I don't want to do this anymore.

God help me, it's only Monday morning and I'm already having a shitty week.


I can't put my finger on exactly what's bothering me but there are a number of contributing factors.


Last week I interviewed for a new position. Same employer, different area. At the time I thought the interview went well. In hindsight I now feel like a complete tool. Suffice to say, I don't think I'll be offered the role which means I'll have to continue to work for a cyborg devoid of any human emotion or empathy.


Furthermore, my eldest child is still doing the clingy, teary 'Stay with me Mummy' routine which fuels my guilt.


To add further insult to injury, I'm back on the shakes which means my bowels will be screaming in protest because of the sorbitol.


And then there's the earthquake in NZ. The devastation. The death toll. The suffering.


I think I need to go back to bed, pull the doona over my head and wake up next week.  Or get myself a very large gin and tonic...  hold the tonic.






- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone

Between a rock and a hard place

Sometimes in life, there’s no keeping anyone happy. No matter how hard you try to ensure that all the different areas of your life are flowing smoothly, chances are they just aren’t.

As you know, my eldest child started school this year.  I was convinced that the transition was going to be easy.  Alas, I was wrong.  The drama that unfolded was nothing short of spectacular.  Tears, anxiety induced vomiting, issues with drop of arrangements; it just went on and on with no end in sight.

Most mothers will agree, the emotional well being of our children is paramount and woe betide anyone that adds to the stress and angst.  You will become number one on my hit list and I will pursue you to the depths of hell to extract retribution if need be.

Thankfully, a few phone calls and some new arrangements later, we seem to be on an even footing now and the tears have subsided.  My child is happier, we are making inroads with being comfortable and it’s all good.

Or is it?

To be perfectly honest with you, I think the one that suffered the most during the past three traumatic weeks is Mummy.

As a woman, I find myself placed in a very shitty position.  This is what I call being trapped between a rock and a hard place.  And let me tell you, it fucking sucks being here.  Allow me to explain.

I have no choice but to work full time.  Mr Nobody and I discussed our lives way back when, before children were a factor to contend with.  I’m not ashamed to say I like to live a nice life.  And by nice, I mean I want to be able to take a holiday with my kids to exotic destinations (?) like the Gold Coast or maybe Rye.  I want to be able to give my kids a few luxuries in life.  Hell I want to be able to give myself and Mr Nobody a few luxuries in life! I want to have take away sometimes, because seriously, the thought of arriving at home after 6pm on a weeknight, having to unpack lunchboxes, wash up, repack lunches, get clothes ready for the following day, cook some dinner, clean up the mess from dinner, get the kids into bed, feed the dog and perhaps sexually gratify Mr Nobody makes me want to weep in frustration. 

So I miss out on the school drop offs, the school picks ups, reading with the children, taking them to extra-curricular activities after school.  That also fucking sucks.  More than that, it hurts to know that there’s a part of my children’s lives I’ll have to experience second hand. 

The thing is... people judge.  A former friend once told me to get my priorities right.  Oh really?  Right according to who?

And then there’s the whole juggling work responsibilities to contend with. My manager couldn’t give a toss what my parental responsibilities are.  All I know is, it displeases her when my parental responsibilities clash with peak periods at work.  Case in point, I requested time off to aide my child with the transition, because a part of me knew it wasn’t going to be easy. This was denied.  And I gave them a year’s notice.  Which only served to fuel my fury when I learned that said manager had taken time off to fly to an exotic location (NOT the Gold Coast or Rye) while I had to run around like an insane (an incredibly sweaty) woman trying to keep things under control.

Mrs Nobody was NOT a happy camper and would have, in all likelihood, said a few things I would later regret had she been here in person last week. All I know is I spent a lot of time crying in the car, dashing like a mad woman to work, only to have to turn around again a few hours later and make the dash back to the school to pick up my unhappy baby.

So; judged by work and judged by some women who have made the decision to stay home with their children. Both parties are ruthless in their assessment of my failings and my inability to get either aspect of my life right.

But the biggest critique comes from a closer enemy. It comes from that voice in my head, the one that never shuts up. The one that never lets anything go. The one that, late at night, when my house is finally in blessed silence, begins a crescendo of accusations that won’t go away:  Bad mother, bad wife, bad employee, BAD PERSON.

She’s the one I hate the most. Because no matter what I do, how hard I try, how many tears I shed, nothing is ever going to make her happy.  Nothing will ever be good enough. No accomplishments will be great enough, no sacrifice big enough.

I hope I’m not the only one beating myself up like this.  I can’t be.  I know a lot of wonderful mothers who just don’t think they are doing a good job.  I take comfort in knowing that, although unspoken, there are others having the same conversations with themselves every night.

Rest assured you are doing the best job possible.  But don't worry, I don't believe it either.  Even if I know it's true.

Sex and the city... with Friends.

I am, apparently, too poor to get Foxtel and all the glorious shows that come with that luxury.  Thus I am forced to watch free to air and quite frankly:  there is too much crime and murder on tv these days and I'm a little bit over it.  Why aren't there more cooking shows??  And I don't mean My Kitchen Rules type show where it's a bitch-fest.  I mean more cooking, less backstabbing.  God I miss the food channel.  But I digress.


Sunday afternoons is my folding laundry day, and with two active children and a fastidious husband, let me tell you, there is always plenty of laundry to sort. Over Christmas, I made the monumental mistake of bestowing my man a playstation 3 from 'Santa'.  Since Christmas day, I have been a widow of sorts as he continues his love affair with some post apocalyptic world in which he is searching for his long lost father and the truth.  Remember people, the truth will set you free.


So what to do?  While the husband hogs the 55" plasma because god forbid he fight cockroach mutants and robots on an 80cm old school LG, I am banished to the master bedroom to watch anything I please on said old school LG, where everyone looks like they've holidayed on Mars because the colours are too red.


In the past few weeks I've been taking a trip down memory lane watching old Friends episodes.  *sighs*  Love this show.  Just watching it made me relive old memories, it evoked feelings I had long forgotten and I laughed like I was watching it for the first time.


Ditto Sex and The City.  The fashions, the heartache, Samantha.  All reasons to tune in again and again.


The thing is, while I loved these shows and love them still, as an older person who's life has shifted to a new beat, I found myself watching two characters in growing anger.


Rachel from Friends and Carrie from Sex and the City.


Now, I am not trying to start world war 3 with anyone, but seriously, could there be any more self obsessed, narcissistic and selfish characters than these two?  I mean really.


The premise for the movie Sex and the City 2 was kinda sad and pathetic.  Carrie bitching to her husband about buying a tv?  Carrie being a complete and utter mole because Big wants to stay home of a weeknight and she doesn't want to become domesticated?  Carrie trying to cling to her youth by wearing ridiculously outlandish outfits yet giving Samantha shit over an opening night frock? Married Carrie pashing her married ex boyfriend because apparently the universe was giving her a sign?  Grow the fuck up you selfish little twat.


Rachel on the other hand, while not as self obsessed as Carrie, still only ever considers her own needs and feelings.


This kind of portrayal of a supposedly strong and incredible woman does us no favours.  I'm under no illusions that in life, there are plenty of women like our Carrie and Rachel.  I know because I used to be friends with one.  I used to want to be like her, many years ago.  Now I just pity her because while I'm bogged down in domesticity, all she has to keep her warm at night is her over processed hair, designer clothes and the sinking feeling that we're both on the wrong side of 40.


Every time we talk (which is infrequent at best) she cuts me off and it's all about her.  Her problems, her heart break, her issues, her adventures.  She never asks me about my kids, scoffs at me when I tell her I'm tired, tells me to suck it up.  Of course.


The great thing about getting older (yes, trust me, it has its benefits) is that you let go of a lot of baggage that you carry around in your younger days.  You learn the art of selflessness and of putting the needs of others before your own.  Most of us will never have Carrie's fashion sense or incredibly rich husband, but I dare say we all possess something more invaluable.  Consideration of other.


As for Rachel and her yoga honed body.  Now I'd kill to have those pins!  Won't ever happen. But a girl can dream.  Even a nobody like me.

Unlikely life lessons.

Sometimes, sage advice on the more important things in life can come from the most unlikely of sources.


I think I've been very honest about my abilities to function as wonderful mother (not good) and my complete inability to keep my mouth shut (even worse) at the best of times. But as I travel through life, falling from one debacle into another, every now and then I hear or see something that makes me feel like I'm doing an reasonable job.


I am now, and forever will be, a woman driven by emotion.  It's something I wish I could change. Alas, at the age I am now at, I suspect I will never master the art of cool, calm composure.  I explode very quickly, with happiness, anger or disappointment.  Usually I end up thinking "Damn.  Maybe I should have counted to 100 before speaking".


This past week, or rather, the past month, has been rather eventful.  Things happen in life that shake you to your core and make you re-evaluate everything you once held dear.  I'm starting to realise that as much as we like to tell ourselves that things will get better and that one day life will be easy, it usually never ever is smooth sailing.  Life is just...  well random.


Some weeks ago I watched a movie.  A very silly, simple movie.  The kind that starts with a situation that unites old friends who have gone in different directions.  You know the kind. There's like a million of them all with the same plot line, the same cheesy lines and the same happy ending.  The thing about movies is, you never ever get to see what happens when this group of people return their normal lives.


But one scene really captured my attention.  This piece of advice is delivered by one of the older characters, Gloria, someone with a whole lot of life experience who can elucidate life's journey to the rest of the gang.


She says;


I see a lot of love here, and with love comes hostility...


Life can be difficult some times.  It gets bumpy, what with family and kids and things not going exactly like you planned. But that's what makes it interesting.


In life, the first act; always exciting. The second act; that's where the depth comes in.


For some strange reason, this dialogue really made an impact.  It's like, finally, something that actually makes sense.


Because sometimes, even love can be hard and a right royal pain in the arse.  It never ceases to amaze me that while you can love someone so totally and completely, there are times when you want to slap the shit out of them or just give them a swift kick to the shins because they piss you off so much.  I guess even love has it's darker side.


And the first act analogy.  Fucking brilliant!  Because I mean really.  Isn't that exactly how love evolves? The passion, the intensity, the burning desire... I mean wow.  It's just the most incredible feeling.  Unfortunately it's unsustainable.  Eventually, the flame dies but the embers remain.  And as any good bushman knows, it's the burning embers that sustain the heat, that last the longest and that can help reignite a fire if need be.


I know very well the bumps that can throw you off course.  Kids, family... they have a way of creating chaos like nothing else in the world can.  But life is never boring. Same with micor managing your life with too many plans.  Most times, they never work out quite how you planned.  


I think its fair to say that most of us aren't living the lives that we once dreamed about.  But I personally, wouldn't have it any other way.


Much love to you all.

Unchartered territories.

I have entered a new phase in my life.


My eldest child started school this year, and with this monumental step comes a new world which I'm not afraid to say I fear and face with a great deal of trepidation. Do you know what I mean?


For the past 20 plus years, I've driven past school car parks and seen the lines of cars (or high end 4 wheel drives) and thought to myself "Thank god I don't have to deal with that". Well karma can be quite a bitch, because I now find myself in that very boat.


It's a completely new mind set.  Labelling everything your child possesses, preparing lunch boxes (healthy of course), working bees, parent teacher meetings, yummy mummies and wanting your child to fit in and not be considered different.


Quite frankly I think I'm going to need a week off to recover from the build up. It's been a very long time since I was in primary school and let me tell you, things have changed.  Like a lot.


I was required to purchase and provide to the school an entire years worth of stationery, tissues, sunblock and assorted items a five year old child may need in their quest for knowledge.  Simple right?  Nay friends.  Not for Mrs Nobody.


The dramas of December saw me losing the all important book list.  By the time I realised there were three days left till Christmas, the school had closed.  So I activated the phone tree and rang every mother in my mother's group.  Of course they had all submitted their forms in a timely manner, unlike me.  


So I rang the supplier direct and was advised that my only option was to put in an internet order and pay the obscene delivery fee to get my books.  So I sucked it up like an mother would and I did as I was told.


Fast forward the end of January and I had sort of forgotten that I needed the books.  Ok, yes. My bad.  But my focus had been shifted to school shoes, hemming uniforms (thanks Mum!) and trying to find the bloody labels I had ordered in November, which I had managed to put away so well that I had forgotten where I had put them.


I learned that my order had been delivered to an unsuspecting lady in a suburb about 30 kilometers away from where I live.  The manager of the supply company rang and was so apologetic about it all, but truth be told, I had no fucking idea what he was babbling about when he called.  So I did what any sane person would so.  I went with the flow and ended up getting my books couriered to my place at 7pm on a Friday night.  Now that's service for you, right there.


Unfortunately, being a really bad mother, I under-ordered the pencils, crayons, textas because I thought at the time "Why on earth do I need to buy 4 packets of textas?".  Thankfully, my stupidity was aided by one of my friends who informed me that the school requires that all the stationery be supplied prior to commencement.


Oh.


So after a hysterical and call to the same supplier, I put the balance of the stationery order on hold and enlisted the services of my mother to pick them up.  And that's when it all went wrong.  Mum turned up to get the damn textas and crayons only to be told that no one knew what the hell she was talking about.


So she rings me and I ring the supplier.  What the hell people??  Mummy needs the textas NOW!!!


The twelve year old sales assistant (ok, maybe she wasn't twelve but she sounded very very young and with not much life experience) says to me "Oh yeah, they are under the front counter".  Oh really?  Ya don't say??????


By this stage, my voice has gone super sonic and I demand to speak to the manager. After a very quick and incomprehensive rant, the manager kindly tells me he will wait for me to drive one hour from my place of work to get the supplies I need. My mother kindly decided to go back to get the stuff for me.


Seriously.  I almost lost the plot over some Faber Castell and some 2HB grey leads.  


This is what happens people, when your fledglings go out into the big bad world.  As a parent, you want everything to be perfect, in a world that unfortunately never is perfect, never will be perfect.


I don't know why we do this to ourselves.  Or to our kids for that matter.  But no matter how bad life is, it natural urge for any parent is to shield our babies from the life that is to come, from the disappointments and heartache that growing up will undoubtedly bring.


So every night we pack the lunchbox and we talk about this exciting new adventure.  I pray that my baby will grow and flourish with each passing day and that any pain and heartache will be days, weeks, months and years away.  I know it's not going to happen as I want it to.  Life never does go quite according to plan.


In the meantime, I encourage my child to show empathy, compassion, love to everyone that crosses their path.  I can only hope the other children will do the same.


Oh, by the way, I ended up getting the extra crayons, textas and 2HB child grip pencils for free.  Now that's customer service right there.

Skeletons in the closet. Session 1.

Have you ever had a window in time when everything was just....  right?  Not in the having it all, having a million dollars or being drop dead gorgeous type of right.  More like the planets had aligned and found myself among kindred spirits and we were all looking for the same thing.  Fun.


I do.  It's that time in your life when you have absolutely no responsibilities to anyone but yourself and nothing is stupid enough or crazy enough to do.  With that freedom of responsibility comes the ability to throw caution to the wind and just be an absolute idiot and do whatever the hell you want.


For me, this period of my life took place at the turn of the century.  It was the year 2000, we had just gotten over the millennium bug hysteria, the good ole Y2K.  I was working at a stationery company.  It was at this job that I met some of my closest and strongest friends.  I may not see them all the time anymore, but I always carry a bit of them with me.


I spent the next two years at this job doing the following; laughing till I peed, prank calling customers, complaining about our boss, going out for drinks after work. It was awesome.


But really, the best times I had was getting high with my best gay friend in the world.  He'd come over to my place after dinner and we'd just chill out and watch Funniest Home Videos and laugh our heads off at nothing in particular.


The one incident that lingers in my mind is the Maccas drive thru drive by.


Imagine this if you will.  After a particularly grueling week at work, I retired to my house alone and errr..  lit up.  Now kiddies, this is BAD BAD BAD. You should NEVER do this...  without me being around to ummm  supervise.


So there I was, totally relaxed and chilled and getting ready to fall asleep in front of a movie. And my phone ring.  It's my sister.  Did I forget that I had my nephew or niece's (can't remember which) reconciliation tonight?  Er, yes.  But no! Of course not.  I was getting ready.


After launching myself into a very cold shower I got ready to go to, using a liberal amount of eye drops.  And there began my nightmare.


I arrived at the local catholic church and thankfully, as it was an evening ceremony, the lights were dimmed. I was certain I looked fine and not at all twitchy an slightly paranoid.  Because I arrived late I sat a row behind my parents and sister.  I don't know.  I get the impression that no one really twigged that I was a wee bit out of sorts. 


So there I was, sitting in the house of God, completely freaking out.  On the altar, on his crucifix, Jesus was judging me.  I'm not sure if it was the silence, the dimmed lights, the young children, as yet untarnished by life, going in one by one to confess the most minor of digressions but I began to completely freak out.


By this stage, the munchies had well and truly set in.  Between the paranoia and the desperation for a caramel sundae, I was a blubbering mess.  It felt like hours although it could only have been a matter of thirty minutes, so I feigned a migraine and hightailed it out of the church and away from the unimpressed glare of God's son Jesus.


In the car, I tried to collect my thoughts and somehow, I found myself at the drive through of McDonalds.  I can't recall what I ordered, but there were fries, a burger of some sort, I know there was a sundae and quite possibly an apple pie or two.  


I paid for my food, then left. As in sans food. As in drove straight past the window where a young lass was waiting with a fake smile and my order.  It wasn't till I was close to home that I found my hand searching for some fries  and coming back wanting.  Where were they?


DAMN IT!!  In my hurry to get home and enjoy my munchies, I'd paid, but never claimed my goodies.  Oh the shame.


To this day, i wonder what the staff on drive thru thought that night.  Had they realised that I was high as a kite? Did they witness this type of madness on a weekly basis?  I comfort myself by telling myself the staff had no idea I was not of sound mind.  Sometimes I believe myself.  Sometimes I don't.


Hopefully one day, when I'm sitting a nursing home somewhere, drinking my liquified lunch, I may have some flashbacks about being frowned at by JC. I may have lingering memories of living a wild and crazy life, if only for a very small period in time. And I may just remember that for a little while, I lived my life like there was no tomorrow.


Yes, I was stupid.  Yes I broke the law.  But at least I did it in style.


But seriously kiddies.  Don't do drugs.  

Excuses, excuses, excuses.

It's becoming increasingly evident that these days most people refuse to accept responsibility for their actions, if said actions are considered bad form.


I, for one, am kinda over this sort of nonsense. I've experienced the worst of human kind this week and let me tell you...  Be under no illusions that your bad behaviour does not affect people.  It does. In a very big and significant way.


Adultery.  A crime punishable by death...  Of a family. Of trust. Of respect. Of dreams.


I wonder sometimes what goes through people's minds as they take the road to adultery.  How do they reconcile to themselves the gravity of the lies that are to begin? Does reason die in the face of lust fuelled endorphins coursing through your veins? Is the ability to remember right from wrong shattered by carnal urges, in the same way you are shattering the lives of your husband/wife, children, parents, in-laws, friends?


I'm sorry but to engage in an affair, at any given point in time, while you are in a committed relationship is WRONG. BAD.  TERRIBLE. Basically a BIG FAT NO.  And there are NEVER any excuses.  No matter what you want to believe.  There just isn't.  Not now.  Not ever.


Now, I'm worldly enough to realise (and by worldly I mean old) that in this day and age, there are very few things left in life that don't have an expiration date.  Love, unfortunately, is one of those things. But again; there's a right and wrong way to deal with things.  


Why don't we talk to each other anymore?  What happened to good ole fashioned communication?  Try it people.  You may be pleasantly surprised.


The excuses for being a selfish cunt are so pathetic.  I mean really. 

• "I have needs, they weren't being met"- Well boo fucking hoo.  Did you ever once stop to consider the feelings and needs of your partner? Here's a thought...  Where you meeting their needs?  I'm guessing not, since it would appear that life is all about you.
• "I got married/involved/tied down too young" - Unless you're married/involved/tied down with an 80 year old, I'm going to go out on a limb and hazard a guess that your partner was also married/involved/tied down too young also.  And your point is?
• "There are issues from my childhood that make it hard for me" - So what?  Issues. We all have them.  Some worse that others, but issues non the less.  DEAL WITH THEM.  Stop blaming everyone for what happened in the past.  Seek help.  Confide in your partner and heal yourself.  If you can legally drink, drive, vote and pay taxes then you need to assume responsibility for your life and take whatever measures you need to take to make sure you are a functioning member of society and more importantly, of your FAMILY.
• "I would have taken this to my grave" - What? Is that a good thing? Are we supposed to applaud you for continuing the lie for an entire lifetime? Most people who 'fess up under duress do so because someone is blackmailing you.  So seriously.  Keep this to yourself because no one will be impressed with your noble move to continue the lie. In fact, it's only going to make us want to give you a couple of more slaps and swift kick to the pelvic region.
• "I didn't sow my wild oats. I need to run free" - If your idea of being fricken awesome is to shag everything with a pulse, go for it.  I mean, if that's what it takes to make you feel good about yourself, then do it.  But again, right and wrong. Become your inner slut when you are no longer encumbered with a family.

As far as I'm concerned, there's never an excuse to cheat.  Affairs indicate a weak character, someone who has no self control or consideration for the needs of those they claim to love. 


Wrong.  No matter how you look at it.  It's wrong.  It's nasty. Don't do it.  Simple.