Prince Philip Outraged At Demotion To Knight

Okay, so those of you who are Australians will understand this, and those of you elsewhere might not.

Recently, our resident Village Idiot — Oops, I mean, Prime Minister — Tony Abbot, announced that he intended to make Prince Philip a knight. Yes. That’s right, he intends to make the Queen of England’s husband, a knight.

Don’t ask me how this moron got appointed to office, we are all still scratching our heads. I think, at this point, even the people who voted for him are beginning to get concerned.

This article is the single greatest response to the nomination that I have come across so far. I especially love the description of Tony Abbot as “Australian prime minister and leading satirist”. We can only hope for the next election. One of the other paid monkeys in office HAS to be a better option than this clown. On their worst day.


Prince Philip Outraged At Demotion To Knight.

New Year, New Me.. Blah blah blah…

Well, if you’re reading this, you’ve successfully made it to 2015.. Congratulations! Me too, well done us.

I’m not one for making New Year’s Resolutions, as I have a fairly strict policy of not making promises I can’t keep. So while each year inherently begins with hope, and the feeling of a fresh start, I tend not to set out with any huge, insurmountable goals.

2014 was a huge year for me, I had my tubes tied when my youngest was born on December 30th, 2013, so I had quite a few physical and hormonal changes to deal with over the last year just for starters. My mother, as you may (or may not!) have read about in previous posts, suffered a relapse with her cancer. She made it through 3 operations, but eventually lost the battle in July, which was merciful as she was no longer suffering, but I lost one of my best friends. Oh, and did I mention that this was all a week after my eldest step-daughter announced that she was going to live with us instead..? Just to make things a little crazier!

We’ve also had a mate living with us since about May, as he is going through a very nasty break up. His ex won’t let him see the children, and is making all sorts of allegations (all false), and genuinely seems to think that she is entitled to everything, as the price for opening her legs. *sigh* Creatures like that make me embarrassed to be a woman some days. Given that we live in a small town, it can quite awkward on the inevitable occasions when we run into her at the local shops, or the school where all of our children go.. Such fun! I’ll admit that I’ve taken to walking our 40kg American Staffy to school with me when I take our daughter, as the creature is scary. I call her Satan, and it has stuck, now everyone calls her that!

After everything that happened last year, I had a relapse with my depression. To that end, I have come to the conclusion that, instead of making a New Year’s Resolution to change everything, I’m going to chip away at things. We still have boxes from when we moved here in April last year (yes, I’m a slack bitch!), so I figure if I do a little bit each day, it will all add up and I will have slayed the proverbial Dragon before I realise it! Well.. That’s the plan anyways!

So let me wish you all a happy and successful year, and may you never bite off more than you can chew!

I Get By With A Little Help From My Friends…

This post is a response to this particular article .. Mark Latham’s Fairfax column shouldn’t have been published..

Mark Latham’s attitude makes me sick. As a mother of 2 little boys (yes, they are adorable, yes, I love them to pieces, no, I wouldn’t change them for the world..) who are substantially more than a handful from the time they open their eyes in the morning, until they close their eyes at night, I struggle with the pressure of motherhood daily.

Some days, I wish I was able to ingest the caffeine-loaded energy drinks and I wish that I could handle more of a buzz than half a can of coke without getting a headache – yet another of the fun side effects of being pregnant/breastfeeding for more than half of the last five years. I have abstained for so long from caffeine and all the other “no no’s”, that I now can’t handle them. But if that’s what gets some Mums through the day, then more power to them. Some of us Mummies have a little more trouble.

I personally have been on anti-depressants a couple of times since becoming a Mummy (and I’m counting conception as the beginning because the hormones change from that moment onwards!), and am actually needing to go back to the doctor to get a check up at the moment because with the addition of a little princess (and having my tubes tied during the caesarean), gaining a ring-in when my eldest step-daughter announced that she was moving in with us, the passing of my mother due to cancer, moving my father out of the family home into a retirement village, and the constant battle with a friend’s ex because they broke up and she just lost it, this last year has been a tad full on. And that was just a snapshot..

Being a Mum is a full time job. I have this discussion with my hubby pretty regularly.. He goes to work and earns a pay check, he works tremendously hard, and provides well for us.. But he clocks off. Once that concrete is in, he gets to go home. I can be asleep at 2:37am and if one of the kids needs me, I have to drag my sorry, exhausted butt out of bed and deal with their problem. We did, however, have a discussion about me going back to work and him staying home with the children. He said that he could handle it no problems.
Fast forward to me leaving him alone with the kids a few days later and I was gone a whopping 10 minutes, before he rang me to see where I was and how long I would be before I came home.

Since that time, he has watched the kids alone another few times, and it almost invariably ends with me getting a call asking where and how long.. Which makes me suspect that he would not last the full week of being Mr Mum, before I got asked to quit my job and trade back! … Don’t get me wrong, hubby’s a great Dad, but there are just some things that he can’t cope with, without me!

Being a full time, stay at home Mum is a huge task. No ifs, ands, buts or maybes. I still don’t know how I make it through some days, and I’m sure there are other Mums out there with the same issue, but we do it for our kids. The same way Mum’s who work, do it for their children’s benefit. And Mum’s who need to take anti-depressants to help them get through the day and cope with their children’s behaviour..? You guessed it, it’s for the kids. The decision to become a Mum is one that means you are placing your child’s needs before your own. You are committing to provide for that little person, ahead of your own needs, for as long as they need you. And if you need a little help, be it Red Bull, the promise of that glass of wine after bedtime, or antidepressants, then that’s what you do.

Mark Latham – and his editor – should both be shamed for printing such poisonous garbage. And I’m not playing the gender card, because some men are truly enlightened, but only a man who has not been there for the nitty gritty of his children’s upbringing could say that people who suffer with post-natal depression shouldn’t have children in the first place. It’s easy to say that it’s ridiculous to take antidepressants as a mother, when you weren’t there for the tears, tantrums, and general day to day hard slog of child rearing.

And on that note, maybe Mark Latham and his editors should not breathe, since the oxygen is being converted into such utter garbage.

Just call me a puddle…

At the moment, I am a puddle of mixed emotions.. I’m not a shallow person by nature, but I simply do not have the time to be a deep, flowing river at this particular time in my life… So, I am a puddle and I am barely skipping depth most days, I fear.

First things first, my Mum came through the surgery relatively well, and is currently in Rehab. Hurray!! She had to have a decent sized skin graft on her head, which does look a bit awful (her words, not mine.. I told her it was her solar panel and she was simply going green.. She shook her head, but with a smile.. WIN!!), but with the assistance of some well-chosen hats, she will be out and about in no time 😀 Of course, there is still the battle of Radiotherapy to fight yet.. But every day is a step closer to recovery!

Next, our little Miss has been having awful trouble in the — (TMI ALERT!!) — bowel movement department.. For those of you with small children, or who have had small children, or have ever dealt with small children in any way, shape or form, you will understand how important a process this is in a baby’s life. She was dreadfully constipated, and no matter what I ate, how much medication (homeopathic and chemist-exclusive — I tried the LOT) I put the poor child on, or how many people I asked for advice, the poor little girl just couldn’t poop. Imagine my frustration when countless people told me, “oh, it’s quite normal for some babies to only poo once a week”. That’s as well may be, but when I am watching my precious little 15 week old bundle straining for ages, screaming and writhing in agony for hours, only to get a few farts out… News flash highly educated people that I questioned on this… IT’S.. NOT.. NORMAL.

Being a supporter of at least attempting to breastfeed for as long as possible — those young girls who put the baby straight on the bottle because they want to leave the baby with their Mum and still go out drinking every Friday and Saturday nights like they did to get pregnant in the first place, annoy the H-E-double-hockey-sticks out of me. Children are not a part-time venture. But I digress.. Bringing it back to me being a supporter of at least attempting to breastfeed… I understand that it is not always possible to breastfeed. With my first, it was down to me stressing about not having enough milk.. With my second, I successfully fed exclusively until l got pregnant with the little lady and dried up – he was 5 & 1/2 months old. With little miss, I thought that there would be no problems with getting pregnant again, since my tubes have now been tied.. There should have been no problems with stressing about supply since I know darn well that I am capable of producing enough milk to feed a very hungry, solid little man.. Plus, I know how much simpler and easier it is to place Bubs on the boob, instead of carrying bottles, and formula, etc with me when going out. Should be a cinch, right? … WRONG!! Turns out, my breast milk is actually bad for the little lady. Well, not bad, so much as didn’t agree with her little tummy. She has been pooping regularly, and with relative ease, since being switched onto the formula. The day before yesterday I still had quite a bit of milk, so I fed her half and half, and she didn’t manage to poop until yesterday night when I kept her solely on the bottle. I am currently excruciatingly full and sore, and am going to have to hand express some in a while to avoid Mastitis, but I can not justify messing up her tiny little system just for some relief for me.

I beat myself up over the decision to switch off of breast milk for over a fortnight.. I know all of the health benefits, and you never want to make the wrong decision for your baby. Plus I wanted to make sure that I had tried everything else, since I really wanted to feed for as long as possible, because she is definitely my last.. And I also didn’t want to spend the rest of my life feeling guilty that I gave up too soon, or that I didn’t try everything possible to continue to breast feed.. Heaven knows I have enough Mummy guilt, without adding to it! Now that I know that it was the right decision, I feel a sense of relief.. I am disappointed I couldn’t feed longer, sure.. But I am so relieved that my little lady is now a more healthy, settled baby. There is an average of 3-4 hours between feeds now, and it is only early days, where it was every 2 hours (1 & 1/2 if it was a Wonder Week!) when I was breast feeding. I can also take pain killers for my arthritis now, and believe me.. Coming into the wet, cold winter months, moving house, running after 2 small boys and a little princess, with a dog and a husband and a sick mother, a disabled father and 2 spoilt brats of brothers who have caused no end of trouble for my parents (who are actually only my brothers’ foster carers through the goodness of their hearts) and they have trashed their house which had to be repainted and new carpet laid and the curtains washed/replaced, etc…. (I’m adopted – a whole other story..)…… *PHEW* The pain killers are unbelievably welcome!!

All things considered, it’s no wonder I have the emotional depth of a teaspoon lately.. I don’t have the time for anything else. Oh well, wish me luck guys.. We’re not out of the woods yet..!

Just call me an interior decorator…

I must apologise to you, my avid readers… Well, the 3 of you, and that one poor guy who was just trying to find his local curry joint online.. It has been a well over a week since I posted, and this last fortnight has been slightly crazy.

My mother was told a fortnight ago that our worst fears had been realised, and that her cancer was indeed back. Since then, she has had an operation to remove the tumour and is now in the ward, attempting to recover from a rather major operation.

I am having a little bit of trouble processing the last couple of weeks.. My Mum has always been one of these people that is unbelievably stubborn, and takes care of everyone else, no matter what happens to her. If I’m honest, it is probably what has brought her cancer back.. But at the same time, it is difficult to comprehend that the woman I saw having to re-learn how to drink out of a straw the other day, is the same strong, capable woman I have known my whole life. I so wanted to see her after her operation, and I nearly burst into tears when I got into the room. She looked so ill, and it scared me. 30 years of age, and it shattered me to see my mother so unwell.

I think I have always seen my mother as invincible.. It never mattered what came up, she always made it through in one piece.. Somehow. Now that I am a mother, I do understand this… It’s the whole soccer-mum-lifting-a-car-off-squashed-kid thing.. You are so hell-bent on protecting the ones you love, that you don’t even realise that you’re not supposed to be able to do whatever it is, until you’ve done it.

But, we will get through this, at least she has a good attitude, she knows she beat cancer last time, and that she can do it again. So all I can do, is offer back some of that support that she has given me over the years, and try to help her through in as much as I possibly can.

… The hospital room is a tad stark though, so we’re starting by taking down some pictures of the kids today, to stick on the walls!

Lasting Through The ‘Lasts’…

I read an article online the other day, about how your ‘last’ baby is so important and special, because their ‘firsts’, are your ‘lasts’.. You know, their first words, steps, hair cut, etc, is going to be the last time you celebrate a ‘first’ of those things.. This made me think about how I’m coping with my baby girl’s firsts, since she is now 10 weeks old, and changing every day!

I realised that I am probably in a fairly fortunate position, as far as just being too busy to dwell on the fact that this is the last time I will celebrate these things. I celebrate them, and I am thrilled, but with Big at not-quite-three-and-a-half, Little at 15 months and Tiny at 10 weeks, I simply do not have time to sit and feel miserable that I will not be able to share these things again.. The most frequent question I get is gosh, you must be so busy! How on earth do you do it? … Having considered it, the only conclusion I have come to, is that I simply do not have the time to stop and think about what must be done very often. I just have to keep going and get it done, and when I’m finished, there’s another load of washing to do.. Oh, and that sink’s full of dishes again..

Of course, another thought that struck me as I was blowing my nose (… Seriously, I have a link below.. You read the post and don’t cry.. I dare you!), was that I don’t get much time to think about it being my last firsts, because as soon as anything even remotely philosophical dares to flit across my mind, my eldest comes up with a distraction. He must know..

The other day, I had Little in bed having a nap, Tiny had just had a feed and had settled down asleep on my chest (we were sitting on the couch, watching the tv), and Big was playing happily outside. Or so I thought.

To set the scene, Big had gone outside to play in his pyjamas. When he came back inside, however, he was stark naked, and covered head to toe in a very greasy substance (which, upon further investigation turned out to be used transmission fluid that hubby’s best mate had left laying around when he changed it here a couple of days beforehand), and a liberal sprinkling of dirt. Which, from his point of view, stuck to the transmission fluid incredibly well!

So this is why I do not have time to dwell on my last ‘firsts’.. Because my first firsts, are still occurring in wild and unimaginable ways at the same time!

Happy ‘first’-ing everyone! 🙂

Inspired by this amazing article: The Last One

Raising the white flag..

Well folks, it has been nearly a week since I last posted. And in that time I wish I could say I napped. But alas, ’twas not to be, as I have a mildly psychotic 3 year old.

Every morning this week, I have woken up to some sort of destruction.. One day I woke up to all of my photo frames on the floor, with the glass/cardboard stuffers and backs removed.. Another day, I woke up to a pair of scissors (which were out of his reach by about 18 inches, up high and up the back of the bench – still don’t know how he got them down), a packet of jellies (he must have climbed up the inside of the fridge to get to them) and the lignocaine teething gel (he had somehow managed to remove the childproof cap).. Yet another day (and, sadly, I was awake at this time) I discovered he had consumed the last half of a leftover strawberry milkshake, which made him go slightly insane from the sugar high and ruined a perfectly nice morning as we had been cuddling in front of a movie with our morning milos, up until the point that I had to go and do some dishes. This morning, however, for the second time this week.. I woke up to him eating his brother’s formula.. Straight.. Out.. Of.. The.. Tin.

I am at my wits end.

I have tried the bribery thing – on his day out with Mummy (each boy goes into day care on their own one day, and they go in one day together, so I get a day with each of them), we went for pancakes and had quite a lovely day.

I Googled it, as I do with pretty much everything I’m stuck on from recipes to child-rearing suggestions to pest extermination! … The general consensus appears to be that he is 3, it is a phase, and I need to suck it up and just wear it until he grows out of it. Yippee.

I have also spoken to his day care teacher, who said that he is essentially bored.

He is highly intelligent, I know this, but I have tried quite a few things with little or no success at all.

This is an area on which I have no answers at all yet, but I will definitely post if I do find something that works! .. In the meantime, if anyone else has any suggestions, please feel free to comment them below.. I’m at the point where I would consider trying almost anything! 🙂

The Lost Post…

Earlier today, I thought I had managed to lose my entire post when I tried to publish it.. Turns out, I just need to get to know my blogging dashboard a tiny bit better, as I just discovered it in the drafts!! 😀 What luck!! So, here it is.. And if anyone has any suggestions, please feel free to comment on this post!

Today I am Googling ways to get rid of the common house fly.. We have an infestation.

We moved a little over a year ago, and there just seem to be so many in this area (hubby tells me that before it was housing, many years ago, it was swampy marshland.. hurrah..). Add to this, our 2 small boys, who make a thorough mess at EVERY meal, or snack, or anything really.. As well as the dog food, anything I cook, and any formula powder that may be spilled on our benches with each bottle being made… If all of these things are not wiped up/sealed/vacuumed/swept or mopped instantly, we get flies. I have at least 4 of the rotters lazing around me as I type this. The one that annoys me most, is the cheeky fellow who keeps wandering across the screen as I’m trying to type!!

Since I have 3 small children, I don’t like to spray chemicals around my house, as Tiny’s lungs in particular are only new and even I notice the tingle on my tongue of the active ingredient working.. Which by the way is a neurotoxin.. Neuro meaning brain.. Toxin meaning poison.. I’m not a hippy, I just don’t like to risk my babies’ health for the sake of killing a few flies!

So far, the least invasive (read: easiest to do without having to leave the house for supplies..) method I have found, has been to fill a couple of jars halfway with Apple Cider Vinegar, and poke some holes in the lid. Evidently the flies’ stupidity does the rest. I have placed two in the worst areas, the kitchen and the dining room, and am waiting to see just how effective this approach is. I have also resolved to be more vigilant about wiping up the boys’ spills.. Although this can only be so effective, since they are mess MACHINES, and I haven’t enough hours in the day to simply follow them around, cleaning up their messes! 😛

I also caught my second mouse this morning! Heaven bless him, our American Staffy (all 40-odd kilos of him) has been trying to catch them for about a week now.. But he is simply too big to fit into the small spaces they choose to hide in! I knew we had them outside, (a fun side effect of having the fruit block next door..), but then I spotted them inside of an evening and decided that that was far too balls-y for my liking! So, I laid out a trap two nights ago, heavily smeared with peanut butter, and when I awoke in the morning, the trap was gone! .. Turns out, the dog had decided that he wanted to keep the mouse, and had taken it (trap and all) into the lounge room. He was quite miffed when hubby discarded the mouse, and tried to get the trap back out of his hands! Then last night I laid the trap out again, and just as I was climbing into bed I heard SNAP! … I got myself up and went to investigate, only to discover that the dog had set the trap off whilst in and I had no mouse.. Lucky git managed to miss his nose though, thankfully! I was a bit worried that the mouse would have watched the trap go off, and learned to stay away from it.. Within minutes of resetting it, however, we heard SNAP! again.. And I checked it, to make that I hadn’t set it wrong… I needn’t have worried, the mouse was clearly not the brightest spark and, there he was, stiff as a board, up to his shoulders in the trap..

It has since occurred to me, that I am a murderer. I premeditated and carried out actions that led to the death of another creature…..

Oh well.. At least they enjoyed their last meal.. 😉