Movies. Hogswatch. Charlie's angels.

Hello to all my readers. I hope you are traveling well in this festive season of festivities. Chrimbo for some, other festivals for, well, others.

We are traveling in an ambling fashion, what with us all being on hols and all. I am enjoying the relaxed pace although the smalls are still too small to allow their parents any GENUINE relaxation. Still we take what we get.

In order to steal some ALONE TIME we shoved the kids into daycare on Monday EVEN THOUGH WE ARE ON HOLIDAYS and went to the movies. Well, look, I had a Gold Class pass that was given to me by my boss IN MARCH that I really felt should be used. Unfortunately, either ticket prices have gone up in that time or my boss just felt like he couldn't quite spring for the FULL price of two tickets because when the card was handed over there was still $10 to pay. THANKS A LOT BOSS R I DON'T THINK! Outrageous.

Anyway I always like a Gold Class experience and it wasn't even ruined by the following facts;

• I ordered churros to be delivered half way into the movie and they were dry and weird
• One of the only other groups in the cinema were an EXTREMELY ELDERLY and frail couple who talked very loudly and confusedly to each other before finally, and noisily, leaving the movie early. Poor ducks.
• I didn't really like the movie. It was American Hustle. I just couldn't really get into it. M liked it though. Margaret and David raved about it like crazy people. I was all like "meh".

My friend Mother Down Under also kindly invited me to see The Secret Life of Walter Mitty last night, she had scored some blogging related free tickets! Lucky me. I liked this one much more. Yes. Things I like about this movie include;

• Ben Stiller
• The scenery in Iceland and Greenland
• The ending
• The bit with the helicopter and the boat and that

 Anyway I recommend it.

In Chistmassy news, I have finished all my associated shopping and am enjoying my longstanding Christmas traditions of listening to this album;


and reading this book;

If you aren't familiar with either of these festive classics then I say, get thee to Amazon.com STAT! Or iTunes or a ye olde record shop/book shop.

Finally, I've said before that I am dead set lucky to have met some fabulous new friends through blogging. Some of those said friends are Cult Fashion Blogger and all round Excellent and Amusing person Faux Fuchsia, glamorous and talented Mummy Swap artiste Housewife in Heels, and crafty minx Mother Down Under. FF has quite taken us under her wing. She is the Charlie to our Angels. And when Charlie asks her angels to action something, we action the hell out of it.

FF is utilising her high end blog statistics and loyal readership to raise some cash for a little family she knows who have a sweet boy called Hugh. Hugh suffers from a condition called Alpers Syndrome. It is degenerative and life limiting. For more information, or to donate, you can read FF's blog or visit Hughie's website.

I am also going to attempt to put a link to his website on the blog sidebar but being the luddite that I am I might struggle. We'll see how that goes.

I am very lucky to have two beautiful and healthy children. There was a painful moment earlier in the year when we thought P was not going to be so healthy. It was the most frightening and exhausting time in my life. I can't imagine how hard it would be for Hugh's family.

Anyway, until next time, my loyal readers, adieu. Adieu. To you and you and you.

Op shop ninja. Sacrifice. Nihilism.

Things that have happened recently.

• I got offered a place in the teaching Grad Dip. For too long I have fought the inevitable - my genetic inheritance. The time was nigh to give into fate and accept what is mine by right.  I'll be stalking the quadrangle telling surly teens to tuck their shirts in before you can say "Jack Robinson!"

• I bought some cool shizz from my ole favourite op shop including a Sacha Drake dress that fits me perfectly for $12, a small orange Le Creuset frying pan for $4 and miscellaneous children's things. I am an op shop ninja.

•  I had my last day of work for 2014.  Well, PAID WORK. I mean MY WHOLE LIFE IS WORK, RIGHT MOMS? Talk about SACRIFICING MYSELF ON THE ALTAR OF MOTHERHOOD!

• I have undertaken 99% of my Christmas shopping. This is quite an achievement for me.

• I am SICK TO DEATH of hearing people whinge about having to manage part time workers. SUCK IT UP PEOPLE! It's the 21st century dudes. Do you want to pick my children up for me, stay home and wipe their bums for me? Or pay the mortgage for me? No? Then shove it. Ugh.

• I am sick of archaic inflexible workplaces incapable of entering the MODERN WORLD and UTILISING their resources efficiently and remaining TRAPPED in 20th century mentalities that go no way to FURTHER THE CAUSE OF THE WORKING MOTHER. Not mentioning any names. Ha.

•  The cat shaving project appears to have been a success. Apart from how she looks like a bit of an alien. No hairballs. YES!

• M requested a book about Nihilism for Christmas. Which made me think of this bit from The Big Lebowski.  Ve believe in nussink.

 

 

•  I met up with the lovely Caitlin from Mother Down Under and her little chap C and we had a paddle in the water at the beach near us. You should visit her blog and enter her giveaways. They are THE BOMB DIGGITY.

• In a surprising twist, we ate spaghetti bolognese for dinner last night. The novelty!

• My mum found a dress at a second hand shop and posted it to me. She knew I would like it because I had cleverly blogged about things I coveted in this post! See! It pays to be specific.

• I got my eyebrows tinted which, I am sad to say, was a bit of a mistake. I look a bit like this;

           

           Let's hope they fade.

How are your Xmas shopping trips progressing? Do you have eyebrows? Any exciting meals planned? DO TELL!

Double entendres.

Hello there. I must stop this sporadic blogging because it makes it hard to know where to begin, my life is just that rich and full. Maybe I will undertake some sort of New Year blog daily challenge or some such. I'll think on it.

Anyway, I will start by saying, DO YOU KNOW, MR HUMPHRIES, MY PUSSY WAS SO HOT AND FURRY, I HAD TO TAKE IT DOWN THE SHOPS TO GET IT SHAVED!

"Mr. Humphries!  Leave my pussy alone!"

No, not THAT pussy you filthy beasts. Animals, the lot of you.

THIS pussy!

Before!

After! HAHAHA! Oh dear. I hardly recognised my pussy! Not quite a Brazilian but the feline equivalent of leaving a "landing strip" perhaps? A poodle cut maybe?

I had cleaned up one too many hairball vomits and cut poo out of her bum fur for the last time, my friends. This is the way of the future. I cannot believe we hadn't done it sooner. I am NEVER getting a long haired cat again. To be fair, this cat sort of foisted herself upon us.

I mean, I really LOVE cats, but this one PUSHES HER LUCK! I mean, she strolls in here, weasles her way into our hearts, forces us to adopt her, and then proceeds to VOMIT HAIRBALLS every five seconds whilst determinedly refusing to do any of the PLEASANT tasks that are the lot of a feline pet, like you know, letting you cuddle her or showing any interest in sitting on a lap. She is as aloof as a..well, I don't know what but FREAKING ALOOF.

When she's not crying to be rescued off the roof that is. That's right my friends. She can get ONTO the roof, but apparently not OFF the roof. Once again I was forced to retrieve her from said roof this evening using a LADDER. I KNOW! THE FREAKING HUMANITY!

In other news, it's hot, I've had ANOTHER tummy bug, we went to Kingscliffe and it was lovely, it's hot, I'm sweaty, P had her actual real life dance concert and by Jove it was hilarious for about the first 1 1/2 hours and then by the end of the ALMOST 3 HOURS we were FLAGGING just a bit. THE FREAKING HUMANITY! Also it's hot, I've done some Christmas shopping ONLINE and feel SMUG about it, I want to go and live in a RURAL IDYLL and buy a CHEAP HOUSE so we can stop being wage slaves and LIVE FOR THE NOW and craft shit and grow crap and sew and cook and be creative bohemian rural types. STYLISH ones. Not, you know, unfashionable ones. PERISH THE THOUGHT. Also I wish I could take artistic photos. Damn my pork sausage fingers.

Anyway I think I'm starting to become incoherent so here's some Kingscliffe visuals. Is that how you spell it? I'm losing it.

Ciao bellas.

Blancmange, B, Ballet and Breaking Bad.

Hello again. It's been a full week since my last confession blog post. Forgive me readers for I have sinned. You know, been slack again. About posting. Which I know doesn't matter in the slightest but still, I feel I need to act as though I am a minor celebrity by apologizing. So indulge me won't you.

It's been a busy week round these parts. More storms, hot weather, me continuing with the predominant literary trope of this blog by complaining about having no air conditioning and adding to it by weeping with frustration while I tried to put together the pedestal fans that I had taken apart to clean, kindy concerts, more freaking ballet rehearsals, a sick baby, spending money we don't have on shit we don't need. You know the drill.

I think this post might call for some dot points again. And you know how I love a good dot point.

• I've been going to bed at 8 or 8.30 nearly every night. Because I am so bloody TIRED all the time. WHY AM I SO TIRED? My kids, these days, sleep through the night. They wake pretty early but I don't think that explains my bone weariness. I never used to be able to sleep during the day but at the moment I could sleep hours away. Hours I tell you. I fall asleep lying on the floor next to B's cot. The early bedtimes have rendered me almost incapable of keeping up with blogging, housework, tv viewing. But I do feel a bit less tired. I am guessing the absence of anything much that you could call actual exercise is not helping my energy levels. If I don't action some exercise soon I will become a human blancmange.

Me, earlier today.

• Apart from being quite sick with a fever last week, B is very cute at the moment. Some examples of his cuteness include;
• he says "fuck" instead of "truck". He also says "pig" instead of "big". So when we are out and about he is often heard shouting at the top of his lungs "pig fuck! Mummy PIG FUCK!". Amusing, no?
• When he wakes up in the morning and I walk into his room, he shouts at me, whilst standing in his cot - "Get DA WATER mummy! Get DA WATER!". Which is his way of requesting a drink.
• When I take off his sleeping bag, he often says "Hello feet!" to his appendages. CUTE!
• When I say to him "Love you!" he replies "Wah Woo!".
• When he has a sore anything he says "Sore tummy! Sore tummy!". Even if it isn't his tummy. I mean what is he, like, 2? OH RIGHT!
• When he DOES bang his head on something, which happens fairly regularly, he cries and says "Bump da HEAD!"
• When I tell him it is time to get out of the bath, he tells me sternly "No! Free minutes!" which is his way of demanding three minutes more.
• He is obsessed with M mowing the lawn and comments regularly throughout the day "Lawn. Mower. Boots. Hat. Gasses" (glasses). HEEHEE.

Here is the boy in question in his kindy photo.

• We went to P's kindy concert on Friday night. She and all her pre-kindergarten cronies were up on stage singing Christmas carols. Very cute. I could hardly see her because she was hidden behind a tall kid but what I could see was her staring at all the other kids and only occasionally joining in. Some would say easily distracted, I would say DEAD SET OBSERVANT and INTERESTED IN PEOPLE!

And the girl.

• Saturday we went on a wild goose chase to some non-existent Indian supermarket to purchase some AUTHENTIC spices for M to make dhal. I mentioned to him that I thought you could get some pretty bloody authentic spices at Woolies but he was not deterred. When we weren't successful in locating the supermarket, we decided to go to a fancy pants market type place at harbourtown and had lunch at the deli there, which was very nice indeed. Fancy pants gourmet food type things are M's Achilles heel, spending wise, so we then proceeded to buy a high end panettone, some salted capers, and some baklava. We were sorely tempted by all sorts of other ridiculously priced goodies but stopped there. Frankly we should be living on tins of baked beans and cat food like pensioners do, the way we are going.



File footage of a panettone. I think this is the same brand.  Weirdly this looks a lot like our floor too. Curious.

• After our spending spree, I then had to wait around outside P's ballet rehearsal, sweating for OVER AN HOUR AND A HALF. This time I was able to see P doing her thing through a window. Whilst all the small ballerinas faced the front doing the actions, P faced sideways, mostly staring at the other girls and occasionally getting the steps in. DEAD SET OBSERVANT, SEE? PRODIGY! I think she is clearly going to be an anthropologist or life painter.
• We threw caution to the wind for a second year running and put the Xmas tree up in November. We are going away next weekend so I figured what the hey. Didn't put the outdoor lights up because I got too tired. Energy levels low. MUST EXERCISE! MUST! Here's some file footage of Christmas Past if you are interested in it. Everything looks basically the same this year except messier because I retained limited creative control of the project and outsourced it to my junior colleagues. http://slapdashmama.blogspot.com.au/2012/11/poo-of-day-festivus-for-rest-of-us.html

• Even though I have been adhering to my stringent early bedtime curfews, I did manage to stay up late enough on Saturday night to watch 4 episodes of Season 2 of Breaking Bad. SO OBSESSED WITH IT. I know I am late to the party but better late than never, as they say.

• I really miss having a proper smart phone. I am at a loss. No easy access to a photographic record of my life. Therefore no easy access to photos for this blog. And don't get me started on Instagram. I mourn it. I must do something stat.

Anyway that's a wrap.

Lalala - weekend things and stuff and Key Learnings and weather and whatnot.

Hello there peeps.

There has been some deadset doolally weather round these parts. I spent a few days up the coast at the Slapdash Family compound and there was a hum dinger of a hail storm while I was getting my hairs done at the, what I call, hairdresser. All us ladies there pressed ourselves up against the glass, robed in our capes and curlers, squealing and screeching things like "Oh me car!" and "Should we get some towels?" and "Everyone insured?".

Luckily the Noble Honda Civic that is our chariot of choice seems to have survived with the merest ding in the roof, despite veritable CRICKET BALL sized hailstones.

Then yesterday our Gracious and Tree-lined Suburb* was at the epicentre of another nutty storm that rent the kiddies daycare centre sun shades in twain and caused no end of consternation amongst eager local social media users. The magic of modern technology meant I could see a video of the hailstorm as it happened two houses away from ours, even though I was in the city at work. It's like living in the future!

Anyway the long weekend up the coast was very pleasant, as my brother, the prodigal son, had returned for a brief visit and my parents killed the fatted calf and whatnot**.

Here is evidence of said fraternal visitation.

During the visit I learnt some Key Learnings. The first of these Key Learnings was focused on my mother's dog. He is a sort of cattle dog and has been, for most of his life, rather neurotic and barky and disobedient. Push came to shove recently and Mum was forced to employ some Expert Assistance. aka Dog Whisperers.

They taught her how to show him who is boss. Apparently he had been stressed out because he thinks he is Pack Leader and frankly he is just not up to the job, being small of brain and feeble of character. So hence the manic barking and stress pooing and mentalness.

Mum had to give him what for and lay down the law and set things straight and so forth. Which, essentially, consists of sternly saying the word "BAH!" to him when he is playing up and carrying on like a pork chop. Apparently "BAH!" is a Universal Dog Sound that speaks to canines on a Profound Level and signals to them that All is Right in the world and that they are not pack leader, so they should just chill the hell out and relax and take it easy and enjoy a responsibility free lifestyle.

Weirdly enough it seems to have had a remarkable effect on the beast. So there you go.

The next, darker and more disturbing Key Learning, is as follows.
 My mother starkly revealed to me on the weekend that, even though since 1997 I have laboured under the illusion that I received the Highest Possible Mark for Senior English, thereby rendering me the Best English Student that my teacher had ever had, I did not, in fact, receive the HIghest Possible Mark and it is possible to get a Higher Mark then the mark that I got.

I know.

I basically don't even know who I am any more and have essentially been living a lie.

I had to have a good lie down after that revelation I can tell you.

Moving on from the destruction of lifelong belief systems, I had to race home from the coast in order to gussy P up in her ballet tutu and a face full of makeup for her official ballet photographs.

I am not cut out for this ballet mum caper. We still have a dress rehearsal AND a concert to go.

Not only will I need a lie down after it all but I daresay I will need a stiff drink or two by the time it is all over.

Cute though, right? Cute as a bug's ear.

In a final point for you this evening, I present an utterly hilarious and deadset clever piece of satire from the Tunnel Presents website. I've heard the person who wrote it is really good looking, nice smelling, kind, clever, generous, an excellent gardener with a high commitment to personal hygiene and permanently well styled hair. Ahem.

Good night readers. And good luck.


*and by Gracious I mean Bogan-acious
**by killing the fatted calf I mean shouted him to a bloody spensive steak at the local tavern

Bad habits.

Getting back into the blogging swing is hard. Anyway I'm trying. Even though you might think if you read this post that I have confused blogging with Pinterest. Whatever.

I am a woman of many bad habits. These habits include but are not limited to;

• nail biting and picking
• picking scabs
• squeezing pimples
• never having cash in my purse and always having to borrow money off people at work. I never even have cash in my purse for the church collection. Straight to hell.
• comfort eating
• obsessive thoughts
• procrastination 
• obsessive checking of certain websites that may or may not include Facebook
• thinking 24/7 about clothes and about buying clothes even though I have lots of clothes

I like to combine the two latter habits by obsessively trawling through online shopping websites, putting a whole lot of items into a virtual shopping basket, getting to the checkout and realising I don't have the money to spend and dumping the whole lot out again.

I am currently obsessed with the website birdsnest.com.au.

I want all of the things. They have heaps of really nice dresses.

Here's the latest shizz that I covet on their website.

I think if I had a larger collection of suitably brightly coloured and natty coverall kaftan arrangements, my enjoyment of the beach (with my ruddy pork crackling skin) would be increased 11/10.

Another beachy coverall thingo. I need it.

Cute dress, no? I am attracted to this yellow floral print. It speaks to me at a profound level and says "buy me! Throw chafing and caution to the wind!"

Obsessed with all the dresses by this label, "Lazybones". So lovely and they look cool and swishy. And flattering I reckon. I approve of this shape frock, it does wonders for my ample thighs and buttocks and relatively small waist.

Everyone needs a white dress for summer, right? Well, I think they do. I like this one. It would be a good way of hiding unshaven legs. Which let's face it is high priority round these parts.

What's not to like about this top? It has pom poms, it has sort of folksy Mexican embroidery, it's white, it's colourful, it has long sleeves for maximum sun protection.

Can't. Stop. Thinking. About. This. Dress. I mean, naturally I am thinking about Climate Change, Red Cross Appeals, social ISSUES, but also, this dress.

I likie this dressie.

Another excellent way to make the most of a small waist and conceal a hairy leg. I have one maxi skirt and by God I wish I had bought one sooner.

I have heard some terribly sad and upsetting things over the last few weeks, but at least I am soothed by mindlessly perusing clothes on the interwebs.

Do you pretend-shop on the internet? Should I really be doing this on Pinterest? Does anyone even care?

This happened, then that happened, then another thing happened.

Far out. I hate it when I forget to blog. It necessitates a sort of catching up post.

 

Ugh.

 

Anyway, here goes. Let's just get it out of the way and we can all move on, and hope like bally HECK that I do ACTUALLY get my act together blog-wise.

 

So Halloween happened. You can read my post from last year's Halloween if you like. And let's face it WHY WOULDN'T YOU?? 

I've given in totally (well, almost) to Halloween, being as how my kid was desperate to share it with her neighbours, and also I have to admit that I actually really like American stuff. She had a little witchy poo hat on and went along to one of the special streets round these parts that goes in for celebrations in a big way.  She managed to gather a hoard of treats that I confiscated and then proceeded to eat myself over the last couple of weeks. Luckily she seems to have forgotten about them.

I have some good friends who loathe Halloween, and look, I do admit that packs of roaming teenagers getting about with bolts in their necks can be somewhat OMINOUS but I am ok with small fry having a bit of a dress up and a trick or treat.

There I said it. 

I have no photographic evidence of the costume but never mind.

On to the next Festival that Divides the Nation - the Melbourne Cup!

 

Here's what happened this time last year! FASCINATING! AND NOT JUST BECAUSE OF THE HATS!

I really love Melbourne Cup. Mainly because of the hats and FARRSHHIIOON and champers. Less so because of the evils of gambling and the whole shooting of horses what break their legs and so forth. I mean I am not on board with that. Naturally. Sad face.

But my work puts on a HELL of a shindig and I basically look forward to it all year because by God I don't get out much these days and a girl needs something to HOPE FOR.

I was going to write and article for The Shake about DIY hat fashion but I ran out of time what with me being really shithouse at writing at the moment.

Still, I did attempt to make a few fascinators including this one that I actually wore....

Made from some faux flowers I got from Spotlight and usually have shoved in a vase in my hallway, and my small daughter's sparkly headband. Deadset ingenious. Did kind of squeeze my skull a bit but as my mother always said, you have to suffer to be beautiful.

Made this one too, from a kindy creation P made with a paper doily stapled to it. I also made one out of Lego, trying to go for an Isabella Blow/Philip Treacey vibe. This was, however, less successful.

Here I am in my DIY fascinator. I got this dress at an op-shop recently for a few quid. Bargain! It was, however, slightly too tight for the enormous lunch I consumed. I had to unzip it at the back in an unladylike move.

Another, more artistic angle. Taken by my mercurial colleague R.

Here's some of the vittles from our luncheon. Pretty good right? They even have radish flowers and all! FANCY AS!

My work colleagues R and A getting their pink on.

Plonk.

Anyway, it was rather enjoyable. Not that I won anything but I never do.

Also, in an interesting move for the YOOF of Australia, I have applied to undertake a Postgraduate Diploma of Senior Secondary Education.

That's right, mofos, I am going to be school-marming it the utter heck up before you know it.

I'm trying not not to get ahead of myself, seeing as I haven't actually been accepted into the course as yet, but I see a beautiful future ahead for me.

“Coffee, coffee, coffee before we teach-ee teach-ee.”

Friday FARSSHHIIOONN!

Hello slapdash fashion pundits.

Hope the week has treated you well.

Something happened this week. Something...questionable.

I bought harem pants.

Behold.

Something very weird has happened to this photo, it's like being in a hall of mirrors. Speaking of mirrors, I wish I had a proper full length one. A girl can dream.

The soft pant arrangement from an alternative angle.

 I was at IKEA the other weekend and looked about me, and discovered that almost to a woman, patrons were sporting harem pants. Left right and centre. And dammit, they looked good. And comfy.

It pains me to admit this because my mother spent all of the 90s and most of the early 2000s dressed in harem pants, in particular a pair of harem pants with a sort of mustard tribal pattern on them. And reader, I used to tease the shizz out of her and say cruel things like "You better not wear those out of the house MUM!" and whatnot.

Behold here my mother's ubiquitous mustard spotted harem pants.

Sorry Mum. I was wrong. Harem pants are where it is at.

Mine are from Katie's and were a bargain I tell you. But they seem to be everywhere. There are upmarket soft pants and downmarket soft pants. I've seen them at Witchery, Katies, Country Toad, Sussan. All the big names. To quote FF.

While I was trying them on there was a gaggle of middle aged ladies also experimenting with the trend.  One of them said, "Oh yes I have a few pairs of those! They are just perfect for those afternoons when you are hanging round the caravan!".

I'm sure they are. Endorsed by grey nomads everywhere.

Anyway I love them and intend to wear them every day for the rest of my life.

Have you bent to the harem pant trend? Would you rather die than get about in soft pants? Do you have a harem? Let me know! I care about your needs and wants!

A bien tot or whatever it is those French types say.

xx

Death and taxes. But mainly death.

I haven't blogged for ages. I once read a blog post somewhere that said the worst thing a blogger can do is apologise to their readership for being absent because AS IF anyone actually cares or notices.

I wouldn't want to seem up myself! God no.

So I ain't apologizing to nobody.

Anyway.

I went to a funeral a couple of weeks ago. An old teacher friend of my Dad's, who taught me back in the day, died suddenly of a heart attack. He was only 60. It was very shocking for his family.

I went with Dad to the funeral. It was at my old high school, where he and his wife have both been teaching for over 30 years. My parents taught there for a goodly period too.

There were more than 1000 people in attendance. Amazing.

His Year 12 Physics class formed the guard of honour. They were all weeping hysterically, poor kids. You know what teenagers are like. I guess it was probably one of their first experiences of death. Facing mortality and all that.

It was disorienting being back at school. At the wake, I was served hot nibblies (including cheeerios and sauce) by my old teachers. Weird.

His wife, my former English teacher,  was distraught, but their three daughters were amazing.

I wasn't sure that they would remember me.  I gave the middle daughter a hug, and said "Do you remember me? Sarah?"

She said through her tears, "Of course I do! I vomited all over your house when I was a little girl once."

"Really?" I said. "I don't remember that! Look, all is forgiven. What's a vomit between friends!"

We all had a good laugh. Well, good-ish. Wake-appropriate.

There were a couple of people from my year there. It was nice to see them. High school seems simultaneously a long time ago and only yesterday. I had the strange feeling that everything was physically smaller than it used to be. I guess school looms large in your memory.

Anyway because I don't have a smart phone these days and I never remember to take the camera anywhere, here are some photos from the archives. Of my 10 year high school reunion. So sort of in theme.

Fascinating I know. Crazy times.

I think about death ALL the time. Odd I know. I'm always convincing myself that I've got a terminal illness.  I recently bought a necklace with skulls in it because I'm constantly getting all memento mori on everyone's arses.

I thought about Mr H dying so suddenly, and felt compelled to tell M that if I were to die suddenly, I request that;

- I be cremated
- The funeral is held at Dad's church
- I want nice music to be played that makes everyone think fondly of me and weep tears of bittersweet bittersweetness, which is totes my favourite emotion
- If they want a memorial stone or something then put it at the Buderim cemetery.

I will think further about my funereal music choices and advise you when I am decided. Hopefully I don't die before then.

Memento mori, people. Memento mori.

A winner and a pome..

Today I announce the much anticipated winner of my 1st Blogaversary Giveaway Exravaganza!

It was tough choosing a winner. From those few who entered, there were some sterling spleen ventings. Sterling.

But I have to choose one. I hate to do it really.  I'd like to say that spleen venting was the winner today but that's not the way this competition works.

So, without much further ado, I announce that the winner issss -

NESS OF BOGANVILLE! Mainly because she is growing a beard, just like me, and frankly has a better excuse (aka surrounded by testosterone) than I do.

OK so Ness here is your prize. A poem, just for you.

I have written it in the style of Keats, an updated version of his sonnet "On First Looking into Chapman's Homer" which you can conveniently read here on ole Wikipedia if you felt overcome with the urge to Improve your Mind with Highbrow pomes.

On First Looking into Ness's Boganville

Much have I travell'd in the realms of bogan,
And many bogan states and Kingswoods seen;
Round many western suburbs have I been
Which bogans in Falcons to The Footy Show hold.
Oft of one wide expanse had I been told
That fair-browed Ness ruled as her demesne;
Yet did I never breathe its pure serenity now
Til I heard Ness speak out loud and bold:
Then felt I like some watcher of the footy
When a new ball springs onto the field
Or like stout Alfie Langer when with eagle eyes
He star'd at the referee- and all his men
Look'd at each other with a wild surmise -
Silent, upon a peak in Darren Lockyer.

Upset tummy. New clothes.

I'm sorry to sound like a broken record (oh who am I kidding this stuff is my bread and butter) but I am feeling sorry for myself because M has gone away again for work and Baby B and I have had the....look this is going to sound indelicate....we have the Galloping Trots.

I feel better today than I did yesterday. Thank God for my retired father who could come and do his best to help out. Since he has a gammy knee he can't take full control of the ship but at least I had an offsider.

Also my back is still killing me.

I have decided to distract myself by telling you in minute detail about all the new clothes I have bought recently, both with my own pocket money (read: I went to the op shop) and with some Pin Money given to me by the Mater.

Trouble is my phone is missing, and I can't find the camera. SO I can't take any photos. I have decided to make do with description instead.

OP SHOP PURCHASES

- Above the knee Sussan denim skirt - $4!!
- Floral Just Jeans blouse thingo - $3!
- Whit Tshirt thing - $3!

OTHER PURCHASES

- Stretchy fitted lime green knee length skirt thingo - Target $10
- This white blouse from Sussan

Picture stolen from Sussan website - it was $99.95 which frankly is OUTRAGEOUS because it is as thin as anything and will probably become shredded in a few wears but I really liked it and I was spending someone else's money.

- Some camel coloured linen shortsy type things from Sussan too
- A flowy black top from Katie's. Dead cheap.
- A groovy Mexican type scarf from Target that I saw Rachel from Redcliffe Style talk about on her blog
- Dress from Piper at Myer - it's a sort of lime green yellow geometric patterned shirt dress thing. Can't remember how much but as always TOO MUCH for what it is which is about 2cm of material. GOD EVERYTHING IS SO EXPENSIVE OR IS IT JUST ME?
- Got M a pink polo shirt from COuntry Road.

I really like COuntry Road and wandered around a while looking at their nice things but just can't cope with how PRICEY it is for, you know, just a cotton top or whatever. I mean GOD! I think I am the only one who thinks this because I was listening in on a convo in the store that went along these lines;
[Grey bobbed linen-bedraped customer] - Ohhh you have so many nahhhs dresses at the moment, they are just greashhhhhhhh
[CR shop ladies] - Oh I knowwww, I knowwwww
[Grey bobbed one] - And so reaaaaaasonable! Just so REAAAASSSSSSOOOONABBBLLEE!
[CR shop ladies] - Oh I knowwwwwwwww, I knowwwwwwwww, so reaaaaasonable!

I was about to interject with a "Reasonable? I'll give you REASONABLE!" but thought better of it since I was walking around fondling the garments in a fairly shameless and covetous way and it might have looked hypocritical and God knows I could do without THAT!

Anyway, here's hoping my guts sort themselves out STAT or that at least I lose some GODDAMN WEIGHT from this ghastly state of affairs. Knowing my luck I will probably PUT IT ON or something.

Anyway, yours in Comfort Shopping and Toilet Sitting

xx

Slapdash Mama turns one.

So I just realised something - today is Slapdash Mama's first birthday!

Woo!

Where has the time gone? I remember the day she was born. This time last year, she came screaming and ranting into the world and frankly we haven't been the same since.

Don't try and tell me you aren't moved by this momentous date. I know you would be lost without her.

I'm sure you will agree that Slapdash Mama has Spleen Venting down to an artform.

Here's some of the highlights in pictorial form...

Sorry about the sideways one. No matter.

In true spleen venting fashion, I thought I would vent the hell out of some spleen for your reading pleasure, as a sort of thank you for reading and being part of the GLOBAL PHENOMENON that is this here blog.

OK, so here is me, venting some spleen.

God I feel so emotional.

Pull yourself together woman.

OK. I can do this.

Just to mix it up, I thought I would offset the spleen venting with some POSITIVE AFFIRMATIONS, you know because I would hate to be a freaking downer all the time.

Deep breath.

And away we go. Dot points FTW.

• Last week M was away in Sydney for work and I was holding the fort parenting wise. Fucking hell.
• This was offset by the face my Mum cam and rescued my by DOING ALL OF THE THINGS! Why can't she be here always.
• For the second part of the week I drove up the coast to stay at her place, and on the way B vomited all over himself in the car. After I'd pulled over, cleaned him up, and used my mobile to ring the parentals to tell them I was late, I strapped him back in again and took off, only to hear a "CLUNK!" as something slid off the roof . When glancing behind me I saw my little black iphone in the middle of the motorway. Presumably smashed to smithereens by now. I didn't, as advised by friends including the hairdresser, play chicken to retrieve it. Which means I am phoneless. 
• This was offset by M ringing me to tell me he had won an Ipad mini at the conference. Easy come, easy go.
• I congratulated someone at work for successfully getting the job they had applied for. Except they hadn't. Been successful that is. Awkward.
• This was offset by the fact that. Um. Well nothing really. It was just stupid of me.
• I hated all my clothes and wanted to burn them.
• This was offset when my mum gave me some money to buy new clothes. I know. Ridiculously lucky. I am spoilt to the max.
• My hair was feral and shaggy.
• Offset when Mum sent me to the hairdresser. I know. Isn't she the best.
• I really, really, realllllyyyy hurt my back on the weekend. SO PAINFUL. Doing exercise of course.
• This was offset by the fact I have been doing exercise. So, you know, yay for me.
• Despite my beach anxiety and crippled back, I went to the beach on SUnday because M wanted to and I am awesome.
• Offset by SEEING WHALES off the coast! I have never seen that before! SO AMAZING! Just on the beach! Totally worth dragging my injured body over the hot sand.

Look, I could go on, but I am boring even myself.

Anyway, to celebrate my one year blogaversary, I have decided to HOLD A COMPETITION!

That's right readers! To enter, just vent your own spleen in the comments or on my FB page. The best spleen venting, as judged by myself, will win.

What will they win, I hear you ask?

Good question. Unfortunately I have been unable to identify an appropriate sponsor for this event.

So, in keeping with my first ever giveaway, I have decided to make up the prize myself.

The winner of this giveaway will get the highly sought after privilege of having a poem written about them. BY ME! THAT'S RIGHT PEOPLE!

I think you will see from previous blog posts here and here, that I have an extremely solid record of pome writing.

Also, this one time, in Grade 7, I wrote a pome about Gallipoli and won some competition.  Some of the lines were;

They fought a futile war
Many soldiers died
We cannot count the score
Their families often cried

I think you will agree that my words are deeply moving and reminiscent of a young Yeats, or perhaps some of Shelley's early work. Can't you just FEEL THE EMOTION? I am basically striding around the Lake Country feeling feelings like there is no tomorrow IN A METAPHORICAL SENSE!

SO there you have it! Enter away my Slappy friends!

And thank you. Thank you all.

*weeps delicately*

Here's a first birthday cake I prepared earlier for your enjoyment...

Bedtime routines.

M was at a conference in Sydney last week so I was getting my single parent on.

OK, ok, so maybe I called in the help of my mother, like the sook that I am.

No mum is an island, right? Certainly not I.

Even, I, super bedtime routine person, become challenged in the face of flying solo during the witching hour.

 Despite being a naturally scatterbrained individual with a virtually routine-free (aka disorganised) child rearing habit, I have always maintained a strong commitment to a finely tuned bedtime routine.
These days, mostly it works. Except when it doesn't, if you get my drift.

Anyway, this is what I do.

1. Cook dinner while kids are watching TV. B still doesn't really watch TV, I am trying to encourage it. For a while there I got excited about the concept of sending P to a Steiner school, until I read that they discourage television viewing because it discourages imagination. They can shove it. Imagination is not something my girl lacks *gets bossed around by 4-year old, wears costume, plays Kangaroo mummies*.

2. Serve dinner at 5pm. Kids eat/throw/smear it.

3. 5.30pm. Bathtime for B. It took me freaking ages to develop a proper bathing system for both of the kids when B was born, but now they are a bit older I tend to do them separately. P watches more ABC2. God bless it.

4. 5:45pm. Get B out. Jammies on. Goes out to say goodnight to P. She ignores him because TV!

5. I read him a story. He has three that he chooses from every single night, sometimes we read all three. They are "Each Peach Pear Plum", "Peepo", and one called "Toddle Waddle".

6. Then he has a drink of water, I turn the light off, and I stand rocking him and singing his regular lullaby which is this song that Dad used to sing - it goes like this;
                    
                       Ally bally, ally bally bee
                       Sitting on your mummy's knee
                      Waiting for a wee bobby
                      To buy some Coulter's candy....

This is B's favourite lullaby, but some of our other classic bedtime hits also come from Dad.  Here's one old faithful;

                    Well me Ma, she said to me
                    Would yer like a cuppa tea?
                    I said, no no.
                    I want cocoa
                    Down in the glen...

I have argued with him that the last line seems incongruous and that it sits uncomfortably with me. Surely it should be something like "Down by the sea", which would rhyme with "tea"? But he asserts that his version is correct, as his father sang it to him.

Another chart topper is;

                Wee Johnny's lost his marleys
                Wee Johnny's lost his marleys
                Wee Johnny's lost his marleys
                Down by the Linfield Way.

               He lost them down the gratin'
               He lost them down the gratin'
              He lost them down the gratin'
              Down by the Linfield Way

And so forth. Mum says that when Dad used to sing this to us as children, it was Wee Sammy who had lost his marleys, but Dad denies it. Also, he didn't lose them in a potato gratin, rather down the GRATING, but with the G cut off. That is very important for the FEEL of the song. Also, marleys are marbles. Obviously.

OK, back to the routine.

7. 6 - 6:30pm. After singing the song, I put B down in his cot and say "Night night, love you." These days he often say "Nigh, nigh" back. Sweet.

8. 6:30pm - P in bath. Usually have to drag her screaming from the TV.

9. 6:45pm. Jammies on. Read her a story. She takes about twenty years to choose one. She doesn't have a particular favourite.

10. I lie on her bed and sing her a lullaby. Since she was a newborn baby I have sung Edelweiss to her. I suppose this is probably a weird choice, what with its associations with the Anschluss and the von Trapps escaping Nazi persecution and what not but it was the first one that came to mind back in the day when P was tiny.  We have done the hardcore hard yards with P. She has been an erratic sleeper and has gone through stages where I had to hold her door shut while she screamed and yelled at me at bedtime. Calming. These days we have it down pat. Yay. That's not to say she doesn't creep out a few times and scare the life out of me when she's supposed to be asleep, but truly she is mostly pretty good. TOUCH WOOD OMG!

What does your bedtime routine look like? Do you keep the kids up til 10pm and go to sleep on the couch with them? Do you lie on the floor until they drift off to sleep, waking stiff and uncomfortable hours later? Do you all pile in together? It's a broad church. What's good for the goose ain't necessarily good for the gander. Many hands make light work. A bird in the hand is worth two in the bush. I could go on with the meaningless idioms, but I won't.

Bon nuit fair readers!

Election roundup - a bit late

Oops I missed this going up! Anyway here is my take on Election 2013. In case you were wondering.

The Shake Report - CLICK TO READ

Lounge. ProBlogger. Triple J.

Hi everyone! Welcome to The Lounge. I've been AWOL a bit. But here I am again keeping it real, as usual.

I  have written this post at the last minute and have not proofread it. Am too KNACKERED! Apologies for any typos.

So, there was this conference on the weekend.  Something to do with blogging. Apparently it's very big these days and some people even make money from it.

Haha I am so funny. Anyway the ProBlogger conference was held at QT on the GC, which is a hip happening hotel at Surfers. As I am a blogger, and I make a cool $50 a month blogging (see that little video down there? It's the MONEY TRAIN PEOPLE!), and I live on the GC, then you might be forgiven for thinking I would be participating in said Problogging COnference.

I hate to disappoint you, but I didn't go. Because MONEY! My $50 a month didn't quite cover the hundreds of dollars for the conference tickets. I have sworn not to miss it next year though.

In a sort of stalkery move, fellow lounge lizard Rachel and I took the opportunity to meet up with our out-of-town Lounge compatriot, Tegan! She was clever enough to organise herself tickets to ProBlogger, so we went to the Stingray Bar at the QT to share a few drinks with her. While lurking around opportunistically we also ran into Rachel from Redcliffe Style, Lisa from Mrs BCs House of Chaos, Carly Findlay, Twitter friend Jatosha and others were floating around. Cool man.

I've never actually indulged in a night out "on the town" Surfers Paradise style, but gosh, Stingray is a cool joint. I was driving so I behaved sensibly, and made a getaway fairly early on when I realised the whippersnapper to mutton dressed as lamb (aka me) ratio was getting out of balance and NOT in my favour. If anyone is wondering if their dress is too tight, or short, or low cut, for a night out on the GC, fear not. You will have found your people.

On the way home, as I do when I am in the car, I cranked the radio. Feeling old as I was, it made me think of recent developments in my increasingly complex relationship with Youth Radio Network Station type thing Triple J.

I love listening to the radio. I have already waxed lyrical about my love for Classic FM, but my first radio love will always be Triple J. I LOVED listening to the Js as a high school student. When I discovered it, my whole world changed. THE MUSIC! THE COOL! It was quite the revelation.  I still listen to it, and actually these days there are HEAPS of bands and DANCE OUTFITS and whatnot that I like. A number of years have gone by where I couldn't have told you a single song that appeared in the Hottest 100, but I am back in touch with the KIDS these days. I mean, I think I am.

As much as it pains me to admit this, however, I am veeery slowly realising that I am edging ever further outside the target demographic. Signs I may no longer be part of the "Youth" are presented to you here. You be the judge.

• Recently, wunderkind breakfast presenters Tom and Alex had this quiz where people had to ring in and they played songs from Hottest 100s of yore. And they had to guess them, right. Anyway, they played a song from the 1998 Hottest 100. Now, 1998 was my freaking hey day, people. I was all over the Hottest 100 like a rash back then. Anyway, neither of the gormless twits participating in the quiz knew the song they were playing.  I was screaming at the radio "Regurgitator! OMG! Regurgitator you fools! WHO DOESN'T KNOW THIS??". One of the participants said grumpily, "Aw, fair go guys, I mean, I was only 4 years old". Cue my brain exploding. I mean, shit. I almost spat my coffee out. OMG that means he was born in 1994 which means there are ADULTS out there who were born in 1994! HOW OLD AM I EVEN ANYWAY EVEN?

•  I've developed quite the fondness for Macklemore. I like to shimmy along in the drivers seat of the car whilst rapping out some sweet rhymes like a veritable mofo. I was doing just that when I realised the inconguity of a white, Australian, thirty-something mother of two rapping along to the "Can't Hold Us" lyrics "And that's what you get when wu-tang raised you!". I mean, they didn't, you know, raise me. Really if I'm going to sing along I should probably change the words to "And that's what you get when Steeleye Span raised you!" which arguably doesn't have the same street-wise ghetto ring to it. Although some may say the words to "All around my hat" are hella radical and subverting the dominant paradigm like there's no tomorrow. I mean, it would be tricky argument to make, but some may. If they wanted to.

Google them, people. You won't be sorry.

• The other day, I found myself increasingly enraged by subsitute breakfast presenters Veronica and Lewis, who thought it would be terribly AMUSING to ask Veronica's Great Auntie Joan or someone to review the feature album. The album happened to be London Grammar, which I am totally OBSESSED WITH. I love them sick. And I guess the point of the segment was to get an OLDSTER to listen to some MUSIC THAT THE KIDS LOVE and then report back on how SHOCKED they are about the youth of today, and the SWEARS, and the LOUDNESS etc. Things didn't go according to plan for Veronica and Lewis, because Great Aunt Joan or whoever she was totally loved the album and said she would recommend it to anyone, particularly people of an elderly persuasion. Poor old tween hipsters Veronica and Lewis were a bit thrown by that. It seemed to put a spanner in their works. I was infuriated, and embarked on a rant filled with righteous anger at nobody in particular, that may have gone along the lines of "OMG did you hear that! Bloody kids these days think they INVENTED music and sex and drugs and rock and roll and that. Gen Y hipster upstarts, who says old people won't like London Grammar, or Daft Punk or the Amity Affliction. Seniors are people too! In my day we respected our elders and had good manners and moshing was mandatory and at concerts you were covered in other people's drinks and sweat and were grateful for it and you can't tell me what to like and oooooh me gout's playing up......".

Anyway, despite constantly being confronted with my own mortality at every turn (OMG! When Prince George is King that will mean Prince William is DEAD and he is YOUNGER THAN ME THAT MEANS I WILL BE DEAD TOO OMG!) I am determined to remain young at heart, and will continue to tune into the Js right on into my middle and late years. Hopefully when I am in the nursing home I will still be able to freestyle it Macklemore fashion and dare anyone to stop me!

Anyway, I've said too much. Talk about raving. Yourr turn. Maybe you've got something actually USEFUL to share! ENLIGHTEN US PROBLOGGER TYPES!