Just Be

I have spent the morning childfree, writing and reflecting. There is a red breasted black and white robin that has spent the morning admiring his sweet self in the reflection of my lounge room window.

He has watched me as I have written my monthy articles for the local newspapers, fluttered his little wings and sung as I have typed up all the minutes from the committee's that once upon a time decided to become secretary for.

He took no notice of the cat on the inside of the window doing that funny little meow cats do when they want to devour a bird, none at all not even as I wrote a short picture book story for my nephew.

He then he entertained his own self merrily as I drank from my large mug of hot coffee and admired the budding lilac trees.

He sat upon my outdoor chair covering it in little presents as I filled my roaring fire with wood to hide away winters cold touch.

No worries, not a care in the world, sing a song, fly high and admire ones self. The robin simply danced away.

I take a lesson from the little bird, such a small but such an important part of our world.

Sometimes its good to sit to dance and reflect, to write, to draw, to sing and to just be.

Happiness is taking time out for the little things.

How many telstra employees does it take to change a light bulb?

Answer: Im sorry, I can't answer that question, Hold please and I will transfer you to the correct department...

Update on my little telecommunications saga - I HAVE PHONE SERVICE AGAIN!! (touch wood)
Trevor never did show up - he may indeed have gone back to prison. Instead a very lovely older gentleman who I will call Peter, came and determined the problem and (get this!) FIXED IT!

It turns out thrifty old Jack who used to live here must have accidently dug through the phone cable at some point and then taken the liberty to fix it again all by himself and avoid paying someone to come out bush and re connect it properly. The downside being that everytime it rained the wires would get wet and short out.

This is what it looked like:

electrical tape won't fix everything...

So now I have these two fancy looking orange star-pickets on the edge of my driveway to mark where the cable is too shallow and will eventually need to be dug in to regulation depth.

Peter admitted that although there has been a work order placed to do said repairs it could quite possibly take 2 years or never actually happen so in the mean time it might be an idea to add some decorations to the star pickets and jazz them up a bit.

I took his advice:




After- A Work of Art!

Before - Boring:







So now that I am able to make phone calls again I will call the aforementioned telecommunications company and tell them I am under NO circumstances paying the bill they just sent me for the last month with no service. If they don't accept my terms I will put them on Hold and divert them to my mobile and back to the home phone... And repeat.

Second Nature

I remember being young and watching my mother change the gears in the car while we were driving. I marvelled at how she seemed to just ‘know’ where the little stick needed to point without even looking, when I asked her how she did it she replied “After awhile it’s just second nature, you don’t even need to think about it.”

Parenting can be a bit like changing gears, it’s hard to adjust to at first, if you do the wrong thing you can end up with a terrible noise! There are also days when you are firmly stuck in reverse and just praying for an automatic. But for the most part after awhile those gears will just flow all by themselves, it becomes second nature and you don’t even need to think about it.

I have now been a mother for 10years, I still stall and crunch the gears sometimes, but not as much as I used to and when I do my eyes don’t well up in embarrassment at the people watching me and judging me as they once did.

I watch friends and family going down the path of motherhood for the first time and I recognise their struggles, I understand their frustrations – I was them once. I am wrangling my fourth 3 year old but now I can grin at the way she still manages to get one over me (in exactly the same way her predecessors did) rather than curse myself for still not knowing better.

We grow up with our children, they probably teach us a lot more than we could ever teach them and as we watch them morph into little human beings with their own opinions and ideas we realise that we just have to take each day as it comes get ourselves into gear and enjoy the ride.

A Voice That Cannot Be Broken

Sometimes as writers, our greatest fear is misinterpretation.

Eden Riley wrote this post about having her words manipulated by a magazine and it got me thinking again, as so many of her posts do these days.

Magazines, newspapers, television segments - they are all like a game of Chinese whispers, you tell your story through an interpreter whos job it is to make a socially acceptable and profitable story for their company, the end result is often far from the truth.

When someone else changes your words – usually to benefit themselves’ - it cuts like a knife. In mainstream media I have had my words twisted, added too and downright lied about and it feels like a massive betrayal of character even when the reader is none the wiser. I think that is why I have grown to love blogging.

The blog is a unique form of media, it’s real.

The blog is our chance to have a voice, an unedited story or opinion about what matters to us. Sure some people won’t like it, there are always going to be those that scrutinise your life, methods and motive but it really doesn’t matter – in the grand scheme of things people will always read what they relate to, empathise with or lets them escape their reality for a while, so tell your story.

I can’t speak for you- you own your words, not me. But I know that no matter how honest, and how emotionally I write I haven't given away everything, I am still a private person and nobody could ever really know what its’ like to walk in my shoes, as for every word I write there are 1000 tears, 1000 laughs and 1000 thoughts that I don’t ever mention.

The words I don’t write are not lies by omission, they are my story to tell -or not- in my own time.

Sometimes we have to be strong and remember why we started writing in the first place, remember the thoughts going through your mind the day you wrote that first awkward post and think about how much you have grown since then, how many friends you have met and how much perspective you have gained in new areas.

You represent your own blog as your place to speak and be heard, and that is a voice that cannot be broken. happy writing.

Let's Make A Difference!

Eden Riley has spent the last week in Niger Africa with world vision raising awareness of the hunger crisis, she was interviewed on the Breakfast Show this morning in a segment that was nearly cancelled but thanks to Twitter love was allowed to continue (see we are already making a difference!)

 We are lucky to live in a time where we are able to use social media to raise awareness, Eden has inspired many other bloggers to write posts on this topic now and she's only just getting started.

We all grieve for an ideal world that doesn’t exist and we each have problems in our own lives of varying scale and although one persons’ problem may seem petty to another, they are still  valid  because they affect them and their lifestyle.

One basic fact is that we can ALL do something to make our world a better place, after all every human on this planet is in it together, we are all different and yet  exactly the same and we all have the same basic needs.

 The money spent and earned from war and fighting, is far more than enough to ensure every person on the planet has food, shelter, education and basic health care. Think about that for a minute.

Money is well described as the root of all evil, people become obsessed with it and the power it brings – to some it is an addiction, no different to your standard drug addiction or alcoholism.
Sadly though in our world, if you don’t have it you simply cannot survive – the people dying every day from easily preventable diseases and famine are proof enough.

It’s particularly ridiculous when you realise that much of the money we deal with daily doesn’t even exist. It is but numbers on paper- borrowed interest- its’ just numbers. If everyone in Australia withdrew the money in their bank account the country would collapse because the money isn’t physically there to take!

Over time we realise that the world has become entwined in a pyramid scam of the scariest proportions and the few people at the top of the pyramid hold the power and the people at the bottom? Well they don’t matter.

The fact is until the people at the top beat their addiction to power and money it becomes up to us, and while it can be as depressing as hell to think about how small we are in the great scheme of things, we are NOT powerless, we CAN certainly still help.

We cant all travel to Africa and we can't all write inspirational blog posts but we can each try and do a little something each day to help out someone else - from opening a door, lending a hand to a stranger, making a simple phone call to say hi, we ARE making a difference.

It’s these acts of kindness- even the smallest ones, that have the ability to change someone’s moment, their day and potentially their lives.  Watch the smile on a person’s face when you help them, it makes you feel better too.

To all the great people out there who raise awareness of world and local issues, you are doing a wonderful service, awareness encourages appreciation, it has the ability to change people’s views of their own lives, we become less greedy and more thankful, more helpful and more fulfilled within ourselves.

It doesn’t really matter what it is that you do, how big or how small but today, try and make a difference in someone else’s life. 

 Oh and if you haven't seen it already, head over to EDEN'S BLOG, grab a cuppa and be inspired to make a difference in your own way. 

Isolated

I have said it before and I will say it again, I love living in the country - I love the smell of fresh air, the quietness of the darkest nights and the amazing wildlife.

But it's not always sunshine and lollypops though, there are some down sides too, for example when it rains for weeks, this is the causeway that separates us from the rest of the world:

The water level has come down now but unfortunately the day my husband decided he would be able to make it through it was higher than the picture. The result of that little decision has left me car-less and isolated as he needs to borrow mine to get to work.

If I lived in town then that would be annoying but livable, but when you live 1.5 km from the bus stop, 10km from the village and 40km from the nearest country town with a Woolworth's then its a real pain in the proverbial.

Its also a pain that the local mechanic is yet to call us back on if we should be calling the insurance company or not, in his defence he only has two staff and is suddenly burdened with 28 cars to look at that all made the same mistake that my husband did!

But after swearing about leaving my umbrella in the car that my husband has taken to work today  I was once again grateful that I lived in the country as a neighbour saw me trudging down the road this morning in the pouring rain with four children in tow and kindly gave us a lift to the bus stop and brought me back up.

Its that kindness I love, the always helpful attitude of country folk that you just don't get in the city!

And the sunsets are to die for...

When it takes 3 to make a baby

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This time 12 months ago I would never have imagined that I would be planning to start an IVF cycle.

But here I sit today, eying the phone on my desk that still lies where I put it down yesterday after calling my doctor to make an appointment for a referral to the IVF clinic.

My children were conceived the old fashioned way, and I admit that it may have been a missed pill or two that started that particular ball rolling, and roll it did – 4 pregnancies, 4 healthy babies, I am very, very blessed.

So I have 4 kids, why on earth am I getting referrals to IVF clinics? Well last year I wrote THIS POST about how I was potentially going to become an egg donor for my SIL.

Sadly SIL’s final attempt at IVF using her own eggs was unsuccessful, so now we are officially heading down the egg donation path. There are lots of appointments to make and doctors to see and I am nervous and excited.

For those unfamiliar, there is a fair bit involved in the whole IVF procedure, needles, hormones, bloating, operations and as I learn about it all it really makes me feel for my SIL and so many other women who have been through the process over and over again for years only to get that dreaded “I’m sorry...”  phone call.

I have never been a fan of the two yearly “grease and oil change” as a friend puts it, so I am aware this process will put me out of my comfort zone in that department, but frankly if a little bit of discomfort can bring a child into this world then I think its defiantly worth it!

We are hoping to start the first cycle around May and I am so hoping that this will work for them first time round, they are an amazing couple and will make wonderful parents, it’s about time they received some positive news.

If you are interested in egg donation the IVF Australia website HERE is full of great information for donors and recipients.

Have you or anyone you know donated an egg?

Are you a donor recipient?

When the show can't go on

The rain has come back with vengance to our usually drought ravaged part of the world, there are newly formed creeks winding their way through once bone dry paddocks where bewildered sheep stand isolated on little mounds of sodden clay hoping for a little sunshine.

The rain has turned my dam from this (taken a few weeks ago)

Notice the position of the white pump float

To this (taken this morning)

Look now it's in the middle!

The causeway that seperates us from the rest of the world has become unpassable and we are now unable to get to work and school.

We are very lucky though, we are purely work-in-the-big-smoke-hobby-farmers who live on a bit of a slope and all we have to worry about is the ducks who incidently don't mind a bit of wet weather!
 But we must spare a thought for those on flatter ground who depend on the land to make their living.

10 years of drought and now it's flooding.

Our little town was supposed to have it's annual show this weekend, I joined the committee last year and have been very excited about my 'first show', but after it became clear that the sun wasn't going to play nice for us, we had to officially cancel this morning.

Nope, this time the show can't go on.

To all of those with new swimming pools in your yards and overnight water views, stay safe, stay dry and start to gather your tools, it may be time to start building that ark after all.

Its not OK to have kids if your under 21.

At least this seems to be the view of the wider community – the older generation in particular.

A midwife in the hospital where I had my first child in refused to help me learn to breast feed as it was a “natural instinct REAL mothers should have, teenagers shouldn’t bother”.

Filthy looks, and shaking heads were thrown my way when ever my 17yr old self dared to venture out of the house to the local shopping centre with baby Buzz. I used to wonder if perhaps I was imagining it, but then when 14 months later Gucci got thrown into the mix those looks turned into very real, very nasty comments from total strangers.

I remember the feeling of my face turning beet red and wishing the ground would swallow me up, as an elderly lady passing on the escalator nodded toward me and proclaimed for all to hear that “poor little things, teenage riff raff should not be allowed to bring children into this world.”

She didn’t know me, she had no idea of my circumstances – for all she knew they may not have even been my children. God that comment hurt, and unfortunately it was only one of many. Eventually it got to the point where I actually avoided going out because I felt so embarrassed.

Then one day not long after I turned 21, a strange thing happened. My mother in law was looking after the older boys, as I was taking newborn baby Felix to a doctors’ appointment when an old lady stopped me on the street.

Thinking I was about to cop another lecture about ‘today’s youth’ I was pleasantly surprised if not a little shocked when she said, ‘I just had to stop you to say what a beautiful baby you have!’ She gave me a huge smile and told me to enjoy him while he was still so little. Not wanting to ruin the moment by mentioning he wasn’t my first, I thanked her and continued on.

Later that same day I noticed that other old women were not muttering at me or shaking their heads, but instead stopping and cooing at Felix, smiling to their husbands and generally being very friendly and receptive.  

Several days later, I ventured out with the 3 boys and was sad to see that the looks had reverted back to ones of dismay by the general public, and over the next few years when all the children were with me, I was frequently asked “how many fathers?” by people I had only just met.

 It seemed that 21 was the ‘OK’ age to have your first child but any time before that and you were just a teenage slut.

I used to try and explain to the accusing types that I was married and the children all had the one father, and despite my total lack of religious persuasion I even pulled out the “I will have as many children as God blesses me with” card a few times in a desperate attempt to seek approval from the world.

Now at the ripe old age of 27, I am learning that when people comment “Wow, you look too young to have 4 kids!” they are not in fact owed an explanation, my choices were and are my own and my children and I are very happy with the way things are thank you. very. much.

 So rather than launcning into my life story, now I simply smile back at them and say “oh, you’re so sweet!” and let them wonder if perhaps I am actually older than I look.

Were/are you a teenage mum?

How did you deal with the comments?

Have you been guilty of making comments yourself?

Do you worry too much about what people think?

Why I dont want my husband to come home

So I talked to The Husband this morning and he said they will take the wound drain out today and that after that he can go home. Which he is really excited about, and would be fine, if he wasn’t confused as hell (keeps forgetting where he is) from the medication, can only walk a few steps with great pain, not to mention he hasn’t eaten a solid meal yet, let alone had a bowel movement AND he still has a catheter in which has to stay in for another 3 days.  

The (major)surgery was Monday morning– I live an hour and a half from the hospital along crappy country roads, and technically another state which means we are not entitled to home care of any kind and it is a freaking long way if anything goes wrong.

How the fuck does one change/remove a catheter?? I have no idea, I am NOT a nurse.

To abate the confusion he reckons he can stop taking the drugs (oxycontin & endone) he stopped the morphine just yesterday arvo. This leaves him with panadol. Now he’s no wuss but panadol? Three days after having major abdo surgery. What if it doesn’t cut it? Once he stops the other stuff then that’s it. He is stuck without it.

So I’m shitting myself as much as I want him home, I want him home when I know he can eat, use a toilet and can take more than 3 steps – it’s at least 50 meters from the closest spot I can park the car to the house – I can’t catch him if he falls, let alone pick him up again. Plus I have to be able to leave him alone in the house while I ferry the kids about.

Sorry about the vent, just scared really, I really miss him but I don’t want anything to happen and I have very little faith in the system right now. I will talk to the doctor when I get there and explain out situation, I just hope hubby doesn't hate me for not wanting him home just yet.

Under the knife

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I sit up on the half empty bed, the left side lays cold and forgotten it suddenly feels so much bigger than it used to. In 10 years I have never slept in the bed without him.

The surgery went well. It lasted 4.5 hours and left him now with a single but very healthy kidney and missing a small portion of his bladder. He has two drains, a catheter, oxygen and two IV’s not to mention a scar the envy of pirates everywhere.

It’s amazing how the night time can be filled with noises you have never heard before when void of snoring from the other side of the bed, the septic usually un-noticeable now sounds as though somebody with a pair of gumboots and a good puddle is dancing outside the window.

The doctor is hopeful that he should be able to come home this week, his ob’s are great and he recovered from the anesthesia in record time. His pain is low too thank goodness but he is doped up to the eyeballs so we will have to wait and see how he copes as the morphine is stepped down.

I think I quite like him on morphine, he repeatedly declared his undying love for me and called himself the luckiest man in the world. As flattered as I am, in the giddy state I left him in, he has probably since told each of the nurses and the 80yr old farting man in the next cubicle the exact same thing.

So if I don’t get murdered by whatever that thing is making growling noises in the distance, I will drive back to the big smoke and sit by his bedside tomorrow, hopefully the night hasn’t brought any challenges and I will have a slightly less spaced out version of my husband, I don't know how much longer I can cope with that much love.

Onwards & Upwards.  

One Phone Call

The view stretches out through the trees, over the horizon and onto the oblivion beyond.

 Villain plays in the background and I am taken back to that concert back in 2000 where the barefooted man placed a gift into my hand, long ago now but a moment burned into my mind, insignificant for me, but a life changing one for him, funny how that happens.

It was 2001; I sat crossed legged on the kitchen bench with the newspaper in front of me and the phone in my hand. It was so damn depressing, I had been searching for weeks for a place to rent, any place. But nobody wanted me, I had quite a lot of animals that I had to bring and nobody trusted my age.

I glanced up at my grandmother sitting in a chair nearby, with her disapproving eyes and her mouth moving in and out rythmatically like some sort of hyped up goldfish, the way it always did when she was annoyed.

I had to get out.

There was one last ad at the bottom of the page, a share house with 3 blokes, the room rent was comparable and the location was right on the bus route. Ok Deep breath. I dialled the numbers.

A man answered; hi I’m ringing about the ad for a room? I stuttered nervously, Oh yes.... came the reply and then I lost it and just blurted out. “ Look, I will give it to you straight because you won’t want me living there anyway, I have a dog, a cat, a 4ft fish tank, a frog tank a bird and a rabbit.... and I’m only 16... BUT I work full time and I can pay the rent....”

There was a deathly silence and I blinked back a tear for a moment knowing that I had just reduced any chance to ashes. Suddenly there was a laugh from the other end of the phone, “Well you can come over for a look, but does your dog get along with other dogs? Cause there are three here already...” I nearly fell off the bench.

There were 2 cars and a Ute parked in the driveway as I arrived the next day at a rather nice brick home complete with massive yard and veranda sweeping along the front.

 I knocked on the door and a bloke about 20 something with curly brown hair spilling out the sides of his baseball cap opened it, ”oh” he said as he looked me up and down made a kind of grunting noise and walked off.

Charming.

I was left standing on the step not sure if I was invited in or not and waited there about a minute or so before a big burley man of around 50 came to the door all smiles, he introduced himself, showed me around and after a bit of a chat offered me the room. I was to move in on the weekend.

As I was leaving he introduced me to one of the guys living there who seemed really nice and pointed out another who was on top of the pergola out the back hammering something – it was the rude bloke from the door, I had kinda hoped he was just a tradesman and not actually living there. Oh well beggars can’t be choosers.

I moved in, time passed and I actually got to know the rude bloke from the door that day, turns out he was pretty nice guy and we became firm friends until I eventually dumped my boyfriend and we made it official. That was 10 years and 4 kids ago and now I couldn’t imagine life without him.

The paths we take, the road we choose to follow its strange how it all comes together just so. Imagine if you hadn’t taken the bus that day? Filled the car at the other petrol station? I know if I hadn’t made that one phone call things would be very different right now, strange how such insignificant actions can change the entire course of our lives.

Has a seemingly small thing ended up changing your life?

How did you meet your partner?

My whole truth

I was the fat kid growing up, and my peers delighted in informing me of such at every possible opportunity. I tried to change,

I tried SO hard.

But failure after failure, I hated sport and I hated being teased and when I felt sad the mars bars didn’t tease me, so from about year three I had the skill of comfort eating down to a fine art.

By the time I reached age 15 the teasing had reached epic proportions and so had my weight. I was 75kg and quite short, I hit breaking point and decided to do something about it, the world wanted me to lose weight so lose weight I would.

Around 3 months later I weighed in at 55kgs and I did 500 sit ups in the morning and 500 at night. The teasing continued fatty boombah, thunder thighs and the like – god these people were so hard to please.

But I had to please them.

So I didn’t eat over 10 calories per day and even then I had to run or walk them off ASAP I had to be in minus calories, I couldn’t swim them off though - I was far too fat to be seen dead in a bathing suit. More sit ups.

42kgs.

I was a vegetarian so I did all my own cooking and became an expert in eating two bites and hiding the rest in the compost bin, a little bit under the top layer so nobody could see. Lying became second nature and I wouldn’t cook anything in the kitchen when my mother was in there because I was terrified she would poison me by adding oil or butter to my foods.

She didn’t understand how important it was for me to be thin. I HAD to be thin.

Mid way through year 10 I was expertly maintaining my 42kg frame, by not eating and lots of walking even though it was getting harder to run because I would pass out so easily – oh well no pain no gain they always say.

I had a steady group of genuine friends, but I didn’t care that they didn’t think I was fat, because they were real friends I naturally assumed they were lying to me to make me feel better. But I found one friend through all this, who was just like me – a little bit fucked up and desperate to lose weight.

 I egged her on, I showed her how to lie to parents and friends to make it appear you are eating when you aren’t, I taught her how to count calories and how to push past the exhaustion point when you are exercising.

 She hit 39kg and over took me, she HAD to over take me she was competing, and I started to realise what was happening as we tried on clothes in Supre one day and they were all miles to big for her.

 She ended up in the hospital I had always managed to evade through my lies and empty promises. A drip up her nose force feeding her as she screamed.

 I will never forgive myself for what I did to her.

She has been in and out of hospitals with mental health issues ever since, if you are a regular reader you will have seen my posts about her.

When I went to school one day shortly after my friend was hospitalized, a kid who had teased me mercilessly since year 7 called me a 'skinny bitch' and 'why don’t I go eat something?'.

I got so angry about how I had lost all this weight to please them and maybe gain their friendship and they didnt even care that I ended up getting into a fight with a different kid that afternoon when she put grass down another friend’s top, it was the straw that broke the camel’s back I guess. I punched her in the face and never went back to school.

 Ever.

The place where I was working casually on weekends took me on full time and about 6 months later I moved out of home, by that time I had gained a little bit of weight and was around a size 7-8, I didn’t like it but it no longer occupied every thought. I met the man I am now married to and have since gained and lost weight fairly yo-yo style, but I have had 4 kids in that time too.

I still think about my weight, but I will eat the profiteroles on offer and my desire to have less Mc Donald’s is more related to the health benefits than the fat grams themselves. I haven’t owned a set of scales for around 5 years and I prefer it that way, it doesn’t let me dwell.

I am so thankful to have a wonderful husband who loves me for who I am, has never tried to change me and never will. I am lucky that it all worked out for me and I escaped the cycle that so many people live in everyday.

I wrote this as posts related to school yard bullying and its lasting effect have been floating round the blogosphere the last few days “madam bipolar” & “the things I’d tell you” to name a few.

While I don’t blame the kids that teased me for what happened and I know that I had choices, I do feel that the long term impact of bullying is often underestimated and it’s a topic that needs more awareness.  

Have you been impacted by bullying?

The Broken Chair

This chair is symbolic of my life

A little bit damaged, tentatively mended but still capable of holding together all by itself. Until somebody pushes it a little bit too hard and its pieces fall to the floor,

Broken.

The pieces of my life, like the pieces of the chair have been picked up again and again.

Gently put back into the right places by the people who care.

While my fragility has mostly passed through that time that supposedly heals all wounds, I have been glued back together to make me stronger and I know that my family will once again pick up my pieces and re-build me should I ever come unstuck.

Just like the chair.

My Secret Life as a 'Stuff ' Whore

Well I probably shouldn’t post about this sort of thing as not only will it block my inbox with spam, but husbands everywhere might become aware of the little secret many wives are hiding from them.

The art of getting what we want out of our marriages, aside from love and happiness of course.  

They always say the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach, but unfortunately I was not blessed in the ability to cook department so I have to fall back on my other talents, and I discovered the sure fire way to win any argument or convince the need of any purchase.

Sexual favours.

The degree of the favour has a direct impact on the size of the request, and I can’t stress the importance of pretending to dislike certain things more than you really do and holding them back accordingly, or you will have nowhere left to go when it’s time to call in the big guns.

Also a little internet research can really help improve your technique and thus make your trade-offs more valuable. This little tactic has gotten me everything from plants for the garden to a new car and a new kitchen.  

Yes, I’m a stuff whore. Sure it’s not exactly romantic, but hey, it hurts nobody - a win-win situation really, and by the time your other half cottons on to what is really going on, it is too late. Their needs are too great and all of a sudden you lie down to go to sleep one night and you get asked if you want to get that new Thermomix you have been eyeing off...

Game On.

10 yrs on, The Husband seems to have finally figured out a way to get back on top, so to speak.

 He has learned to frequently argue my opinions for no reason at all when I am obviously right, such as when I say the new clothes line needs to go in a certain spot because it is the most asthetic and practical place for it, but he says “nope its gotta go over there” which is right in full view of half the windows of the house and in the shade where nothing will ever dry.

 He then refuses to install said clothes line unless it goes where HE wants it until I start my little game with him and he is “convinced”.

Now I am the one being played.

In fact sadly for me, while we are renovating and I am the one with the particular wants in design and colour scheme and he is the one with the skills to achieve my dreams, he pretty much has me by my metaphorical balls and he knows it.

But I don’t really mind, I get my way – he gets his and after many years of marriage and 4 kids we still have an awesome sex life.

So admit it, are you a stuff whore too?

Jack

There has been much chatter among friends and townsfolk about the old man (We will call him Jack) who lived here before we did. When old Jack passed away, it was revealed  that he had infact been living a bit of a double life.

Old Jack had told his friends and neighbours that his wife, the love of his life had died years earlier and that his two sons had grown up and moved away and this was what had prompted his move from an affluent area of Sydney to the 100acre bush block in tiny town. "A place to get away from the rush of the city".

Jack missed his wife very much and often told people how they used to go dancing together each week, he told them about his boys and their antics as they had grown and of the things he planned to do for them with all his money.

One day Jack fell ill, and his best mate Tom drove him to the hospital, it was cancer and Jack sadly passed away a few days later. After his death, Jacks sister arrived and met Tom and they cried on each others shoulders for their loss.

Tom asked Jacks sister if she had contacted his boys yet as they needed to know and he didnt have their phone numbers.

That was when everything came undone. After some shock from both parties, it was revealed that Jack did not have any children, infact he had never been married at all. He was simply a pensioner and a loner with some odd habits who had escaped his demons and the city.

For 10 years, Jack had lied to his best mate and all of tiny town about his entire life.

Of course in a small rural community such revelations inspire much gossip and the big question of WHY? has been filled with speculations regarding his mental health, his sexuality, and of course the fabled existence or whereabouts of Jacks supposed buried millions.

As I pluck the infinate weeds from my gardens and the surrounding bushland, one of them is let to grow and bloom then another...

Opium Poppies.

Sprouting from every available gap in the ground, hundreds of them.

Perhaps his double life was in the drug trade and we will oneday recover 'Jacks Millions'? 

All those mysterious trips back to Sydney to see the sons he never had...

Or perhaps, it was all just a load of poppy cock.

How not to apply for a job

To whom it may concern,

I am applying for this/any job within the Australian Government as I am growing restless in my current position as Minister for Domestic Affairs and feel that I could take a nice cushy position within your office that does not involve removing food, spew or faecal matter from hard to clean places on a daily basis with the bonus of getting paid for it. I have included my application as follows:

NAME: Suzi Home-maker

DOB: Classified, as it is rude to ask a lady her age.

Selection Criteria 1

Supports Strategic Direction:
- Thinks strategically and contributes to organisational purpose and direction.
- Keeps self and others informed and contributes to planning and decision making.
- Shows judgement, intelligence and commonsense.

Upon the discovery of my two year old finger painting in his own faecal matter I demonstrated strategic thinking by turning a blind eye, closing the door and telling the husband that I quickly had to pop to the shops and I think the baby might be waking up can he please check for me? Then I proceeded to jump in the car and drive away as quickly as possible.

I then waited approx 10 minutes before phoning The Husband and asking him if we needed coffee, I remained calm and collected while he informed me of the rather nasty situation unfolding in the toddler’s bedroom and I proceeded to plan with, and advise him of some appropriate methods of cleaning such an unexpected mess. Demonstrating commonsense, I also informed him that I would return with some Pine O Clean to comply with expected health and safety standards of the household.

Selection Criteria 2

Achieves Results:
- Is flexible and adaptable to changing work requirements.
- Performs under direction and works independently within agreed priorities.

When pregnant and subsequently breastfeeding, I demonstrated flexibility and dedication by giving up drinking my daily margaritas and using more cost effective laundry detergent to comply with the increased demands on my body and washing machine.

Whilst in labour with my second child, I complied with my Midwifes direction to push and breathe with the agreed priority of getting the damn baby out ASAP. We continued this until the desired result was achieved when I independently pushed the damn baby out.

Upon the arrival of said baby I quickly adapted to my new role as Mother of Two and domestic goddess extroidonaire, despite fact that the workplace environment had changed dramatically and my previous workload was to be effectively doubled.

Selection Criteria 3

Supports Productive Working Relationships:

- Seeks opportunities for learning and applies new knowledge in the workplace 

- Actively participates as a team member. 

-Shares ideas and information and seeks guidance from others.

In my workplace (home) I actively seek opportunities that will keep the children out of my hair by scouring catalogues and internet websites looking for new toys/games/entertainment. I then purchase said items and use some ideas shared from mothers group and trade their use for labour such as folding the clothes for mummy, thus teaching the children valuable life skills and most importantly, getting me out of folding the clothes.

As a parent I am of course a member of a “team”, I actively participate in the role of dragging up our four children, my participation includes but is not limited to preparing all meals for the children, washing blood, mud and food scraps from the clothes, dishes and children. Driving those four fighting children to school/soccer/bus/play dates and cleaning the house and tending to the garden all with a big smile on my face. My husband shared with me that he plays his part in the team by attending paid work.

I am applying this new knowledge to my current workplace by reducing my hours to overnight and weekends only and seeking paid work in the wider community while my husband takes over my previous role.

Selection Criteria 4

Displays Personal Drive and Integrity:
- Displays high ethical and professional standards and practices in all aspects of work.
- Enthusiastically accepts tasks and initiates action.
- Is committed and focused on work outcomes.

My role as mother creates many different responsibilities, in this particular criterion I would like to address my commitment to presenting the children at the bus stop on time each morning.

This is a role I take very seriously, and I am focused on getting those little minds out the door as soon as possible so that they can arrive at school early and thus achieve their true educational potential.

I then return to the workplace (home) promptly due to my high ethical standards. I even choose to drink my coffee on the job rather than taking a break while I scour the internet and catalogues for items in which to bribe the children into silence with when they later return home. 

Thank you for considering my application, I hope to hear from you very soon, or at least before this current Zanex perscription runs out!

Cheers,

Suzi 

Sunday Life Lessons

Good morning bloggers, it’s Sunday and I am too lazy to do a proper post, so I thought I would share a few of life’s little lessons that I have learned this week.

It turns out that water is the difference between flowers growing, or not.



·         I have learned that if you leave apple & black current juice in the fridge for too long, it turns to wine.

·         I have also learned that I am not above drinking it.

·         Don’t try to lose weight when your husband is trying to give up smoking, as you are destined to eat twice your weight in sugar and saturated fats each day in an attempt to combat his cravings.

·         Try not to drink too much fermented apple and black current juice the day before you have to work, the hangover is equivalent to being hit by one of tiny towns large freight trains.

·         When eating potato cakes, dripping in fat and smothered in sauce to appease your husband, you are bound to drop one on your nice clean new white shirt.

·         Septic Safe Laundry powders are as totally incapable of removing tomato sauce stains as the septic safe dishwashing tablets are at cleaning dishes.

So, what have you learned this week?

Just try not to get sick

Please excuse the following rant, but the health care system has done little to fill me with confidence over recent months. I don’t know if it is purely a case of limited staff and funding that cause these constant little errors, small oversights and a general care free attitude from the medical profession towards the people coming in and out of their hospitals and offices.

When exactly did it stop being about the patients?

I suppose for the poor doctors and nurses who as children decided they wanted to grow up and ‘help people’, they are now stuck on the front line, over worked and under paid facing the cold reality of doing their job to the best of the budget rather than the best of their ability.

 My dad had a mini stroke on Monday, they call them TIA’s. These scare the crap out of your family but don’t leave you with long lasting damage. At least that’s what they hope it was but we will only find out for sure if he now goes on to have a major one, apparently that usually would happen within 48hrs if it’s going to.

This diagnosis was made purely off the presenting symptoms such as inability to make any facial expression, raise arms and total disorientation, nothing Dr Google couldn’t tell us. They were going to run scans but it turned out to be unaffordable for the hospital, and there was also no budget for a hospital bed for 48hrs to make sure that a major stroke didn’t follow, so as soon as he could remember what day it was they sent him home with a note for his GP.

Best of luck sir, please come back straight away if you wake up dead. Oh Great.

So coupled with the not so wonderful experiences that fellow bloggers and many of my friends & family have had with the health care system of late, and the knowlege that I have to trust the system with my Husband when he has his kidney op, my faith has all but disappeared.

  I am also waiting on news from my neighbour who today finds out if the now massive tumour on her carotid artery is malignant or not, hopefully they won’t lose these results and delay the process any further like they did with her last ones...

Can you imagine a world without cancer, it’s a nice thought, hey?

Now imagine it from the perspective of a major drug company executive, think how many dollars would be lost if there was no need for Chemotherapy let alone all the other drugs they supply the masses to counteract the horrible side effects of the first one. It doesn’t paint such a rosy picture for them, its not a financially viable option.

Perhaps one of those big drug companies will one day just fess up that they cured cancer long ago, stop trying to line their pockets and start doing the right thing for the people, then we can begin to get back on track.

Have you or someone you know been messed around by the Health System?