The Acidic Observer, Volume V

I wasn't 100% sure what I was going to write about this week. There was a lot of 'big news' in the papers, but nothing that required the piss being taken out of it.

Okay, that's a lie - here in the NT, there was a news story about a car accident that was caused when the passenger decided it was essential to his existence on earth to moon the driver of a truck. Except instead of being a 'hero' to the mooning society of the NT, he became a distraction for the driver who lost control of the car and rolled it.

I mean, really, where else is there to go with that? The stupidity is off the charts - I'm not sure I could even come up with an acidic response that has enough burn.

All I know is that, with any luck, my Dad will have a new inmate to look after.

It's been a big week here at home - there's the mystery of the disappearing chickens, the mystery of the massive fucking holes in our fence, and the undeniable connection between the missing chickens and the massive fucking holes in the fence.

We are convinced that the poor chickens have met with foul play - excuse the pun - and it's most likely at the hands of the big arse dog from next door that keeps creating massive fucking holes in our fence.

If the dog isn't careful, I will be repairing the holes with a lovely tanned leather, and he will be the star of his own great disappearing mystery.

But aside from the Great Chicken Mystery of 2013 (which isn't really a mystery), the biggest news is that I've been made redundant.

I'm actually quite thrilled!

It must have been sightly confusing for the manager who called me. I'm not sure she was prepared for someone to be so pleased about being unemployed.

I assume they were anticipating tears, questions about positions that could be applied for, chances to take on a role completely unsuitable just for the sake of remaining employed and, possibly, offers of being the person who cleans the carpet with their tongue.

Trouble is, love, I'm not unemployed. In case you hadn't noticed, I'm on maternity leave. I'm not in Bali, living it up for 12 months, having a party. I'm busy trying to make sure 2 small people are fed, dressed, to pre-school when required, bathed and still alive by bedtime. If I manage to get my own shit together in that time, then my day is a 100% success and when I collapse into bed at 9pm I don't dream about stacking the dishwasher.

I've done the working mother thing - and it was the biggest load of bullshit I've ever experienced.

Yeah, sorry, a spreadsheet does not rate with me when my child has a raging fever and childcare has called for me to collect her. My manager would put on a 50 year old's version of a floor kicking tantrum, and I'd leave to pick up my sick kidlet anyway.

Dude, I'm a parent. The day a tantrum scares me is the day I am completely fucked.

In the end, I'm not even sure why my workplace included 'flexible', 'family' or 'friendly' in any of their documentation. It was clearly there for decoration. Or perhaps for mocking purposes.

Either way, they've done me a massive favour. The only thing that could have made it better would be if I could have given them this...

 

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.

 

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!!

A New Beginning...

Well, here I am. Typing on my laptop from home with official sanction from my OB not to return to work.

To say a weight has been lifted off my shoulders is an understatement.

Any guilt I might have felt by going on leave so suddenly, is overshadowed by feelings of release. It's like being covered by a cloud and driving into the sunlight. It's bright, warm and wonderful. The sudden change can be blinding, but once your eyes adjust you wonder why the hell you didn't drive for the break in the clouds sooner!

It's probably a sign when you leave a place you've worked for the past 5 years, and you're not even a little bit sad for not working with those people anymore. Call me bitchy if you like, but there's one person who I won't be sad to never see again.

Her reaction when my pregnancy was announced? "Oh, poor you. Was it an accident?"

If she see's me coming, she crosses the street to avoid speaking to me or if she happens to be stuck in the tea room at the same time, she walks around me like I'm contagious. As far as she's concerned me and my life are the worst case scenario. If she woke up tomorrow as me, she would have a heart attack.

Thing is, I feel sorry for her. She'll never know the heart crushing joy of bringing your baby home for the first time, she'll never know that new baby smell, she'll never know the intense joy of your child saying their first word, taking their first steps.

But she's obviously found what she's looking for in her career and her husband, and that's awesome. A career isn't the be all and end all for me, but I've always known that.

I don't condemn her for her choice to not have children  - I didn't think it was too much to ask from her to offer me the same respect.

However, there is no need to obsess over the past - and that's exactly what all of that is, now. The past.

Now, I'm looking to the future and I'm so excited! I'm looking forward to getting the rest I need for my ribs to heal, I'm looking forward to loads of quality time with Miss 3 and I'm looking forward to welcoming the newest addition to our family in 13 weeks time.

And on the subject of the newest addition to our family - the OB whipped out her ultrasound machine and has finally given us the answer we've been dying to know.

Miss 3 is thrilled to announce that she is the proud sibling of a...

BABY GIRL!!

So it turns out Miss 3 is not psychic...she just chose the wrong 50% of the gender debate to fixate on.

The Man and I have yet to settle on a name, but when we do decide, we're going to keep it to ourselves until our littlest girl is here.

So there you go, the latest update in our lives.

And a bloody awesome life it is.

It's Official...

I'm pregnant!

Okay, well, I knew that months ago, but since I had to give my 12+ weeks advanced notice of maternity leave (which means I've actually told HR I'm preggers, and not just eating too many donuts) it feels far more real.

Or as real as it's going to get if you ignore the wiggling person in my uterus with a heartbeat and constantly changing mood towards food.

So I'm on the countdown to 18 October when I can shuffle off this working coil, and become a (lumpy) lady of (not really, but as close as I'll ever come to) leisure.

If you completely diregard the fact that I'll be 36 weeks pregnant and I'll have an almost 4yo at home with me, then the leisure part seems perfectly reasonable.

Somehow, I've managed to wrangle a full 12 months paid leave. Obviously it was HR's plan all along: drive me to the brink of insanity for my own benefit. Looks like completely losing my shit over being tired, unappreciated and not feeling like I could take time off from work without being given the evil eye was simply part of the grand plan.

Just a tip HR - next time let me in on the secret - we'll get along a hell of a lot better.

The fact that there won't be a next time is completely irrelevant.

I'm really looking forward to not working. Even after all this time as a working mum, I still feel the sting of having to be exactly that. I'm not saying I'd rather see our family starve than go to work - clearly I'm not that evil, or I would NEVER have gone back to work - but I think the tug of war between my obligations to a workplace and my love and attachment to a person we brought into the world conflict every single day and I am ready to put that behind me.

When I hear people say things like 'if you can't afford to stay home, then you shouldn't have children', it really burns my butt. Last time I checked there were far worse things in this world than your child attending daycare.

It's not like I'm strapping my child to the fan blades during the day and leaving her there until I come home! We put a lot of consideration into which daycare she would attend - like every parent does - and waited as long as we could before putting her in. People don't choose to go back to work lightly - some of us don't have a choice.

Things are different this time around, and I'm very grateful for it. The emotional rollercoaster that is being a working parent is not for me, and I knew that from day one, but circumstances meant I had to do the hard yards for a while until things changed.

Being a SAHM is going to come with a whole new load of challenges, and I get that. I certianly don't have visions of laying on the couch, watching TV while eating chocolate (well, not until after the kids are in bed!) but I know I'm going to love it a hell of a lot more than schelpping into work every day wishing I was somewhere else.

So here's to the remaining 91 days...may they dissipate faster than a fart in a fan factory.

Riding in Cars with Boys...

Last night, I hit a new low.

The shame is still imprinted on my brain and I'm not sure I'll ever be able to look my husband in the eye again...or, at least, not until dinner time tonight. Especially if he's cooking.

I had thought the worst of this 24/7 morning sickness was over.

I was wrong.

Terribly, mortifyingly, wrong.

The day had started out badly, with my head in the toilet. This was an omen, and I didn't pay attention...

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It began as a normal ride home from work. Rather than taking 2 cars, we decided to travel together since The Man was actually going to finish at a reasonable time. It was nice not to have to drive in the peak hour traffic.

Everything was fine - I was checking Twitter and Facebook, catching up on what I had missed throughout the day. Suddenly I paused, as the familiar feeling of queasy churning began. I took deep breaths, I put the air vent on my face for the cool air and I tried to focus on something else.

The rising panic told me I had to find something fast. There was no time for deep breathing and cool air - this was the time for frantic action!

If we had been in my car, there would have been a plastic bag available. There also would have been easily cleaned leather seats. But we were in The Man's car, and the only thing I could find was the cardigan on my lap and everywhere I looked all I could see was Subaru emblazoned, absorbent material laughing in my face.

This was going to be bad.

We were on the highway - nowhere to pull over as we were stuck in the far lane and traffic was bumper to bumper. I could have put my head out the window, but in my panic I know I would have forgotten to turn away from the wind and it would have blown back in my face.

This was going to be traumatic enough without adding that kind of scarring experience to the mix.

I should have thought about the cardigan better. Tried to fashion some sort of cloth 'bucket'. But before I knew it the muscle reflex from hell kicked in and I crammed the cardigan up against my mouth.

And from there the day unravelled at lightening speed.

For a moment I thought perhaps it was just a reflex and nothing came out - until I wondered why I couldn't see through my glasses anymore and why the mess was hovering before my eyes.

Something was dripping down both arms.

Something warm was slowly making its way down my cleavage.

Then another wave came.

Oh, shit.

The Man kept saying "don't panic, it will be okay, don't panic!" over and over. I think this mantra was actually more for his own benefit than mine.

He's not good with vomit.

With every wave it spread further - it sprayed onto the sun visor! If I hadn't been so horrified by what was happening, I probably would have been impressed with the leverage I was achieving with every heave.

I could feel the car moving faster and faster. I think at one point we were air-borne as The Man tried to get us home before it could get worse. I'm not sure how it could have been worse, but it's the thought that counts.

As we screamed into the driveway, of course the heaving finished. Even in my lowest moment the irony was not lost on me. Miserable, fucking, irony.

I stood in the yard, and The Man hosed me down like a prize winning horse that had just vomited all through it's trailer. I am all class, and this day was no different. And it got better once I stripped off to my knickers and bra so I could get into the house without dragging a trail of mess behind me to the shower.

Thank god for high fences and privacy screening.

In the shower I started to scrub. I was only removing stomach contents, but I was trying to scrub away the memories, too. A 'two birds, one stone' scenario. The milk and honey smell was soothing but it took me a moment to gather my thoughts and remember to take my glasses off. Clearly I was so traumatised I decided looking through a veil of my own vomit was perfectly normal.

See, all class.

I emerged from the shower 20 minutes later, red raw from scrubbing. The Man came back upstairs, his hands red raw from scrubbing the terror out of his car.

The car now smells like pine-o-cleen...and a bucket has been installed for future trips. If I'm ever allowed back in the car again.

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The Man has a renewed glow about him today.

His macho-ness is proven through his ability to drive his vomit encrusted wife home, hose her down, get her into the shower and then clean his vomit encrusted car - all with minimal fuss and only a few gagging episodes.

Although it did take him a long time to come to bed...

Image from Here

The Unhappy Working Mumma...

I don't want to be a working Mumma anymore.

There, I said it. It's the elephant in the room at home, right now. Yesterday I kinda lost my shit because I didn't want to go back to work. Being crippled by the flu and germridden in bed for a week was more fun.

That's saying something.

I brought it up with the Guru yesterday, in the midst of a barrage of tears over none of my clothes fitting they way I want them to, again with him being on the computer if he's not working, feeling like rat shit and knowing that the Black Dog is using all of this as fuel for the fire.

I'm so tired. So tired of feeling this way. Pulled in too many directions, not enough time in a day and not having enough patience with Miss 3. Getting annoyed over things that don't matter, simply because the weekend is never long enough and I'm always battling the tide of fucking mess and disorganisation that is my life after a full week at work.

I get home and I blink - the clock has swung around to 7:30pm and I've not even got dinner on the table some nights.

I don't know how other Mum's do it. I can't silence that voice in my head that tells me I'm a failure as a parent for being at work, and I'm a failure as a employee for not being at work. I think I'm afraid I'll loose part of myself.

If I'm not working and earning money, what value do I have at home or in society?

My Mum has always worked. When I was a child, she used to work at the local abbatoir splitting sheep skulls and extracting the brains or removing the offal from the sheep bodies. She worked nights and it was good money. She was home during the day for me.

She taught me to always be independant.

Growing up with an example like my Mum, I feel like I'm failing her by not wanting to be the all-encompassing-full-time-working-mumma. But I don't. And I can't escape that. Deep down, I don't want to be where I am.

But being a SAHM scares me too.

Does that mean I won't be 50% of the marriage anymore? Will I have to ask permission to use money because I'm not earning it? How will I feel if someone asks me what I do and they roll their eyes at me when I say I'm a SAHM? Because I don't cope well with the horrified looks on people's faces when I tell them that I'm a working Mum - it makes me want to slap them and yell 'Don't Judge Me!'.

And I'm sure SAHM's want to do the same thing when they're judged for choosing family over a career.

For the moment our budget requires that I work. Not necessarily full time, but I need to provide an income of some sort. Once some things are paid off, my hours could drop more.

My dream is not to return to work after baby #2 - use up my maternity leave benefit from work, use the Government leave option and then cash in my long service leave. I'll have about 18months paid time off. And then I'll simply resign.

But until then I need to do something. As things are now I'm feeling run down and trapped in a never ending cycle that I hate, yet taking that first step is daunting.

I know I'm most likely over thinking it - I've been stewing all week and the more I stew, the more the Black Dog throws his 2 cents into the conversation and things start to spiral out of control.

I'm really looking for feedback from other parents - those who work and those who don't. I need to hear your stories and know that what seems impossible now, is not only possible, but wonderful.

February Photo A Day Challenge: Day 22...

Day 22

|Where I Work|

The view from my desk, the view from my door, the painting Miss 3 did at Daycare and said I had to take to work, the pin board of evil with it's ICPC-2 codes that cover every single medical procedure and condition you can think of, according to the WONCA International Classification Committee, and the inbox where people put things for me to ignore.

And then there is the collage of photo's that make me smile everyday.

Want to play along? Visit www.fatmumslim.com.au for all the details

Back in the Saddle...

Well, not literally. The last time I tried to get in a saddle, I got half way up and then my leg decided to fail. Cue humiliating face plant with foot still in the stirrup. I'm actually back in the desk chair.

I've fallen off that, too.

Today, I feel like I should be mainlining coffee. Have you ever had one of those crappy night's sleep where you toss, you turn, you flatten the pillow, you fluff it, you poke the husband to stop snoring, you can't sleep without the snoring, you place the pillow over his face to create snoring...a never ending saga of actions that get you no closer to sleep?

I refer to it as a foreboding sense of doom. Like when you know you have to go to the dentist to have work done but you know damn well they'll have run out of happy gas and the nice dentist will have gone home with a headache and you have to see the Sweeney Todd dentist.

Fuck - coming back to work after a long holiday is worse than being hungover. It's worse than being hungover and waking to find the cat has shit on your pillow.

So here I am, 4pm on day 1 of being back at work and I feel like I haven't had a holiday in 10 years. It's like I never left.

Clearly, I need a break.

Image Credit

Bringing Back the Om...

Well, it's been 15 days since I last posted. 7 of those days were self inflicted 'technological blackout' days.

I got back from my final work trip and decided I'd had enough of the outside world and wanted to focus closer to home.

So the iPhone was off, the computer was off and I made room in my head for...nothing.

Nothing but books, hide-and-seek, swimming, laughing, sleeping, cuddles, baking, painting and plaiting blonde ringlets.

I loved every second.

And while the Toddler slept, I cleaned. More of our home ended up on the kerb for the cyclone season hard-rubbish pick up, than any other house on the street.

The house feels open, calmer, cleaner and simpler. And so does my head.

Sure, I totally should have gone to work. But pulling myself away from there, pulling the Toddler out of daycare for the week and just having family time was worth every second spent catching up on hundreds of emails.

And the most important thing I learnt? Work and the world won't fall apart just because I make time for myself. One day I'm sure I'll remember that, without having to drive myself into exhaustion first.

I've been enjoying drafting plans for changes we'll be making to the house. Progress hasn't been and won't be as fast as I'd like, but I need to learn to slow down. I am very 'now, now, now' in everything I do. I don't like suspense. If something is going to happen, just make it happen already.

I'm going to try and learn to enjoy the journey, rather than focusing on the destination and letting everything fly past me as I rush to get there. Wherever 'there' is.

I have taken 3 days to paint one new door for our home. We are going for high gloss black, and instead of slapping on the thickest coat possible and rushing the job, I'm taking it easy. Doing one coat at a time and layering until the sheen is so brilliant and perfect it looks like acrylic.

I'm doing one door at a time. I'm not worrying about invisible deadlines which I set for myself and aren't actually necessary or even applicable. I'm not in a race with myself.

And the Toddler is helping me. I'm not thinking about final finishes - I'm focusing on the fact that she will be able to tell everyone that she helped paint the entry to our family home. Because she is what makes us a family.

I'm trying to stop worrying about the things I can't change. Trying to stop letting things beyond my control hurt me or anger me. It's a challenge - and some days it just doesn't happen. Which is fine, because tomorrow is another day.

Insurance companies will allways set my teeth on edge, and I have chipped my front tooth again with all the teeth grinding I've been doing over unresolved claims.

Our dentist will dedicate the new wing of his mansion to our family. Since we funded it.

But I need to let it go. I need to let it all go. Being angry and upset forever will not change the past. It's pointless and it's not who I want to be.

So we will move forward. We will create a new family heirloom. We'll bring the past to meet the future and know that we did all we could have done. We're not forgetting what came before us, and we're not losing sight of all we have ahead of us.

The journey of a thousand miles must begin with a single step ~ Lao Tzu

Hmmm...

So the carer of evil wasn't there today. Our meeting yesterday went well - apparently, very well.

The reaction from the Centre Director leads us to believe that we're not the first concerned parents to bring this sort of thing to her attention.

Interesing, yes?

The main aim was not to have someone fired (if that's what has happened, and I'm not ashamed to say that I won't be sad to see the back of that carer), but for them to be aware of our concerns and to have the safety and wellbeing of our daughter confirmed.

It seems we have achieved that in the short term, but we will still be moving her when a place comes up.

I'm sad to take her away from the carers that she does trust and love - it does make me hesitate.

If the bad is gone, is the good enough to stay?

I'm boarding a plane shortly, so I'll have plenty of pondering time.

Who said parenting is easy?

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.

I've got my cranky pants on...

I was on a high this morning because, for a change, my morning ran smoothly. A quick, calm drop off to day care and no looney's on the road meant that by the time I swept into work I had a smile on my face.

Which was promptly ripped off my face at lunch time when the Finance Manager walked into my office and proceeded to "ask" me to cover reception while she takes the reception staff out to lunch.

Well, that's lovely - but choosing to take 50% of your staff out to lunch when the other 50% is unavailable due to a staff induction day is a really stupid idea.

Why is it stupid? Well, it's stupid because now you have to ask me to cover reception, just as I'm stepping out have lunch myself. This is not the way to get in my good books. In fact, it will cause me to get cranky, and I will grow crankier still, thinking about your stupidity and your craptacular timing, not to mention your rubbish organisational skills and inability to make sensible judgements.

And, no, your offer to bring me back a soy-organic-vegan-chai-latte will not make it better. It will only make it worse. Far, far worse.

So I'm hungry. And staring at someone who is asking me to be hungry a while longer so she can toddle off and not be hungry, but is happy to bring back a cup of unsatisfyingly healthy, badly flavoured warm water.

Damn right I'm pulling up my cranky pants! And I'm pulling them up Steve Urkel style just to prove the point.

But I decided that since I am off to Adelaide next week for work I should invest in a pair of 'normal' pants.

My Team Leader has these amazing pants that I would totally mug her for - but instead I decided just to buy a pair.

It's not often that I find awesome clothes locally. But funnily enough some decent shops have been schlepping their way into Darwin, and this has made me very happy.

The local Country Road store was zero help, but that's why the shopping gods created ONLINE STORES!

As a result, Country Road online shopping was sourced and I managed to grab:

Flare Pant

Seamfree Stripe Tank

There's also a really cute boyfriend blazer but they don't have my size...sigh. They've having a 60% off sale at the moment, so make the most of that, people!!

But my sadness over the blazer was short lived when I found this on the Forever New website:

Bethany Bow Jacket

Yes, I'm using shopping as a way to make myself feel better, and to an extent it has worked quite nicely, thank you very much.

But I can't escape the realisation that work has been making me wear my cranky pants more often lately. And the few people that have been driving me up the wall are going to suffer the wrath of a slightly stressed, high strung, working mummy if they don't piss off and leave me alone!

I think it's the time of year - and the fact that I'm struggling to balance the working mummy scales. Particularly in the coming weeks when I'll be away quite a lot for work, and I've not been away from the Toddler for more than a night in her whole life.

It feels uncomfortable and strange, and no amount of shopping will make that feeling go away.

Which is quite inconvenient, I must say.

I would turn to chocolate for some solace, but my doctor ruined that after our chat last week. Bitch.

Maybe days like this are a sign that I should just pull the quilt over my head and hide from life.

Running away is always much easier than trying to answer questions, such as, 'do I really want to work?'...'do I really want to stay at home'?...

Am I as think as I drunk I am? Sadly, no. But since I'm at work, it's most likely for the best. Or not.

I do think it's entirely possible that I'm completely losing my grip on reality.

Friday Fluff: The Water Edition

It has been water central at our place, recently. If it wasn't rescuing the pool from complete destruction by green and potentially germ-warfare-worthy pool water, it was counting down to water play day at daycare and being reminded daily by the Toddler that she was going to do water play this week.

Discussion topics were fairly limited given the central theme for life, this week, was water.

'Mummy, I gonna play in water this week!'

'Yes Baby, I know...'

'But not today.'

'No, Baby, not today - you'll have water play in 3 days/on Thursday/tomorrow...'

'Can't swim in our pool - it's gone YUKKY!'

'Yep, sure has, but the pool man is fixing it this week so we can swim soon.'

'Mummy swim too?'

'I'll come swimming too, I promise.'

'Mummy have water play at her work?'

'No, I don't get to have water play - that's something special just at your daycare.'

'Poor Mummy...your work is dry.'

I was then given a dramatic hug, in obvious sympathy of my dry workplace.

If only she knew how true her words were.

Working appeal would obviously improve drastically with the installation of a sprinkler and slip'n'slide within my office.

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.

Polly Dolly: Working 9 to 5

My work outfit is the same as my Mummy outfit - which works really well because I don't have to think too hard about what I'm going to wear.

Flats are standard for me - there are too many stairs to climb during the day for heels to be safe. I'm a klutz at the best of times, there's no need for me to tempt fate.

3/4 demin capri's and a nice top/shirt with some perfume, my watch and come chapstick. Yeah, I don't even wear makeup to work.

Yes, I recognise I am most likely making you think I'm a total bogan. But hey, it's Darwin and any make-up ends up resting on my chin by the time I walk from our front door to the car.  I save it for special occasions, so it always feels super nice for me to dress up.

The bag is exactly the one I have at the moment. I am in love with it. It's my new BFF.

I work at a desk for 85% of my day - the rest of the time I spend gossiping and making cups of tea (it was coffee, but bub-on-board put an end to that! He/She doesn't like coffee at all...neither did the Toddler).

The stethoscope and the apple are hints toward what I do for a living. But to make it easy, in a nut shell, I accredit and provide medical education for GPs. Yes, that's right, I am responsible for helping your GP stay up to date and make sure they're not using amputation as a method of resolving athlete's foot.

Aren't you glad I'm around?!

Playing along with Danimezza's Polly Dolly Challenge

Catherine Malandrino black shirt
$390 - stylebop.com

Burberry cropped jeans
$170 - farfetch.com

Black ballet flat
$13 - target.com

Fossil watch
$115 - nordstrom.com

Offset Desk by Altura Furniture
decorati.com

Bluebird Turnlock Studded Hobo
60 AUD - strandbags.com.au

Granny Smith Apple
$3.95 - crateandbarrel.com

You Are Amazing

So tell me, do you believe you're amazing?

I am currently at work - mainlining caffeine and Red Rock Deli Honey Soy Chicken chips with my office door closed to avoid the crazies I work with being a productive and valuable member of the workplace.

Or something.

Whatever. My point is that, while many of us are Schleppers working Bloggers, some are lucky and get to work from home, or don't have to work at all. And, of course, not all of us have children, either.

I suppose, in a way, it's everyone's dream to be work free, or at least be able to work from home and not have to bother getting out of your jammies. Because workplaces just don't understand how wearing jammies to work would make life so much easier.

Besides, I've had a room full of people stare down my birth canal. A little thing like wearing pyjamas in public isn't as humiliating for me as it would have been pre-childbirth. And the first 3 to 6 months of parenthood (or unemployment) simply proves how much easier it is to go through life in your jammies, and how fabulous just a clean pair of knickers can make you feel.

And while I would have preferred to be at home, our situation is as such that it's not possible. There's no point in being upset over something you knew was never going to happen in the first place. No matter how many other parents clucked their tongues at me, or shook their heads and poured pity on my poor child who was going to ' be foisted into the clutches of child care workers who are all criminals anyway'.

Yeah, that comment was my favourite.

I found that being a SAHM was more challenging, if not more traumatic, than going back to work full time.

Nothing is more likely to make you lose your hair and chew all your nails off than the thought of being picked to death by a Mum's group over all the things you're doing wrong. And I will never return to a Mum's group again without a whip and a chair. Or a bottle of hard liquor.

Some gems I recall, even now, include;

"Does your daughter always breathe like that?"
~ Are you seriously judging the way my daughter breathes!?

"I start my day at 5am, go for a run with the pram (and, one would hope, the child), come home and make our macrobiotic, organic, gluten/colour/flavour/addidtive free, recycled cardboard based meals for the day and then proceed to go through pre-school brain training with Agamemnon/Pear/Facebook/Diva Muffin. What do you do at home all day?"
~ Well, apart from give my child a name she won't have to change when she's 18, I don't roll out of bed much before 8am if I can, and then I'll drink coffee while she makes mess in the lounge and just generally has a good time. Once the coffee has kicked in and we've finished our breakfast of champions (Coco Pops for me, Weet-Bix for her) I spend time with her as a child - we play games and go to the park and just spend time together - including having naps together! I'm all about having naps - they're awesome. My child also eats whatever we've got going at the time, and if that means her lunch is a cheesymite sandwich and a choclate donut (okay, I eat the donut most of the time - but only after she's had a bite...maybe), then that's fine. I'm going to spend time with my daughter rather than being all day in the kitchen. And as for the brain training, well, someone in your home certainly needs focused attention on their brain, and I don't think it's your child.

Wow, all this quality, bonding time is wonderful. Thanks! Next week I'll bring cyanide to share.

"I make sure I do 1 to 2 hours of exercise a day. But of course, it's lovely to see that you're not too worried about getting back into shape."
~ That's the nicest thing you've said to me all day. I'll be sure to remember your compliment when you're standing behind my reversing car."

Experiences like that made me far more comfortable with the idea of going back to work. Because at work I have an office door which I can shut and the loonies just dribble and blubber on the other side. That makes it easier to ingore them.

Working, specifically away from home, has other advantages too. For me anyway.

I make way more money blogging from a workplace than I would at home (although I'm sure HR would have something to day about it). And work is more likely to get some sort of productive action out of me, by making me hoof it to work every day. Because while work only has access to Blogger and Google -home has Austar, my bed, my couch, unrestricted access to the internet and a fridge and pantry.

Working from home, for me, would simply turn into being paid to watch telly while surfing the net, eating chocolate and drinking coffee.

Hang on... why would that be a problem?

Oh, right. Focus...

Working away from home also means that I have some "grown up" time. I have conversations about things other than toilet training, what the Toddler's friends have stuck up their noses recently and, most importantly, I don't have to discuss all those things that I do differently from other Mum's and therefore I must be wrong.

But, you know, those of us who are lucky enough to not have to work, or get to work from home, and don't have children, are judged just as harshly. Because what on earth could they possibly have to fill their time without children?

And I think it's just not fair. For some reason, no matter what choices we make, there is always someone out there who is going to make a judgement and tell us we're wrong.

We're wrong for wanting to stay at home with our children. We're wrong for wanting to go back to work, in any capacity, if we have children. We're wrong for not wanting to have children at all. We're wrong for having children later. We're wrong for having children younger. We're wrong for having an only child. We're wrong for having more than 1 child. We're wrong for making any choice that is percieved to be in contradiction to our situation.

But who the hell decided that?

Whether we stay home, work from home or work from a separate building that doesn't have the luxuries of Google, we are all doing our part and doing what's right for our OWN lives. We should be proud of that!

Although if you do work at Google, then you have nothing to complain about. And you wouldn't schlep to work - you'd get there in your personalised, self driving, super car of the future. But only if the company jet was unavailable.

In the end we all have different situations, financial responsibilities and wants in life. Not a single one is better or worse than the other. If we were all stinking rich and didn't need to work then our friends would be like Paris Hilton and Donald Trump's hairpiece would be a style move.

Personally, that's not a world I want to live in.

If we all had nothing, well, chances are the world would be a more co-operative place and we'd be more willing to help eachother rather than blowing eachother up. Maybe. It could also end in anarchy and people becoming more greedy for the little that they do have.

I don't know - Russia tried it and it looks like it didn't work out too well.

But this post isn't about trying to solve the problems of the world. This is about recognising that we all make an impact on this world, no matter what we do with ourselves during the day.

We need to remind eachother that we do a fantastic job and we deserve to be proud of ourselves every day, even just for getting out of bed, because there are days for all of us where that's a mission in itself.

"Most of the shadows of this life are caused by our standing in our own sunshine."

~ Ralph Waldo Emerson

So forget the shadows and remember why the sun shines. Because it does, every day.

You know it's going to be a long day...

when the Yummy Mummy doesn't cut it and the Bubba Gump has to come out.

Ah, Bubba - where would I be without you and your ability to hold obscene amounts of coffee?

Most likely under my desk in the foetal position.

Image from Here

Are you a coffee-a-holic? Or am I the only one who want's to bury my workmates alive if they approach me while I'm holding an empty coffee cup first thing in the morning?


Image from Here

Oh - and just for the record, no amount of coffee can make Rhianna's 'California King Bed' sound like anything other than 3 cats in a street fight.

I'm just sayin'.

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.