Let age be no barrier.

Hello everyone. Life is very busy round these parts, and on top of that I've been doing a lot of unproductive deep thinking about life, love and the universe. And age. Actually, let's face it, I've mostly been obsessing about my age.

I feel really old at the moment. I've realised it has no small part to do with the fact that I am now working part time at a university library again (the same one that my husband works at no less, which is amusing in its own way).  I don't know if you know, but apparently it is possible to now be old enough to be a university student and to also have BEEN BORN IN 1997! WHAT THE !?  The first time I clapped eyes on a PYT's student card and saw her birthday I was momentarily lost for words.  I am ACTUALLY old enough to be her mother.  WAAAAAAAHHHHH! The last time I was employed at a uni library I was the same age as the kids studying there. Hell, I WAS one of the kids studying there! I was partying like it was 1999 (AND IT ACTUALLY WAS!) and working my way through some of the cute shelving staff. DON'T READ THIS MOM!  How things have changed. I'm reeling from the shock frankly.  In the last few months I've gone from working at an ARCHAIC and BUREAURATIC institution where I was still considered YOUNG and CRAZY HIP and OUT THERE, to a cosmopolitan educational institution where I am quite obviously OVER THE HILL.

These days I am;

a) carrying an extra 15kgs

b) embracing the FARSHON concept MATRONLY BOHO which frankly I just don't think the KIDS catch the vision of

c) married

d) a mother

e) battle hardened

f) newly attracted to LIQUID EYELINER

g) prone to making DAD JOKES when the kids come to the desk which CONFUSES and sometimes ENRAGES them

I KNOW! I can't really believe it either.

Here I am preparing to FREAK OUT THE KIDS at work, in a TYPICAL matronly boho ensemble, inspired by Stevie Nicks, Kate Bush and Kath and Kim. If I can't answer a question they ask me, I just whoosh my batwing sleeves around and jangle my bracelets at them until they go away.

Still, I imagine it's not bad practice for when I get out onto the front line in a school and am twenty times everyone's age and still trying to impress them by throwing YOUTH LINGO around and making awkward references to YOUTH CULTURE AND MUSIC and shouting things like "YOLO!" at them like it ain't no thang.

I already have the sense that this will be embarrassing for the teens to whom I inflict this on, and yet it still holds great attraction for me.  I can't wait to get my hands on a class full of spotty teens and start rapping sections of Macbeth or beat boxing underneath someone's monologue. THEY WILL LOVE IT!

And it's kind of fun being an objective observer in amongst the kids of today, because you get to watch their awkward attempts at flirtation with each other, the YOUTH FARSHON, and also I have easy access to lots of DVDs to borrow out. Winning!

One of the whippersnapper shelving staff (they are all students) casually revealed he was 21, and my jaw hit the floor. 

Whippersnapper: It totally sucks I don't get paid as much because of my age

Me: What do you mean? 

Whippersnapper: I'm only 21 you know

Me: [Shocked silence]

Whippersnapper: Yeah, and we are all going to be saddled with huge uni debts when everyone like you got their education for free

Me: Now steady on! I'm not THAT bloody old, mate!

We also had another awkward conversation about his studies.

Me: So, what are you studying?

Whippersnapper: International relations and law.

Me: Oh wow that is so cool! I studied international relations!

[Awkward silence as whippersnapper processes this information and struggles to conceal the disappointment in his face]

Me: Yeah, haha! I used to think I might work for AusAid one day. And now look at me! HAHAHAHA!

[Student fails to conceal the complex mixture of emotions he is feeling - fear that his future will mean he ends up back on the loans desk where he started, pity for me and my disappointing career, fear again, then embarrassment, then back to fear]

That's right, kids, I am the GHOST OF FUTURE YOU, ready to CRUSH YOUR DREAMS WITH A DOSE OF REALITY AND LOTS OF STORIES ABOUT MY SMALL CHILDREN AND THEIR AMUSING PENCHANTS FOR POO AND BUM JOKES!! Mwahahaha.

As well as obsessing about my age I have also been worrying myself SICK about my weight which has ONCE AGAIN notched up another few kgs. AARGH.

So I went and joined a gym.  I walked in with my LOUD floral leggins on, my 4.5 year old girl and B in a pram.  I got a small tour from a MUSCLED TYPE who I assume is what is known colloquially as a PERSONAL TRAINER.  He showed me that they had exercise bikes, cross trainers, weights, free weights and some other weird shit. I mean, was I meant to be impressed? It was a gym, right? I felt like perhaps I was missing something.

Here's me in my fancy leggings. They totally aren't ready for this jelly.

Me: Um, ok. Good-oh

Muscled Type: Yeah, and the {something something machine} does this, and that's really good blah blah

Me: [eyes glazing over} Mmmmhmmm

Muscled Type: So, how do you usually work out?

Me: I don't. 

Muscled Type: You don't what?

Me: I don't work out.

Muscled Type: [Shocked silence]

Me:  I do YOGA though.

Muscled Type: [Snorts] Oh RIGHT, YOGA!

Me: Ugh, it's GOOD for you!

Muscled Type: [Rolls eyes] Yeah, yeah, I know

Anyway, such was the level of my desperation to STRIP MYSELF OF FLAB that I signed up anyway.  Let's see how that goes.   

In other interesting news, I have gained inspiration from PINTEREST and repurposed our change table as a TEA AND COFFEE STATION, thereby reclaiming some bench space and simultaneously looking HIP and CRAFTY. What's not to like??

Aforementioned former change table. No more babies for us, just all the tea and coffee we can drink! 

How are you guys going? Joined a gym recently? Obsessed with your former youth? Repurposed the shizz out of anything interesting?

Mwah.

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!

Bacon. Work trip. Periods. The Spill. Also, bacon.

Good day to you Loungers. Welcome. I hope you are all well.  Feel free to rest your politics-weary bones on our comfy couches, and pour yourself a snifter of scotch. You know Julia would.

Today we are freestyling it! Sort of. Link up any post you like! AS LONG AS IT HAS THE MAGICAL KEYWORD OF MAGIC IN IT.

Today's keyword is: BACON.

I will also accept FACON. For the vege-matarians out there.


I have been busily busying it up working mother style recently so it's all been quiet on the blog front. I had a trip out to Dalby for work which was alternately interesting, freezing, boring, exhausting, aggravating, titillating, confusing, and weird.


Anyway I got to wear a hard hat, steel capped boots and a high vis vest so ALL WAS NOT IN VAIN.


Here's some scenery.

Here I am in my glad rags taking selfies in my motel room before dinner.

Here are my steel capped boots.

Here is my vest and helmet. And slightly crazed expression.

I had been quite looking forward to the trip because, well, you know, KIDS and STRESS and NIGHT AWAY. And yeah, I'm not going to lie to you, that was pretty good. I missed the little blighters though, what with P's recent health dramas I felt a bit nervy about it all. Also I am still breastfeeding Baby B. Who, frankly, is fast becoming Toddler B. So I was worried about my boobs.  Also (and look I don't mean to be CRUDE or INDISCREET or whatever but look we're all girls here. Actually no we aren't. I do apologise.) but I also had, um, rather a HEAVY MENSTRUAL FLOW GOING ON.

So what with my exploding boobs and the traipsing around in the bush with limited access to the loo I WAS A BIT ANXIOUS.  If I could devise a hashtag for my experience of the trip it would be #shitmendonothavetoworryabout

Still I managed with a smile on my face and a spring in my steel capped boots. Because I am a PROFESSIONAL.

In an unrelated segway, it would be remiss of me not to mention the ole Spill tonight.  For the international punters, the Australian Labor Party chucked over the PM Julia Gillard for Evil Machiavellian Genius Kevin Rudd tonight. What a palava. High emotion, people.

It's hard to express my feelings in words, but in an attempt to do just that I have chosen the format of an acrostic poem. Using the word bacon. SEE WHAT I DID THERE?

Bon voyage Julia, our first female Prime Minister
Although her time with us is done because of men most sinister
Convoys of cleavage, misogyny speeches, all of these things couldn't rattle her
Often she was criticized by shock jocks like Howard Sattler
Now Rudd is back. Don't eff it up Kev, or Bill Shorten will have you killed.

(OK that doesn't rhyme but you all know it's true).

Over to you, bacon lovers. I can smell the crackling from here.

Sick Kid and Motherlovin' Mindfulness.

Hello my pretties. Hope you are all well.

We have been hardcore in the trenches over here with one uber sick child. P has been as sick as a bloody dog. We have had vomiting, we have had wet beds, we have had terrible tummy pain, we have had a trip to Emergency, we have had trips to the doctors, days home from work, endless washing of sheets and doonas and spot cleaning of vomity carpet.

Upshot is, says the GP, that P has an inflamed stomach lining from a vomity virus. AKA gastritis.

The poor little mite.  I am supposed to keep her meals to a very basic minimum....broth, water, gastrolyte icy poles. 

She is so starving, this morning she was weeping and saying "Mummy, but all the food will MISS me!".

Very empathetic is my girl, just like her mother really. I often feel sorry for food too. I am constantly ensuring it doesn't get lonely by inviting it to the party in my stomach.

Anyway needless to say in my current state of excessive mentalness I have been taking this as calmly as a Buddhist monk. Buddhist monks spend most of their time crying and rocking in the corner right?

In the midst of the high drama I am supposed to be getting my Cognitive Behavioral Therapy on and embracing motherlovin' mindfulness and being as grateful for small blessings as...well, as I don't know what.

I think one of the things I need to work on is my ability to ask for help, as exhibited by this conversation I had with Mum on Thursday night.

"Hi Mum,"
"Hello darling how's things?"
"Um....ok." (Meaning: Everything is shit and I am worrying myself sick)
"What's wrong?"
"Um. Well we've been up at the hospital with P. I'm home with B now but she's still there with M."
"Oh no! That's awful. Do you want me to come down there do you think?"
"No, no. No we are fine. Definitely." (Meaning: Yes. I am losing it. Please come down)
"Are you sure?"
"Yes you have to go to work, it's fine we will be ok." (Yes please come down.)
"Are you sure? I only have one class I am sure they can cover it."
"No we are ok." (I am not ok please come down and help me).
"I think I will come down."
"Well if you think so. Only if you want to". (Thank God. I am dying from worry and crying and rocking in the corner).

It's not easy being my parents.  Mum did come down and thank fucking fuck she did because LOSING IT WITH WORRY AND VOMITY SHEETS.

On the topic of rocking in the corner, I've been to see this new psychologist and she's ok I suppose but I don't know if she is The One. She says things like "Now what do you want to get out of counseling?". And I'm all, Shit, I don't know lady, to stop feeling like a mental? What am I supposed to say?

On Saturday she was flustered and running late and she said, "OK, what do you already know about CBT?"
I answered, dutifully rattling off the usual ,"Oh, well you know, challenging your thoughts and expectations, being objective... .blah blah blah...", to which she added;
"Well it sounds like you already know a lot about it that's great!".

This was then followed by an awkward silence as she looked at me expectantly. I shifted uncomfortably on my seat.

"Um...." I said, "Well, I've been reading about mindfulness. Like, maybe we could do some of that? You know, like that thing where you concentrate on what you eat instead of shoveling it in mindlessly?"
"Good idea!" she exclaimed. "I was just going to say that too! I've got some WORKSHEETS on that somewhere here."

Ugh. Anyway I'll give her a go.

Something I have been thinking I should do is channel Pollyanna and, as suggested by my wonderful colleague R, write down some shit that goes well or that is lovely and enjoyable every day.  My very own freaking Glad Game.

So here's today's shit that makes me happy.

The "I am so Freaking Glad I Am Practically Exploding From It" Game

1.  I broke my self-imposed shopping ban and bought two pairs of colourful fat pants and a floral blazer. I've obviously been watching Paper Giants because I am dead set channeling Nene King at the mo. Anyway embracing a couple of pairs of cheap fat pants has actually made me feel thinner. Nothing like squeezing yourself into your ill fitting pants to make you want to eat everything that isn't nailed down. So compassionate. Poor lonely food.

2.  My beautiful happy baby boy. He is just a delight at the moment. Every single thing he does is adorable and squee worthy. I want to squeeze him. He has been cheering us all up in our time of need. Even sad little P.

I don't know why this photo is sideways. I tried to fix it but I couldn't. Apparently you can't be a blogger unless you can take good photos. I am rocking the boat yet again with my crazy freestyle imagery.

3.  My wonderful mum and dad. Mum just took over and did all of the things the whole weekend long while M and I paced and worried.  Dad is here today providing companionship, which he does like a boss.

4.  Sympathetic work colleagues. I feel utterly shitful at work. I am always away, sick or with sick kids. I am always late because KIDS and COMMUTE and because I am only there 2 days a week I feel like I never do anything useful. Sometimes I think I am on freaking thin ice but what do you do.

5.  Our new washing machine. The entire time we have had kids we have been existing with the worst most hopeless washing machine ever. Only a few weeks ago we paid CASH for a new top loader, which frankly wasn't a moment too soon because it has changed my LIFE. And coping this fortnight with the old one would have meant institutionalization for me I AM SURE!

6.  Our garden. It is looking bootiful and is cheering.

Some crazy voodoo shit is happening with the photos in this post. WTF. Anyway this is meant to be a picture of one of our almost blooming sunflowers. You will have to look at it side on.

7. My husband. M never hesitates to get up to sick kids at night, never shirks from taking sick leave to look after them, washes clothes, puts suppositories in small bottoms, makes porridge, calms me down. Honestly I don't know what I would do without him. Things aren't always smooth sailing round this joint marriage wise but he has been doing a pretty freaking good job at being almost perfect recently. I know, sickening isn't it?

So there you have it. I am so Pollyanna that I am MAKING MYSELF NAUSEOUS!

What are you just so effing glad about you have to SHOUT IT FROM THE ROOFTOPS? Tell your old friend. Distract me from my rollercoaster ride of worry/relief/worry/relief/worry/relief. PLEASE DISTRACT ME.

I prescribe comfort reading.

Hello my dear readers. How I love and adore you all. Thank you for reading this blog. I haven't been posting much recently, I haven't been feeling like it.

I've alluded to feeling bad several times. I don't want to seem like I am "vagueblogging", a term I learnt recently that refers to people who drop vague hints about dramatic life events or personal torment to titillate their readership without going into too many details, in a sort of attention seeking and irritating fashion.

I also don't like being all earnest and issues-y. Look there's a time and a place and other blogging peeps rock the earnest genre but I'm not good at it, I come off moany and sort of emo, or like I'm hamming it up.

I thought I'd quickly be honest about things, in a way that suits me.  I want to quickly chat about stuff and then move on, and hope that it won't define me. I think it's probably good to mention things like this as part of a person but not to obsess about them. If we want to normalise being a bit crazy in the brain then we probably should treat it like any other chronic illness, like diabetes, and touch on it occasionally in a sort of matter of fact way without getting dramatic.  Sorry if I've offended anyone by saying that, and I hope nobody is getting too eye rolly about the whole thing.

Anyway the thing is I have rather a bad and sometimes debilitating problem with anxiety - in fact, I have GAD (Gad-zooks!) which stands for Generalised Anxiety Disorder.  I am sure I have had it my whole life but it is only in recent years that it has been formally identified.

At the moment, it is quite bad.

It doesn't really sound like a particularly debilitating thing, anxiety. It sort of sounds like you worry a bit about things, that you dwell on stuff, that if you tried hard enough to be POSITIVE you might be able to get on with it and just shut up.

It's not like that.  For me, over the years it has taken slightly different forms.

It's been with me as a sort of constant worrying and obsessive thought patterns, that when really bad caused me constant breathlessness and a never ending feeling of nervous butterflies in my tummy.

When P was a baby it developed into major depression. I took antidepressants and it was utterly life changing because I realised what it must feel like to be normal, there was an absence of something that had permanently dogged me.

At the moment I have sort of taken to thinking of my brain as a separate sort of spiteful entity that likes to torment me at random moments with heinous and frightening thoughts.

 I imagine my brain as the Samuel L Jackson character from Pulp Fiction, sort of torturing me and taunting me with ghastly thought patterns.

Suffice to say being regularly forced to relive stressful memories or walk through unbearable scenarios regularly and relentlessly is farking exhausting and leaves me at a low ebb, and it is quite tough getting simple things done, let alone commute to work and look after a family. I also get really run down and am constantly getting colds. The constant adrenalin running through my body renders me weak and depleted.

People with a genuine anxiety disorder can't just stop worrying, or keep calm, or whatever. They aren't "negative" or "whingers". If you are lucky enough not to know what it is like, then good for you, but you aren't more "positive" or "organised" or whatever, you just don't have this particular problem to deal with.

Props to you.

They have a brain that malfunctions. They have obsessive thought patterns that have worn a groove in the neural connections so deep it could be the doorsill at Westminster Abbey.

You can't tell them that other people have it better, it could be worse, first world problems, stop being so negative, think positive - because they know all that already. It's their arsehole psycho obsessive brains that don't get the message.

You can't change that overnight. 

 

There's plenty of things I can do to help myself and also people who I can and will engage to help me, I can't be bothered going into details but it's the old fish oil, exercise, psych, comfort reading Ladies Detective Agency novels blah blah.

Anyway, hey ho, this is me at the moment. I was toying with chucking the blog in completely because I am so tired all the time but I love it so I will just be a bit more relaxed and ad hoc about it, as suggested by my lovely Lounge Lizard colleagues.

I mean, when you feel like poo you just want to be miserable and talk about boo hoo topics and get all introspective and MOODY and frankly who wants to read that shizz - NOT ME AND NOT YOU I AM SURE!

It truly is a first world problem - I mean, obviously. I guess if I was living in sub-Saharan Africa I wouldn't have any time to be a mental I'd just be, you know, struggling to survive and avoid death from famine or war. But as it is I am a first world girl, living in a first world world, not getting enough exercise, running a busy stressful life and having a good old Celtic genetic tendency to be a mental.

At least I'm not an alcoholic. BONUS POINTS TO ME!

If you ever want to talk about this sort of thing feel free to email me about it.

Anyway, I feel better having said something about it, like I've unblocked myself again (and I don't mean digestively speaking, boom tish!).

Thank you for reading. When I get home this evening I will have a hot shower and do some comfort reading of the Ladies Detective Agency -  Mma Ramotswe and her endless talk of boiled pumpkin and Bush Tea are good for the soul.

Ahhhhhhhh.....


Yours in mentalness

Sarah

Why aren't I better at routine?

Well, today's the big day everybody - the first day of our new linkie party, "The Lounge". If you don't know what I am talking about, check out my page here, it will tell you everything you need to know!
Today Tegan from Musings of the Misguided is our host, and the theme is - "Why aren't I better at this yet??" - please feel free to link up your own post and have fun!

I have to add the disclaimer that Brenda of Mumabulous fame has ALREADY WRITTEN A BETTER POST ON A VERY SIMILAR TOPIC for The Lounge this week! But I must press on...

Soooooooo......GUYS! Why the ever loving eff am I SO BAD AT STICKING TO ROUTINE? Particularly on the days I go to work?

It is a GOOD question.

Of course, one could cite the baby, small child, and husband as the obvious speedbumps on the road to ORGANISATION TOWN, but actually (and it pains me to say this) I must also take some of the responsibility. I know. Galling.  The words are STICKING IN MY CRAW YOU GUYS! UGH!

OK. Let's workshop it, people. Let's just deconstruct the shit out of a typical morning and GET TO THE BOTTOM OF IT ALL!

This is what should happen.

Night before: Tidy kitchen COMPLETELY. Put dishwasher on. Make and pack lunch. Choose work outfit and put that out. Tidy house more or less. GO TO BED EARLY DAMMIT.

5am: Wake before kids. S has walk. M has shower. (THIS SHOULD BE SWAPPED ON ALTERNATE DAYS SO WE BOTH GET SOME EXERCISE)
6am: Kids wake. S has shower, M puts breakfast on and unloads dishwasher.
6:30am: Everyone eats breakfast and engages in family discussions about art, literature, current affairs, Peppa Pig, poo and wee.
7am: P assists M by getting her kindy bag ready. M gets B dressed. S tidies up kitchen and puts a load of clothes in the washing machine.
7:30: We all leave the house. M takes kids to kindy then goes to work. I go straight to work.

This looks REALLY SENSIBLE AND DOABLE, right? Am I right? I'm right aren't I? Definitely right about this. The THEORY IS SOUND, reader.

Here is a dramatic reinactment of ACTUAL EVENTS that occur on a typical work day at our house.

5am: I hear the baby stirring in his room. I squeeze my eyes shut and pretend to be asleep. I can feel M doing the same. The baby starts to squawk louder. I lie as still as possible until I feel M get up and go down the hallway, coming back with baby B. We all lie together in bed while he crawls all over us, until we hear P's footsteps in the hallway. She appears at my side, imperiously demanding that I "Move over!" and complaining that "Mummy your BREATH smells AWFUL!". M and I continue to lie with our eyes shut while they both squirm and crawl over us.  Finally M and I can pretend we are asleep no longer. We embark on a conversation along these lines;

M: Are you going to get up with them or have a shower first?
Me: I should really go for a walk. I need to do more exercise. I've put on so much weight. How do people fit in exercise? I don't think there's time this morning. Probably I should get up and then you should have a shower. Then I'll have a shower.
M: I think you should have a shower first.
Me: No you should have a shower first while I get breakfast and then I'll just have a shower and leave straight after.
M: OK.

6:30am: We finally get up. I take the kids out and start breakfast.  This is made difficult by the fact we forgot to put the dishwasher on the night before, so I have to wash out some things before I start. I can hear M carrying out long and complex ablutions in the ensuite. P and B pull a million toys out onto the floor. It all takes a really long time and sounds like this;

P: Muuuuummmmmyyyy I'm HUNGRY!
Me: I'm just putting the porridge on, darling, you'll have to wait a bit.
P: Muuuummmmyyyy Benji is taking my THINGS! *outraged screams from B as she takes her toys back off him*
[I interrupt my breakfast-making to intervene].
Me: P if you don't want B to take your toys then put them in your room.
P: NO!
Me: *Grr*
[I go back to kitchen and keep making breakfast. P disappears and appears wearing a different outfit].
Me: P! If you are going to get changed don't leave your PJs on the FLOOR! Take them into your ROOM! P! P! Are you listening to me! Hey! P! Oh FOR GOD'S SAKE I'll do it.
[I interrupt breakfast-making again to take P's PJs back to her room. While there I make her bed and chuck some things into toy baskets etc. before remembering I was actually making the porridge].

And so forth.

7:30am: I have finally finished making breakfast and we are sitting down, eating, I am wrestling with B as he desperately tries to shovel the porridge into his mouth with two spoons. It goes EVERYWHERE. Like EVERYWHERE. After we've finished, P runs off. B has smeared porridge all over his face and in his hair. I wipe him down and get him out of the highchair, and start cleaning the mess on the floor.

7:45am: M emerges from our bedroom showered and dressed. He channels a hobbit and has first breakfast and second breakfast too. General stuffing around and chasing of P and packing of kindy bags occurs. M remembers he hasn't made his lunch. I remember I haven't made mine either. M gets a whole lot of stuff out of the fridge and makes sandwiches and snacks and stuff.

8:15am: I am still in my pyjamas. By some miracle M and the kids are dressed and in the car. I wave them off.

8:20am: I race around tidying things, jump in the shower, decide there's no time to shave legs or wash hair. I get dressed, jump in car and begin my hour long commute.

But not before wasting time by taking a few selfies of my work outfit whilst doing dumb poses. SO IMPORTANT DON'T YOU KNOW!

9:30am: I race into the office, flustered, hungry again. People comment on how nice my hair looks. I reply "Oh it's probably because it's full of GREASE! Yeah I haven't washed it for like DAYS!". People look a bit less impressed after that.
5:30pm: I finally get to leave the office, because I got there so late, and race home.

6:45pm: I arrive home. Kids and M have eaten. Babysitter and M are bathing kids. I reluctantly counsel the young flibberdigibbit babysitter because her dreaders boyfriend said he'd marry her in ten years if they were still single but doesn't want to tell his friends they are going out together and she's quit uni to work for him YADA YADA YADA. Ugh. I hurry her out the door. She talks the whole time.

7pm: I put B to bed. M puts P to bed. B goes to sleep. P comes out a million times and finally stays in bed by 7:30 ish.  By this time we are exhausted, so shovel some food in, do a mediocre tidy of kitchen and slump on couch. I think about making my lunch but don't. I think about putting my clothes out for the next day but don't. You get the drift.

AND repeat!

WHY DO I DO IT DUDES?

I fly by the seat of my pants.

The idea of working more than 2 days GIVES ME THE HEEBIE JEEBIES! How would I do it? I want to have a lie down just thinking about it.

I need to BOOT CAMP MYSELF!

Come on! YEAH! GET PUMPED! GET ORGANISED YOU LAZY WOMAN! WRITE LISTS! AND THEN ACTUALLY DO THE THINGS ON THE LISTS! MAKE GOOD HABITS! BE BETTER AT STUFF! ROUTINE IS THE BACKBONE OF FAMILY LIFE! MEAL PLAN! ONLINE GROCERIES! AND SO FORTH!

Or not. Look, I guess it's got me this far. Look at me! I'm a high flyer baby!* Maybe it's working for me? Maybe it's because I AM A CREATIVE GENIUS AND VALUE SPONTANEITY AND FUN TIMES AND CHILLAXING WITH MY HOMIES?

Who knows. It's hard to teach an old dog new tricks. And it's hard for a tiger to change its stripes. And you can't lead a horse to water. YOU FEEL ME?**

Now excuse me while I write out a new Family Routine and Meal Plan, put it up on the fridge, ignore it for a week, and carry on in the same freaked out fashion that I always do.

Until next time, adieu. Adieu. To yer and yer and yer...

*I may not actually be a high flyer.
**It's totally ok if you don't. Feel me, I mean. I don't really know what it means anyway.

On taking things seriously.

Happy Easter everyone! I hope you all had a great time. It seems like all the people I follow on Twitter are hardcore atheists all decrying Easter as some sort of festival of the zombie apocalypse. And chocolate.

Novel.

The kids and I go regularly to our local Anglican church, so naturally celebrate Easter as, you know, well, Easter. And chocolate.

But whatever floats your boat is ok with me. I know others don't feel this way but there you have it.

Live and let live people!

Anyway, on a not completely unrelated point, I was watching "Miranda" on ABC1 last night, after Call the Midwife. Oh lordie. Sunday night TV viewing has come into its own again.  I love Miranda SICK.  Just in case you don't know what I am talking about here is a You Tube clip I found...




This clip is kind of like a physical representation of what I am trying to tell you in this blog post. 

The older I get the less capable I seem to be of taking shit seriously. I mean, it is starting to WORRY ME!!

I work in what can only be described as an Ancient and Venerable Institution that is Very Important and Serious and Important in its Serious Ancientness.  I don't talk about it here because I don't want to lose said job.  But I will say this.

I find it hard to take shit seriously. The older I get the less respect I have for authority. There is something particular that happens to me when I am confronted with Earnest Serious Suit-Wearing Important Serious people, particularly at work, like in the lift or something. As they frown to themselves, stroke their ties or fondle their Ipads, I have to resist the MOST OVERWHELMING TEMPTATION to tell them a knock-knock joke, rub their belly for good luck, give them a noogie on their bald heads or make farting noises with my armpit whilst simultaneously commenting "How about those BRONCOS, eh!?" or "Did you watch Game of Thrones last night! Phwoooaaarrr!".

Don't panic people because I do generally maintain a façade of respectability and refrain from doing these things but OMG! THE TEMPTATION!

Back in the day I used to worry so much about the IMPORTANT SERIOUS NATURE OF MY WORK that I would sometimes sob in the toilets from stress and anxiety.  I was the MOST diligent student at school, and lived in constant fear of getting in trouble from the teacher, constant fear of not getting into uni because that would be LIFE OVER PEOPLE, constant fear of THE PEOPLE AND WHAT THEY THOUGHT OMG THEY HATE MEEEE and so forth.

Now I'm worried I've gone so far the other way that before you know it I will be putting whoopee cushions on people's seats and giving presentations in the form of Interprative Dance. 

Am I the only one this has happened too? Anyone else tempted to give your boss a wedgie in the lift and then run away giggling? Are you overly familiar with your superiors at work like me? I don't know what I'm going to do next. Think of me tomorrow. I will be sniggering in my office like a teenage boy who just dacked their mate in the playground, trying to resist the urge to tickle one of the suit-wearers until he farts.


DISCLAIMER: PEOPLE FROM WORK WHO READ THIS BLOG, PLEASE NOTE I AM ACTUALLY A REALLY SERIOUS FUCKING SMART AND HARD WORKING DILIGENT BLOODY EMPLOYEE AND I TAKE CARE OF BUSINESS LIKE THERE'S NO TOMORROW

DON'T WORRY!!!

Phewwww...hopefully that's covered it nicely.

Have fun at work tomorrow, readers! You know I do!

It's Fashion Week at Slapdash Mama!

Hi readers.

I'm a bit off my game at the moment due to my poor health and sick kids and blah blah blah moan moan sigh cough cough coughhhhhh hack snort gnnrrgghhhhhh.....

Anyway it is unfortunate timing my friends. Unfortunate timing indeed, because it is at this VERY MOMENT that the judges for the Kidspot Voices 2013 are hovering enthusiastically over nominated blogs, determining WHO WILL BE THE WINNER!? or even who will be in the Top 100??!? No pressure at all dudes. Nope. None.

Everyone just LOOK NORMAL OK!?

Anyway, and this has NOTHING AT ALL TO DO WITH BEING NOMINATED FOR VOICES 2013, but it just so happens that as well as being a talented Political Analyst, Travel Reporter, Satirist, Poet, Restaurant Critic and General Dispenser of Parenting Advice, I also fancy myself as a bit of a Fashion Blogger too.

Stop laughing please you guys, you are embarrassing me in front of the JUDGES!!!!

I totally AM a fashion blogger.

So this week has been designated FASHION WEEK here at Slapdash Mama HQ!  It coincides rather depressingly with my recent resolution to buy NO NEW CLOTHES for the rest of 2013.

I'm not joking.  This is really happening.

I need something to distract me from this decision, so I'm even going to be presenting you with an OOTD pictorial spread.  Don't know what OOTD means?  Neither did some of my new Twitter mates, when we were Twitting about stuff yesterday so I was only too happy to enlighten them with an explanation.

OOTD means "Outfit of the Day". Obvious now, no?  And it is the hashtag that fashionista types give their selfie snippy snaps on Instagram. And fashion blogs are full of them.

The punters go CRAZY FOR THIS SHIZZ.

So I am getting on board too. For the punters, you see.  I give them what they want.

Here's today's OOTD.  You guys are lucky in a way you cannot imagine that the first OOTD was done on one of my work days because it means I am wearing actual CLOTHES!

Here I am wearing a Review dress from 2010, a pink David Lawrence cardigan from a million years ago, and Red Phoenix Emporium necklace and earrings. I saw Red Phoenix jewellery on Faux Fuchsia's blog and because I too am a joiner, I immediately ran off and purchased some. 

Here's my legs and shoes and attractive work office type carpet.  Shoes are from an op shop. You've seen them before. Because I basically wear them every day.

Obligatory bathroom selfie. Large overflowing bin with paper towels really adds a sort of charm I think. Gritty. Like, I don't know, an episode of The Wire.

There you have it guys. Before I go I want to leave you with a few fashion words of wisdom that have helped me over the years.

-  Jeggings are for all!!!!
-  Everyone looks good in a tunic, leggings and ballet flats.
-  When in doubt, wear a dress.
-  Colour is the new black! Or is that grey is the new black? Hang on maybe it's navy blue.  Anyway, let's just say black is the new black and leave it at that!

Stay tuned for tomorrow's post where I regale you with my Slapdash Beauty Tips and post yet another OOTD.

Til then.

Your ever faithful

Slapdash Mama.

EDITED TO ADD: Just removed the post from the IBOT page because I did it wrong.

Faint Praise, and On Being Highbrow.

If you haven't heard already it's been raining cats and dogs in these parts. Still.  Hurrumph. I am thinking of building an ark.  Just for me, mind. Get your hands off it and build your own lifeboat you lazy bums.

P went for a walk in the rain. Squee.

M undertook a craft activity with P.

I know, talk about over achieving [eye roll]. Check out this castle and dragon and sword wielding Princess!

M is always showing me up in this way. So rude.  The first time he looked after P when I had to go to work, I came home and he had made a madeira cake, pruned the lemon tree and tidied the house.  I know! I don't even know what a madeira cake is! Selfish show offy bastard.  As you can imagine I was ENRAGED by this, and rightly so.  I gave him a bloody good telling off.

What's that? Unreasonable? Me? How dare you!

Which brings me to my next point.

You may have noticed over the side there that I have been nominated for the Best Australian Blogs 2013 competition! I know! How awesome!

Some really fantastically nice person nominated me for that.  She is attractive, smells nice, is EXCELLENT at baking cakes, has great dress sense, is hilarious, kind, smart, witty, a good listener, empathetic, creative, well informed, passionate, and just downright delightful.  I think you guys might even know her.  She likes to take the piss out of herself but we all know she is actually a FANTASTICALLY LOVEABLE, WONDERFUL DEVOTED MOTHER AND AN ALL ROUND GREAT PERSON!

Can you guess!?

That's right, it's me! I nominated myself.  What of it?!

I told my mum proudly that I'd put myself up for nomination, and there was a deathly silence on the other end of the phone, until she offered this gem;

"Oh darling that's, ah, good. You know the great thing about your blog is how FREQUENTLY you update! Nearly every day! And you know what, you are really improving, I do think so. Definitely improving!"

Underwhelming, I'd have to say.

I've been damned with faint praise all round the place recently about a variety of things and frankly I don't like it.

I nominated a couple of other blogs too including my ole friend Mumabulous, who was also incredulous that we light hearted mummy bloggers would be considered "highbrow" enough for this salubrious award.

Well frankly I think we are as highbrow as all get out.  If that's what the judges are after then they have totes come to the right place.

I'll give you highbrow! OMG!

Just to prove how FREAKING highbrow mummy bloggers can be, I have written adapted a Shakespearean sonnet, inspired by the episode of Kevin McCloud's man made home I watched last night.

ODE TO KEVIN

Let me not to the marriage of Grand Designs
Admit impediments, a hot tub is a hot tub
Which, altered from a plane engine*
Lies nestled in a pile of mud.
O yes, it is a very fancy robe
From alpaca wool he had it made;
The hands of retro crones have woven**
It for him to wear in his Man Cave.
Kev's not time's fool, nor technology's either,
From his medieval drawbridge deck
He doth watcheth the sheep and weather***
And nary a laptop nor Iphone to check.
   I sigh and yearn to live off the grid
  Just as Kevin, old Smuggy McSmuggington, did.
   

* pronounced to rhyme with design, OBVIOUSLY!
** to rhyme with robe. Duh.
*** rhymes with either. Doesn't it?

There you have it. You want highbrow? You got it baby.

Are you high brow? Or is it highbrow? I never know.  Tell me which is right in the comments!

Slapdash parenting.

So I've been writing this blog for a while now. A few months.  In case you hadn't realised the main THEME of the whole blog is Slapdashery, or "Near enough is good enough", and in my loveable, endearing, cheeky and adorable way, I gently mock myself and my parenting for the amusement of all.

And frankly the public can't get enough of it. And by public, I mean my Mum. Hi Mum!

For a more detailed treatise on Slapdashery and Self-Deprecation please see this post or the guest post I did for Redcliffe Style.

But on a more SERIOUS note, sometimes I do feel a bit down.  I worry quite a lot about my parenting and feel inadequate.  I also worry about my own identity, and my own personal faults and flaws.  I wonder, what is my gift, my particular talent? I sometime feel like I'm not much good at anything.

I look at Instagram and crafty mummy blogs and feel like a big losery poo head, who is lazy and losery and pooey.  I feel jealous of them. I feel like I should be sewing and crafting, organising the house, and planting an organic vegetable garden, whilst commuting to my part time job and GIVING IT MY ALL and then I try to, and I get all stressed and upset because I find it so hard.  And then I get cross. And then just want to have a lie down and watch Game of Thrones on DVD (that's a whole other blog post yet to come people, stay tuned) whilst drinking a gin and tonic and fanning myself with a squashed origami crane.

The thing is this, I think.

I absolutely, truly believe that everyone is different.  You've just got to do shit your own way.  If you are a crafty old fox, then craft away.  If you are a green thumb, then dig the shit out of that garden.  If you can't relax unless your underwear is colour coordinated, then knock yourself out, you are awesome.  If you are like me ie. easily stressed out, anxious, and critical of yourself, then LOOK AWAY FROM THE TALENTED PEOPLE NOW and just  DO IT YOUR OWN WAY.

I read this article from Mrs Woog of Woogsworld fame on the Hoopla website and it made me think long and hard about all this "comparisonitis" that sometimes does my head in.

Another article that speaks to me and my natural tendency to worry and fuss is
"How to be an idle parent", by Tom Hodgkinson.  Dude has written a whole book on the topic. Haven't read it but the article is the shizz.

Also my friend JJ sent me this once when I was a bit down in the dumps.  Also excellent reading.

Anyway, what I'm trying to say is I that think the best thing to do is recognise your limitations people! If you are constantly full of energy, positive and have natural talent, then ignore me, because I am not.

But if you feel stressed, a bit over stretched, a bit devoid of talent, a bit uncreative, I'm about to do what I never thought I would.

And that is GIVE YOU SOME PARENTING TIPS!

I said in my "How to be a Slapdash Mama" post that "lowering your standards is the new black".  I am not joking.  The only way I can ever feel relaxed and actually live in the moment, like all those freaking memes are telling me to, is to CUT ALL OF THE CORNERS and only do what I want to do.

Well, I try anyway.

So, here we go.

MAKING FOOD FUN!

See this cup of water? SO BORING! If I presented this to P frankly she'd chuck it in my face, and be right to do so. Nobody should be forced to drink such a boring drink, it's a human rights abuse.

Now, see THIS drink!? See what I've done here? I've taken a straw and shoved it into the cup of water. INSTANT PARTY! P thinks this is the bees knees.

And if I'm really feeling crazy, not only will I shove a straw in, but I will also put some ICE CUBES in there.  I am actually not kidding when I say P goes crazy for this shit.  They enjoy simple pleasures, your three year olds.

Give this totes boring plate of eats to a jaded three year old and feel their wroth!

But shove it into a fancy lunchbox, and you've got yourself a CLEVER and INTERESTING SNACK PACK. Clever, no? Easy, yes!

BIRTHDAY CAKES

OK, I actually like baking.  But basically if you do not like baking, just buy a cake already.  As Mrs Woog said, kids don't care where it comes from, cake is cake.

So working on the assumption that I already like baking and making cakes that taste yummy, I also know that I do not like having to assemble things or dick about with fiddly shit.

Basically I make the same cake every year. As did my mother for me.

P's 1st bday cake. Melt and mix butter cake recipe.  In a big heart shaped tin.  With pink icing.  Bob's your uncle.

I did it again for P's 2nd birthday. Here's the photo of the 1st birthday cake again, I couldn't find one from her 2nd. But picture this one. With pale yellow icing. And marshmallow daisies. EASY AS SHIT.  

I did it again for Baby B's christening, but I also seem to have cut corners with photo taking cos I can't locate one of that either.  It was a heart shape. With white icing.  Boo-yah!

I do admit to sometimes mixing it up with a rainbow layer cake.  BUT it's the SAME RECIPE. And it is freaking easy.

Looks good but is EASY. But if the idea stresses you out, DON'T DO IT! ALSO if you want to bake a huge crazy Women's Weekly cake book recipe, go ahead, I think that is awesome. DO WHAT YOU FEEL!

I went a bit off-theme for P's third birthday and did the layer cake again instead of the heart. But the layers were pink this time.  CRAZY I KNOW!

 I could go on at length.  Perhaps I'll make this a series too. Slapdash Parenting?  I'll think about it.

Do you cut corners? Or are you energetic and positive with colour coordinated undies? Does the idea of origami with toddlers bring you out in a cold sweat?  It's a rich tapestry my friends, with room for all!

Linking up with Flog your Blog Friday again.  I know, no button. Maybe I'll work it out this weekend.

Some stuff from my brain, in dot points.

• I just realised the Blogger statistics thing has reverted to counting my own pageviews of the blog AND I CAN'T CHANGE THE BLOODY THING BACK! This means it's been counting all the times I click on the blog as well as when actual other non-me people do it.  Thus rendering the statistics TOTALLY INACCURATE. And considering how many times I click on the ole blog myself this means that probably in real life the tally is more like, I don't know, 2. Rather than 10000.  Just when I was about to quit work and live off my earnings too!  Sigh. 

• I had to work from home today because of the NATURAL DISASTER FLOOD PESTILENCE FAMINE CYCLONE TORNADO GLOBAL WARMING crazy type weather.  Good things about this include - 

• No commute. 
• No getting in trouble for talking to colleagues. 
• No commute. 

         Bad things about this include -

• No colleagues to talk to.  
• No aircon.   I'm not complaining, there's people out there with raging rivers running through their houses and no power.  We were barely touched, just a tree down in the back-yoo-ard (as P calls it).  This has of course added to the whole chaotic derelicte vibe we've got going on in the garden anyway as I'm sure you can imagine.

Snapped at the base.  Look away from feral weeds thanks very much.

Bye old Apple Gum.  Look away from the feral weeds ploise.

• M's workplace was closed today.  He didn't have to "work from home" though. I couldn't be doing with that, so I kept the baby home from daycare and made M look after him.  Bahaha.

• Made this the other night. It was SO GOOD.  Purveyors of Marion's Kitchen Brand, ploise feel free to send me a million packages of this if you want.  You know you do.  

That's all.  Thanks for stopping by.  I hope you all did ok in the weather.  Don't drive through flood water people.  That is for fools and lunatics.

Break in the Weather. Sweating the Small Stuff.

Ma, the rains are here! [Insert obligatory comment about the weather, Crikey she's a harsh country of extremes, she is, and drought and flood and fire and pestilence and so forth].

Readers, I've got a bit of STUFF on my mind.  Yes, yes, of course we all know that I spend most of my time contemplating Art, Literature, Philosophy, the Downfall of Western Civilisation As We Know It, and my navel.   What time I have left over after I've finished that I mostly dedicate to Keeping it Real, Championing Feminist Issues and Making Benevolent Gestures to the Poor and Unfortunate, but look, sometimes even MY superior intellect and over-developed moral backbone strays into the mundane territory of worry and stress about the "small stuff".

Sometimes the small stuff is actually the big stuff, in a way.  So I've been sweating it. The small stuff, that is.

My comfort eating is back with a vengeance and my nails are torn and bitten.

I need to make a big decision.  But I can't manage it. So I just complain and poor-me about the same stuff endlessly and never change the thing that is really wrong.

Apart from that particular small stuff, there are other smaller, small stuffs that I've been wasting time worrying about.

So, in the words of Alan Partridge, let's just throw them all in the air and see where they land, shall we?

- We can't get the baby to sleep and he's screaming in the background as I type. Relaxing. Like fingernails on a blackboard. Who needs whale music when I can listen to that as I GET CREATIVE BLOG-STYLE.  My muse (or my A-Muse as I like to call her) is laughing at me while she lies on the couch and eats bon bons, I just know it.

EDITED FOR CLARIFICATION JUST LIKE THEY DO IN HANSARD: Don't worry loyal Slapdash Army, he's usually a great sleeper, just bad this evening which I thought added an amusing soundtrack to my Whining Blogging. Apt, even.  Carry on.

My A-Muse. She's laughing hysterically and saying "Don't worry about the bay-by Sarah! Here have a bon-bon!" [Source]

-  I don't want a smartphone any more, I think it's making me dumb.

- As mentioned, my comfort eating is back and my exercise habit is broken. How many months into the New Year was that, some kind of record? Gah.

- I'm worried that P is getting too much exposure to tizzy fairy princess ballerina tizziness mctizz shows/books/general stuff.  She is basically a very imaginative creative little thing and she loves to dress up and so forth, and it's not that I don't like princessy fairy ballerina ness in itself, I just feel that's kind of all she's into.  Anyone got some good suggestions for non tizzy stuff I can show her? Books/movies?  I bought her the movie "Brave" which is fantastic but it's a bit too scary really.

P performing an interpretive dance for a small admirer. With requisite tizzy mermaid style getup. Tizzy.  I like that word. 

So peeps, what are you worried about? Do you like bon bons? What are bon bons anyway? What issues do you champion? Do you like to dress as a mermaid? Or Cinderella? Anyone seen my moral backbone? I think I left it at Woolies.

EDITED AGAIN: To link up with Grace for Flog Your Blog Friday. One day I will work out how to put buttons on my blog. Anyone who nows how to do this feel free to explain in the comments. Grace did once but I still can't work it out. Blargh.

Week so far. Such as it is.

Hello again. Can I use this opportunity to say THANK YOU very much and welcome to my new FB likers and blog followers. Also another huge shout out to Rachel from Redcliffe Style for hosting my guest post the other day, I have had a lot of lovin' from that post. Rachel you are the best.

I'm feeling a bit uninspired tonight so I'll just drone on in my usual default monotone about stuff I've been up to.

- Spent most of Saturday wandering around the shops to avoid the heat. We bought a new beach shelter. Here's hoping it doesn't go the way of the last two. I tentatively suggested to M that perhaps we should set it up in a practice run here at home before having to wrestle it in the wind at the beach. He pooh-poohed this idea, alleging again that it was a design flaw in the last two that resulted in disaster.  Hmm.

- We ran into my friend T and her fam while we were at said shops, so we all went to the Sushi Train.  All a bit dodgy I felt in such hot weather, the little dishes of luke warm sushi and chicken kebabs making their sorry way round the track in inadequate air con.  Still none of us died of salmonella so that's something.

- Invited ourselves round to our new friends M and H who live a few streets away on Saturday evening. They were supposed to come over here but I panicked about our hot house and demanded that they allow us to descend upon them en masse instead, as they have both a large wading pool and air conditioning. I think they were ok with it. H texted me today to ask me to play a game of netball with her team and I forgot to reply until just then. I think maybe I've committed enough faux pas now, I should really stop. As much as I like a good faux pas.  Sorry H.

-  I commuted to work like the sorry automaton that I am.  Hamster wheel anyone? The worst thing about the commute is being stuck in stop start traffic while badly needing to go to the loo.  When I was preggers this happened a few times and once I had to pull off the M1 and drive manically around until I found a public loo in a park. Desperate times, desperate measures. I mentioned the whole busting for a wee thing to my supervisor and he said his brother works in Manila and apparently the traffic is so bad someone has devised a sort of wee bag you can strap to your leg for these situations.  Frankly I'm interested in the concept and am about to Google it, stat.

I'm hopeless at taking pictures at the moment, I'm sure everyone is missing my artsy shots.  I'll get onto it asap.  Tomorrow I'm documenting the shit out of my day, don't you worry.

Adios my slapdashery groupies.

xx

Back to work at the Dream Factory, where Dreams are, um, Made. In the Factory.

Hello dashers. Before I get ranting I want to say HELLO to you all, I know you are out there. Please, if you are reading, feel free to follow along by liking the Slapdash Mama Facebook page or joining up with that Blogger followers thingamajig. And ploise comment, I love to hear from you.  Feels less like I'm talking to myself.  Don't be shy!  When I'm really rich and famous, you'll be able to say "I liked her WAY BACK WHEN SHE WAS KEEPING IT REAL, BEFORE SHE GOT UP HERSELF".

So I guess you are all on the edge of your seats waiting for my return to the Dream Factory story.

Thanks N, husband of Cousin B, for your amusing reference to my erstwhile place of work as the Dream Factory. It shall henceforth be known as this. From hence. Forth. Um, from now.

Well as is usual for these sorts of things it was quite the anticlimax.

M took yesterday and today off work to make sure Baby B had short days, just to ease him into the whole daycare thing.

Turns out B has so far taken to it like a duck to water. Yay! Sort of. Frankly I feel a bit shocked he was so chilled out about the whole thing. I mean, didn't he miss me AT ALL!!!??? Weird. The daycare ladies were apparently all very impressed with his relaxed attitude. This has actually freaked me out more than if he had screamed and cried. I guess P was more or less the same, pretty ok with the daycare situ from day one. Are they really that desperate to get away from me, Mommy Dearest? I mean, I only make P practice the piano 6 days a week and only for 2 hours a day, that is hardcore peanuts if she want to MAKE IT ON THE CONCERT CIRCUIT, and frankly who wouldn't want to? She'll thank me one day.

Back to daycare though. P has been a bit sad because she's moved up to the big kindy room and it turns out her little friend S has moved away and won't be coming back to kindy. P tried to tell me this a few times and I kept saying "No, no darling that's not right, she must be on holidays still" but actually she isn't, she's gone. I am really sad that no one thought to tell me that this was happening, P and S were inseparable. When we finally realised what had happened, I had tears in my eyes! P hasn't really cried but seems so lost which is unlike her. Gah. The start of the heartbreaking friendship sagas of school.

I just read that paragraph back to myself and it comes off like the confusing rundown of an episode of Heartbreak High using only people's initials. Too bad, my blog, my rambling prose.

So that's the deal with daycare.

As for the Dream Factory return, I was VERY NERVOUS on the drive in.  I've totally lost my chops regarding suitable work attire so wore the same outfit I wore to the opera that time. Who knows if that was appropriate but part of me doesn't really care any more anyway.  

Anyway so when I did end up getting there I realised more or less that it's the same shit, different year. Sorta. Kinda.

Highlights from the first day include - 

• Trying to swipe myself into the carpark but my pass doesn't work.  No worries.  They let me in anyway. What a relief.
• Trying to swipe myself into the building but my pass doesn't work. Oh that's right, dur. No worries. They let me in anyway. Guh.
• Turning up to the HR office only to be told that I need to go and see my section manager who was definitely in that day. Shuh. Whatever.
• Going up to said manager's office only to be told he's away on holidays still. Whatever.
• Wandering back to the office that used to be mine, and will apparently be again, only there's something missing. Whatever.

I must have been a very naughty, naughty girl. Bad girl! In the corner! NO DESK FOR YOU! I'm thinking about asking them to put a treadmill in instead.

• Finding my direct supervisor who gives me a form to sign to get my internet/computer access back.  I sign it. It's the wrong one. Admin assistant gets the right one. I sign it. Take it to IT. They look blankly at me and then I wander off again. 
• I ask supervisor about the whole NO DESK, PHONE OR COMPUTER issue.  He wanders around with me and we find a temporary possie in my work friend A's office so that's ok.
• I turn computer on, still no access. Have meeting with supervisor and other staff where he gives me jobs to do despite NO COMPUTER ETC yadda yadda. [5 hours elapse. I roam the corridors greeting my former colleagues and vaguing out a bit]. IT calls. Internet now working. Shuh. Whatever. Home time now.

 So, you get the picture.  I was totally feeling the love.  I don't think.

Anyway it was great to see some of my old comrades and we chewed the fat about, you know, office politics (urghhhhhh) and so forth. Hello those of you who read this blog xx


The crap that goes down at my work is totally unbelievable and would make the most awesome, hilarious and outrageous blog ever but the Dream Factory is a place of secrecy and intrigue and we are all held in thrall to that frightening document that is the CODE OF CONDUCT. Otherwise I would be blabbing that shit out on this blog quicker than you could say DEFAMATION!

So there you have it.

I'm sure it was as exciting to read as it was to live.

Anyone else really valued and respected at their workplace? Are you on the road to success? Or are you tasting the BITTERNESS OF DEFEAT? Do tell.

See you round, chaps.

EDITED TO ADD - I just reached 7000 page views! Cool. As you were. EDITED AGAIN - to take out some unnecessary details where I sounded a bit too cross about P's daycare stuff.