes, driving along with a banshee in the backseat isn't fun. But turning around and yelling 'ENOUGH' at her isn't going to solve anything. And you knew that, otherwise you wouldn't have cried.

Remember that look on her face...yeah, the same look used to be on your face as a child. Why would you do that to your daughter? You remember how it felt...why would you repeat that?

Miss 3 is exactly that...3. And she needs you to love her and guide her. Learn from this, remember this and think about it the next time you feel close to losing the plot. She watches you and gains her understanding of how to approach situations through the actions you take and reactions you have.

When you pick her up this afternoon, apologise for yelling. Talk with her and go over the events of this morning. Find out why she felt frustrated and upset so you can help her the next time it happens. Explain to her how you felt and make sure she understands as best she can.

You can't take it back - it's out in the universe now - but you can show your daughter that when we make a mistake, being honest and open about it is the only way to move forward.

And FFS, stop snoozing the alarm - or else I'll make you put an ice pick through it. Whomever invented the snooze button obviously never met you...

Now, don't make me have to talk to you again, it's embarrassing.

Cheers & Beers,
Your Brain.



  

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 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.

Trains, Red Lights and Being Late for Work

This morning I discovered something that I imagine people living in Melbourne/Brisbane/Sydney/Adelaide have known for some time.

If you want to be late for work, get stuck at a railway crossing and piss off the Red-Light Gods (not the ones in Amsterdam...) so you spend all morning in your car screaming profanity at inanimate objects.

The longest train in history decided to pass through Darwin yesterday. The Council are so paranoid about people getting killed on the tracks they lower the boom gate 10 minutes before the train even appears on the horizon.

I sat at the boom gate waiting...and waiting...and thinking, that, of all the places I thought I'd die, this wasn't it.

And then this came past:



And 15 minutes later, guess where I was:
 


And while I was (loudly and profanely) cursing the train and it's time wasting antics, it dawned on me that I was being further enraged by the stupid club-crap music on the radio. But wait...this 'music' wasn't coming from our car.

I looked up and discovered the source of the jack hammering:

 

As much as I love tunes to the rhythm of doosh-doosh-doosh-doosh, I have to admit I was hoping that a group of rabid possums would break into my car and chew my ears off. Or eat the P-Plater's iPod.

Hell, even one rabid possum would have made a difference.

But the most tragic thing about all of this, was that while I was stuck at a train crossing for almost HALF-AN-HOUR. I was only 5 minutes from home. I still had another 10 minutes travel to drop the Toddler off to her grandparents, and then another 15 minutes to work from there.

I got to work at about 20 past 9 - when I'm meant to start around 8.30am.

I might have made it a bit sooner, but apparently these hate me too:

The rest of my day went without incident. Of course, I would scream uncontrollably "I was late because trains and red lights hate me! STOP ASKING ALREADY!" at anyone who opened their mouth to talk to me.

Apparently all they wanted to know was if I'd like to order a coffee.

And for the record, my outburst got me no coffee but, I was left alone.

Ahhhh - silence is golden.

It's oh so quiet

It's been a bit quiet on here this past week or so.

Not sure why, but my blog mojo just hasn't been flowing. I have plenty of things I could blog about, but the need/want just isn't there.

It's been a full week, that's for sure. Starting with Saturday and the Guru's Dad having another heart attack. His second since December, and he only had his bypass done in February.

It's scary. 2 more arteries that are blocked. More surgery. The feeling of uncertainty.

And while they may seem petty and insignificant compared to the above, other things that happened this week are:

• We are so super proud of our amazing little girl who is now toilet trained during the day. It's like she just woke up one morning and decided it was time. If only everything was that easy.
• We sold the blue car. I hugged it goodbye and left it to the mercy of Hyundai - it's birthplace. In return for some cold, hard cash.
• We put money in our savings account. And didn't take it out again 3 minutes later to buy some frivolous, pointless item (although the Guru has been eyeing off bigger and better TV's. I told him we can have one once we build a wall sturdy enough to hold the monstrosity he wants to own.)
• I threw a tanty and so now we are purchasing a dishwasher BEFORE the Guru goes on holiday.
• I stared blankly at the back wall of our house wondering where the hell we would fit another baby if a miracle occured and I fell pregnant before the next ice age/house extension is done.
• I continued to stare blankly at the back wall of our house - willing it to magically extend and making the need for builders and having to pay them completely unnecessary. For the record, it just stared back. Bastard.
• I then stared at the front steps of our home (which are still 'the steps of death' connected to the 'deck of death') and willed them to fall off so the Guru has to do something about it.
• I realised that the Guru will not be doing anything house related (such as replace the 'deck of death' so I or our daughter don't go head first down the stairs. Again.) over this extra long and awesome break - because he will be on holiday.
• I continued to be convinced that kicking him in the groin would make me feel better that he will be holidaying without us.
• To add insult to injury - while he was going on a holiday I at least had the pleasure of knowing that I would be hooning around in our new computer with wheels (aka: car). But now Mitsubishi tell me they only just put the car in transit from Melbourne to Adelaide today. And then it will be shipped here, but it will be shipped here in the first week of May. Maybe. Insert sobbing here.
• I discovered I want to kick Mitsubishi in the groin.
• A life sized model of myself made entirely out of chocolate will make me feel better - for as long as it takes to eat it. Then most likely I'll feel sick.

So, there you have it. What we've been up to.

Looks like I did want to blog after all.

Entry in the May DP Blog Carnival at SuperParents

Never discuss buying a new car...

...while driving in the car you intend on replacing. Because it will invoke revenge.

By needing a new battery. By draining the old one at 2 years and 1 day exactly - and the warranty is for 2 years.

By deciding that being able to open the drivers side door by the handle is way too easy. Having to get in the passenger side, flap open the drivers side door and run back around the car to get in, is so much better.

The Guru and I had a chat on Tuesday last week about the new family car we'd like to get - while driving the car we'd like to flog off - and Wednesday morning the battery died. Replaced that on Saturday (the Guru couldn't be bothered replacing it sooner). And then this morning we go out to the car and the drivers side door handle almost comes right off the door.

It's an obvious attempt to teach us a lesson. 

Don't replace me and don't discuss replacing me, because I will make your life hell.
Hyundai Tiburon in Electric Blue. My baby...before I had a real baby.



 Well two can play that game.

And it's game on, biatch. So this week we are going to test drive the car we'd like.

I'm going to whisper sweet nothings into it's speakers and I might even kiss the bonnet...or not
The Mitsubishi ASX Aspire...swoon....

The old car can do it's worst - it's only going to make the end come faster.

You can't be serious!?

The Guru called me at work this afternoon to let me know that he had some good new for me once he got home.

He wouldn't give me any clues, but needless to say my mind was whirring with the possibilities. One big one in my mind was that he was going to come home saying we got the money for the reno's and I can start choosing new drapes (not curtains, people, DRAPES. Because I want them to pool on the floor like something out of a magazine...and while this display home theory doesn't go hand in hand with having a 2 year old - I can dream.)

He got home not long after the Toddler and I. And I smiled, waiting with baited breath for the news that our house was to be transformed.

Him: 'So, the good news is...'

Me: (Insert wistful thoughts) 'here it comes - I'm going to have an ensuite!'

Him: 'I was talking with (insert pal's name) and he found out...'

Me: (Insert wistful thoughts) 'oh, I get to shop for bathroom accessories - I never thought I'd be excited to shop for a toilet...(insert reality here) 'wait, what has (insert pal's name) got to do with the reno's?'

Him: 'that for $65 I can change my flights to spend three more days in Bali* with the boys!'

(Insert crickets chirping and tumbleweeds rolling)

Me: 'What!?'

I'm not sure what will happen - but if you see anything on telly about a hysterical woman in Darwin wreaking havoc, well...just hope I left the Toddler with my Mum.



* I should clarify that his boy's trip is for 5 days in Bali over Easter. And now he wants to add 3 more days. And I want to remove a testicle.

Yep - I'm ranting again

Maybe it's because I woke up in a bad mood today. Maybe because I just can't stand people making a joke about something that upsets me.

Maybe my co-workers are just a bunch of dick heads.

I lost my appetite when a discussion in the lunch room turned to the mother who is being taken to court over disciplining her son with hot sauce and a cold shower.

The clip was part of a Dr Phil episode, and more infromation on the charges the mother's up against can be found here.

Now it's not the topic of conversation that disturbed me. It's the fact that my co-workers thought it was funny and nothing was wrong with what the mother did.

To quote one of them 'it was only chilli sauce' and 'seems like you can be charged for anything these days'.

I had to stop myself from punching him in the face. And I responded that if I EVER thought it was okay to make my child eat chilli sauce and then dump them in a cold shower, while they scream in fear and pain, then I would expect to go to jail.

There is NOTHING about this that is okay. And there is NO EXCUSE for this mother's behaviour. The mother feels this is the only way to 'discipline' the little boy because he is so naughty.

This child was adopted from Russia with his twin brother. And authorities are now investigating whether the boys should be taken away.

My opinion is yes - but that's me.

I understand we all have lapses in our tempers, and we yell when we don't mean to or we're impatient with our children. But I don't ever recall wanting to do something like this to our daughter. I can't recall anything that she has ever done or could do that would make me think this kind of punishment was appropriate. EVER.

My co-workers regaled me with tales of how their headmasters would beat them with a cane, or their parents would use a belt.

Is it any wonder there are people in the world who think it's okay to use physical violence to get a point across!? Is it any wonder why these practices are now ILLEGAL!?

It makes me so angry. I can't even put it into words. I want to scream at them that I think they're all insensitive bastards and that they can all go to hell. That I feel sorry for their families if this is the way they think children should be taught right from wrong.

Maybe I'm just not in the right frame of mind today, and maybe I should have stayed home.

Maybe I'm oversensitive at the moment, and I should have walked away and not paid any attention to their stupid and insensitive comments.

But I couldn't, and I can't.

If I were them, I wouldn't be able to look at myself in the mirror.

10 Things I've Learnt as a Result of Online Shopping

I'm having a slight panic attack about some items I've purchased that haven't arrived yet - and they are intended for Xmas, so for them to not be here yet is making me hyperventilate slightly. It's the control freak in me that's convinced I've been fleeced and I'll never get the gear. Basically, I didn't post it, so it didn't happen.

Yeah - online shopping is more stressful than regular Xmas-psycho shopping for me.

As a result, I have decided to list the following lessons as a result of my situation.

1. Online Shopping is awesome, convenient and easy - but if you happen to miss out on something at least in a shopping centre you can throw the person, who got the last pair of ballet flats in your size, a filthy look and decide to run them down in the carpark in an act of revenge.

2. Ordering things from the US or Canada when the Aussie dollar is doing well is a great idea - but forgetting that you live in a town where all mail is delivered by carrier pigeon (for more info read here) makes the distance your package needs to travel a fearful thing to consider.

3. Checking a combination of my Etsy inbox, Canada Post Parcel Tracking and my email 500 times per day does not make it more likely that my order has been processed and the delivery card being dropped into my letterbox as we speak.

4. Canada Post Parcel Tracking needs to learn to track items in order to have it's name apply.

5. Online Shopping makes checking your letterbox exciting every day because you might have that sacred parcel delivery card - it also makes it bitterly shite when your parcel card isn't there.

6. Optus, ANZ, Westpac, Power&Water, Council Rates and anyone else wanting money for services rendered or sending me more paper reminding me how much money we DON'T have in our bank accounts can bugger off. You are taking up valuable space in my letterbox that should actually be overflowing with parcel delivery cards. Please resume paper based communication once Christmas is over.

7. I now have an obsession with parcel delivery cards.

8. Driving past the post office repeatedly on the off chance that a postal worker will know who I am and flag me down to announce they just got a plethora of parcels for me, and to come in and get them is highly unlikely.

9. The parcel delivery people (or 'Contractors') that are hired by the Carrier Pigeon Postal Service (also known as Australia Post Darwin) are just plain crap. Apparently, no, they do not knock on your door to let you know they are there. Your options are:

• That they will park on the opposite side of the street from your home and sit on their horn until you come out of your house to see what the hell your neighbour is doing to their car. They then proceed to walk halfway across the street, throw your parcel at you and run away...OR
• That they will actually park in your driveway and sit there in silence until you happen to look out the front window and see someone with an Australia Post magnet and P Plates on their car burn rubber out of your driveway having left a 'You weren't home, so come and see us after 4pm with the other 150 people we've avoided today.  P.S: eat my dust.' card in your letterbox. You attempt to chase them, even though you're only wearing a singlet and your scungy undies because you've been doing housework. Once you give up on the chase you try your best to make it back home without the neighbours seeing you and reporting you to the police.

10. I don't like running the streets in my scungy undies and singlet - so I'm just going to let them leave me a parcel delivery card and pick it up after 4pm like everyone else.

So tell me, what has online shopping taught you?

Cars. Difficult to remember where to put your kids some days.

I'm high up on my soap box today. Because this morning I read this article: "Drunk driver had 3 children in boot".

Needless to say the fact that she had 7 children, plus herself in a 5 seater car while allegedly intoxicated, un-licensed and speeding makes my blood boil.

She's apparently begging for public forgiveness. She should be begging her children to forgive her absolute stupidity. And if they're smart, they won't.

The 2 pieces of 'verbal gold' from this woman that I am somewhat focused on at the moment are:

"She said the children "climbed in the boot" themselves."

And

"I've got three kids in hospital now that I have to worry about because they climbed in the boot," she said."

Now, I have to agree with comment 1 - children are forever climbing into car boots of their own accord. Personally, I am forever having to double check that the Toddler is strapped into her car seat and hasn't slipped out to ride in the boot. Because god know's I'm always forgetting to put her inside the car when we go out.

I was just strapping her to the roof but it became a problem when I needed to put stuff in the back of the car and couldn't get the doors open because of the rope. And apparently child services have a problem, too.

The other day I busted the Toddler, with a lock picking kit she grabbed off e-Bay, trying to break into the boot so she could ride in there when we needed to head to Coles later in the day.

But I completely understand. Some days it's just so hard to remember where children are meant to sit in a car.

And I'm glad this woman has her priorities right when she says she NOW has 3 kids to worry about.

Phew, thank goodness it's only 3 that had to be hospitalised - how embarrassing if it had been all 7.

And please, don't feel like you HAVE to worry about your children - you weren't worried about their safety before the accident, so why now? Oh, that's right, now the public are aware you need to put on the right persona.

She is a selfish, awful excuse for a parent. And I know that's harsh, but what else is there to think?

There is no excuse for her behaviour - and I don't mean to trivialise the situation by what I've written above - I just want to highlight the stupidity of her comments, which are just failed excuses.

Because honestly, when have you ever been known to drive around with children in the boot of your car!? How many times have you ever had to think to check the boot because your child might have got in there?

All the children got to see the motorbike parade - so if she was only aware of having 4 of her 7 children with her to go, when all 7 piled out of the car, what about that situation didn't make her stop and think? And then why the hell would you let them get back in and drive them home again in the BOOT!?

This is just pure idiocy, in it's rawest form. And the fact that she may have been intoxicated, and that she may have been speeding enough to lose control of the car, makes this entire situation even more abhorrent.

Yes, there may be more to it (I'm not sure how!) and if there are issues, maybe the family will get the help it needs. I just feel that nothing can justify her actions.

But what do you think? Have I missed the point in my sarcastic, hot headed-ness, or do you agree?

So now what?

So we've been trying for another baby for a while now. Since January. And so far, nothing.

I went to my GP a fortnight ago to have a chat about it, and she sent me off for some blood tests. I got a call with the results today.

"Tests suggest ovulation. Good luck!"

For some reason knowing that I am ovulating, while it's great, doesn't give me any comfort right now.

I know, it's a very, very good result and it means no having to go down the medical intervention road. But at the moment all I can think is 'so if there's an egg there, why is there no baby?'

The Guru and I have been talking about the baby situation recently, trying to work out what we'd do depending on the results.

We both agreed that if there was something happening and it was going to end up being an IVF situation, we'd stick with one bubba and leave it at that.

But it turns out there's no problem. There's no reason why it hasn't happened yet.

We discussed what we'd do if I fell pregnant soon, given that we've just moved to a 3 bedroom home, from a 4 bedroom home. What it would mean in terms of immediate changes that would have to happen regarding room reconfiguration and the study becoming a nursery.

It would mean a lot. A lot of time and a lot of money. More so than a new baby costs - and we all know how exxy that can be! And it's going to be even worse this time around because I have discovered all sorts of amazing things since the Toddler was born and I want to buy EVERYTHING I can get my hands on. Including the new Strider Plus pram - in the newly released white/silver colour. It's not even in the shops yet.

Maybe the Guru is putting birth control pills in my coffee for fear of the shopping spree that will ensue upon the news of a new addition to the family. Maybe he fears bankruptcy and homeless-ness?

Well he shouldn't be worried. He should know that we couldn't live in an elevated, 3 bedroom cardboard box. It's too wet here, our box would disintegrate in the first wet season downpour.

Or maybe that's not the point? Whatever.

There was talk of deferring another baby until after we've done our 5 year plan/renovations. But that's too long to wait. We don't want that kind of age gap...and I don't know that I would want to start all over again after being out of baby-land for so long.

So to give myself some form of comfort I am trying to accept that maybe the time's just not right. That fate has decided there will be another baby, but just not right this second. That it needs to wait until we've completed some reno's to make life easier when the time comes.
 
But fate, your logic sucks and your timing is rubbish. So get a move on - I'm in a hurry! But I always am...