Archive for time out for mums
Mums’ Night Out! It’s a wrap
Posted by: | CommentsLast night was THE night of nights. None of this Logies business. I even had my own wardrobe malfunction, whereby I was so focussed on everyone having a brilliant time, that I literally chose my outfit an hour before I was to be at the venue, and had a dodgy slip thing (something I have never worn in my life!) that kept sliding sideways and sitting funny and exposing my bra. A lot.
(I should have gone with the Mix top I had, but I wore that at an event only two weeks ago and … you know, I’m a fuckwit, cos I don’t usually care about stuff like that… anyhoo.)
I spent Thursday evening seconding the kids to ‘help’ finish stuffing the goody bags for the night, then most of the following two hours saying “NO! They are NOT YOURS to have, NO you cannot have one until I get my goody bag tomorrow night and I MIGHT share with you, oh, please, god, help me, why am I doing this?!?!?!?!?!??!?!”
I spent this morning making sure the iPod had all the appropriate music on it, paying invoices, checking numbers, printing tickets, putting stickers on envelopes and hoping everyone fucking appreciates the work put in that they don’t see.
Then I arrived late at the venue, but not so late, just later than my Anal Control Freak Virgo Perfectionist part of my brain likes. You know, 7 minutes later than the time I set myself, which was half an hour earlier than necessary.
The venue – The Butterfly Club – is freaking awesome! They were an absolute pleasure to work with, incredibly accommodating and patient. And the decor was amazing; funky, kitsch, lots of little knickknacks around the place, but mostly comfortable and fun.
Jenny Wynter and her Unexpected Variety Show was equally awesome. I have seen – and reviewed – this show before, and was just as blown away by Jenny’s talent as previous. She is clever, honest, funny – hilarious, actually – and an absolutely brilliant singer. People talk about ‘range’ and ‘pitch’ and stuff like that when it comes to singing. I don’t know enough about the intricacies and technicalities of singing to comment. What I do know is this chick can sing in different accents! And she’s funny. Did I mention that?
Her story is just sooooo heartwarming, and heartbreaking at times, and she’s not scared to sing about her birthing experience.
I laughed and laughed.
Upstairs, afterwards, was food and drinking and just chilling with an amazing bunch of women. I always have just so much fun, just letting my hair down, not having to worry about anything and just knowing I’m loved and supported. It was SO awesome to see some new people come along, a few who had even braved purchasing a single ticket, and having a great time.
It makes my heart sing.
I have to express my gratitude for not only everyone who came along and supported the night, but especially to the chicks from Real Mums (and its Bad Mother’s Club community) whom keep me going and are always there for me.
I’m so impressed by the love and support and community of these chicks. This is how awesome they are … one of our ‘usuals’ couldn’t make it last night, so we rang her and sung to her, so she wouldn’t miss out. Of course, it was a song that she abhors, but that’s not the point; that she abhors it holds a lot of meaning with her and Mums’ Night Out! so we had to include her …
Photos of boobs and shots up dresses were also taken – it’s a given. But they’re being used for blackmail at a later stage deleted.
Goody bags were handed out and rifled through – because who can wait till the morning to check out the loot?!
Massive, massive undying love for the sponsors of Mums’ Night Out! – you all rock! And, apparently, they also rocked our night …
and they are ….
ZangIT of course – my biggest and bestest, arsekickingest (in several perspectives) sponsor. There are not enough words to convey just how much ZangIT have done for me and Mums’ Night Out! Oh, and they provided the bags to house the goodies 
Lindt … NOM! Am blown away by their contribution to the goody bags!
LEGO – thank you! I’m not sure if that’s “for providing something to keep my children entertained and happy” or a more facetious sort of ‘thank you’ along the lines of “great, now I have a heap of nagging going on about getting their hands on the minifigures intended for the bags” … either way, it’s been awesome from a bribery perspective 
And minifigure rock!
Arnotts – more nommage!
Papermate – I love, love, love their new Inkjoy pens! Have you tried them? Awesome. I do – obviously – a lot of writing, and seriously recommend these for the purpose of things like writing … even on arms … just saying …
Moose Enterprise - specifically for their Trash Packs and Sticka-Lulu packs!
Noodle Box – and the Little Miss Chopsticks and toppers.
The Mummyseuss – who has also been a longstanding support and sponsor of Mums’ Night Out! and mums in general
Jacinta’s Kitchen Capers – ditto! And the cupcakes!!!
and, finally, Babysitters and More!
Without you, I’d be in the foetal position on the floor and the night would be blah … thank you all, I can’t express just how much you made my night and my life easier
Here’s the haul: 
Thank you all who supported the night, thank you for coming along and allowing me to have an awesome, FUN, mental health moment … thank you all for being awesome!
“Welcome home, mummy!” said the lice.
Posted by: | CommentsAnother day in the car; 9 plus hours driving from Sydney to Melbourne.
T’was lovely to be able to do this without having to stop for more than a coffee and a quick wee, nor to have to turn around and say “do you want me to pull over and leave you here?!” every seventeen minutes or find a safe spot to pull over for a piddle because they didn’t need to go while we were actually passing through a town, but were suddenly busting just as we hit the 110 kmph zone just past it.
T’was lovely to have Chippie running up the hall and out the door, yelling “Mummy, mummy! Is mummy!” when we pulled up out the front, to have Monkey Boy rifling through the goody bags as we’re trying to unload them onto the nature strip, and Godzilla rummaging through whatever leftover snacks there were from the drive and spitting them at me as he said “oh, hi”.
I was allowed inside, gave a kiss to Grumpy pants, and was immediately thrust back into Normality.
Dinner, complaints, standing on toys and bath time, at which point Chippie says “mine head hurt”; it could be a bump, or it could be he is coming down with a virus, given both Grumpy Pants and Monkey Boy have recently had one.
Or … NOOOOOOOOOOO … “nits” I think as Chippie walks ahead of me, scratching his head profusely and saying “mine head itchy”.
I strip him off, plonk him in the bath, smother his head with cheapo conditioner and begin combing.
Oh, yeah. An infestation. Fun.
I continue combing, add some treatment, and yell at Monkey Boy for the 804th time to come and get in the frigging bath so I can check his hair too. I hate checking his hair. It is now to his shoulder blades and curly. Which generally equals some version of knotty. Urk.
And he whinges a lot.
He, too, is infected. I add treatment to his hair whilst, yet again, request he stop bitching at me about the lice issue as I am not fucking God and I, too, am pissed off about the entire situation and him bitching and complaining and saying I’m hurting is not helping me feel any better about it.
Grumpy is seconded to the shower to wash Chippie’s treatment out and I am subsequently seconded to the bathroom to remove him safely from the shower, now containing Grumpy, Monkey Boy and Chippie.
I open the door and hold his hand to help him step out.
At this point, Monkey Boy and Grumpy Pants bickering at each other, Grumpy inexplicably turns the shower head (quite possibly to shut Monkey Boy up) and I am hit, full force in the right tit with a shower-spray of water.
I scream! One of those really girly, surprised screams.
This does little in relation to having the spray turned away from me, or, I dunno, the glass shower door shut, maybe?
So I scream again. Grumpy laughs, and Chippie says “You wet your pa-ants!”
I spend the hour I’d like to be in bed reading combing Monkey Boy’s hair, small segment by small segment … and dream of when my next break will be …
Escape!
Posted by: | CommentsAfter this morning’s dangerous trip to the shops, fraught with iPods and bizarrely brained children and zombies I was in need of an escape.
“Let’s go away for the night,” I suggest.
Because there’s nothing quite like spontaneity to add some fun to your life.
So we pack some lunch to have along the way, despite it being lunchtime as we do so, pack overnight bags and pack the car. We even remember jackets this time.
Then we pack ourselves in and off we go.
The children entertain themselves by doing such fun things as touching each other and looking at each other, working Chippie up into a state so that he hits them, pulls their hair and yells and screams very loudly.
“Stop!” I say.
“Use your Inside The Car voice!” I continue.
“ARGH! HE TOUCH MY CHAIR!” Chippie screams at me.
“I meant the other Inside The Car voice,” I tell him. “Not the one you usually use. The one that is appropriate to use inside the confines of a car and doesn’t deafen everyone. That Inside The Car voice.”
“ARGH!” he replies. ‘HE LOOK AT ME!”
And I contemplate tossing them all out. Then decide I think I’d prefer to hop out myself and go and have some nice quiet time by myself. I open the packet of lollies instead.
We make it as far as Colac where we stop and check out a car show (*shudder* but that’s a long story about my previous life that I may or may not discuss, depending on whether anyone is interested or not), eat a very belated lunch and set off again.
Next stop: Warrnambool, where we have booked some last minute accommodation which is not, as Grumpy thought, a motel, but a series of cabins. No matter. We’re only using it to sleep in. And, you know, run around screaming, jumping on beds and fighting with our siblings etc.
A walk is in order, partly to get some blood flow back into our legs after sitting for hours, and in order to hunt for food for the evening meal.
Chippie turns on his feral and starts screaming and crying and wanting to be carried and Grumpy tries to distract him by collect what we think is Norfolk Island pine tree “fruit” and telling him it is a penis.
And so commences the tone of discussion for our walk.
They all collect some of the fronds from the trees, Chippie insisting he utilise his for a tail, Monkey Boy went for light sabre and Godzilla just collected a heap. Grumpy whipped everyone with his, because, clearly, everyone was far too happy and content and some disgruntlement was required.
We wandered to the train station, where Chippie performed an “I wanna see-a train!” tantrum and was most pissed off we did not produce one for him.
We wandered up and down streets, located dinner, returned back to our cabin, ate, the discussion turned to the topic of farts, and included a challenge. Basically, they each had to create a fart-like noise with their mouth and each one had to be different.
There was no prize. Nor even a winner. Just the fun of doing it.
I wondered what the appeal was – or which lunatic came up with the suggestion – of having the TV off during evening meal time? I was tempted to turn The Simpsons on for a bit of subdued discussion. It is WAY more appropriate that some of the content of the topics in our household.
Instead, Grumpy suggested another walk. I was all for it, until I recalled the talk during out walk only hours earlier.
Thankfully, we located a playground, complete with awesome flying fox and a maze and everyone was otherwise distracted
Still, I did learn a few things during our walks, and spending time with my kids:
- it is entirely possibly to talk about penises for two hours straight
- if you feed Chippie he is less likely to throw tantrums … don’t you hate that? He’s being revolting, you feed and then you think “oh, yeah – duh!” Idiot
- “Mendies” are ladies with penises
- There is along and convoluted process that goes on in your brain to come up with this and, as a mother, it can break your mind trying to work it out
- “mendies” is “men” and “ladies” combined … obviously!
- despite my sometimes thinking otherwise, there are children who are far worse and way more rude, obnoxious and revolting than my own … the one at the playground who kicked and pushed my 3 year old for no reason other than to be a little C***, you are one of them
- despite my sometimes thinking otherwise, I’m not such bad a mother
- despite already have spoken about penises for two hours straight, it is actually possible to come up with more things to discuss about penises …
Little to report (and a Yankee Candle review)
Posted by: | CommentsThis weekend was rather uneventful in so far as my life usually goes.
Or maybe I’m now numb to it all
Basketball grand final occurred at 8.00am Saturday morning. Only we were required to be there at 7.40am. Oh how I laughed and laughed when they told me, give we just manage to turn up at 8.00 each week. “Nice joke, boys,” I told the team manager and coach. Then they advised me they were serious and I had to pretend I was laughing at something else.
Then, with my history of basketball, they asked me to coach next season. And I laughed again. And they told me they were serious. And I was ever so proud of myself when I said “Um, no. But thank you for thinking of me.”
This is a huge step in my Learning To Say No Journey. In fact, I would go so far as to say I’m very near the end of that particular learning, given I now say “no” a lot. And I’m not just talking about to my pre-schooler when he asks if he can have chocolate (pahahahah, let me rephrase, when he says “get me chocolate”) at breakfast time. I have actually learnt to say it and not feel bad!
I’m still to combat the insatiable desire to yell “GOD YES!” every time someone asks me to do someting, or, my other habit, to offer help when someone else is being asked to provide it. My body gets all excited and ready to jump in at a moment’s notice to aid whomever is in need. But I sit on my hands, bite my tongue and … deep breath … say “no”.
Guess, what? No one dies, the world doesn’t end, and people still love me. Phew!
Anyhoo, we made it on time (20 minutes early) we lost to the team that thrashed us 44 points the first time we played then, and only 18 the second time. We lost by 12 points. Well, technically, the under 10′s on the court did. I had bugger all to do with it. Aside from, you know, a lot of yelling
Complete crazy running around of morning with gymnastics and what not and settled in for a nice, hot, relaxing, childfree bath in the late afternoon. Chippie was alseep on the couch and the older two ensconced in a Wii game. I knew my “five more minutes” would be ignored, so used the time to my advantage.
I added some scrumbly bubbles to the bath, and lit the Sgae & White Tea (made with pure essential oils and declaring “this blissful formulat will lift the spirits”) Yankee Candle I had strategically positioned beside the bath so that I may read whilst in there, without having to turn the lights on. Also, it was perfect for creating an “atmosphere” in the bathroom, and hiding any not-as-clean-as-I’d-like bits when guests are over.
Perfect.
The smell was delicious, and just as I lowered myself into the steaming water, feeling each part of my body relax as I did so, the spirits were indeed lifted and a slightly, Just Having Woken 3 year old staggered into the bathroom with that whighy, Just Having Woken whinge, removed his pants, struggled with removing his shirt and climbed in to join me.
I’m unsure if it was the claming, spirit lifting scent of the candle behind my head, but I went with the flow. And with the knees to my whatsit, the elbows to my nipples and the red boat that had been sitting on the side, full of water, overnight working its way across my ample tummy and boobs, only to offload its freezing watery cargo onto those same areas.
I did want to scream and evict toddler from the bath. But I didn’t.
Again, was it the candle? Or am I now just immune to such goings on and they no longer bother me.
Either way, the candle was fabulous when the middlest child came and relieved himself in the loo just the other side of it’s flaming beauty, and when the eldest performed his daily bowel abultion. This performance, of course, may only be this public when I am in a relaxing bath – or as relaxing a bath as possible, with a pointy pre-schooler climing all over you and upending receptacles full of week old water onto my person.
Otherwise, it must be performed in complete privacy, and complete with screaming at anyone who tries to enter the room.
Anyhoo, I was able to complete my bath in a room that was nicely aromaed, even if it wasn’t particularly relaxing, quiet or complementary to book reading …
As far as the candle went … it had a sublte aroma, but strong enough to overpower the smells off a bathroom utlised by three boys, and waft subtly through the rest of the house without causing anyone to stagger back with watering eyes at the smell.
It’s still going … so it lasts, I’m guess, a lot of hours. Probably not a great indicator of how long it lasts, given my “long, hot, relaxing baths” are usually abandoned after about five and a half minutes. Twelve on a good day. Still, its been sitting in the bathroom, and been re-lit a number of times and the smell doesn’t appear to have faded at all. So that’s a bonus in my book.
And if you want to get your hands one one, please send me your details and I shall deliver you one of my sons, STAT.
If you want a candle, they appear to be available from www.candlewickhouse.com.au/
If you do manage to get your hands on one, and get to use it, I would love to hear your experience. About the candle, of course, but also your relaxing experience … so I may live vicariously through you. Also, I’d like to know what it feels like to have a hot bath without having cold water poured over your bazoongas at various intervals …
An Open Letter To Blondes
Posted by: | CommentsDear women of blonde persuasion,
No, this is not a letter pertaining to your stereotyopical “blondeness”. I have no qualms with you and your alleged stupid comments and behaviours.
Well, maybe I do.
As someone of a dark-haired persuasion, I merely have this request of you. When I mention, because it has got to the point it is causing me some distress, that “My legs are in desperate need of a wax!” it would do me the greatest of pleasure if you could refrain from replying with “Oh, me too, look ..” and lifting your pants legs to show me… show me what?
A leg which at first glance, appears to be hairless. It remains apparently hairless at second, third and fourth glances. I lower my face to take a closer look, remove my glasses, put them on again, grab a magnifying glass and still, I am at a loss as to how your apparently extremely hursuit lower extremities could constitute even consideration of booking a defuzzing, let alone uttering the concept to someone such as myself.
When your legs look like your creme caramel has rolled off your dessert plate and romped around the bed of your black-as-pitch, long haired pet cat during moulting season for a good couple of months, then you can feign empathy with me.
Until then, please shut up.
Much appreciated.
Mad C ow
xo
Evil Plans and Escape Plans
Posted by: | CommentsI do try my hardest to do all the “right” things; you know, pretend to take an interest in stuff the kids are interested in and spend quality time with them, etc etc blah blah blah
Right now – well, not “right now” obviously, as I’m writing a diary entry- I’m reading a Jiggy McCue Story by Michael Lawrence about Killer Underpants. Yes, chick lit at its finest. I wish. Rather, it is a book aimed at and written for pre-teen boys.
I feel my sense of common sense waning with every page.
Worse, I’ve also read everything written by Andy Griffiths, some Captain Underpants (although I try to avoid these and only read the bits that are shoved in my face, accompanied by “MUM! Read this bit, it’s really funny. Just from the start of this chapter right up until the end of the eighth book in the series; yep, just there!”), Paul Jennings, Maurice Glietzmann … to name just a few.
I’ve almost forgotten who Marian Keyes is. Which is, in itself, a sad state of affairs.
So, after watching the Diary of a Wimpy Kid movie five times in two days, attempting to pick up a book aimed at real, growed up people and choosing a Book For Ten Year Old Boys instead, then finding myself offering the toddler his own snot to eat, I figured things were getting bad.
Worse was the Evil Plan I discovered, yet had no inkling of.
Yes, the ad for Diary of a Wimpy Kid 2 movie came on, and, inevitably, I got “Can we go and see that, Mum?” Of course, I get this question every time there is an advert for a kidish movie and can’t help but wonder if it is a pre-programmed statement or if he really does want to see that actualy movie.
And I sighed, very loudly.
Then replied “We’ll see,” which only leads into it’s own discussion about whether “we’ll see” actually means a “definite yes”, or a “possible maybe”, or an “absolutely not”.
Then I said “And do we have to? I feel like I’m turning into a ten year old boy.”
“Haha!” Monkey Boy replies. “At last my plan is working!”
And wanders off leaving me perplexed. Er. Perplexeder.
Fortunately, I have an escape plan. In the form of Mums’ Night Out! 2011
I’m sure copious amounts of drinking and having a sleepover with some other, crazy mums, will restore me to my former glory of Evil Mother Who Never Lets Her Kids Do Anything, and possibly help restore my brain to its original Thinking Woman (albeit one who loves trashy chick lit and Marian Keyes ) and prevent me from giggling hysterically in response ot the word “bum”.
Why Yoga is Stressful for you
Posted by: | CommentsI have, once again, embarked on a Wii Fit journey so that I may remove my belly from my lap when I sit down, and leave my lap for more important things. Like resting my wine glass one when I have no coffee table to utilised.
Since just after Christmas, and before New Year, just after the arrival of the DVD sized Wii Fit Plus under the Christmas tree, I have set myself a routine. One that actually involves the Wii Fit Plus and some yoga and muscle routines. So strict am I with my new routines, that I went for a short walk the other morning, asking my ten year old to ensure my Wii Fit program was set up for my return.
Quite surprisingly, it wasn’t and he and his friend were on a Mario Galaxy mission. So I told them to get off, with not a care in the world about whether his friend would be peeved, or he would be embarrassed. My thighs, my thighs people, had a hold on me and nothing, not even Mario, was going to get in my way.
It’s also a bit of Me Time; quiet, relaxing and I do some much needed stretchy type stuff.
Thus, it was for this, and the ”getting into the habit” reason, that I went for a walk around the block with the intent of performing my yoga schedule upon my return.
Sadly, the rest of the household was up and had not, as requested upon my departure, set up my training program. Thus there was much fucking about and dropping of Wii remotes and controllers and watching the Mario Galaxy thingy in the teensy screen on the menu page, instead of removing it and replacing it with the one I desired.
Followed by much “please shut up and just let me do my yoga withouth commentary and/or instruction” whislt the builders over the back chose this moment to rev up the circular saws and nail guns.
I got through the salutation to the sun with only three “SHUT UP!s” to my children and several to my electronic, pixilated trainer, who appeared to have had his inane chatter and motivational comment delivery stuck on a loop of “your posture’s fantastic” and “you’re doing great”. It’s bad enough when he has his complete program of four phrases on the go, but two was getting annoying. Does he need to speak at all?
The Palm Tree pose had him up the “You’re a little unsteady” path, which was fine, as I was more than a little unsteady. What he failed to recognise, however, that I had a toddler attempting to climb my leg, then, at the loud approval of his older brothers, pushing me over. I wasn’t so much “unsteady” as “toppling over headlong into the complete replica of the Island Of Sodor built from the Thomas wooden seried spread out in front of me”.
I do wonder whether they need a Wii Fit For Mums series, which includes “are you unsteady because you are a) tired, b) pissed or hungover or c) being aided by a toddler”, in which case they won’t reprimand you for not “holding your stomach in” nor make such comments as “you appear to have put on 13 kilograms since we started this excercise three repetitions ago. You need to make sure you use me three times a day the way you’re going”.
The Dance of the Kings has snot sprayed all over the place with the boy-interpretation of “inhale through your nose, exhale through your nose”, followed immediately by hysterical laughter. And my blood pressure rising exponentially. Not just because I was “a little unsteady”, the toddler was still trying to push me over, and the ten year old was saying “you don’t look like that, he has his leg higher, lift you leg up, your arm’s not straight …”. At this point, I wondered whether I would have been better off doing the boxing training this morning.
If nothing else, it would have killed two bird with one stone. Or three. A quick right hook woud have shut him the fuck up there and then, and I would have been overwhelmed by a sense of stress leaving my body.
Instead, I got him to pour my coffee, whilst the seven year old performed his quirky interpretation of the half moon, along with an overly loud explanation of what he was doing, the builders over the back were clearly due for morning tea and were loudly placing their orders, and the toddler was standing on the balance board with me. My trainer was telling me I was a bit out of practice and unbalanced.
More unbalanced than his pre-programmed monologue can comprehend, Iwilling to bet.
What’s in a name?
Posted by: | CommentsAh, the Saturday morning joy, where I forget that they no longer belong to me and involve watching some under 10s fuddle their way around a basketball court, get home and listen to Grumpy Pants on his Lets Tidy The House Up Rant, whereby he speaks to everyone like shit (becuase he’s “sick of all the crap lying around”) and can’t get anyone to cooperate.
Mostly because they don’t like being spoken to like shit.
Thus the Stop Speaking To Everyone Like Shit And Maybe They’ll Cooperate conversation is had and everyone ends up either speaking to everyone else like shit, or not cooperating. Usually both.
That sorted, I did my bit, spoke to Grumpy about the most appropriate way to to speak to, and ask Godzilla to do stuff in order to extract the most cooperation from him.
Head into office to do a few bits and pieces and heard the “Come and pick up all this crap on the floor!”
Ah, yes. The good old Encourage A Child To Help command. I couldn’t help but roll my eyes. I know where this is going …
Yup, there … Mr Literal, Godzilla, replies “It’s NOT CRAP!”
Fairy nuff.
“Look, just get it off the floor. If you don’t, I’m gonna sweep all your crap into the bin!”
Yeah. That’ll work.
“It’s not CRAP!!!!” Godzilla yells again and I contemplate stepping in. Partly to get stuff functioning. Mostly so it’ll stop.
Before I do, Godzilla adds, and quite rightly, “Anyway, you’re on the floor, so you’re CRAP!”
At which point I had to hide under my desk so no one could hear me laughing. Which, of itself, was stupid as my desk does nothing to prevent noise from escaping out the door.
Eventually, stuff is picked up off the floor, and only floor sweepings are swept up.
Then its grabbing a birthday present for a birthday party we have to leave for iin an hour and a half and only found out about on Thursday night at 6pm. Well, technically, the invite was handed out a few weeks back, and Grumpy was bailed up by birthday kid’s dad after school, and I was informed when they returned from swimming lessons and when he remembered. Drop Godzilla at birthday party, organise for him to come home with … someone else … he tells me he’s going to go home with Not The Dad We’d Arranged, then confirms my fears by replying “I don’t know” when, as I was leaving, confirmed with him that he knew what was going on. And who he was coming home with.
Left after informing birthday parents that if he wasn’t home by 4 (two hours after party completion) I’d ring and find out where he was.
After that harrowing day, I treated myself to a nice, hot bath. Complete with bubbles, lavender oil and three boys. Manage to get rid of the older two after about ten minutes and send the biggest one to go and get my towel for me.
“Here you are Sir Mummy of Mummington!” he responds, holding my towel between finger and thumb as though it were infeseted with something revolting. Quite possibly Girl Germs.
“That would be Lady Mummy to you, small child!” I reply, smiling. “And it would serve you well to remember that and my superior status,” I remind him.
“Whatever. Here you go Sir Mummy of Mummington,” and ceremoniously drops my towel into the considerably large puddle that has formed beside the bath, courtesy of Chippie and is complete inablity to comprehend “NO! Don’t pour water over the side of the bath!”
Followed, of course, with a small spate of kicking tantruming in said bath and a toddlers rendition of “ring-a-ring-a-rosie”. Both of which produce much splashing. And puddles on the floor to which my towel may be dumped.
Hmmm. Glad he recalled my status as Lady of Mummington. I wonder if all Ladies are treated in such a manner.
And what they would do with their children should the same occur in their bathrooms?
Salvaging my Sanity
Posted by: | CommentsBack when my mother’s group started, I rapidly became known as The Party Queen.
I was especially useful to have as an acquaintance if you were in direct sales/ party plan, as I used Tupperware parties and the like, not just to satisfy my primal urge to be anally organised, but also to have some semblance of a social life between PND, having a newborn, embarking on a uni degree, starting a business and being married to a Chef whom, as they are prone to do, worked during those hours when normal people had a social life (who do you think cooks your dinner while you’re out at a restaurant? Hmm?)
Apart from which, most of the other members of my mother’s group sucked at organising outings, and they came to rely on me to ensure connection with other humans occurred for them.
It kicked off big time with Mums’ Night Out! which started off as geting a couple of my new-mum friends together and ended up HUGE!
What I didn’t recognise at the time, and have now come to appreciate is how beneficial these moments out where for my mental health. In fact, a close friend started calling catching up with me our “mental health moment”. So I stole the term and have applied it to events/dinners I organise.
Because, quite frankly, if I didn’t have these moments with a truly incredibly bunch of women, I’d be stark raving mad.
Or stark raving madder!
Aside from leaving the kids and hubby at home to have some Boy Time (allegedly involving pizza, beer and farts) and bond and all the rest of it, the ability to sit down, eat great food, not have to worry about anything and laugh at things other than the toddler saying “fuckin’” and the idiot 9 year old sliding down the stairs in a washing basket while the 7 year old is jumping on the bed, naked but for the box over his head, is just what my mind needs for a break.
It resets it back to less-insane, increases my tolerance levels for various acts of stupidity and tantrums, and re-enables my ability to think and function.
Sure a great night out with fabulous food and an awesome bunch of amazing, funny and supportive women is not for everyone. But it is for me.
If you wanna join me:
Friday 17th September 2010 kicking off at 7.30pm at my favourite restaurant, Prevale 236 Union Road, Ascot Vale
Bookings are essential and you can Book HERE!
Also, this event has the extra-specialness of being the super-special, ultra-exclusive, unofficial launch of my book Diary of a Mad Cow: A Guide to Bad Mothering where you will have the opportunity to purchase the book on the night at below the RRP price, and, and have it personally signed by me
If that sort of thing turns you on. You may prefer to sign it yourself or have one of the other guests there sign it. Or choose the non-graffitied on version. Whatever.
Hope to see you there
