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.

The price we pay for beauty.

It's 2011 and as you may be aware, I've decided that this year will be AWESOME!!

In that light, I've decided to overhaul a number of things in my life and top of the list is dropping a few excess kilos. Well, ok.  Fine.  Maybe more than just a few.

Anyway.  There are a number of things going on in the peripherals of my life, none more important than the fact that my youngest child starts school this year.  Like. O.M.G.

Now.  I have battled weight issues all my life.  I do have some legitimate reasons for finding it hard to shift the weight, but at one brief, glorious point of my life, I was kinda hot.  Actually, I was really hot.  Ok. Fine. Really hot may be overstating the issue a bit.  Hot to luke warm. A man once walked into a street sign because he was checking me out.  I have witnesses who can, if required, provided a notarised statutory declaration to back up my claims. Seriously.

But that's not important right now.  What is important is that I've decided to reclaim my hotness, or rather, my luke warmness and get my yummy mummy on.  The thought of my child being ridiculed because mummy's ass is generous fills me with dread.  Plus I want to feel good again.

So, where to begin?  Well friends, this is the course of action I took.  I was in a pharmacy earlier in the month and noticed that they were having a sale on one of the millions of differently branded shakes that essentially are the same thing.  Buy one box and get one free.  Really???  Cool, sign me up.  See, it was all carefully researched and well thought out. Errrrr, ok maybe not so much, but hello???  Buy one GET ONE FREE!!  

I'm now in my third week of the shakes and I'm seeing some results.  You have to look really hard but I think I'm starting to see the outline of some cheekbones and the scales are advising that I have dropped some kilos. And I'm pretty sure my pants are a little loose.  Ahhhh  woooooooooo  hoooooooooooooooooooooo!

The only thing is...  and trust me, it's a wee little thing that doesn't really impact my life unless I cannot get access to a disabled toilet within very quick walking distance, there is one side effect.  Now I know.  Those toilets are there for disabled people.  Trust me when I say...  I need it. Besides, it's not like I'm parking in a disabled spot.  Now that warrants indignation.

Has anyone heard of sorbitol?  For those of you that have answered in the negative, allow me to enlighten you.  It's the stuff they put in artificial sweeteners so it's sweet without the sugar content.  And do you know what this stuff does to the human body?  It produces anal leakage.

ANAL LEAKAGE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Have you ever heard of a prettier way to describe an involuntary bowel movement?  I know I haven't!

Judging from the amount of times I've had to excuse myself of late, it's doing it's job. Not that I'm complaining.  I bought like eight boxes of the stuff and with 20 sachets per box I have at least another month or two of a very brisk walk to the disabled loo very far from my office.

Here's the thing though.  I'm actually enjoying not having to think about lunch.  Plus I'm saving some $$ by not having to buy and over priced and over cooked pasta or foccacia.  I'm starting to understand the science of the shakes and the effects it has on me so I can now almost time the mad dash to fit in around my appointments.

Sure, the shakes are a bit, oh I don't know, blah.  But since I'm at work and that's a much bigger blah, who cares? I'm starting to feel better about things (although my bottom doesn't quite share the enthusiam) and I'm actually contemplating going bike riding with the kids. So it's all good.

One thing I can advise with authority.  Consider what you put into your mouth on the days that you do the shakes.  Trust me.  That falafel roll with tabouli, tahini sauce and salad may make a nice break from a liquid lunch.  But coming out...  Different story. 

And unless you want to get a written warning from management and be reported to the Department of Environment for toxic gas emissions, please, I beg you.  Use the disabled toilets.  It's the lesser of two evils.

Playlists... and the forward button.

I like to think of myself as modern and with it (laugh if you will but I've been surfing the net way longer than the new generation!) but I must confess playlists on the iPod/iPhone confuse the hell out of me.


I am a child of cassette tapes.  I have many a fond memory of loading my ghetto blaster (my sweet 16th birthday pressie) with a brand new TDK cassette; 90 minutes thank you very much; and listening with FBI secret agent intensity to the radio to record the top 40 hits.  You'd wait with baited breath, finger poised above the record button, ready to start recording the nano-second your song started.  Then you'd sit, alert and waiting, ready to hit pause or stop before the DJ could ruin your mixed tape with crap.


Ahhhhhh.  Good times.


These days, it's all about downloads on iTunes and other programs I have no clue about.  Unless of course, you're into piracy and find you tunes on some naughty programs.  I believe there's one called Lemon String ;-) or words to that effect.


Me?  I prefer to download the proper songs, not so much for karma and not wanting to rip anyone off, although that is a factor.  My main reason is that I want the pretty album art while my song is playing.  Shallow?  You betcha.  But I hate that big treble clef that you get on your iPod when the song in play has no art work.  Stupid I know, but I still cannot work out how to import art into my iTunes account and quite frankly I cannot be bothered learning. So I get my tunes from iTunes.  But don't tell my husband.


I have amassed 1400 songs to date on my iPhone that I have personally selected.  There are over 4000 on my computer. Somehow, there are playlists I've not created myself with the exact same songs that are in other playlists.  How did this happen?  I'm too scared to delete them, just in case someone is watching and plans to haul me before a magistrate.


With so much to choose from, you'd think there'd be nothing to complain about.  Fear not friends.  Too much is never enough.  With such a large selection, there's never anything to listen too.  I mean 1400 songs FFS!!! And for some reason I spend most of my drive skipping songs until I find one I want to sing too.  WHY??????????


I have spent hours in front of my laptop, scrolling through my playlist and not being able to delete songs I haven't listened to for over a year.  What is it that compels us to keep stuff 'just in case'?  


Some songs I repeat.  Over and over again.  Others?  NEXT!!


Anyway.  That's my whinge for today.  I kinda pissed myself off tonight on the drive home.  It's like men and the bloody tv remote.  But that's fodder for another post.

Babies... a fiery and controversial issue.

Really?  Apparently so.

Nothing creates a bitch fight, or storm in a tea cup quite like babies.  As in making them, giving birth to them, raising them, feeding them, dressing them.  Shall I go on?

This past week, in a flurry of satin, organza, lace, lip gloss, hair pieces and glory, Nicole Kidman and Keith Urban announced they had welcomed a second child into the world via a 'gestational carrier'.  Weird term, it means surrogate, but whatever.  At the end of the day, they wanted another child and went down the road of surrogacy in order to fulfill this dream.

The level of vitriol directed at this couple has left me somewhat shocked.  Some of the comments posted on facebook were vile.  I mean really people, you should be ashamed of yourselves.  

Even the press got in on the action, with accusations of designer babies and other nonsense.  Miranda Devine wrote this little article:

Buying a baby - not a pair of shoes

While she writes beautifully, I have to say I vehemently disagree with everything she's putting forth in her argument.

As a woman who has had issues with fertility, I can understand the lengths that some people go to fulfill their dreams of parenthood.  Some are luckier than others and can afford the option of surrogacy, while those of us that can't go down that road exhaust every other option available to us.  

No one has the right to pass judgement on anyone's journey to parenthood, unless of course you have first hand knowledge on the fertility issues of the parents in question.  Which I suspect Ms Devine does not have, re; Nicole Kidman.

The term designer babies is used too easily these days.  My idea of a designer baby is one that is custom made.  That is, eye colour, hair colour and perfect genetics predetermined and chosen before conception.  Not a couple's egg and sperm fertilised and then placed into a surrogate to carry.  What's designer about that?

People whinge and moan and carry on about a loving family wanting to have another child when out there, there are 'natural' parents who don't understand the concept of being a parent.  How many children are there in our society who live in fear and danger at the hands of parents?  I'm betting a lot.  Isn't it a better idea to focus on this issue?

Carrying a baby doesn't make you a parent.  Raising one does.

Congratulations Nicole, Keith and Sunday.  I hope your darling daughter and sister brings you all a lifetime of joy.

A new beginning??

So, I think it's fair to say that the last year, aka 2010, was brutal.  I mean, really fucking brutal.  On a scale of 1 - 10, with 10 being the worst, I'd rate it as a 25+.  You follow?

In fact, those poor souls who had to be in close proximity to me at the end of last year heard a large amount of C bombs, F bombs and not to blow my own horn here, I think I may have invented some new foul language that would make some truckies and bikkies blush.

Without rehashing all of the drama, I had a car accident (my fault), dramas at work (NOT my fault), meetings, threats of intimidation and finally a court summons.  What can I say...  December 2010 was freaking awesome duuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuude.

Needless to say, New Years eve we were all in bed sleeping.  Now I know that the change of a calendar does not a better year make...  but here's hoping.

To aide the recovery and to hearld in better times for me and my kinsmen, I've decided to feng shui my life, see a spiritual healer and run a smudge stick through my house to release the negativity.  I reckon one of these has gotta stick!

So here I sit, crushing dreams and creating a world of pain for myself and my colleagues in the line of duty. I'm living the dream.

Here's to a better 2011 people.  We can only hope!!