Terrible mothering moments and grudges

TERRIBLE MOTHERING MOMENTS

Recently, we were sitting around the dinner table together – a rare event in our house with an 18-year-old and two school age boys with multiple sporting activities requiring me to drive white knuckles gripping the steering wheel for hours on end between the hours of 3 and 7.

When I say together I mean me and the three kids because whatever time current spouse (I'm going to call him The Lawyer from now on) tells me he will be home for dinner is always wrong.

One of the children, in a moment of sheer genius, decided to start a conversation about all the terrible things I had done to them as small children. Along the lines of 'remember when mum...' It's amazing they can recall these things in such remarkable detail when they can't remember to hang the bath mat up, but I digress.. This was intended to be funny and it was at first. Here are some of the things they remember me doing:

* Slamming Billy’s hand in the door of the car (fortunately, children’s bones bend).
* Driving over Harry's three year old foot, thinking he was already in the car, and then driving over it again in attempting to get off his foot.
* Slamming a sliding glass aluminum door onto Billy’s heel, almost severing his Achilles tendon, shortly after we moved into a brand new house. Unfortunately, he remembers me mentioning in the car as his sister held a towel tightly around his foot and gagging that I hoped the blood did not stain the grouting on the tiles.
*Leaving a new baby in his capsule behind a counter at a shop and wandering off for 10 minutes before realising (to be fair, I was in postnatal daze).
*Forgetting to pick various children up from various events at various times.
*Being the mother who clattered in in very high heels on a wooden floor to the end of the musical recital, just in time to see my daughter leave the stage (Elle is particularly good at jamming that guilt pin into me).
*Forcing each of them to take piano lessons with my old piano teacher, who was a dragon lady,and had an odd smell
*Not letting Elle continue with ballet lessons on the basis that it was too expensive.
*Resolving a dispute over who owned which balloons in the back of the car by taking a safety pin, popping all of them and gleefully announcing that no one owned them now
None of them remember this but it is family folklore that I lost or drove over five prams after placing baby or toddler in the car seat, getting into the car and driving off. Once, the pram was reported to have been last seen being used by a homeless person and I thought it had gone to a good home.

This was all quite amusing for some time, until it took a serious turn.

Elle turned to me and said 'I've never forgiven you, you know, for not taking me to school on my first day of high school'. I made the mistake of laughing thinking we were all still joking around at my expense. But she was deadly serious. 'I'm serious' she said, eyes brimming with tears. I looked at her and said, panic rising 'but you'd been at that school for 3 years in primary school'. She said it didn't matter, she was so hurt because 'every one else’s' mother had been there for the first day of high school. My mind started racing and I said that I recall that her first day of high school was also Harry’s first day of school EVER. Grade one. She looked at me and said 'yeah, you chose him over me that day'.

If only we mothers could live in Harry Potter world where we could be in two places at one time. Elle is 18, almost 19, and she has carried that grudge for more than 5 years. She can carry a grudge longer than Paul Keating or Mark Latham. By this stage, she had started crying because she perceived me to be not taking it seriously, and her brothers were laughing.

I tried to make light of it, but this just made it much, much worse. What started out as a fun conversation making fun of mum, turned into a disaster because of a grudge held for 5 years. I kept trying to placate her until she screamed at me to 'stop bringing it up all the time'. Which of course I never had, ever.

The boys fled (sensibly) leaving me alone with the grudge holding one in silence.


Motherhood ROCKS

AMFYOYO


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Death in the suburbs

I love animals. I can't abide cruelty to them. I can't even bring myself to kill a gecko even though they are annoying little pests.

I have two cats and one dog who are much adored and live a fairly stress free life:





Two days ago we had a visit from three chooks. Which were very cute. The romantic in me quite likes the idea of keeping chooks but with two cats thought perhaps in the chooks' best interests this was a bad idea.









As it turns put, the two cats were not remotely interested in the chooks and at first ran away (slightly pathetic) before keeping a respectful distance and letting them get on with their scratching.

The cute factor wore off quickly with the large amounts of chook poo on the paths around the house. But other than that they were harmless and happy to scratch around. I have no idea where they lived and was happy to have them visit from time to time The dog remained blissfully unaware of their presence, our yard being fully fenced, and the chooks remaining outside said fence, and the dog, not blessed with a lot of brains, inside.

Until today.

I went out the gate and the dumb dog ran out with me. He spotted the chooks and took off. Poor black henny penny made the mistake of trying to squeeze through the fence from the other side:





And got stuck half way through with the dog's jaws firmly clasped on its arse feathers. I managed to drag the dog off, the chook shrieking, me shrieking even louder. Then the excitement started. Poor black henny penny took off up the driveway; the dog leapt out of my arms in hot pursuit and managed to trap this poor hapless creature AGAIN. Again with the shrieking chook, the shrieking woman and the barking dog.

I might add that I had been cooking and was running around like a headless chook myself dressed in my exercise gear and stepford wife apron, and the Australia post delivery guy from next door thought he had come across a complete madwoman:





I got the dog and managed to carry him inside the gate AND THE STUPIDEST, INJURED CHOOK IN THE WORLD RAN UP THE STONE STEPS AND CAME INSIDE THE GATE.


Anyhow it did not end well. The two red chooks scarpered. Black henny penny is deceased - this is what is left after I disposed of the body:






So I'm guessing we won't be getting chooks any time in the future.

AMFYOYO

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Just one shade of grey

By this time next week I will be 50. 50!!!! Hard to believe but there you have it. I have not been feeling the slightest bit concerned about this fact. No mid life crisis, no desire to run off with a much younger lover (well, no more than usual).

But then this morning I saw it. A grey eyebrow hair. No one told me this might happen. WTF? Eyebrows go grey. Who would have thought it.

AMFYOYO


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I love my dog, but...

I have a really cute dog. Dumb, but incredibly cute. And loyal. And cute. Not a mean bone in his body. I also have two cats but that is for another day. This dog ADORES me. I can pop out to get milk and he greets me as if I have been away for a week. He follows me around the house, not wanting to be alone. Sometimes I turn around quickly and fall over him.

He has one fault. Actually he has two - he snores really loudly but he can't help that and I do too. He will eat anything and is a food thief. His latest trick is to get into the rubbish bin if I have left the house without him. So I often come home to this:




Dumb, but cunning. To do this, he has to open the bin drawer (I think with the towel), get into the bin drawer in order to knock the bin out and spread the contents all over the house.

He always looks guilty and sad but he must be punished. The worst punishment for him is to be locked outside with me inside:






He runs from door to door hoping I will let him in but I am unmoved. For a while. Then I forget to be cross with him because he is so cute.

Because who could hold a grudge against this:







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Anxiety - Learning to recognise the bleeding obvious

I suffer from anxiety. Sometimes it is a mild ever present feeling - dread, fear, panic and at other times it turns into a monster that turns me into a great big mess. Most of the time, I need to have a melt down to recognise, with hindsight, that I have taken on too much, done too much, not had enough sleep. It is all so bleeding obvious In Hindsight

I gave up my highly paid job for 12 months a while ago because it was making me sick. Constant migraine headaches. And as a consequence too many painkillers and way too much wine, for medicinal purposes - it is a muscle relaxant after all. My doctor warned me that given my personality I should be prepared for the fact that I would find other things to get anxious about. And how right he was. Washing, school pick ups, sport drop offs and pick ups, (i didn't pay my nanny nearly enough money), cooking new and interesting things, losing weight, and generally being Sargent major at home. And I seemed to always be in the damn car.

After i gave up work, I became my mother in law's speed dial technology help desk. And banking consultant. And peters of kensington purchaser. My mother died very suddenly and unexpectedly and I became my Dear Old Dad's ( DOD) cook and carer. I went back to work very part time and in some odd way I manage to mostly switch off from all of the home stuff while at work, but can't imagine how I managed it all before.

But today I had an epiphany. I had that familiar feeling of dread and panic set in thinking about my day tomorrow. I had agreed to host my son's futsal break up at 4.30pm on a day I had agreed to work a few hours on a day I don't normally work. Two meetings at 11-12 and 12.30-2.30. I was trying to work out when was the best time to squeeze in shopping, tidying, setting up etc as well as collect the boys from school, and get DOD's dinner done.

The Epiphany came. I didn't actually need to go into work at all - I CANCELLED MY WORK COMMITMENTS. No one thought I was terrible. No one died. Nothing bad happened. The only thing that happened was that the relief for me was palpable. I relaxed. The feeling of dread and panic left and my teeth unclenched. I suddenly had the whole day back.

I'm a smart person but it has taken me nearly 50 years to get to this point. I hope I can do it again. I hope I don't start worrying about whether or not I can do it again!

AMFYOYO


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I hate you, damn three kilos

About two years ago I lost 21 kilos. Actually 'lost' implies something that has gone and you might be yearning for and for which you might still be looking. Not so. Not even close. I recently purged the 4 boxes of clothes I no longer fitted into and almost two of me could have squeezed into one of my skirts.

Before anyone gets excited and congratulatory, to be fair I had put ON 12 kilos over the previous three years so in net terms I really only dropped nine extra kilos. I am one of those sad pathetic people who now weigh themselves every day. Naked. In the morning. After a visit to the toilet.

At my best, about 18 months ago I bought this Alex Perry dress:





Since then I have gained three kilos. Enough for Alex to be just a little tight on me and make me self conscious about my thighs and arse in it. And fearful that if I move too quickly I will split it. Quel horreur.

So I go to the gym, I limit my intake of food and wine (wine not as limited as it should be of course) and get on the scales every day AND NEVER HAVE I LOST THAT DAMN THREE KILOS. In fact every weekend I seem to put on 1 kilo then spend the rest of the week losing that sole kilo and start the cycle again.

Should I go on the biggest loser? Should I worry about something more important? Should I give Alex away?





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Boys and their aim

When my current spouse and I built our home over a decade ago, I cleverly designed the childrens' bathroom as a three way (the only three way I am likely to have). This means that the toilet is separate from the basins which are also separate from the bath and shower. With three kids this meant that someone could be in the shower, another in or on the toilet and someone doing whatever they needed to do in from of the mirrors. Washing hands is not a big priority as one can tell for the level of soap in the dispenser.

I thought I was so clever.

However I have two sons. Their aim is not good at the best of times; nor lifting the seat a priority, as evidenced by the shrieks from their sister at regular intervals. Here is the toilet room:





And here is the view from the toilet room if the door is not shut:





This means that if the television or x-box is on, whichever boy is going to the toilet veers to the left to view what is happening on the television screen. This then means there is a constant puddle of urine in the left corner of the toilet and the faint odour of public toilet.

AMFYOYO





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Just another Wacky Wired Wednesday

I hate Wednesdays. I hate Wednesdays because of Wednesday afternoons and after school sport which usually involves me driving for hours on end. But this particular Wednesday was The Worst Wednesday Ever because of that and what came before it.

Last week my Dear Old Dad (DOD) who is approaching 90 mentioned that he needed a new belt. So I offered to drive him to the shopping centre with the Old Man's Clothing Store on a day that I needed to go to the Medicare office. Which was today. Easy.

A couple of days ago my brother in law, Mr C, called to say that he had left a jacket and pants in the spare room wardrobe the last time he stayed, and could I please arrange to have them dry cleaned so that when he comes to stay again in two weeks he can wear them. No problem, as I added 'dry cleaning' to the useful task list that comes with the iOS 5 from Apple and stares at me in the face every day, never getting any shorter.

Then yesterday my sister, Mrs C, called to ask if by any chance I was going near Myer could I pop in and pick up some Clinique products to obtain 'free gift with purchase'. No problem, I would be nearby on Wednesday, as I added 'go to Myer' to my list.

Anyhow, Wednesday dawned and i planned my day. School drop off, gym, then jobs. So after a quick visit to the gym, and 120 squats amongst other things, I dropped the dry cleaning off, picked up DOD's dry cleaning which on enquiry had been there for a week, went to the post office to collect a parcel that I had ordered over the Internet for DOD, went home, showered, and collected DOD for the belt purchasing and medicare road trip.

On arrival at the shopping centre, it was 10.30 which is morning coffee time for pensioners. So a coffee, a cup of tea and fruit scone we had. The coffee shop was outside the front entrance of Myer and I could see the 'free gift with purchase' signs at the Clinique counter from where we sat. So I told DOD to stay where he was and went into Myer where I spent 10 minutes trying to find someone to take my money ( actually Mrs C's money). Unfortunately what she wanted did not come to the required coin spend to qualify for the free gift so I spent $35 on an eyeliner I did not need. So the 'free' gift with purchase cost me $35.

Next - belt time. We found a helpful man at the Old Man's Clothing Store and within minutes had a new belt. I could almost feel the $$$ in Medicare refunds in my pocket. Then DOD mentioned that he could do with some new underpants. So Target it was. Which sounds fine unless you are walking with someone who has had two hip replacements and walks with a cane. Underpants were found, then he needed socks. Purchases made off we strolled to MEDICARE. The original purpose of the my trip. Hurray.

At the door I selected Medicare refund and the lovely machine gave me the number A143. Just as I sat down in the crowded but comfortable waiting room, they called number A120 to counter 3. It was then I noticed that there were three women sitting at computers to serve the public. I think they are called public servants. I think there needs to be a few more servants for the public in the Medicare office. After 20 minutes we were up to A124. 'fuck this' I thought, and as DOD was fading fast, we left. Now I have to go back to the Medicare office at 9am one day. I'm not a very patient person. Waiting in line is not one of my strengths. Once I had dropped DOD home and collected his washing and ironing , I went home, had some lunch and tended to the filing, washing, and tidying the house ready for the cleaners to come tomorrow, as well as cooking dinner ready for reheating after sporting commitments.

Before I knew it, it was school pick up time for Harry. Then to leave home again at 4.15 in order to collect Billy from his cricket training after school 10km away. He is supposed to finish at 5 but i collect him early so i can get back to Harry's cricket training near home again which starts at 5. Harry's cricket goes to 6.30 and then has soccer training which starts at 6.30 in the next suburb and goes to 8pm (hate the cricket/soccer crossover). In between this I managed to find time to drop DOD's dinner down to him. So I am driving the car white knuckles on the steering wheel, for most of the afternoon from 3pm.

Now I am sitting collapsed in a heap on the couch unable to move except to raise my wine glass to my lips and check twitter.

My task list STILL has Medicare on it. Dammit.

AMFYOYO




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Dear Spammers - f*** off

Today was one of those days.  I seem to keep adding things to my list of things to do without crossing more things off that list.   Anyway I was already annoyed when I quickly went to check the emails this morning before doing he school drop off and I found yet another email from someone called 'FedEx Express Services'.  This is about my fifth one. And it pissed me off clogging up my email in box. This is what it said:

FedEx notice,

The delivery service couldn’t deliver your package.
The package weight exceeds the allowable free-delivery limit.

You have to receive your packagen personally.
Print out the "Invoice Copy" attached and collect the package at our office.

Please read carefully the attached information before receiving your package.

Thank you. FedEx Logistics Services.

Now I do a lot of on line shopping.  So much in fact that I am on first name terms with the Australia Post Delivery guy, and so much that I think one particular on line store should be renamed Meggsie's of Kensington instead on Peter's of Kensington.  Or they should at least give me a share of their profits. Sometimes I buy so much stuff on line (all absolutley needed apart from the 26 new placemats I seem to have  bought after Christmas, on sale), that I have to keep a record of it all so I don't forget anything.

So the first time I thought this email might be for real.  But hesitated before clicking on the attachment.  I was only waiting on two parcels - one from overseas but they emailed me directly with status updates on my purchases and delivery at regular intervals.

I waited and sure enough another came and then another.  Well this morning was the last straw.  This time I replied as follows:

Dear FedEx Express Services

Please remove me from your 'suckers who believe any bullshit' email distribution list.  I am not this stupid.  Now fuck off and leave me alone'

Hopefully that will do the trick. Can't wait for another email inviting me to send my details to apply for a job at a lumber business.  I am a very nice person but don't cross me.

AMFYOYO

WOMEN CAN BE PARTNERS IF THEY DON'T HAVE KIDS

Vlad called a meeting. An urgent meeting. This always spelled trouble The calendar appointment was sent last night for a meeting at 8am. With three school aged children, getting into the city was a bit like climbing mount Everett with a broken leg but I did it. I wished I'd had time to find the citation as an employer of choice for women so I could flush it down the toilet, but that would have to wait.

The subject of the meeting was partner promotion candidates and he invited me and all of the group head partners to the meeting. No one had any information about what this meeting was about. There were no papers attached to the meeting maker. Vlad rarely committed anything to writing. That way if things turned to shit he could always find a way to blame someone else and deny everything.

However, when we got to the meeting, we were each given a list of all lawyers in the senior lawyer category. This was a very long list as there was a bit of a bottle neck. This is very common in large law firms with everyone wanting a piece of the action. You could see that in the eyes of everyone around that table they were wondering how long this meeting was going to take and what use it was. After all appointing new partners had great potential to reduce the amount of coin in their own pockets. The pie is only so big.

Vlad was clearly on a mission. He had no doubt been instructed from those on high that we had , once again, to develop very clear career plans for those people we thought had partner potential; even though we had done this before. And for those without partnership potential - well, it was probably lampshades time. Which would be my job to execute.

Anyway, as usual, no one said anything, unless specifically asked a question.

Vlad started going through the list. The first three names on the list were men, very senior, and there were lots of questions and flattering responses about their interactions with clients, the size of their practices, potential for them to grow those practices, their ability to delegate and supervise staff etc. etc. etc. All good and useful conversations, leaving aside the fact that most of them had great potential to be arseholes if they made it to partnership.

The fourth person on that list was a woman. Let's call her Brigid. Brigid is a brilliant lawyer, excellent billables, great with clients and staff, pleasant to deal with etc etc etc. Before giving her supervising partner any chance to make a comment, Vlad said:

'Brigid would be a good candidate for partner. She has just turned 40, so is probably unlikely to have children'.

He then proceeded to the next name on the list. For a moment, I sat there stunned. I was the only woman in the room. In the middle of his first sentence in discussing the next male potential candidate, I excused myself and said 'may I ask a question?'

You could hear a pin drop. No one interrupted Vlad when he was speaking. He turned his pale dead eyes towards me and said imperiously 'yes'.

'How many children do you have Vlad?'

'I have four – why?'

'Well, it seems that having four children has not been an impediment to you not only becoming a partner, but becoming a managing partner.'

I then went around and asked each of the male partners in attendance how many children they had. Only two of the ten people did not have any children. Of course those that did all had stepford wives at home caring for the little blighters. They all shuffled in their seats looking down at their feet, no one willing to make eye contact with either Vlad or me, clearly embarrassed.

I was seething with rage inside, but I think I was doing a fairly good job of not showing it. I calmly folded up my compendium and with as much dignity as I could muster, excused myself, and announced I had another meeting to attend and that I would arrange individual meetings with the group heads to discuss their candidates on their merits, thereby guaranteeing the wrath of Vlad.

But in my head I was shouting 'adios mother fuckers you're on your own'

AMFYOYO.


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The most expensive refrigerator in the world

Our beloved ice and water refrigerator was losing its life. The ice maker no longer dispensed ice. Water mysteriously puddled under the fruit drawer before flooding out into the kitchen. And it was rusting.

This was the frig that my then two year old emptied of ice one day. He took a small stool to the frig and pressed the ice dispenser button until no more ice came out. I van vouch for the fact that one ice dispenser contains enough ice when full to cover the entire kitchen floor.

This was the frig that could cool a bottle of wine in the shortest time in an 'i have had enough of motherhood and work' emergency.

But having been through a period of fiscal trauma, I thought it best to just repair it. That would be the cheapest option.

Cost of repair - $1800 ( and not really worth it I was told)
Cost of someone to tell me that - -$220

Right. I'd rather have a new refrigerator at that price. So off I go. But not before I carefully measured the space occupied by the refrigerator.

Sadly, as it turned out I could not get one to fit the space. They had all changed shape. All wider and taller. Or if not, too deep and would stick out from the wall too much. I searched every website and refrigerator and checked dimensions before even looking at price. Even those with a smaller capacity (which I can't imagine coping with) were talker than my space.

So plan B was put into effect.

Cost of small kitchen Renovation to make space for new refrigerator, including removing cupboards above frig, two panels and moving entire back wall of kitchen 5cm to the right, and tiling repair and painting - about $4000
Cost of new refrigerator - $2800 ( and a steal reduced from $3400)
Cost of discovering tap to bring water to the frig was about to blow and needed to be replaced - $280

Cost of my exhaustion in removing everything from kitchen cupboards and refrigerator and then putting it all back in - too high.

But isn't she beautiful:





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Cricket bulletin in KRudd speak

My current spouse is our youngest son's cricket team manager. He writes a weekly bulletin which rarely has anything to do with cricket. This week he wrote it in Ruddspeak. One parent told me it was so realistic she almost nodded off towards the end. Enjoy.

Dear All

I was naturally shattered, as I am sure you all were, when the game was called off last weekend. How would I fill in the vacant hours which stretched before me like the Sahara to a dying man.

That question was soon answered when I switched on the TV and found a brand new soap opera called “The Kevin and Julia Show”. It ran for 48 solid hours. What magnificent theatre it was too. Really, Shakespeare couldn’t have written a better script if he tried.

And the best part was that we got to see Kevin in full verbal flight all over again. My how we’ve missed the prolix prince of the people. Why use one word when ten will do , after all.

So, in honour of the dearly and pretty well politically departed Kevin, I thought I’d write the rest of this in Rudd speak. It’s harder than it sounds you know. I don’t how he does it.

So, thanks for stopping by and reading this. It’s great to be on your screen. It’s great to be on your screen in beautiful Brissie. And it’s great to be on your screen in beautiful Brissie with you all. Tonight, I want to talk about the great and majestic game of cricket. And you know what, the truth is, after translating obscure Mandarin sonnets and making short video clips for You Tube, cricket is just about my favourite thing. So, tonight folks, I want to impart some information concerning about an important cricket match to be played this Saturday.

You all know that last week’s match occurred in a sustained period of negative sunshine which resulted in the outcome that the match commencement date should be extended by mutual agreement to a time equating to last Saturday plus one week. But before I tell you all about the anticipated commencement time for the postponed match this forthcoming weekend, let me make three very important points. First, in terms of a forecast, the weather is going to be fine. You know what, that’s a really important point as, thanks to all our hard work during the GFC, we have the finest weather anywhere in the known world in terms of our climate. Everywhere I go, the folk who come up to speak to yours truly to when I am out and about tell me just this. Second point: it’s not going to rain. The good folk who work at the Bureau of Meteorology do a truly outstanding job. These hard working Aussies have chucked the official BOM dart into the official BOM dart board and hit the “no chance of rain” sector. Can I say this: I get pretty riled when I hear people banging on about how the weather guys never get it right in terms of their predictions. Fair suck of the sauce bottle, you try it for a while and see how you do. So, folks, you know what, the bottom line is this, there will be no rain. And the third and really critical point: in terms of the climatic outlook, there’s going to be a paucity of precipitation.

Let’s just reflect on that for a while. Those naysayers among you who think that the rain was here to stay all need to take a cold shower (excuse the pun folks!) and remember those three important points. You know what, the simple truth is this: in terms of the weather, I am the only one who can deliver the sort of stable weather patterns we need to get on with the important business of running a cricket match. No one else can guarantee the sort of weather stability we all deserve; only P-Jol can. And let me just make this important point: if Mr. Abbott was running this weekend’s match, it would be raining. In fact, it would be pouring and you know what, the ordinary hard working decent folk I talk to all know this to be true. No question. That’s the kind of thing ultra conservatives like Mr. Abbott do. That and pulling the wings off flies. Thanks to yours truly, all of our working families will be able to spend some quality time this weekend on the sideline with their loved ones, watching some fine young Aussie kids having a hit of cricket. Maybe at a local oval like the Ashgrove State School, where those fine young kids tell me every day how much they appreciate the fine new hall that the BER program delivered ,at say 8 am. And that’s the bottom line.

Having said that, let me say this. In terms of my presence, I now have to enter a phase of negative attendance. I have to depart to enter into a dialogue with a fellow about a canine so regrettably I need to zip. So, see you good people at Ashgrove State School this Saturday.

(now, where’s my f#$%ing taxi? I ordered the f*#@er half a f@#*ing hour ago. For f@#*’s sake…)


F @#*ing cheers

P-Jol


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