Getting Passive Agressive with the Xmas tree.

Got your Christmas tree all packed away yet? I bloody hope so, it's MONTHS till Xmas ha de ha haar.

I usually have mine down by the 28th, the 31st at the very latest. I have to wait until the children are out of the house because I can't stand the wailing, but there was no wailing last year because the tree still stands proudly even though it's the January 6. Cos I'm playing Tree Games. Oooh yeah I am.

So I am sharing this house with The Batchelor and I know I've mentioned what a clean freak he is. I can live with that, it's his house after all but there is only so much I can take when he gets whiny about the size of the Xmas tree. It's not huge by any standards, but he wants me to use his Xmas tree. The puny crappy 2 foot high thing just won't do when you have children in the house. He sulks and says - and I quote - "but it won't fit".

It's a fucking 4 bedroom house, don't tell me there isn't room for a nice tree for the children for 2 flippin weeks.

So of course I put my lovely tree up and let the children decorate without ANY input from mummy. The more lopsided the better. HA! Old Grinch. I saw his eye twitch, I swear, and now I'm going to beat him over the head with his own grinchiness by leaving it for another few days yet.

I've made sure to mention every morning since Boxing Day that I will take the tree down that afternoon, but don't.

I've got a good tip for storage.....whenever I get sick of annoying grinchman.




See these boxes? I bought them - no shit - about 15 years ago at The Reject Shop for $2 each. They still have the price tags on the bottom. They are really robust cardboard boxes and I use them to store the decorations. Easy to stack, they protect the fragile things perfectly, you can stuff metres of tinsel in and the best bit is you can decorate the tree then stash the boxes straight under and they look like presents.

I hate a bare tree.

Oh...hello!

Whoa, I've been a bit quiet haven't it?

It's been a combination of a few things - living life instead of blogging it (lol), working flat out on the house and.....a smashed laptop. NOOOOOO!

My poor darling old lappy fell off the outdoor table and onto the brick pavers rendering it useless. I was pretty shattered about losing photos (DON'T lecture me about backing up, my EHD already shat itself this year) until I was assured by a tech head that he will be able to retrieve most of the data.

This of course means a temporary reprieve for all of you that find my renovating updates boring as batshit. I'll make up for it later though HA HA HA HA!

I've also been finishing off my business website. Well, actually I have been waiting over seven weeks for a so-called 'website designer' to finish stuffing about with the things I can't be arsed doing. Fuck me it's been a nightmare, and of course you can't pay out on them even though it's due because they have you by the short and curly password factor.



This logo was designed by an ACTUAL professional - Angela at Luvly Graphix, at least someone rocks in the design webworld. I'm sure I'll be done in the next 2 weeks, then I'll be flogging it mercilessly. Essence of Balance is a good thang.

Until then, I shall be back with my usual series of verbal diahorreha on whatever subject I feel like.

Cheers xoxoxo

Report on the Bill Issue and the Elvish Fund

It's taken me a while to absorb the magnitude of this tale, and longer to write about it.

My last post was a screaming UP YOURS to a place that provided support and assistance to my nutty Aspy child Cyclone. The support was great but their billing terms were fricken ridiculous and I told them so. (I could put a link in here, but you may as well just scroll down lol).

So the first bit of news to report is I have not received another bill since. I have not received ANY response at all, and I was REEEEEALLY looking forward to it. Since they appear to send these stupid demands via snail mail each Friday without fail and since I have not received one this last Friday past, I suppose I should call VICTORY. Slightly deflated about having no response, but you can't win em all...

The second thing to report is that I appear to have found the funding to cover the shortfall. Well, I actually didn't find it....it found it's way to me via the ever lovely Fat Lady.

Now it was arranged that several of my friends and I were to meet the Fat Lady here in Melbourne. I was pretty excited to be able to squish her and talk face to face but my head was totally blown off when she gives me a hug.....AND A WAD OF CASH!

You know those moments when time stops moving and you can't really hear anything with that roaring sound in your ears? That's what happened to me right then and there. So I will give you the full Lulu of The Artistic Licence version. ie - I'm making most of this up.

The Lovely One read my blog post about these stupid billing terms. She immediately thought to herself "fuck this*, I'm getting on the phone to Santa**".

She called the North Pole direct but Santa was busy attending to the reindeer uprising in the stable (more pay better conditions, you know the drill) so she poured out the story to the North Pole receptionist who was horrified - having an autistic young elf herself and passed the word around....something something Facebook, something something Secret Group....something something SHAZAAM and The Lovely One is handing some money to Lulu to pay for the outstanding amount so she doesn't have to risk incurring fiendish debts at the hands of fiends.


*The Lovely One would never say Fuck.
** The Lovely One doesn't do Xmas or believe in Santa.

So there you go - a little Christmas cheer at the end of a very long year for Lulu Unperfect.

Thank you so much to The Lovely One and thank you to all her elves,





unicorns, dryads and



maenads who made it possible. I luffs you wevvy wevvy much.

Why I avoid the yearly Fat Man photos....

Well first off I can't be arsed waiting in the long lines.

Second, I can't be arsed explaining why there is a Santa on every corner.

Third, I KNOW it's not Santa and I get weird about telling the kids to sit on a strangers lap.

Fourth, like 90% of children, mine are petrified of Shopping Centre Santa.

Except last year. We had a Shopping Centre Santa experience of sorts and it was enough to put me off till I'm 103. It was quiet at the shops (no idea why) and Santa was sitting in his chair looking kinda lonely. After several minutes of observation both Betty and Cyclone decided it was safe to approach.

Things went well, I didn't want photos but we were allowed to speak to The Fat Man. The Cyclone had a lovely if tentative conversation about trains whilst Betty hid behind my legs. After awhile Santa brings out his bag of tricks which I could see was full of lollies. Betty inches closer. I somehow got a little Christmas spirit when I saw 2 pairs of eyes starting to glow. Cyclone was actually talking to someone he didn't know, Betty shuffled a little closer again when the conversation turned to dolls.

THEN IT HAPPENED.

Santa asked if the children would like a sweet. They nodded. Santa puts his hand into the bag and brings it out closed.

"Guess which colour sweet is in my hand, son".

Ooooh SHIT. Inside my head I am screaming "YOU STUPID JOLLY BASTARD, HAVE YOU ANY IDEA WHAT PORTALS TO HELL YOU HAVE JUST UNLOCKED? IF HE GUESSES WRONG HIS SCREAMS WILL SHATTER GLASS AND HE MAY WELL KICK YOU IN THE SHINS, SAINT NICK OR NO!"

I watched the face of the Cyclone...he was shifting from foot to foot and I could see the panic rising in his face. He had a one in 6 chance of getting this right. I don't like those odds and either do Aspies. Santa was oblivious.


Ummm.......green?, guesses Cyclone. My panic lessened only slightly when he didn't say blue (his fave) because I knew there were no blue sweets in there.

Slowly the Fat Man uncurled his fist and there it was


GREEN!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Smiles all around, Cyclone couldn't stop talking about it for days and I needed a stiff eggnog when I got home to calm my rattled nerves.

I think I'll wait until they are teens, in which case it's most likely the above photo will look familiar, if their older sister is anything to go by....


Thanks to Awkward Family Photos for the pic





Another random entry for Flog Yo Blog hosting by the nutbag Lori at RRASHAM.....

$25 DAILY late fee? I don't think so...

Got a bill in the mail today - URggh, right?

It's from Cyclones Occupational Therapist. It seems our Early Intervention Funding well has run dry very suddenly, so I need to pay the difference of the his last session.

It's not going to happen very quickly, it's right before Xmas and I'm scurrying around trying to find a little extra funding to help us through till the end of the year. I want to pay it, this OT was doing some good work with Cyclone and was a wonderful source of support to me.

But then I got this -



In case you can't read it, the invoice must be settled in 7 days and "A $25 later fee will apply everyday that payment is outstanding."

Are you fucking serious? Even the Big 4 Banks can't get away with that sort of late fee.

Here is my response


Dear XXXX,

I have received your invoice dated 25/11/2010. As you may be aware our Early Intervention Funding has run out unexpectedly. I am in the process of sourcing further funding to make up this shortfall and will endeavour to pay the outstanding amount as soon as possible. I do consider this a priority.

However - Jesus will descend from the Kingdom of Heaven and play centre-half back for Jerusalam before I will accept a $25 PER DAY late fee.
Please do not expect that this will be included in the settlement of this invoice.

Cheers,



Pfft - the dickheads.

The State of my CAR!!!

Bloody hell.

I think shit breeds in there, I can't control it - but oh how I try...

Why my children need to take off their clothes in the car is beyond me. Betty is the worst because she cannot keep her shoes on. Even when she is freshly dressed in the morning she takes her shoes and socks off as soon as I put her harness on.

I once found 6 pairs of shoes and eleventy-four random socks.




I KNOW PEOPLE - I should get everyone to take their crap out of the car each day when we get home, and I try but it never works.

Cyclone leaps out of the car before it even stops in the driveway and is away on his bike, Betty follows soon after to chase the Fluffy Mutt who is joyfully tearing after Cyclone and I'm usually bolting straight into the house for a wee I've been holding onto for hours because I'm scared of public toilets.

I have the utterly brilliant idea that leaving the car doors open will remind me to go back and drag all the crap out. Which would be great if I parked the car in the bloody lounge room.

So, clean car people PLEASE tell me how you maintain it. Both sides of the van have large sliding doors so it's particularly embarrassing showing the world what a messy tart I am every kinder and school drop off.

Following on from Ocsober...

I've done a few posts on my views of drinking - HERE and HERE and HERE
including how I have handled my teen daughter and the alcohol factor.

I've had lots of conversations with lots of people about drinking. Considering my obvious love of a drop or 5 I think people can be rather surprised at the fact I simply refused to let my daughter drink until she was 18.


Parental influence shapes a childs attitude to drinking. From every side of every argument - behind it all is your experience as a child. Ummm, says me - but anyway.

My experience.

My parents are drinkers. My family are big drinkers. Every event we have (maybe twice a year) alcohol is flowing freely. We have a wonderful time, we laugh, we sing, we dance. My family have run pubs and red wine is in my veins.

But from that came my Alcohol Education. It was/is unspoken. You EARN your place in the world as an adult. You learn to hold your drink. This doesn't mean jam as much as you can down your throat and manage to keep standing. It means knowing your limit. Everyone has different limits. I would DIE rather than be seen stumbling in front of my family.

From my family I learnt respect for alcohol and what it can do. Just because it was everywhere didn't mean it was for everyone. A good night at the pub is just as much about being a good host and customer service as anything. Most of us have either managed a pub or worked behind the bar. We have seen it all sober, the good and the bad.

My parents had a cocktail after work and a beer after working in the garden. Yes - alcohol was always around and I only ever saw it being consumed responsibly (except when dad had one too many and fell in the pool whilst he was cleaning it. Mums pursed lips was a sign it was NOT alright *grin)

Not everyone has my experience, I have friends with parents that abused it terribly and won't touch a drop. That grew up under the influence of alcohol in the worst possible way. I have met teens that go to groups like Alateen because they are afraid they won't be able to stop like their mum or dad, even though they haven't even started.

Alcohol abuse costs this country millions a year in damages. It has the power to
ruin families and break hearts as well as bodies.




Your children are watching...what do you do to ensure their education? Because you know it doesn't start when they are teens don't you?

If these walls could talk.

I just thought I'd make you aware of the fact I am going to bore you all silly with pics of my Budget Home Renovation.

I'm spending every spare moment at the house. Which really is lots of 2 hour blocks so not much time to get an entire house done inside and out. Truthfully - this is supposed to be my funnest time, but it's not. I am trapped by a budget that is minute, I don't have enough time to really chase down the things I want and I worry it's going to look weird and disjointed.

But I soldier on like a bloody trojan because the only way I'm going to get this done is to actually get it done.

I'm alone, the space is huge and I feel overwhelmed by the pain and sorrow infused into the walls I'm washing down. The long sleepless years, the fear of what the future held for Cyclone, the worries of how I was to keep everything together whilst the house and my family was falling apart.


So what do you do?


Ya call in your buddies!



Some are good with powertools





Some aren't but rock up with pizza and willingness to give anything a go



and some just come to keep me company and share a cup of tea, and sweet times with their little boys who thrive amongst all the noise.


And day by day, as the laughs get louder, pizza consumed, the old replaced with the new - the pain and sorrow washed away and replaced with joy and optimism.

I am rebuilding my house, my family home the place I've raised my babies and I'm also rebuilding my spirit.

Wax On, Wax Off.

Henna hair versus Chemical Dye

Alrighty, I have done both and can now give you the proper lowdown.

I have the attention span of a gnat and so does my hair. I get bored with it easily and luckily my tresses can take plenty of punishment.



I go from this



To this



To somehow finding the patience to grow it all out again.




So after this do was looking a bit tired I thought I might try Henna instead of chemicals. Henna is a natural plant derived dye used for centuries and comes in varying colours. I bought some Brown Henna from the health food shop and after crusing Henna Forums, decided to make my own concoction based on that information.

I mixed the henna with black tea, paprika and some lavender water I made up myself (steep lavender in hot water) for conditioning purposes. I heard it was very very messy and was also warned about the smell. I mixed it up to a fairly thick paste but had to thin it out to get it through my hair - which is quite long now.

I didn't find it any messier than a home dye but it was certainly harder to apply on your own. It has a very grainy texture and it felt a little heavy on my head. I just slapped it on and wandered around the house smelling like HORSE POO for a few hours. I recommend doing this in the backyard with a friend.

It took many, many rinses to get it all out in the shower, lots of conditioner and grumbling on my behalf. The next morning I couldn't be sure if it made much difference but WHOA did my hair feel great! Thick, healthy and heavy. I've never had such glossy hair in my life.



This pic was taken about 5 weeks after. The colour seemed to darken over a couple of days so I was very pleased with the result. The colour fades gradually - you don't end up with obvious roots, just an all over softening of the colour. My hair felt great the entire time.


Last night I used a home chemical dye. I couldn't get to the health shop and the box was on sale at the supermarket so I grabbed it. At the very least I thought to myself it will be a quicker process and easier to wash out. And it was on sale.



Yes it was a bit easier but I was very put off by the wastage of a single use foam pump! I didn't take much notice of anything other than the colour and price of the box. I certainly wouldn't have bought it otherwise.

So I like the colour and my hair feels nice



But I'm never using the chemicals again. I forgot how much it damages my scalp and leaves it sore. Whilst it does feel silky it also feels fragile and thin, not full and lustrous like it did with the henna. The packaging and waste is totally ridiculous with home hair dyes so it does more than damage to my skin and hair.

Henna all the way from now. I urge you all to give it a go! Yes it's messy and smells but it's worth it!

Cheers,

I gots a microphone

And I'm SPRUIKING!




So imagine me in front of blogworld with my twinset, pearls and a little amplifier and listen whilst I tell you stuff.

The Fat Lady has this liddle meme-y/linky thingo going that I have been meaning to participate in for awhile but I haven't because I have been caught between a small existential crisis and the idiocy of Telstra Bigpond.

I'm still having the crisis but fuck it, I'm not letting my buddy down AGAIN this week!

So I'm spruiking my fave blog - actually I'm spruiking three of them. When I finally returned to my blog I ran straight to my favourites cos I missed them.

1) Revealing the Real Me, Andrea I just love. Just quietly her photo sucked me in because her eyes sparkle and her posts are so sunny. She also doesn't mind when I drop the F-bomb in her comments section.

2) Kelley at Magneto Bold Too This chick has serious crap going on but at all times makes me laugh whilst rockin her old lady shoes. Check it out.

3) Jemikaan -you MUST read this post. It's so close to my heart and if your heard The Fat Lady spruiking my Cyclone blog you will see why. The difference love, understanding and positive re-re-reinforcement can make to a child's life. there is going to be a 2010 remake of To Sir With Love over this post I can tell ya. I might even volunteer to sing (screech) the soundtrack....yanno, cos I'm Lulu and all.

High School Reunions

My 20 year high school reunion was this week....and I decided to go.





I haven't been able to draw breath much lately and it seemed yet another thing to stress about, but I was DYING to see some old friends. Lots I have already caught up with on Facebook and that made the idea more appealing.

We all had months to crap our pants about it, feel old and wonder if we really wanted to go. My Unperfect life is a pretty open book anyway so I shook off my sooky-pants, shaved my armpits and skidded out the driveway as the sound of my screeching offspring faded away. Clearly a good choice already.

It was wonderful. Most people I could pick across the room, others it took awhile to match...but there was shrieking and smiles aplenty. Constant flashback memories and "remember when?"




It wasn't a long night - after all, this was a Catholic School and it was held on a during the week, but enough emails and phone numbers we exchanged so we can have a longer catch up soon.

I'm pretty sure everyone was still the same. The loud ones remain loud, the quieter one still reserved and we have all lived the rollercoasters of our own lives and come out sorta normal.


I was thrilled to hear of a friend who ran away to the UK nursing her broken heart, spent years in a sharehouse with 26 people sucking up all the drugs she could get her hands on whilst maintaining a job with an elite makeup company.
Two of the brightest faces there credit their happiness to recent divorces. The most positive girl in school remains the same and has had 42 different jobs in 20 years.






No one was down on failed relationships or careers that didn't work out - they were sources of laughter. I didn't have a bad time at school, I don't have any horrible memories. Things that might have seemed terrible back then are funny now. Things that were funny then are even FUNNIER now.

Burning memories

- daring to go up the bell tower to find the dead nun in the rocking chair.
- the infamous chairthrowing incident with T and Mr M.
- Being lined up on our knees whilst they measured the length of our dresses.
- The young priest who wrote FUCK on the blackboard during "sex ed".
- The passionate maths teacher with her beautiful saris who was completely wasted on us.
- the day the local fire brigade came to assembly and filled the entire courtyard with foam.
- the day Mr M was "arrested" during assembly and put into the back of a divvy van with the entire school screaming with laughter.




On a separate and far more sombre note, I was shattered to hear of the death of Elizabeth. In my eyes she was the Ice Queen. Statuesque, nordic blonde and with an almost supernatural disposition. She was unflappable, supercool and when I named my youngest daughter I thought of her.
Something insidious stole her away from her friends, family and worst of all herself. That razor sharp brain and confidence diminished. I didn't have any preconceived notion of what she was meant to be, but to be cut short like that was certainly not in the plan, not right and what pisses me off about the world sometimes.

A short life - but one that made a lasting impression on many people. I'm sorry you
couldn't stay Liz.

Im back - with AWARDS!

Whale snot, shit/fuck and fruit bats giving blow jobs – it’s all here folks!

The Ig Nobel Awards have recently been announced. Don’t confuse this with the Nobel Prizes. The Ig Nobels are awarded to scientists whose research makes us laugh…and then makes us think.



Photo of Nobel Laureates Roy Glauber, Sheldon Glashow and James Muller at this years awards modelling the Gas Mask Bras that won an Ig Nobel last year..

First up, for Medicine – the Dutch scientists that discovered riding a roller coaster can treat asthma symptoms. Lucky I don’t get asthma because there is no way you are getting my arse onto one of those things.

Engineering Ig was won by a Mexican/British team for using a remote control helicopter to collect whale snot. Laugh! Then think….how else would you go about collecting snot from whales when you need said snot to monitor disease in whales and help their conservation as a species?

Physics Ig goes to the New Zealand researchers that proved wearing socks outside your shoes reduces slipping on icy paths. Thanks for that guys. I don’t like slipping over on the ice, but I would never have thought of putting my socks on OVER my shoes….

Management Ig Nobel goes to the Italians for “demonstrating mathematically that organizations would become more efficient if they promoted people at random”. Claaaaassic, and I believe it too.

Biology – the Chinese/British researchers skipped off with their prize for revealing documented evidence that female fruit bats perform fellatio on their partners. This is big because apparently humans are the only species that do this….and it shows that fruit bat ladies are really hot little shaggers because giving your bat bloke a blow job before you do it, makes the act of bat copulation looonger. Go you dirty fruity things!

BUT the one I love the bestest and which PROVES my point about fuck being one of the most satisfying words is the Ig Nobel for PEACE won by the Brits and Keele University that proves swearing relieves pain.
During their research they found volunteers could tolerate more pain if they spat out swear words rather than something neutral. In the words of Richard Stephens, the new Ig Nobel Laureate “swearing induces a fight or flight response and nullifies the link between fear of pain and pain perception”.


I can also back this theory with some evidence of my own. See many moons ago I woke in a hospital bed to some random dude using his entire body to ram a metal pole (artistic licence much?) into my chest to relieve the pressure of what turned out to be a collapsed lung. Local anesthesia did nothing to relieve the shock and pain, but I was told to swear my little butt off – which I did with relish and oh MY it really worked. Then I got some decent pain killers and had a great hallucinations……but the swearing worked it’s magic. Fuck yeah.

Welcome to WTF??? The remix...

Thank you to everyone that commented on my Perfect Day, Iz feelin the lurrve.

Of course, the higher you go the harder you fall and we have had a very difficult few days since. In fact I decided it was MY turn for a meltdown and ended up calling Lifeline....only to be told I should call the media. Yes people...apparently I should call A Current Affair. I will say that the effect was immediate in that I ceased to feel helpless and instead felt anger...job done people. It stopped me whining at least.




In any case I thought I'd let y'all know I'll be hanging out at my other blog Lulu and The Cyclone for awhile to process all the crap that's been happening around here lately. I'm in the kind of mood where I may very well tell random strangers their babies are ugly or start tripping over picture-perfect mummas at the shops - best I retreat to a cave for a little bit.


My WTF moment reminded me of a post I did back in May, here it is -



Ever read the piece "Welcome to Holland"? Check it out HERE. It was written in reference to finding yourself with a child with a disability but all the mums of kiddies On The Spectrum liked it so much we pinched it for ourselves.

Madmother did her own version called Welcome to Somalia


Here's mine -

The Steward announces over the intercom - Welcome to Holland! I grab her arms as she bounces past. Errrm, no I tell her - this plane is going to Italy! I paid for these tickets months ago, I've learnt how to say alcohol in every different dialect!


The Steward looks confused and returns shortly - there has been a mix up, I'll get back to you. Here's a vodka. After circling for hours she returns and announces we will be landing in Las Vegas.


WTF? I don't want to go there - it's too bright and shiny and the noise never stops. I planned on Italy, dammit. What's wrong with these people? Doesn't the pilot have a fricken map?


Oh thank goodness the plane is descending....I look out the window and see Somalia - NOOOO! The plane suddenly raises altitude again and I watch for another few hours whilst we fly over Egypt *sigh, circle over Iran, over Nepal *sigh


I need to stretch my legs, I'm sick of watching Adam Sandler movies over and over, the food is wretched and they have RUN OUT OF VODKA.

I have no idea where or when this plane is landing and now I don't care. At least I'll have friends in Holland and Somalia...maybe a few in Las Vegas. I just want to GET OFF.


Where do they keep the fucking parachutes?????

One Perfect Day

I have seriously had the best day! I have to share it and don't crap on me because this is BIGTIME in the Unperfect household. On every level.


When I tucked Cyclone into bed last night he mentioned making me breakfast in bed. Lo and behold - after an uninterrupted sleep for both of us, I woke to hear movement in the kitchen. I lolled about, loving that I woke up on my own (no cats on face, dog snuffling at the door or an elbow in my face) and soon saw a grinning Cyclone face peering into my room. Look mummy!


He did it! The little monkey filled the kettle and boiled it, got out the toaster and the toast fixings, knocked on The Batchelors bedroom door and asked for help with the kettle and presented me with tea and Vegemite toast in bed.




After a lovely breakfast we got dressed no complaining and decided to seize the day with a short bike ride. We headed to the local school for a meeting to enrol Cyclone for next term. He was nervy but delicious, and played fairly quietly whilst we all discussed his future and funding issues. All went well.


Feeling pretty confident we headed to the shopping centre to buy a pair of scissors and craft paper. Job done quickly. I found a pair of 3/4 pants for summer on sale and recklessly decided to try on a pair in size 10.


OMG they fit!!! Bought a pair in black and one in grey. Arrhythmia inducing stress must have benefits after all.



Yeah bitches SIZE TEN.


Cyclone wants a drink but doesn't like the choices available. Nearly melts down. Breathes instead. Chooses drink and skips off.


I really start pushing it and buy some henna to dye my tresses. Decide not to push it further.....until I walk past a cheap haircut place ("no appointment needed!, cash only!"). I stop. I ponder. Ah FUCK IT, I never have the time for a cut. My hair grows quickly so even if they stuff it up I'll get over it. It can't be worse than long, long, long boringness and borrowing Betty Boos hairclips. Cant it?


I breathe in deeply and let it out when I see my stylist is a stunning asian guy with an amazing precision cut I can't stop staring at. He chops about 4 inches out and layers it perfectly...and listens seriously when I beg him not to 'feather' it about my jawline. He cuts in my fringe (WAY BIG DEAL TO ME) better than I hoped.


Cyclone has sat still the entire time. Katy Perry blasts through the speakers and I notice his little head bobbing and feet tapping. "It's ok to dance baby" I tell him. So he does - not over the top but enough to have the entire place grinning. I don't bother wondering how an child with such anxiety can dance in front of strangers..I just drink him in.


I walk out with the cut of my dreams.....for THIRTY FIVE DOLLARS.


We spend the afternoon cutting, pasting and watching "The Deadly 60" (shudder) on T.V.


I spend nearly an hour having a great chat with my 18 year old who is right in the midst of her final year exams. She has just ACED one and we have high hopes of her getting into Nursing/Midwifery at university next year.


Betty calls me from daddy's house to say goodnight. Cyclone hops into bed clutching all his stuffed dogs and we talk about our Perfect Day. Cyclone starts getting upset and I hope a meltdown isn't on the way....he is crying because "I just want to be the best boy in the world but it's sooo hard". Crises averted when I ask him to take care of my childhood doll Molly.


I can't wipe the smile off my face. I feel so NORMAL. My head isn't pounding, my stomach isn't in knots and the vodka bottle sits unopened on the shelf.


So I have a drink for Celebration rather than Medicinal purposes and bop around the house channelling Spongebob Squarepants.





"It's the beeeest daaay evveeeer!"

The state of our hearts

The usual day routine in the Unperfect household are like this *no artistic licence*.

Breakfast isn't ready fast enough.
Breakfast is "wrong".
The cat is purring too loud.
Sesame Street is STUPID - get it OFF!
Don't want to get dressed.
Betty is dancing in front of the telly. *screaming and fights
Socks are stupid.
Screaming because I missed the ad for Cats and Dogs.
Doesn't want to get in the car, rides bike instead.
Fights to get in the car first.
Screaming because the seat belt won't go in.
Screaming because the traffic lights are red.

"I don't want to read, reading is STUPID, SUCKY and POO."

And so on and so forth.

Aspies are notoriously glass half full kinda kids. I'm ok with it, although it is very wearing my little guy really sparkles and those moments refill me through the negativity.


Last night sucked hard.


I was tired tired tired at 5pm. Usually I don't feel it until after the kids are in bed. Cyclones constant chatter somehow got too much so I set him up on the bench with a can of shaving cream (he loves writing and drawing in it) and asked "please, please don't talk for a little while honey - mummy's head is about to explode".

"Ok, mum - look at my hands!" I nod and smile.

He stops.

"I know it's my fault mum"


My heart freezes. What baby?


"I just know it's my fault - why you are feeling this, and I feel so sorry for you."






My heart cracked and fell onto the floor. Then I picked it up and jammed it back into my ribcage.


I looked up, faked a sneeze to cover the welly eyes but Cyclone had already taken off to watch The Simpsons.



Tomorrow is a Bran Nu Dae and we promise each other to be the best we ever can be, but I can't sleep because I'm frightened I'll hear those words again and worry about the state of my little boys heart.

Honesty and Accountability

I told everyone in web/blog world that I am giving up smoking because I have to be accountable to someone. I know lots of you are behind me (and a certain Glamourcidal lady needs to hear about it) and it's far easier to let yourself down than your cheer squad.

I also have a personal vendetta against anyone that says "oh I just stopped one day and never went back". Fucking LIARS. I didn't expect to fall pregnant as quickly as I did with Cyclone and had terrible trouble giving up. I really struggled....and I also felt unbelievable hatred towards myself that it wasn't that easy.


I ended up chopping down to one half in the morning and one half in the afternoon. I could do no more. EVERY, SINGLE person I spoke to about it said the same thing "as soon as I knew I was pregnant I didn't take another puff".


I had ONE work colleague that was so sympathetic and agreed she found it terrible - the guilt more than anything. Later on, 100% of these fuckers that breezily told me it was easy, actually confessed they either didn't give up at all (but cut down HEAPS) or it took them MONTHS to finally kick the cigarettes.

Pissed off doesn't even begin to describe the way I felt.

But I love my friends that are HONEST and tell me they still feel the cravings 9 years after they have given up, that they still miss it some days. That want to sit next to me and my stinky cigarette after a few beers and breathe in the aroma (foulness) before remembering why they stopped. Thank you for your honesty.


So I promise to give it to you balls and all ok? If I stumble I will tell you, when I don't I'm gonna SHOUT IT TO YOU and when I get to the end I will thank you from the bottom of my heart.





So far - I got through 2 days Cold Turkey.
Day 3 I "patched up" with Nicorette Patches but ended up have 2 after a particularly horrific day with Cyclone.

I realised that I just wasn't prepared enough. I realised that smoking is just about the ONLY time I have to myself. If mummy is out the back having a cigarette the kids know they have to keep away (and for some bloody reason they listen). In fact I know that is the reason I took it back up again when Cyclone was 4 months old - no one was going to hand me a screaming baby if mummy had a fag hanging out her mouth.


I have to replace that. Maybe I will go and lock myself in the toilet the old fashioned way instead? I also NEVER smoke outside my home (unless it's a night on the town), so I'm used to getting home from being out all day and heading straight out the back for a ciggie. How do I replace THAT habit? I seem to be ok going for hours and hours without one - as long as I know I can have one at the end of the day. Hhhmmm.


So at this point I am allowing myself 5 per day - UNTIL I can get a bit more jiggy with it.


Today I went back to my old house to get my Allan Carr book which really REALLY makes a difference and I will read some of it each night before bed.


Let's see how the next week goes.....EEEeeeeeKKS!

If you have any tips - share them won't you pleeeease?

Favourite words of all time

I luuurve words. I use lots of them ALL the time. I never shut up really.

As most of you will know I just love the word Fuck. I don't care that some people think it means I have limited vocabulary, only sanctimonious twats say that anyway.


Fuck is awesome because you can say it with such feeling fffffffuuCK. I also like Fucktard but I really don't use it as much as I should.


SANCTIMONIOUS. I use this about twice a week on average.

TRESSES. Just like the way it sounds, it invokes Lady Godiva-ish images or Botticellis Venus type thoughts.

STRUMPET. Thank you Helen Razer for introducing this word to me. Completely underutilized.

GALLIVANT. Everyone laughs when I say this. It may have something to so with the flappy arm movements that come with it.

GRUNTLED. Oh Gruntled! When I first heard you I went into hysterics. Maybe GRUNTLED should marry WHELMED and live happily every after.

TINTINNABULATION. It's just funny.


I got a thing for these words too.

Succulent
Talisman
Woebegone
Resplendent

What are your favourite words? Are there any words you hate?


I have two, but I dislike them so much I can't bear to type them...

Oh Yeah, Uh HUH - I'm a WINNER!!!

Watch me strut, watch me bum dance, watch me Ghetto Z snap all around the room Uh HUH!


I won me a Landcare Pack from Tina Gray




My Cyclone is going to be utterly beside himself and I can't wait to see the look on his face when it arrives! Then I'm going to take it off him and stick it on top of the fridge and refuse to allow him access until he cleans up his room and the last of his "experiments" that involved at least half a roll of toilet paper and two metres of aluminium foil.

AND - no it doesn't stop there - I also won one of these from Mrs Woog Yep, a SAWHOLE TSHIRT!




I'm gonna stick my boobies in that little number as soon as it arrives. Hell, I might even enter a wet Tshirt competition.......in which case Sawhole might get a few emails asking for help for "finding me a good woman to come live wit me and my momma" - but that should be fun, for the readers, maybe not for Sawhole.


NYAH, NYAH, NYAH. Yes I am going to work this winning thing till it's dead because lately I'M NOT A WINNER.

My hair looks like shit and I have one pair of jeans because I can't afford a salon or new clothes because I can't work because my son has evolved from a misunderstood Aspy Child to a full blown one of "those" children. Despite months of fricken therapies administered by yours truly. Every fricken day.

I've spent my last $400 on supplements for Cyclone so I can avoid him going on Ritalin if that is at all possible. It's also costing $300 to do a POO ANALYSIS as well - but I stuck that on The Batchelors credit card and I'm hoping he is too embarrassed to query it when the statement arrives.


So I'm going to enjoy the sunshine, sit out the backyard with my T-shirt and Cap drink lots of vodka and have one of the three cigarettes I am allowing myself per day with a big grin on my face because I WON.


**I better have a Bex and a lie down first, it's too early to drink vodka - even for me....


Cheers

She 28 Campaign

Great stuff. DO SOMETHING.

I QUIT

About 3 hours after I was dancing on the coffee table at my little win this week, I was brought smashing back down to earth.


Mum called to let me know my step father has lung cancer and the outlook is not very good at all. He has been coughing for a few weeks and all of a sudden it's nearly too late. He has never smoked in his life.


Which therefore makes me 15 shades of fuckwit because I DO smoke. Most of the time I love it. Some of the time I hate it. I have been intending to give up for the past two years but there is always some drama that 'prevents' me, or some event or some other issue that requires me to inhale nicotine whilst pondering.

So no more as of today.

Yeah, I'll be shitty and stressed but how much more than what I have been lately? And who cares anyway - I'll get over it. I've given up once and I can do it again but this time it's forever.




Goodbye stinky
Goodbye lethargy
Goodbye dull skin
Goodbye to the illusion I need cigarettes

Hello FREEDOM.