Such is (my current) life

This evening just past,

as I washed cat's vomit from my child's hair,

I was thinking about how this time 10 years ago, I was still a practicing veterinarian.

On any given evening at about this time,

I might have been taking radiographs of a cat hit by a car

or having a lengthy discussion about all things "new puppy" with new pet owners

or even doing an emergency Caesarian on a pregnant dog or cat having difficulties.

Maybe I would be calling real adult people on the phone 

to have a real adult conversation about their pet.

Sorry?

Yes. That's what I said.

Washing cat's vomit from my child's hair.

Let me explain.

My daughter, prone to not finishing her cups of milk at dinner-time,

had left it on the bench

where, no surprise, Wally (the cat) helped himself.

My daughter has been told a gazillion times not to do this.

This would be one reason why.

My oldest son, prone to being over enthusiastic when playing with the cat,

was flipping the cat around the room Olympic diving style

attempting a two and a half back somersaults with two and a half twists

when, somewhere between the twist and the pike, no surprise, Wally threw up.

My son has been told a gazillion times not to do this.

This would be one reason why.

Neither of them at first realised 

why my daughter's face, hair and toys were wet.

To her credit, my daughter did not have an utter meltdown
of epic proportions,
mainly because she did not quite realise the horror

of being covered in cat vomit.

(She was simply overcome with relief that it wasn't cat's wee.

Personally I'd prefer cat wee on my head than cat's curdled milky vomit

but I'm not going to burst her bubble.

At least, not until she is celebrating her 18th birthday.)

So, yes, this evening just past,

 as I washed cat vomit from my daughter's hair

 (and giggled. A lot. Because it was actually hil-aaaaar-i-ous

and because it wasn't my hair) 

and as my son washed cat vomit off his sister's toys,

I reflected on how my life had changed in the past 10 years.

I also realised that I quite enjoy those life lessons that kids learn without us parents

having to lift a finger.

If Wally could talk,

he'd probably call it karma.

Then there is my OCD...

OK So the procrastinator who hates deadlines

also had a tendency towards OCD at sporadic intervals.

Bag challenge finished on the very first day.

The Two Zip Hipster by Dog Under the Desk 

A well written little pattern.

Perfect for quickly approaching overseas holidays

and a good size for carrying all those things that you need to keep close

on such holidays.

Look, Cam. I actually did it this time.

Booyah!

The sins of the parents

(www.donaldtrumphair.com)

My boys now choose to get a buzz cut each and every time

they go to the hairdressers.

I am a little uncomfortable with this.

I think that it stems back to growing up in a small country town

with the Brown family.

The Brown family men consisted of Mr Brown and his 3 sons

 All had crew cuts, seemingly getting their first buzz cut somewhere
between the delivery room and going home from hospital.

You could always pick out the Brown boys.

My boys love it because it is low maintenance.

I love it because getting their hair done in the morning is one less thing to nag them about.

Plus I figure that those dreaded head lice beasties are more reticent

to infest heads with no foliage to hide under.

My daughter doesn't chose to get a buzz cut.

Needless to say that I am happy with that decision.

However, like all little girls,

she wants gloriously long tresses without the daily maintenance 

required to stop such tresses becoming gloriously long dreadlocks.

(and I am sure one day I will find out just how much those beasties love such gloriously long tresses.

Touch wood. 3 weeks into her school life, we are nit-free.

Only another 13 years to go...)

We are still growing out my daughter's fringe,

18 months after that debacle,

and quite frankly, as a mum to 2 boys with cranial stubble,

I am not yet up to creating a neatly presented and sweet hairstyle 

in the middle of the pre-second-coffee mad house that is a school morning

and repeating this 5 mornings a week.

At the moment she thinks lop-sided pigtails are cute

and my possibly weird, combed-over creations "beautiful"

(bless the innocence -and trust- of a 5 year old)

but I am telling you that I am going to need a steep learning curve

 if she wants something presentable other than a pony tail every day of her future school life.

I still have horrific visions of one particular year of school photos

where my mother managed to send me off to school

with those sticky-up bits that you wake up with.

I don't think that I actually had a mullet

(though it was the 70s so anything is possible)

but in that photo, I certainly looked like I did.

(I was honestly going to be brave enough to post a copy of said photo

but I don't actually have one.

I suspect my mother is keeping it for future blackmailing purposes)

So I am somewhat (somewhat? Not somewhat. Try very bloody) relieved to find out that this year's school photos are happening while we are away on an extended family holiday.

Quite frankly, on that day, I turn into a pageant mother

It is no mean feat to get 2 young children to their respective photo shoots

(somehow always at the end of the school day)

with clean uniforms, decent hair and no Vegemite on their faces or uniform.

I will own up to licking my hand to wet down a wayward piece of hair

on the way to school one year.

It is a far greater pressure than the one I place on myself to get the nice photo with Santa each year.

Imagine me trying to do it with 3 kids,

one of whom  has dicky -growing -out -fringe stuff happening

and often has her school skirt half stuck in her stockings.

...cute at home; not so cute in print.

I blame my mother and that school photo for the obsession I have about this.

We all swear that there are things that were done to us

that we will never do to our children.

We will never hit them with a wooden spoon.

We will never force them to play football or eat brussel sprouts.

(We will never lick a hand to pat down wayward hair)

I know that when we actually become parents, we end up doing half of them anyway

but let me state for the record:

I will never send my children to school photo day with anything but a decent (and hopefully fabulous but I will settle for decent)  hair-do.

If I can offer them a  future embarrassment-free album of school photographs,

I have achieved some level of success as parent.

But when they get their driver's license photo,

they are on their own.

Unless they have a sticky-up bit of wayward hair...

I will. Really I will.

I am a procrastinator who hates deadlines.

Not a procrastinator who pulls her digit out when the deadline looms.

Not a high achiever who hates deadline but doesn't need to worry about them 

because she finished that project yonks ago.

Adding to that, sewing has also taken a backseat to my knitting obsession.

So when Cam over at CurlyPops had a month-long skirt sew-a-long

a few months back,

it wasn't really likely that I was going to get over the line.

Even though I already had a skirt cut out
so already had a head start.

Even though it was a reeeeeallly simple skirt.

Even though the sew-a-long got extended

and I had another whole month to get it done.



See that green fabric right at the bottom, somewhat buried by life?
That's the skirt pieces,
pretty much where they have been for about 6 months now.
Progressively disappearing from sight.

So now Cam is hosting a bag adventure.

I am a sucker for bags.
Apparently, because I buy and make them,
I already have more than I need
(in the world according to Mr Boozle)

But pffffffft to Mr Boozle.

I don't have a cute, trendy, functional bag that will keep my hands free
as I scramble around the Grand Canyon
or play blackjack at Las Vegas
or hang on for dear life on a ride at Disneyland,
now do I?


See?
It's a real need, Mr Boozle.



So pattern? Tick.
Fabrics? Tick.
Big girl undies? Tick.

Cam, I reckon this time I will do you proud.
Just off to think about that deadline for a little while first...can't rush these things, you know.

The world needs more Betty Whites

(stylinggame.blogspot.com)

You will know from past blog posts

that I get really shitty about over-the-top political correctness.

I am not against rational political correctness.

It's just the silly stuff.

The baa baa rainbow sheep silliness.

The scandal over Ernie and Bert sharing a bedrooom

(and don't get me started on best mates, Noddy and Big Ears)

An Australian shopping centre chain trying to ban their Australian Santas from saying "ho, ho, ho"

in case they offend women due to the American slang use of the word.

I could go on but everyone has their own examples.

At the moment, my daughter talks about her friend with black skin.

She says it because she is five and her friend has black skin.

There is no underlying agenda or any offense intended.

She is a little kid.

But I squirm when she says it
and I resist the urge to clamp my hand over her mouth
and I am waiting for the PC police to come knocking at our door.

I find myself trying to explain to her why people might not like her using those words.

Geeze. She is five.

Can't she just be a little girl for a while longer?

I was never a Golden Girls fan

but I think that I fell in love with Betty White

when she starred in the Snickers commercial in 2010

in her late 80s.
(No, not THE late 80s; HER late 80s)

So what would Betty say?

Well, what she has said is this:

"I don't care who anybody sleeps with. If a couple has been together all that time — and there are gay relationships that are more solid than some heterosexual ones — I think it's fine if they want to get married. I don't know how people can get so anti-something. Mind your own business, take care of your affairs, and don't worry about other people so much."

And this:

"I think that we're losing our sense of humour instead of being able to relax

and laugh at ourselves.I don't care whether it's ethnicity, age, sexual orientation

or whose ox is being gored"

(hollywoodreporter.com)

 But best of all, she said this:

“Why do people say "grow some balls"? Balls are weak and sensitive. If you wanna be tough, grow a vagina. Those things can take a pounding.”

As long as Betty Whites are around,

hopefully we wont take ourselves so seriously.

The start of something new

This morning our last child started school.

She danced around the house yesterday in anticipation,

she couldn't get dressed in her uniform fast enough this morning

and she asked us to carry her oh-soooo-heavy back pack to school for her.

She looked so big in her uniform

but she looked so small in the schoolyard.

I have been looking forward to this stage of our lives.

I have been a burnt out mum for a while.

I have been dreaming of regular, child-free time.

I have been thinking about a few goals, seemingly forever but at least 9 years, on the back-burner.

Most importantly, I am believing that I will be a better parent for the break that I will get each day

and that the time that I spend with my kids now

will be more valued and better quality.

That might sound cliched or corny

but I am hoping that it is true.

I am over the mother guilt thing that I have been feeling

because I have been looking forward to this day*

This morning, she was confident, enthusiastic and ready for her school days to start.

And so were we.

*disclaimer-Of course, this is only day one

so I am not completely ruling out a melt-down happening at some stage.

This Week....July 9th, 2012

(thomasszabo.deviantart.com)

...We have been enjoying Miniscule.

My absolute favourite is the outdoor spider with the long legs 

but I really want to squish that wretched, irritating ladybird...

...my first-born baby turned 9.

Happy, happy birthday, my beautiful big boy...

(theage.com.au)

...The Boy in the Striped Pyjamas

broke my heart...

(lasvegas.about.com)

...We booked our first Vegas show for our suddenly-not-so-far-away USA holiday...

(tailgate365.com)

...I remembered when Tom Cruise's first marriage ended

and I thought (as a single 21 year old) "Yay"

(a purely youthful and hormonal response)

I remembered when his second marriage ended 

and I thought (as a happily married 32 year old) "Boo"

(Just when we thought that it was a Hollywood marriage 

that was going to work)

Now that his third marriage has ended

I am thinking (as a judgemental, harsh 43 year old) "Care?"

(Don't get me wrong- it is a shame, especially there is a child involved

but really I have never felt the same about Tom since he jumped all over Oprah's couch

and dissed Brooke Shields for taking medication to help with her post-natal depression)

(As an aside, it is interesting to note

that each of Tom's marriages have ended when his wives were 33.

Scientology conspiracy theory anyone?)

(Honeysuckle Vine beret- Janice Garett)

...it has been about knitting hats

for cold winter days...

...My 7 year old roped me into being his partner for a little 1000 piece puzzle

for the weekend...

then more or less disappeared...

apart from turning up to announce what a great job we were doing...

Lucky that I love him.

Page turners, bodice rippers and brown paper bags.

 

In recent weeks, I have relinquished my obsession with knitting just a smidge

and have been reading a bit more.

My bedside table pile of books to read

has grown into three in the past year

and I am keen to work through some of them.

I read Enduring Love (Ian McEwan),

because it was highly recommended by a telly book reviewer

and the accompanying oohing, aah-ing telly host.

I felt like I was wading through mud to get through it

and am now reluctant to pick up Atonement from the pile.

I do enjoy a lighter read these days.

Mind you, I then watched the movie

which was so, so ordinary

I can say that I actually preferred wading through the book.

I read My Sister's Keeper (Jodi Picoult),

because I have never read one of her books

and I am scared but fascinated by her storylines.

But was it just me or was it a cop-out at the end?

(And I have the movie recorded.

Should I bother?)

Now I am reading The Boy in the Striped Pyjamas (John Boyne),

because it is one of those books that it seems everyone has been reading.

I am nearly halfway through and want to sit up tonight till I finish it.

It is short and in larger print

and I am already moved by the story

and scared of what this little story holds in its pages.

I am also halfway through The Fifty Shades trilogy (E. L. James).

Oh, come on. 

Of course, I am.

Just like the majority of heterosexual women in the world.

I heard a little about it a few weeks back,

included "New York Times best seller"

(and I am a sucker for best sellers)

but, as I took the first book for reading on the plane last weekend,

I didn't realise that I'd find myself making sure that no-one could read over my shoulder.

Oh. My.

For those of you not familiar with it,

think of a 1980's "Mills and Boon" written for the new millenium.

Think "Mills and Boon" on steroids.

Heck, think "Mills and Boon", knickerless, lying on its back with its legs wantonly splayed, panting ...


Get the idea?

The first book is the fastest selling adult novel to ever sell one million copies in print

and has sold faster than the Harry Potter series in the UK.

I don't actually think that the books are very well written

but they are very, well, explicit

and very, well, titillating.

Never under estimate the purchasing power of women who like a bit of erotica

(or the number of partners encouraging it. Just ask Mr Boozle)

I am no prude

but if you come and look at the books on the top shelf of my bookshelf,

well away from the reach of anyone who can't reach to 3 metres 

or has a ladder handy,

you will find Lace by Shirley Conran

and  Hollywood Wives by Jackie Collins.

Guilty pleasures from 20 years ago

but after reading Shades, the characters from those are almost chaste

and could earn a place running through that field with Laura Ingalls
in the opening credits of "Little House on the Prairie".

The Shades set may need to be buried under the house

because when my kids are actually legally old enough to read them 

and emotionally old enough to understand them,

hands over ears,

 la-la-la-la-la-la, not listening.

I don't want to know about it.

Of course, the movie rights have been snapped up already

which has me thinking.

Firstly, if the films are made true to the books,

the rating is going to mean that you are purchasing them

from your local adult book shop in a brown paper bag.

Forget the choc-top and the popcorn.

Will the movie version make Sharon Stone, 

still idolised by some for that undie-free scene in Basic Instinct,

 a has-been?

(cdn.cnet.com.au)

A fair whack of the books are basically having sex, talking about sex,

having sex, thinking about sex, dreaming about sex, having more sex,

fighting about sex, fighting about not having sex,
crying about having sex, crying about not having sex,

and then having even more sex.

If it is reigned in for anything less than an "R" rating,

the earth wont be moving for some people.

Things may well become a little...bland.

(Shall I say vanilla?

That's an in-joke for those who have read the books)

Secondly, the rumour mill is working overtime as to who should play

the unbelievably rich, unbelievably hot, unbelievably physically perfect Christian Grey.

As soon as the film is released,  many women's fantasy bubbles will burst- into the thin air of reality.

No-one who actually walks on this earth could live up to the character James has created.

(No, not even Johnny Depp)

This is the point of the fantasy, people.

When I put my hand up for Team Edward after reading the Twilight books,

I was not fantasizing about Robert Pattinson.

I certainly wasn't impressed when he got the role.

 OK, so a trillion squillion adolescent girls  (the target demographic)

were impressed and really, that is what counts in the movie industry.

But as soon as they put a real face to the ideal fantasy figure,

they ruin the fantasy.

This isn't about making a movie version of the Harry Potter books

where the computer generated special effects are so amazing

that you sit there with your mouth open.

There may be other reasons that a movie version of the Fifty Shades trilogy

might have you sitting there with your mouth open

but it will be interesting to see if that is because of casting choices,

the script writing, the classification
or because of what the lead characters just did in an elevator full of people.

This Week...28th June, 2012

...It has been about fingerless mitts...





(Camp Out Fingerless Mitts)

...my coffee machine demanded to be descaled again
after only 2 weeks.
Methinks I have a coffee addiction problem.

...Mr Boozle and I had 4 child-free days in Melbourne for my 20 year
Uni reunion.



...We wandered...



...We shopped...



(OK I mostly shopped
while the Mr played Angry Birds
or stood outside shops with other husbands)





...I had forgotten how much I missed those trams...



...We caught up with old friends from Uni,
very old friends from high school
and friends who moved away last year...



...We had (very, very) late nights,
quiet mornings dozing,
too much wine
and probably didn't miss the kids
half as much as we should have...



...Our son lost his third fish to DBUC
("death by unknown causes")
in as many weeks
and is totally disheartened...



...Our youngest finished kindy
and is ready for school.

I am a little teary and she is not.

I am not sure why I am being emotional
as I more than ready for her to go to school
and so is she.

These bloody irrational maternal emotions.

The other milestones.

I still remember,

especially as a first time mum,

carefully ticking off those milestones

as bub grew up.

...the age when that first tooth;

when was the first smile?

...those first steps,

that first word...

You couldn't get away from those checklists

proclaiming what age range your (average) child would be in

when he or she first looked at you and gave your one of those gorgeous baby dimpled smiles.

After the past couple of weeks of dealing with more-difficult-than-usual-and-that-is-saying-something kids,

those bubs all growing up so quickly,

all those lists seem to have disappeared.

You couldn't escape them when you were insecure and vulnerable

and wondering why your child wasn't walking yet
when all those glossy flyers said that he should be.

But now I want to know

when my child will stop lying.

When he will realise that stealing is not on.

When he or she works out that the reason that we say "no biting/punching/pinching/pushing"

is because there will be consequences.

When he will share.
When she will do the right thing because it is the right thing to do.
When he will develop empathy.

When he will be appreciative of all that he has
and not worry about all that he hasn't.
When she will realise that please, thank you and sorry
will get her further in life than any other words.

When he or she realises that screaming uncontrollably for 2 hours is not acceptable behaviour.

I am not sure about the normal ages for these milestones
but I do know when he or she will realise just how
worrisome, heart-wrenching and hurtful
these behaviours can be to a parent.

I reckon it will be the very instant that he becomes a parent himself.