Archive for housework
The Terrible Incontinence
Posted by: | CommentsI wet my pants.
It was terrible.
It wasn’t a little Light Bladder Leakage from a wayward cough, sneeze or Laugh With Snort.
It wasn’t even my wee.
Or anyone else’s either, for that matter. Which, if I’m honest, does make a nice change.
Nope. It was worse. Much much worse than all of the above.
You see, as I picked my full wine glass off the floor and brought it towards my mouth, I dropped it.
It went all over my pants.
I screamed. Very loudly.
Of course, my family leapt up and raced to my aid; immediate concern generated by my screaming.
No they didn’t. They barely raised an eyebrow. Not even a teensy eyebrow hair. And they certainly didn’t refill my glass.
So, as they completely ignored me, I faced the task of sucking wiping the wine off the couch.
That done, the wet pants were really annoying me, so I removed them at threw them at the laundry door. This is how I know things need to be washed; the pile of clothing, dirty teatowels and odd socks lying around the general direction of the laundry door.
Pants off, I had to negotiate the length of our hallway, clad only in my knickers and pyjama top.
In typical fashion, it is just as I near the wide open front door, but not quite within range of being able to duck, unseen, into the safety and privacy of our bedroom, that a family wander past the front gate and wave hello.
I do declare I need me some more wine …
Bloggers, Brunches and Boobies
Posted by: | CommentsAs if the week wasn’t crazy enough, today was another outing to a(nother) Kids Business Bloggers Brunch.
I my typical “I am very busy and important and this is why I get invited to such events” fashion, it commenced with me attempting to have a shower in peace whilst constantly reminding myself to ensure I made the kids’ school lunches before I got dressed in my nice top, making the kids lunches then recalling it is a School Special Lunch Day and I don’t actually have to make them lunch today, and finding myself standing outside the front of my house, wrapped in a towel, and consoling my three year old, whom had managed to smash his teeth into his tricycle, despite not actually riding it – or even being on it – at the time.
Am seriously hoping this series of semi-nakedness out the front is ensuring some interest from buyers in the house, and that someone will actually buy it soon.
Am not holding my breath.
Find jeans sticking out form under bed and locate a top that was still packed in the suitcase from the last few days’ travel. Must unpack at some point.
Thankfully, news of my oh so fabulous morning preceded me … or perhaps it was just my reputation that did? Either way, I arrived at the brunch venue and was asked “Would you like a drink?” and this vision that could only be have delivered by the gods awaited me …
Yep, a drink, Just For ME!
Once I was suitably bubbled up, off I went to mingle and explore.
My good friends, Coles, were there (I have lost a bit of contact with them, which has made me very sad, but was so happy to see them again 
) with a vast sample of their upcoming Christmas Fare.
Including … I think this is SO COOL … a turkey that looks just like a turkey turkey, but has had the bones removed and is stuffed back into shape with scrumbly stuffing and all you need do, once your husband has you have cooked it, is just slice and serve. Love it!
Samples were sent home and the rum balls were opened and consumed immediately after our evening meal was vacuumed into various little boy mouths.
Speaking of vacuums, Sauber where there with their new cleaner to “assist Aussie families who suffer from asthma and allergies”. Despite not actually having any clue what they were talking about (I don’t “do” vacuuming) they still let me have a bit of a go at their snazzy new, maximum power, minimum noise, easy handling machine with new intelligent floor nozzle.
It was pretty cool, as far as vacuums go, and Grumpy Pants, should he ever have the opportunity to utilise one, would have no reason to have his Meatloaf: Bat Out Of Hell CD turned up so high that when I pass the neighbours three blocks away they ask “Grumpy vacuuming again?”
“Yes, yes he is. How can you tell?”
“Meatloaf,” they reply and we share a look between us.
Of course, I asked the all important question about the cleaner, because, quite frankly, allergies and asthma aren’t concerns in this house, and I have now worked out what to do with the rice that has not only fallen to the floor, but worked its way up the side of the wall unit and reached the ceiling fan.
No, there are more important things.
“So, how easy is it to retrieve Lego sucked up by the cleaner?”
“Well, technically, it wasn’t designed to retrieve Lego pieces. Its main purpose is to clean floors.”
She almost lost me there, because Lego Loss is a traumatic experience in itself in our household. She gave me a Lego Retrieval Demonstration anyway.
Phew.
It was, however, Vita-Weat that caught my attention, because they are a staple in this house. They not only feature prominently in the school lunch box most days, but are some days the lunch for the day. Mostly when we’ve run out of bread and I have a case of Can’t Be Arsed and/or Grumpy has gone off to work, it’s before I’ve finished MUG and I can’t get my head around three kids in a breadless house and acquiring more. Too Hard Basket or Mummy Is A Basket Case are my two options.
They are also readily used as “quick, we need to leave, eat something” snacks between school and whatever it is we have on that afternoon, late night snacks, when we’ve run out of all other food in the house snacks and meals, and when we have picnics. And I’m sure there’s more.
(I’m not just saying this either. It’s all true. Vita-Weat have saved the kids from going to school with peanut butter on a playing card for their lunch on more than one occasion!)
Vita-Weat, some time ago, came out with sandwich sized Vita-Weaty thingies. Basically, it was their “standard” biscuits in bread-slice-size. They were attending the Bloggers Brunch to show off their new range of “Lunch Slices”.
They come in “four yummy flavours” and have had their design re-jigged so they don’t fall apart when you bite into them (a design flaw of the aforementioned/first run sandwich sized Vita-Weat), yet still retain the wormy thing when you put butter and Vegemite on them and squish two together.
I sampled a few at the Brunch, and am suitably impressed, and will feel substantially less guilt when I send the kids to school with these instead of “real proper sandwiches” as they resemble sandwiches much more.
And the seeds and stuff in them will make the teacher think I am a good mother as I am sending them to school with healthy shit.
On second thought, I think I may covet them for myself, as I foresee these being much more interesting for my own lunch, as I sit at my computer, blogging, writing, and creating useful resources and have the option of Vegemite sandwich on wholemeal bread that has been left open on the kitchen bench all morning as I appear to be the only one in this house capable of folding the bag over the bread, effectively sealing it, and putting it away in the purpose built bread box I acquired some years ago.
Yep, I think I will … lunch for me and a fallback when my parenting skills are somewhat inadequate …
All in all, it was a fabulous morning and I got to go home and collect my kids from school and childcare and make pizzas for them, before drinking wine and collapsing on couch.
T’is all in a day’s work.
The house in the parallel universe
Posted by: | CommentsDrop kids off at school, wander up the street with Grumpy and Chippie, collecting a latte on the way back home.
Greeted at door by they 12 year old who has come to steam clean our carpets. Personally, I think he could have come earlier. Like three years ago. But now is good.
He does the three carpeted bedrooms and leaves. Grumpy retrieves the vacuum and does the rest of the house.
He has this thing with the vacuum. He’s fanatical about it. Turns the CD up and goes about it, leaving the cord plugged into the bathroom socket, halfway up the wall, and the cord trailling down the hall for a week, creating a hazzard for all.
He likes to vac. I like to let him. It’s win- win really.
Chippie and I kept getting in the way, so first up, we rush to the pre-schoolers gymnastics class we were on the waiting list for and just received a call saying we were in. Chippie was none too impressed about being dragged away from Hairy McClary. Then he was completely freaked out by being allowed through the gate he’s spent the last three years not being allowed through.
He managed that by screaming very loudly, then lying on the floor and not moving for about ten minutes. Then he watched a bit. Then ran around a bit. Then hopped up on some equipment and had a bit of a go.
Then said “this is fun” and “I did jumping” …. all the way home …
Where Grumpy was in Full Vacuum Mode. I could tell, because I could hear the CD he had on through the closed windows of the car as I was approaching the (closed) garage. And the lovely next door neighbour said “he vacuuming again? I can tell, he has his music going.”
So Chippie and I had a bath. To keep more out of the way.
It was when I got out that I realised the bedroom carpets were wet and I coudn’t go in to retrieve clean knickers. This is not good. I don’t cope well with this. I’m more than happy to throw on the clothes I had on earlier; they weren’t that dirty. But I do need knew undies.
I wander down to the kitchen. Grumpy is vacuuming the meat drawer in the fridge (which is where we keep our cheese. Of course). I check the tea towel drawer to see if there’s a clean pair of undies in there.
My mind happens to return for a moment. I’m rifling through the tea towels to find knickers, and Grumpy is attending to the frozen peas at the bottom of the freezer with the vac.
Yup. The house has officially gone mad.
Is it really the end?
Posted by: | CommentsTwo full days at home and two full days of Washing The Holiday Wear.
I’ve just completed hanging the last load, accompanied and assisted by a chocolate smeared toddler.
I don’t care. I’m not washing them again. It is the end.
I have done all the clothes, towels and tea towels that need doing.
If only I could get the rest of the uncooperative to walk around naked, I would actually have just a moment of no washing at all that requires attending to.
Just checking
Posted by: | CommentsWith the impending influx of in-laws tomorrow – because we invited them – and the long neglected tidying of house, or so it appears given the mess everywhere, although I’m fairly sure we went through this same process last weekend and several times during the week, a Tidy Up and Clean was scheduled. Along with The Grocery Shopping Including Party Foods.
It kicked off with an 8.00am game of basketball – our very first at this time – where Godzilla’s team were kicking some serious bum (this week – the comp has so few under 10 boys team that they’ve combined grades A, B and C. You know, for variety) and the awesomeness of the coach had arranged for some strategic passing of the ball to the lesser experienced players on our team. Of which there were two. Godzilla being one of them.
He’s the kid that runs up the court way after everyone else, skips a bit, watches the scoreboard count down, stands twiddling his thumbs and occasionallyparticipates in the game when he’s on court. He’s getting better, however.
So, today, there were some very specific instructions to the rest of the team about passing to these two boys, and to the two boys about “catching and dribbling” and “catching and shooting”. All very good.
Until Godzilla, standing at the top of the key, rebounded the ball, quite by accident, and panicked. All this talk of pushy parents, and “my son is the best” stuff you hear about went out he window, as eight parents on the sideline stoood up and yelled “SHOOT!!!!!!” repeatedly.
In hindsight, it was probably not the thing to do, as he kinda freaked a bit. But did manage to bounce pass the ball to a more experienced player who got a goal. He was quite proud of himself and we heard all about it for the rest of the day.
Home again. Much yelling and passing on of instructions in order to have our floor returned to us for the purpose of vacuuming. Well, not even that really. We just wanted to be able to walk on it. Eventually ended up setting timers and handing out serious threats about shopping and the non-purchase of yellow food colouring for birthday cake. It worked.
Dragged Monkey Boy along with me, and as we’re leaving, Grumpy had slight meltdown, and Chippie came along as well. I drew the line at taking all three, and advised Grumpy if he played his cards right, he could coerce Godzilla into doing something constructive.
Pahahahaha.
Thus, the shopping trip required two trolleys, as one was now partly taken up by a toddler, and consisted of much being rammed in the back of the feet and legs. Monkey Boy also felt that pushing one trolley up to the other and placing Chippie’s feet in it would also be of immense benefit and make it easy to push. Also, he is shit at calming a now tantrumming toddler, who wanted his feet to remain in the other trolley. By isle three, I was nearing foetal position.
Shopping finally completed, Monkey Boy decides leaving me to get up the escalator with two trolleys entirely on my own is a great idea and elicits a panicked “get here now!” from me, and causes much turning heads and glaring and crazy woman screaching at child. Thankfully, Christmas is approaching and this is a common scenario and no one is terribly fussed.
Back home for some more tidying and sorting and cleaning so the house can be invaded tomorrow and we will wonder why we went to the effort of it all.
Decide to query Monkey Boy re the now located Blu Tack.
“Is this the bit that went up your nose? Dad found it in the hall, squished.”
“Umm. It could be. Let me see,” and I handed it over so he could immediately stuff it up his nose.
It was all I could do not to shake my head, mutter “for fucks sake, you’re an idiot” (AGAIN!) and wander off.
Unfortunately, I failed and did mutther “for fucks sake, you’re an idiot” (AGAIN!)
At least we know that it came out, though.
I think I’ll go and bake his cake for tomorrow.
All for nothing
Posted by: | CommentsAfter a site crash and loss of data last week, some serious brain malfunctions (pouring coffee in a cupboard, stuffing all my stamps into an envelope and sealing it, forgetting crazy hair day … I could go on, but am starting to feel exceptionally inadequate) I had copious amounts of catch up to do.
Combine this with the next three nights taken up with stuff and … well, basically, the toilet has been neglected.
Not an issue in and of itself, and not something I’m particularly concerned about. Except we have guests tonight and on Sunday. The ONLY time the toilet gets a look in. Euww. And the image that conjured up. Perhaps I should rephrase and say “the only time the cleanliness of the toilet is considered”.
Really, cleaning it at the best of times is a futile and fruitless procedure, given the abilty of boys to lack aim. Or, perhaps, have perfect aim and no desire to actually wee in the toilet. Thankfully, it’s only two of them at the moment. Am doing best not to even entertain idea of toilet training the toddler until at leat Monkey Boy has moved out of home.
(Although, would prefer to spend money on shoes than nappies – oh, god the dilemma!!!!!)
(And have just had minor meltdown over shoes I haven’t bought because nappies were needed)
(Help!!!!!!)
So distressing is this wee-ing and toilet thing, that I’ve even seriously contemplated swapping bedrooms with the kids so they can just messy up the ensuite (which is MUCH smaller, therefore less to be cleaned) and I then have a bath that I can claim all to myself, and I won’t feel so distressed about visitors using said bathroom.
Anyhoo, as it stands, we have people coming after school and I have an hour to tend to it. So I do … even though I’m unable to get my hands on some of those rubber gloves that vets use to shove their arms up cow’s vaginas and stuff.
All done, regret fact we don’t have one of those biochemical, hazardous waste spillage shower thingies and head off to school for pickup. All whilst strategising how I am going to motivate offspring to clean up the lounge room / dining table so we may, in fact, eat off it. Gotta love a table cloth; simply gather up the corners and sides, get a good grip, lift it off the table with the contents safely enclosed and stuff it in the laundry, dishwasher or other, suitable out of the way place.
Answer phone to guests, who informs us they are now not coming as daughter is sick and they don’t want us to get sick either.
Fairy nuff. And I appreciate the concern and sentiment.
But someone has to appreciate my gleaming, clean toilet. The kids will only wee on it!
It’s official – I. Am. Awesome
Posted by: | CommentsYou know you have those moments whenyou feel like you’re just doing the worst job in the world as a mother?
And, despite doing all those things like swearing in front of your kids or sending them to school with no lunch, or forgetting to pick them up … all those moments compounded don’t make you feel quite so much a bad mum as when one of your offspring says soemthing along the lines of “I hate you! You’re the worst mum in the world!”
It’s like them saying it just confirms it. Before they say it, you can just about convince youreself you’re doing ok. Once they’ve said it, its like you’ve publicly been handed the “Bad Mum Award”, and it’s recorded in the register. It’s official!
Well, I’ve had so many of those moments, that I have no space left on my walls to house the certificates I haven’t received for all the times I’ve been loudly awarded such a presitgious status. Mostly presented from my kids’ bedroom, from where they have screamed it at me.
I was even called an “evil arse” the other day. I am improving.
Still, it’s the officialdom of it all. It’s stuck in your head and you can’t get it out. Therefore, it must be true.
Thus, I am so pleased to now be Officially Awesome.
I know I am. Not because all my friends said “you’re awesome”. Nor my business coach or any other business type person with whom I work or am associated with in one way or another.
Nor even my hubby rubbing my back whilst I’m sobbing hysterically and trying to convince me “no, no really, you’re not a bad mum at all, you’re a great mum” and grasping madly for some evidence of this statement.
Nup!
I am awesome because my 9 year old told me I am. And not because he wanted something, but because I did something for him, asked him his opinion and he replied with “Hmmm, I don’t like three by two lego bricks because you can’t use them for anything and they’re the only ones you can find when you really need the four by two . Ilike the four by two better.”
And then, because he learnt a few years back that I will have a tantrum and “throw his fucking Percy fucking cake in the fucking bin” if he offers any more “feedback” on how I’m doing it all wrong, he adds “But I really like it. I’m happy with it,” and stepped out of range of my arms, taking with him the birthday invites I’d just done, in fear that I would toss them in the recycle bin.
He returned home from school to find I had altered the LEGO brick on his birthday invitations to find I had replaced the three by two brick with a four by two brick (once I worked out what he was actually referring to) and it was then, after I had done the job that he said “You’re awesome!”
And like all good mums I put my hand to my heart and gave a small sob. My son really does love me. Of course, I couldn’t rely on this alone and set about soliciting a testimonial, albeit without telling him first.
As you can see from this video – he was more than happy to provide it, too 
See … it must be true. I really am awesome!
Seeing eye to eye with my plans
Posted by: | CommentsAfter spending yesterday with a fair chunk of the extended family, and my lists (work, christmas, favourite wines) lost amongst themselves (or quite possibly gone to live with a nice family who pays them attention) I advised the Grumpy one that I had a LOT of work to do, and that I require his undivided attention … all focussed on the children.
I got him to make me breakfast as well, then had a shower to myself, for about 13 seconds, when Monkey Boy joined me. Got out when done, jeansed up, aquired a full MUG and again, just to be sure he got it, mentioned to Grumpy that I was working and not to be disturbed.
About 23 seconds after that I heard Monkey Boy yelling quite louldy. “Help” and things like that. I successfully avoided it for as long as motherly possible, raced up to the ensuite and found Chippie had worked his way into the shower, fully clothed, and was having a fabulous time.
Aided the undressing without dripping on the carpet, located MUG and mentioned, just in case he hadn’t quite got it, that I was busy workingand not to be disturbed.
I got approximately 58 seconds, successfully ignoring the wresting noises emanating from the bedroom, when Grumpy comes in and says “Look at my eye.”
Ok, thats really lovely, but right now I don’t give a fuck. Stupid technical things were taking my attention, and I’ve seen the redness of eye before and figured he’d live. Besides, it wasn’t as bad as the phone smashing in mouth I got yesterday. And no sympathy there, either, might I add.
After informing me his eye was very sore several times, I eventually relented and ask that he let me finish this one job and I’d drive him to emergency. There wasn’t any blood, so it’s not like we needed an emergency dash for bandaids. Besides, anal organised type I am, we always have bandaids.
He allowed me approximately half a minute before getting dressed and saying “See ya, I’m going.”
No bloody way was I letting him leave me with the kids in the hyped up state they were in until this job was done, so convinced him I was nearly done and let him do the “Hurry up and get in the car” thing.
Off we head, drop him off and wait in the car for a phone call advising what was going on. Didn’t want to unplug the baby and have bored, tired kids sitting in emergency of the Eye & Ear. By “sitting” I mean climbing on chairs, lying on the floor, eating under-seat chewing gum, loudly expressing desires to purchase and consume hospital cafeteria food and saying “I’m bored!” a lot.
Call comes – a cut on cornea, and a wait of 2-3 hours for the doctor. Please leave me in peace and I’ll ring when I’m done.
So I did all I could do and took the kids to the supermarket to buy bread and milk and a few necessities for dinner (nacho supplies).
Monkey Boy got mildy silly and I advised him if he didn’t stop I would be forced to stab him with a blunt spoon.
“You would really stab me?” he asks, all wide-eyed and innocent.
“Yes. With a blunt spoon.”
“Huh!” he exclaims, loudly. “What kind of mother would do that to her son,” causing a shelf-stacker to snort his high energy drink though his nose, and a nearby shopper to head to isle 6 for a new pack of Tena.
Not home long … just long enough to make lunch and settle down for some quite time … just long enough for us all to have just found our peace … when the “Pick me up pls” text comes in, and off we head again.
Meet Grumpy, large white eye patch over his right eye, and requested to drive to chemist for supplies. Children refuse to cooperate, avoiding saying things like “Arrrr” and “Ahoy there, me hearties”.
Spoilsports!
Grumpy, rendered quadriplegic by a small scratch on his eye, lies on the couch for a snooze. At perfect height for Chippie, fascinated by large, white eye covering and who commences further pokage of eye.
In a “being a helper” kind of mood, I ring and email a few friends having a rough time and start on some Christmas cards.
My good samaratany mood is shortlived when I realise it is evening meal time, which I can tell by screamage of youngest child.
Make nachos (as promised), serve them up and start chopping the provisions for burritos. Task completed, I set the various serving bowls down and ponder loudly about the whereabouts of the nachos.
Guilty looks all around from 3 larger boys. Screaming for more from baby.
Back to kitchen for spoons, and upon my return am presented with small plate of nachos.
Which look mysteriously as though they’ve had the cheese and salsa sucked off them, and some guacamole (made by ME) has been scraped together from everyone elses’s plates and smothered over my serving to hide the fact mine have more kid spit than tasty cheese on them.
Scoff down a burrito and half, all I can manage before baby rubs salsa into his eyes and I have to take him for a bath.
Apparently, Grumpy now has a morbid fear of him.
Either that, or he doesn’t want me to share his stash of good nachos he’s hidden from me.
Iron? What is this you speak of?
Posted by: | CommentsUrk. Swimming lessons with Chippie again.
Of course, the day started urky well before then, with Monkey Boy complaining he was tired and didn’t like getting up (join the club), then he didn’t like putting his shoes on while he was playing (a rule I had to implement becuase he would keep playing then we’d be late for school coz he didn’t have his shoes on), the he didn’t like walking to school (we weren’t, it’s Wednesday morning. We drive on Wednesday mornings) then he didn’t like … by this stage it was all white noise.
And he was most miffed when I informed him “Well, I don’t like little boys who are poo heads, yet here we are.”
Got rid of them, then braced myself for lessons in the pool. Usual changing room behaviours, him flirting with all the oldies there for their weekly aqua aerobics class, crawling off (and out doors) while I was naked and testing his voice and it’s echo.
Cool!
Screamed only intermittently throughout his lesson this week, instead of all the way through it.
Back to change room, where phone rang, sounding like I had a small child stashed in my locker. A call from channel 9, so kinda wanted to take it. A Simpsonesque “You’ll have to speak up, I’m wearing a towel!” moment, and another biscuit handed to baby to keep him occupied and in the one spot. Ish.
Located him under the lockers a few minutes later.
Head home where he falls asleep, I set about work only to discover some stupid technological fuck up and rever to sorting that. To Do List glaring at me, partly in disgust, part sorrow. I think it’s feeling somewhat neglected.
Chippie wakes seconds before the phone rings, and about 5 minutes before I want him to. Channel 9 again, firming up details for appearing on Today tomorrow morning.
Great.
School, home, dinner, panic when discover can not only not locate good jacket, the one that actually fits, but was put somewhere not in my wardrobe as it needed dry cleaning.
PANIC!
Locate jacket, um, hanging up, discover it needs an iron. Something I haven’t used for quite some time, because, quite franky, it’s not something I need for my work. When I start ironing pyjama pants, then, clearly, my To Do List needs to be seen to, or I’ve sunk to the lowest level of procrastination possible.
Swith iron on, consider the Everest of a task ahead of me, and pour glass of wine.
Ah, job done …
And back to normality
Posted by: | CommentsFirst day of school, which means Grumpy Pants is out the door at some ridiculous hour that enables him, usually, to have a quiet breakfast on his own and reading the paper without various other family members taking various parts in the process.
And sometimes giving Chippie his breakky.
Or, as was the case this morning, having a rushed shower, stuffing breakfast down, neglecting the paper and racing out the door.
All of which was fine, because I slept through it, thanks to a wakeup call at 3.23 am to attend to Chippie, who then woke me mid-deep sleep at just before 7.
Daylight savings is evil – pure evil – the day before school holidays. Not only do I have to get the kids up for their first day of school after the hols, when their body clocks are way different, but I’d forgotten to adjsut the clock on the coffee machine.
Losing an hour of sleep and being woken from a decent sleep, it took me some time to work out that the coffee machine hadn’t actually gone off. I did notice that the lights telling me it was still in program and hadn’t yet actually brewed, but I was too tired to remember what they actually meant. Fatigue also led me to attempt to pour a MUG from the empty pot and create confusion as to why nothing was coming out.
Muddled together some lunches for the kids, got dressed, hassled the out the door, walked back inside to take my shirt off and turn it around the right way, and off we went to school.
We even made it to the right school. I put that down to the fact that the coffee machine hadn’t gone off before Grumpy left, so I got his coffee and mine.
Then it was off to do the grocery shopping that I hadn’t managed to do last night due to party going overtime and sitting around watching ten boys go completely feral on soft drinks and hot dogs.
Home again, more MUG, attempt to find childcare for Chippie (pfft – not bloody likely anytime this millenium it appears), work, walk to go get fruit and veg I’d forgotten earlier, school, gymnastics, cook dinner, bath time, argh … please tell me we have wine and it’s not something we ran out of before we went away …
