Some of my favourite things aka proof I am really a teenage boy stuffed inside the skin of a lumpen 32 year old woman.

I present the following evidence in support of the thesis that I am really just a weedy, spotty teenage boy being crushed to death inside the body of a suburban mother of two.

My top 10 movies are:

1.  Anchorman
2.  Dude, Where's My Car?
3. Anchorman
4. Anchorman
5. The Big Lebowski
6. The Sound of Music
7. Anchorman
8. Anchorman
9. The Piano.
Nah bra, just messin with ya! As if! That emo shit's for CHICKS!
10. Withnail and I

OK, so number 5 shows there's a little girl inside me too, struggling like buggery to escape.

On a serious note, there is an ANCHORMAN SEQUAL COMING OUT!  I know, it's almost too exciting to bear and frankly I am really really scared it's going to be TOTAL SHIT!!!!

My top 10 TV shows are:

1. Seinfeld
2. Futurama
3. The Simpsons
4. The Young Ones
5.  Bottom
6.  Absolutely Fabulous
7.  Alan Partridge
8.  All cooking shows that have ever existed in the history of the world I am not kidding I will watch them all
9. QI
10. Gardening Australia

OK, I'm actually not sure what the hell that TV show list says about me except that I am a freaking nutcase who has the psyche of a spotty youth and the interests of a crochet obsessed Nana who thinks she's a bit clever, likes eating, fashion, laughing at bum jokes, eating and also bum jokes.  Bum.

Also, by way of a closing argument - this.



Workmate R aka MaryMary, this is for you my friend.

What do youse guys like?  Do you like stuff?  Or things?  Or watching crap and stuff? Do you abide? Like the Dude? Me TOO! We should totally be FRIENDS!!!!

TV is crack for kids. Other kid stuff. Garden.

Don't read on if you hate people going on about their kids and child rearing stuff. OK.

I'm aware that I waffle on about kids TV quite a bit. You could be forgiven for thinking all P does all day is watch "ABC da Kids", as she likes to call it.

Well for the last 9 months, she has! It has been on ALL the time since B was born. It's been all TV, all the time!  And don't get me wrong,  it's been fantastic.  I haven't had regular family support this year and I am not ashamed to say the TV helped me through the first 6 months of B's life. When P stopped having a reliable day sleep, it was the only respite I got, and I used it to keep her out of B's room when I was getting him to sleep. And frankly the kids programs on ABC2 are about fifty million times more entertaining than any of the utter shit and tripe that plenty of adults watch. Give me Peppa Pig over X Factor any day.  I may have just alienated a few hundred thousand people with that statement, but that's me, always controversial and TELLING IT HOW IT IS!

EVERYBODY likes jumping in muddy puddles! [Source]

And yet. And yet.

The time has come for TV rehab. It's been great, but the carnival is over. Life is back to normal, we no longer have a newborn to juggle and I am feeling strong enough to break the TV habit! Our new rule is no TV until the afternoon, which means the part of the day when I'm getting dinner organised. Oh crikey it makes for a long day with a non-sleeping, spirited 3 year old who is awake before 5am and not in bed til 7pm.  6pm if we've really got it going on bedtime wise.  I was desperate for it yesterday morning when getting her ready for kindy - I used to plonk her in front of the TV to distract her while I brushed her hair.  So I had to chase her round the house while she wailed and screamed, "You are HURTING ME MUMMY!!! AAARGGGHHHHHH MUMMY IT HURTS, IT HUUURRRTTSSSSSSSS!"

Hopefully no-one was listening.  It wouldn't have sounded good, and what with the filth and mess on the floor that morning it would have painted a suspicious picture for any child protection worker types passing by.  Sometimes I watch that show Hoarders and get bloody paranoid that I will end up living surrounded by teetering piles of tins and newspapers and then I'll die and be buried in my own filth and the cats will eat me and no-one will know.....ahem. Sorry for that little visit into my psyche.  Not pretty is it?

Anyway, as I said to a very anti-TV mummy friend "It's like breaking someone of a crack habit!".
Unfortunately she looked completely horrified. Oops. Sometimes I need to keep my gob shut.  Look away, child protection people, nothing to see here, NO CRACK INVOLVED OTHER THAN A TODDLER'S PERPETUALLY NAKED BUM CRACK! Thank you.

In other parenting news, B can plank like a hardcore pilates guru. Check out his abs of steel.

Go, son!

Also, my wonderful friend J, who has just had her second baby, is obviously not busy and hasn't got a million newborn baby + toddler related things to do at all, because she just MADE ME A WHOLE LOT OF CLOTH NAPPIES.  She is very clever.  I've never gone down the cloth nappy route but I'm giving it a red hot go. So maybe I'll be buried alive Hoarders-style in dirty nappies instead, we'll have to wait and see.

Cute as!

I'm feeling glum at the moment because I'm eating like a total puritan and exercising daily but THE SCALES DID NOT BUDGE LAST WEEK.  I feel thinner, perhaps it is psychological.  So here's some nice pictures of the beautiful flowering gum tree in our front garden to cheer me up.

There's always lots of bees, of the bumble variety and also the native variety.  I feel good about this because one of the things I lose sleep about is the situation for bees at the moment.  Which isn't good.  I also worry about the polar bears and the whole melting ice cap thing.  I wake up in a cold sweat replaying the image of polar bears floundering around in the middle of the ocean like I saw on a documentary once.   

Lovely isn't it?  It's very festive I think.

Do you worry about bees?  Or something else?  Or nothing? Do you use cloth nappies?  For yourself maybe? This is a JUDGEMENT FREE ZONE my friends.

Obama Mama. Waybuloo.

Spent nearly all Wednesday glued to ABC24 watching the US election result unfold.  I love a good election.  Love it.  And I always watch the ABC coverage, but far out, election analyst Antony Green always KILLS ME with his dorkiness.  Actually I think that's probably all part of the enjoyment for me, yelling at the TV, "Make a prediction Antony, would it kill you to TAKE A RISK??!!!" because he is forever saying things like "It's too early to call" and "There's no point making any predictions now".  No point?  Then, frankly, what is the point of an election analyst at all, Antony?  Hey?  There, I said it.  I keep thinking that the ABC should totally ring me up because I would be all over it like a rash, and I wouldn't be afraid to make predictions left, right and centre.  I'll be waiting by the phone, ABC.  Just so you know.  I am available.

My friend KLF put this up on her FB page.

Sums it up nicely I think.

The other morning P was reciting some bush ballads for us*.  Yes, you know what I mean.  Watching TV.

She was watching one of the ABC2 programs called Waybuloo.  I used to love this one.  It was very soothing.  It has these weird little creatures who float about and talk in soft voices and practice yoga (they call it yogo).  Cute.  But then all of a sudden I noticed it had a new and unpleasant development - a narrator!  Not just any old narrator, a very irritating one.  He was ALL WRONG for the vibe of the show.  His voice made it all seem a bit suspect, and frankly, a bit rude.  This particular morning I could hear him say "And now it's time for Yojojo's BANANA TRICK!" and later "Now, spread your legs, and bend over.  Hnnnrrrrpphhooaarr (the sound of him groaning)".  Ex-squeeze me? Baking powder?  What are we watching exactly? Because it sounds a lot like "Carry On Up The Piplings" or some sort of Benny Hill movie.  Not asseptable, as the Super Nanny would say.

The Waybuloo Piplings doing their weird floaty thing. [Source]

I thought his voice sounded a lot like Griff Rhys Jones so I looked it up, but it's actually someone called Dave Lamb.  I recognise him sort of.  Anyway when I Googled "Waybuloo Narrator" a whole lot of articles came up that showed me I wasn't alone!  The narration was loathed by parents and toddlers all around and when it was introduced earlier this year in the  UK the BBC had to axe the narrated shows the very next day!  The article I was reading quoted parents saying things like "What is this nonsense?" and describing the narration as "inane prattle!".  That'll show you, BBC.  Don't you know NEVER TO MESS WITH KIDS TV!!!  You will infuriate an already tired and crazy demographic - the parent of the small child.  YOU DON'T WANT TO DO THAT!!!!!

So how come we poor saps in Oz have to put up with it?  An outrage!  Maybe I should get all activist on their arses.  I sure do deal with the big issues.  A petition, anyone?

*No she wasn't.

Alan Partridge. Lunch. School memories.

Pretty sure I've got a broken toe.  I was negotiating the piles of toys and crap on the floor yesterday and kicked the hell out of it on the coffee table.  I tried to pretend it was ok until I awoke last night in a cold sweat.  Oh the pain, the pain of it all.

Today it has become an angry purpley blue colour and is alternately numb and painful.  I tried to take a photo of it for the blog but was frightened by the similarity between my foot and a close up of the gnarled talons of, say, a hobbit or other such hirsute creature.  My feet do not stand up to close scrutiny at the best of times, let alone when they are exhibiting a hideous purple swollen toe.

We had plans to have my old school friends D and L and their kidlets round for lunch so I soldiered on, even though I was possibly in danger of comporting myself a little like Alan Partridge did after he impaled his foot on a fence immediately prior to giving a keynote speech at the Dantes Fireplace sales conference.




Anyway I pulled myself together and we had a wonderful time.

Baby B and Baby O getting to know each other.  We successfully negotiated a suitable bride price from her parents.  I think several goats and a decent number of shekels should do it.

The children played quietly together, and after lunch we encouraged them to practice their piano scales and arpeggios, before we joined them in a singalong of rollicking showtunes.*

L, D and I reminisced about school (hi guys!).  D remembered how I dobbed on him for throwing water balloons at us, and I gently reminded him of all the good-natured ribbing he and his chum gave me in music class, mainly about my teacher Dad's crazy old blue Volvo, but also for making a teenage feminist statement by letting my armpits go free range.  Oh, the memories.  How is it that we are so old and brittle of bone now?

Anyway it was really a fabulous day, and I exercised my characteristic restraint by scoffing huge quantities of the delicious cheesecake L made.  It was delightful.

If it doesn't rain soon I don't know what's going to happen to the garden.  Rain, damn you, rain!  We've planted a whole lot of new things and if they cark it I will not be impressed.

Hello you Nasty Urchin you.

Lavender, with added rogue weed-type grass infesting it.  Die, you awful weed!

*Not an accurate representation of events.  See previous blog entries for explanation.  The square nanny may have been involved.

Mornings with P or, "Parenting: You're doing it wrong!"

"Parenting: You're doing it wrong!".  Actually, if this is wrong, then I don't want to be right.

P: Mummy, I'm huuuunnngrryyyy.
Me: Well darling, we've just had breakfast.  You'll just have to wait until morning tea, ok sweetie? Mummy needs to tidy up a bit. That's a good girl.

P: OK, but mummy, I'm huuunnngggrryyyyyy!!!
Me: Well, darling, we've just had breakkie, so you'll just have to wait til morning tea, ok sweetie? I'm just tidying the kitchen.

P: Ok.

{Silence while she watches TV, oops, I mean teaches herself the oboe}.

P: But mummy I'm huuuunnnnggggrrrryyyy.
Me: Darling, we've just had breakfast. Wait til morning tea.

P: But Mummy!! I AM hungry! I'm hungry, mummy, I'm hungry.
Me: We've just had breakfast. Please wait til it's morning tea time.

{Slight pause}

P: I want something to eeeaaaatttt!
Me: Wait til morning tea please. Don't ask me again or mummy will turn the TV off (I mean, forbid you from ever practising the oboe ever again. Ahem)

P: I'm STILL hunnnggrrryyy!!!
Me {teeth gritted}: Did you hear me? Listen with your ears please. Mummy's getting cross. We've just had breakfast. Wait til morning tea.

P: {silence. Engrossed in TV program/oboe practice}

{Longish pause while I tidy a bit.}

P: Mummy?
Me: Yes darling?

P: I'm still hungry.
Me: {at the pub}.

The end.

Disclaimer:  I wasn't actually at the pub, I was using what is referred to in the business as "poetic licence".  Disappointing I know.

As you were.

Kids TV. Stereotypes. Employment.

After spending an enjoyable evening folding washing, and rubbing moisturiser into my cracked heels, I went to bed early to try and make up for the previous dark night of the soul.  Slept like a log last night, thanks for asking.  What a relief.

This morning, after breakfast and before kindy, P watched some TV.  I know!  So novel!  Usually, when she's not spending time entertaining herself with creative imaginative play, or dabbling in a little educational paper craft, she's out in the backyard preparing simply adorable dance concerts and we sometimes don't hear a peep from her for ALL MORNING!  She NEVER watches TV! I swear on Stephanie Alexander's "Cook's Companion" that it was a ONE OFF!

Wait, I can explain!

I'm sure it was raining cats and dogs that day.

Now, she was DEFINITELY sick this day!  Promise!

Ahem.

Anyway, she was watching the Mr Men Show on ABC2 this morning.  I love this show too.  It's very funny!  I tried to explain to M why I thought it was so humorous and well done.

Me:  I just love the way the different Mr Men and Misses are characterised by different accents or regional dialects, it's so clever.  You know, like how Mr Rude is French.

M:  You mean you love the racial stereotypes.

Me:  Oh.  Um...

M: You do!  You love the Mr Men show for its racial stereotyping! 

Me: (Silence)

M:  Why don't you just put your "blackface" on now, Sam Newman

Me: Shut up.  

My pure and unsullied enjoyment of the Mr Men Show is tarnished forever now.

Because I am a noted intellektual and skolarly type, sometimes I listen to Radio National.  I feel smarter just having it on in the background!  You should try it too!

Anyway, this morning I was listening to Life Matters.  The segment was about an organisation called "Social Firms Australia".  They are all about aiming to get people with mental illness into the workforce and are creating the concept of "Social Firms".  These are organisations that provide supportive employment for disabled or disadvantaged people.  All based on the theory that everyone should have the ability to secure fulfilling and enduring employment.  They are working with the Federal Government and other businesses to encourage them to provide such employment opportunities.

I just found this incredibly interesting given the current climate in Queensland.  I don't think the Queensland Government is likely to qualify for "social firm" status any time soon.  Just sayin'.  I'm zippering my lips back shut right now.

In other news, this little fellow can sit up and has his first toothy peg.

Where has the time gone?!

We're off to my mum's (aka Slapdash Nanny, it's genetic) house for a few days.  You know, just in case my three loyal readers get worried they haven't heard from me.

Keep it real people.

Weather. Anarchy. Politics. Emotion.

Crazy weather we are having, wouldn't you agree? Scorching hot today so I was motivated to get the doonas off the beds and replace them with ye olde summer blankets.
Sometimes a well made bed is all that lies between civilisation and total anarchy in our house. I like to stand and gaze at it when the going gets tough.

Not very glam.  Note the rogue coathanger and tube of aloe vera cream in the background.

Anarchy is never far away in any household I am resident in, although I like to think my housekeeping skills have improved since the good old uni sharehouse days. My friend S likened my digs to the house in The Young Ones that Rick, the People's Poet, was so desperate to save...

 House, house, house
     Oh, you are made of stone
     But you are not alone-

     -ly house!

    
I remember being told the story of one acquaintance who had to drop something off to the house when we were all on summer holidays. He headed inside, only to come running out in a panic.
"They've been robbed!!" he cried, in a state. Luckily his companions were more au fait with our collective domestic abilities and were able to reassure him that, no, there was no burglary. That was just how we left things.

Disgraceful, really.

This afternoon a cold wind whipped up, but I've already shoved the doonas into my new el cheapo Aldi vacuum bag hoojahs so I'm buggered if I'm digging them out again.  I couldn't be bothered washing them or anything. I just wanted them the hell out of the way. I may regret this come Winter Twenty-Thirteen, but, you know, Slapdash by name, Slapdash by nature.

On another note, I feel I should clarify one of the points I made in my "Things I Like" post. I asserted that I no longer harboured an interest in watching The News or Current Affairs Programmes on the telly.  Well, look. I guess what I meant was there's only so many children being blown up in the Middle East that I can cope with, cowardly Western middle class suburban horror that I am.  I am, actually,  passionate about current affairs and particularly Australian politics. There's almost nothing I like better than a throwdown political debate.
But, the fact of the matter is that my current employment situation precludes me from speaking out about the ins and outs of the Australian political climate. I am in a tenuous situation, so I'd better keep me thoughts to meself. This doesn't, however, prevent me from posting the odd article of interest.  Here's one you might be keen to cast your eyes over, if you haven't already.

I've been indulging in my usual Sunday night business of watching Call the Midwife. Sob sob.... Triplets.... Sister Monica Joan... Nurse Jenny Lee.... Chummy... Sob sob.
I've also been thinking today about the Bali bombings. Such grief for some. I don't know how they cope.

I'm in a glass case of emoootion...
God bless you dear readers.

Gas. Some questions.

Discovered late last night that the gas had run out.  And that the backup gas cylinder was empty too.  Obviously someone has forgotten to order one at some point.  I place the blame squarely at my husband's feet, I'm far too organised and together to have forgotten that important task.  I'm not called Slapdash Mama for nothing..oh, wait...

Anyway, this has meant two bracing cold showers now for me.  And of course it coincided with hair washing day too. I can't bring myself to wash my hair in the freezing water so now I look like this;

I could deadset go a martini right now, and all. 

I'm also in desperate need for an eyebrow wax, it's all starting to look a bit like this;

Our former glorious leader.

Also last night we had a night with the kids that looked a bit like this;

Some folk will have seen this before, but I think it begs sharing again.
Proof that motherhood is not all glamour.

I feel exhausted and a bit grumpy.

Went to yoga and in a pleasant deviation from last week's shameful episode, I did not immediately come home and ingest a disgusting quantity of Kentucky Fried Chicken.  Baby steps, people.

In conclusion, I have some questions that I need answered;

1.  Gaspard and Lisa (and their families) are characters in a children's tv series.  They are giant dogs.  They go about their business like they think they are people.  All the other characters ARE actually people.  They interact with each other like they are all just, you know,  people!  But Gaspard and Lisa are GIANT DOGS, right!?  How come no-one says anything?  I find it confusing and it ruins my enjoyment of the otherwise excellent programming on ABC2.

2.  P stripped off all her clothes again today while jumping on the trampoline, even though we had people over.  Am I raising a sociopath?

3.  Can anyone recommend a cheap-ish laptop? I want one.

3.  Also, where are all the undies I bought for P last week? I can only find two pairs.

Thank you.  Carry on.

Things I like.

I'm wondering if I've over committed somewhat to the blog, with my grand plans of a daily post just to get in the groove.  Still, I'm soldiering on.  Because the blog is mine, and I am the star of it, I thought I'd talk about stuff I like.

OK, here's my list.

Things I like, in descending order according to the amount of space they take up in my head.

1.  Clothes.  I don't care if it makes me sound vacuous, I spend nearly all my time thinking about clothes.  I'm sick of people who think you can't be smart and interesting if you like thinking about clothes.  Up yours, I say.  A good outfit can lift the day from the mundane to the somewhat less mundane.  I'm not afraid to evangelise about this to people either.  My recent discovery that even though I am generous of thigh and buttock, I can still wear a coloured skinny jean is a good example.  Get on board everyone.

2.  Reading.  If I was a more noble creature, this would be up there as number one, but as I said before, honesty is the best policy.  I also have to admit that since having babies I read less improving literature and more, shall we say, light material.  I've also discovered that my recent entry into motherhood has made me too thin skinned for anything disturbing, so I've curtailed my reading to the following genres:

      a)  Historical romance (think Philippa Gregory, Georgette Heyer)
      b)  Detective fiction  (Think Ladies Detective Agency here)
      c)  Fantasy novels  (Currently reading the Game of Thrones trilogy)
      d)  Humorous memoirs (David Sedaris, I'm looking at you).
      e)  Cookbooks (Nigella and Nigel, two of my faves)
      f)   Blogs

Maybe one day I'll get back to Crime and Punishment, but frankly, my addled and sleep-deprived psyche just can't take the pace at the moment.

My husband, despite being equally as befuddled and sleep deprived, makes more of an effort than I with his reading.  This is his latest library selection...

And this is mine...

I don't know what he sees in me really.

3.  Food.  Perhaps I should be even more precise and say, eating.  But no, actually I like cooking too.  I do, however, make a distinction between the fancy pants cooking I used to do before children and the grinding daily chore that is making dinner for a family.  Not the same.  I love to bake cakes, faff about with icing and so forth, but you can't live on cake alone, more's the pity.  I read cooking books all the time (see above), and then make the same old crap night after night.  Sound familiar?

4.  Lying about and/or sleeping.  If you ask me, doing nothing is underrated in this day and age.  It's only now when my days of lazing about are long behind me that I realise their worth, and mourn them.  Oh how I look back on those times and smile.  Halcyon weekends, where I could sleep in til lunchtime, read all day, mooch about, watch the Sunday Afternoon Arty Farty program on the ABC, indulge in a few cheeky wines with M before dinner, and so on and so forth.  Probably once upon a time, I would have said that getting up early was one of my favourite things to do.  I can tell you now, that was foolish talk, and I want to go back in time and take the old me by the shoulders and give her a damn good shaking.  Waking up early - pfft!  I've had more than enough of that over the last 3 years, thanks very much.

5.  TV.  I realise the inclusion of telly on the list is probably a bit controversial.  But that's me, always rocking the boat with my crazy ideas.  I love a good TV program.  Some of my absolutely best memories are watching fantastic TV with people I love.  Some of the highlights of my telly viewing life are:
      a)  The House of Eliott:  (We're two sisters in London, we're in reduced circumstances, we  start a fashion house, we have romantic entanglements)
     b)   Pride and Prejudice:  (I'm one of four sisters in Regency England, we're in reduced circumstances, we have romantic entanglements, some guy gets his shirt wet)
    c)   Little Dorrit:  (I'm one of three children in 1800s London, my father's in prison, we're in reduced circumstances, there's a mystery, I have a romantic entanglement).

You are probably sensing a theme here.

Recent shows I've enjoyed or am currently enjoying include such programs as QI, Gardening Australia, Grand Designs and Downton Abbey.  I would once have expressed a devotion to watching The News and Current Affairs Programs, however please refer to my previous point regarding serious reading as the same principle applies to my tv viewing.

6.  Gardening.  People who know me in person will probably think this is quite amusing since our garden has looked pretty awful for a while, but I do actually genuinely love to get out in the garden.  When I do it.  If I was more organised and energetic I'd be out there all the time.  Here is some photographic evidence of past gardenly achievements.

Our baby vege garden in 2010.

Our baby, with vege garden, in 2010

Some spoils from the garden back then

A cheerful brassica

Give peas a chance

Indoctrinating P into the ways of the garden.  When I was pregnant with B last year some time.

What do you guys like?  Anyone else into chilling out on the couch with a cheeky chardonnay and a spot of 18th century French autobiographical literature, or is it just M?  Anyone with bad taste in reading material, or is it just me?

Diarising. Shuffling. Swearing. A night off.

As advised by experienced colleagues (that is, mainly my talented friend L) I think I'm just going to make this blog like a diary.  But, you know, an awesome one.  Funny and erudite and stuff.

So, here we go.

Saturday morning I indulged in my new habit, which, unusually for me, is a good one.  Running.  Or more accurately, shuffling.  I'm enjoying it.  It helps to have a marvellous playlist on the old Ipod, I find it helps trick my brain into thinking it's doing something pleasant.  Interestingly, as I shuffled along the path it occurred to me that my carefully assembled songlist is not dissimilar to the one I listened to when I was in labour with Baby B.  Except  this time I'm not leaning over a hospital bed, alternately moaning, crying and dry wretching.  OK, maybe there's been a little bit of dry wretching.  I bet you are all dying to know what I listen to on my little sojournes.  Well, fret no more, here is my super jogging playlist.  Eclectic, to say the least.  Make of it what you will.

Elton John - "Tiny Dancer"
Everything But The Girl - "Mirrorball"
Everything But The Girl - "Missing"
Florence + The Machine - "You've Got the Love"
Florence + The Machine - "Dog Days Are Over"
Gotye - "Somebody That I Used To Know"
Gotye - "In Your Light"
Gotye - "Eyes Wide Open"
New Order - "Bizarre Love Triangle" (Thanks to my 80s loving husband)
Old Blind Dogs - "Is There For Honest Poverty"
Silverchair - "Straight Lines"

I spose you've probably never heard of Old Blind Dogs.  Well you are missing out, they are Prince Charles' favourite band.  Do yourselves a favour people.

As you can probably tell from the number of songs on the playlist, I can't shuffle for very long just yet.  But I'm getting better.

On Saturday evening we had some new friends over for a BBQ, the family of P's lovely kindy friend H.  P, unused to socialising after dark, got overexcited and  tried indulging in her latest hobby (nude trampolining) whilst  shouting "Poo-poo!" at random intervals.  The little exhibitionist.  Luckily we managed to avert too much nudism and the smalls played nicely together.  I, being equally unused to night time socialising, also got overexcited and started swearing like a madwoman.  I was dropping the f-word like it was going out of fashion.  I'm sure our lovely genteel guests were expecting me to break out the Winnie Blues and crack a VB at any moment.  How embarrassment.

I've always been a swear bear.  It's like the pressure of repressing my swearing urge while hanging around small children all the time just got to me.  After they left, I said to M, "Gosh, I feel like I was swearing a lot tonight".  M said thoughtfully, "Yes.  I did notice that." Dear oh dear.  Uncouth.  No wonder P spends her whole life talking about poo and bums, she obviously inherited it from me.

In a first for our family, yesterday afternoon M took P off to Brisbane to stay overnight with her cousins, N and S, leaving me ostensibly with the night off.  You know your life has changed forever when being left alone to look after a 7 month old baby for 24 hours can be considered a night off.  Ha ha, she laughed hollowly.  No, but seriously, it really was quite relaxing.  I got him off to bed at 5.30pm (yessss!), which left the whole night stretching in front of me.  I really made the most of it, prowling around the house looking wistfully at P's empty bed, sipping a glass of wine, eating cheese and biscuits for dinner, locating and then devouring M's secret chocolate stash and finishing off a packet of leftover BBQ chips.  I topped it off by fiddling round on the interweb and then watched "Call the Midwife" on the ABC.  I love that show.  I really do know how to enjoy myself, I'll say that much.

I guess most other people in the known universe watched the Rugby League grand final, but as I may have mentioned before, I generally do not indulge in this past time.  I used to be fond of saying that my worst nightmare was to wake up one day to discover I'd accidentally won a backyard BBQ with the Broncos as a prize for something or other.  Tres uncomfortable, as they don't say in France.

P's abandoned bedroom. Sob.

This morning I felt so bad about my awful dinner last night that I got up and made a "Green Smoothie".  I'm not kidding.  I blame Instagram for this.  It's full of pictures of healthsome people and their luridly green breakfast smoothies.  I'd never even heard of them until I got on the IG bandwagon.  Basically it's a smoothie made from fruit etc. with some sneaky greenery added.  This morning I added green kale.

It was surprisingly tasty, but as you can see mine isn't green, it's brown.  And served in a beer glass.  Typical.  Still, I felt virtuous, even if it did remind me of Aunt Loretta from "Grandpa in my Pocket" and her "Green Gloop".

Naughty Grandpa, this time you've gone too far! (Click for link)

Poor old Loretta. (Click for link)

So, how about that Alan Jones, eh?