Interest

I have interest.

And then I remember, I am single, I have more than one child.

INTEREST. It is not something I have time for. I work. I cart children here, there, and everywhere. I play soccer to burn off the stress of life. I don't have time for interest.

But those eyes, and that quick lovely smile.

I am interested.

Liver and Fitness

Motherhood is not an overly valued profession. Sad. Really but had I sluffed my children off to be cared for by others from their infancy and continued in my march for the pristine career. I would be much more employable.

Kind of a bugger.


Not in the least my children are healthy well balanced individuals who live lives of tolerance in spite of their very naughty father and his wacky beliefs. I would like to stick that on my resume. That I have kept children sane and off drugs when a week with their father should by all means have driven them very quickly to both, probably at the same time.

So rejection is in the eye of the beholder.

I choose to take my rejection letter with a spot of rum and a side of exercise.

Cheers

London

At the weekend I was asked what car I would drive if I had infinite amounts of money. Curious question, I am unsure if it was a veiled slam on my Honda Pilot, or not. Doesn't matter, I do not dwell on those matters.

I would have to say a Mini Cooper.
They are zippy.
They are fuel efficient.
They are obscenely cute, with more bounty hunter than barbie.

Probably though, if I had the money to spare, I would fly to London and take my friend who is ever so far away from home to a James Blunt concert.

Cheers.

Right after I deposited tuition for university in a trust fund x 3.

Dear Abbey.

Obviously this is tattooed on my forehead, in ink that only complete strangers can read.

The diabetic single father of nine behind me in line at the grocery. He occassionally sneaks chocolate, he knows it is wrong but he does it anyway.

The barista at my local coffee house - she'd had a fight with her boyfriend, he pushes her, controls her, she doesn't know why she is telling me this, but she is.

The elder at the church speaking about plans for the community center, the help for the downtrodden and addicted, for those who've made poor choices in life or for whom poor choices were made for them and they were left abandoned with what life had dealt them.

The single mother at the football game, she's lonely, and so very tired. I should take my kids over, we could sit on the patio and talk.

It's Wednesday. I already know more about those around me than really I care to. That's ugly and terrible. I actually do not mind listening. I just would like a paycheck so that while I'm listening the sounds of the last of my coins dropping would stop intruding.

Bloody Unemployment

Bloody hell!

Over and over and over in my mind.

Bloody bleeding hell.

I hate being unemployed. I hate looking for bloody jobs. It sucks. It makes me want to cry.

Which. I. Also. Hate.

Bills turn up every day, seems like anyway. Most often it does not phase me. Occasionally, it royally ticks me off. I keep paying all the bills and money leaks out like sand in a hour glass, evey minute of every single day. I bought a house, lovely really, but the a/c - the inspection said it was up to snuff and now that the honeymoon is well and truely over, it's not. Repairs - it needs, which lead to ... you guessed it - more bloody bills!!!!

And then, on top of the jobless, financial strife, you toss in the prick of an ex - I am certain that they are not all pricks, because I myself have actually met some nice ex's. Well, he doesn't worry me, except how he is in fact giving his child an ulcer! So bloody well piss off. Please go and get mauled by a kangaroo and don't bother your offspring ever again - honestly it would be better for them.

I have hit the sauce. Overdue. Certainly. Like Twins.

Possibly Conjoined, the vino and I.

Cheers.

Drive By Shooting

I entertained myself well.

I wanted photographic evidence of how quickly and deeply the peeps fell asleep.

This was my first attempt to snap peep #2.

Camp hair, forgot to wear a hat, and have more blond bits now.

Total

8 days at summer camp as a counselor
7 nights
18 hours sleep

yowser!

4 bags
10 loads of washing

holymoleytoledo!

Summer Camp

Timber bunk beds

New Campers

Staff meetings

Deer

Softball

Kickball

Rain

Craft hut

Rain

Canteen

Starlight singing

20 girls in one cabin

3 showers

3 loos

Morning mayhem maddness

Best cinnamon rolls on the planet

6:15 am morning run

Atlas Deer

The River

Counselor Float Brigade

Basketball

Gazebos

Rain

Mail Call

Rain

Ultimate frisbee

Couples softball

Cafeteria tables

Food trays

Pearl divers (deep sink washers)

Tarzan yells

Salad

Steak fingers

Rock Melon

Rest time

Chinese Fire Drill to recover from rest time

Games night

42

Lollies

Talent show

Laughing so hard your cheeks seize up

New friends

Listening to 18 fifteen year old girls

Rain

Flip flops and crocs

Mud fights

Photos

Mud kickball

Tire Swing

Jumping from the top of a high tree into the current

Convincing your 7 new friends it is truely lovely and they too NEED to jump out of the tree

woo - hoo

When do I get to go back?

Summertime relaxing?

Speed camp. Swim team. Soccer camp. Soccer training. School day camp. Camp camp.

It's a different kind of manic. But I love it. Some days, I want to rip their little blond eyebrows off, sans wax. But mostly, I am blissfully enjoying unemployment. Ferrying squatty bodies here and there and everywhere in between. Avoiding humidity, going to films, eating late dinners, playing soccer in the park. Washing tooo many towels to count. Sunblock now comes in dry varieties - lovely.

Job hunting bites huge lumps of slimey lizard guts.

Not Lacking Insight.

He is blond. An Australian Texan who speaks Japanese and loves soccer with a passion beyond his years. He has flown 40,730 miles already, loves spicy Kung Pao Chicken and Aloo Naan.

We were driving home from dropping his older brother off, he emplored "please Mum just listen to this song, I know you don't like that word, but it's a really good song, and I love it,please, please...". He sits in the very back of the car, farthest from the radio controls. So we listened.

now you can too. http://youtube.com/watch?v=tWXvV5DALuY

He is 10 years old.

And already NOT LACKING INSIGHT

Extra lamingtons and lollies for that kid.

A Guard against QUICK remarraige.

I did not read back through the papers. After the judge's final orders. Last June.

Mostly because it pissed me off. And a fair amount because I am just stubborn as all get out. I just did not want to. It is frustrating and infuriating and saddening, to read in bold black print what a bastard I devoted 13 years to.

Completely. Lacking. Insight. The federal judge summed up in 7 months what I knew for years and years and years. I did not verbalize those thoughts. Growing up hearing about the dastardly deeds of my wayward father, I am hesitant to negatively communicate what is obvious to the general population.

I am a glass half full girl. I like to look for the sunny side of folks. Always. Leads to a happier life, not always obsessing about what everyone else is doing wrong, or at the least worse than I am. I like Dr. Pepper with my extremely healthy porridge for breakie. I love team sports. I want to win. I will not chuck a dark tantrum if I don't though.

For years I gave everything I had. Trying to make it work, we had babies, little treasures that I did not want to have the heartwrench of broken family in their sweet lives. He took all the sunny I had to give him and spat on it, walking away telling 'the holy ones' how flawed and insignificant I was. They believed him. I did not.

Completely.Lacking.Insight.

He forgot I was from Texas. I can earn a damn fine living without a man. I can raise happy well adjusted intellegent kids. Yes he took me to a completely new country. I thrived there. He took me to court in two countries. I won.

So I did not read the documents again. I had talked with my lawyer and thought I was all clear last December, apparently, I misunderstood. We are in fact, still married.

Bloody hell.

At least for the next 14 days. He has petitioned for divorce. He has had a girlfriend for a few months that I know of. Not sure how they get that all to fly in their version of the bible. I guess though if you can justify beating your kids and controlling your wifes every move, adultery doesn't seem to really be outside the lines at all?

Schmae.

I can not decide whether to accept the papers or be a pain in the arse.

Chook and Pig.

Friends in the Kitchen.

Waking for the day is a pain in the patootie when it's still dark.

Not a fan.

I am much better now that I am at least of adult age, cheery and pleasant are still talents I aim for, mainline caffiene helps. Wonderful. That first sip is damn fine, not quite mainline but close.

So do my mates, Chook and Pig ... you can't possibly be cranky when those two sit blissfully above your kitchen sink.

Staples.

The proper name is staples. It is the stuff that fills my handbag of a morning not when I begin my day but a bit after that, the essentials, flotsam is how my mind thinks of it. Complete misuse of the word- floating debris of a ship, not-so-much. More the nitty-gritty items that I utilise throughout my workday. The polar airconditioned environment of the cave in which I work, demands both the cardigan (thank you Mr. Roger's for teaching me at a very young age what an essential item the cardigan truely is) and the multiples of lip coverage. One day I will end up lip-less, due to a society where it is acceptable behavior to set the air-con to arctic degrees - THE HIDDEN DANGERS OF WORKING WITH THE MENOPAUSAL. Yet another thesis potential.

Jr. High, the revisiting.

Angst. Stress. Awkward bodies. Braces. Mean Girls. Boys that only look at your breasts. Being superior at sports. Crushes.

Some things change from Jr. High. Praise the baby Jesus that they do! Braces are a thing of the long past, and my body is strong and fit, and by no means awkward. Angst is no longer prevalent, daily.

Some things never change. Mean girls grow into mean bitter women, I have learned how to steer clear of them, and boys that stare at your breasts, yup no different, another thing that has not changed, those are the men you still would not touch with a ten foot pole.

Crushes.
- informal. - an intense but usually short-lived infatuation.

Pure Jr. High Bliss.

One need not be in Jr.High School to enjoy one. I am far past Jr.High, but enjoy I will. There is no potential for the crush to go anywhere, I have children and woodsy, athletic rock climbing men might not be so interested in my children, however I can enjoy the warm fuzzy of a wee little crush.

Happy St. Pat's!

In honour of St. Patricks Day.

We are spectacularly gifted at being able to grow collosal mountains of clover out the front, for all the gifted gardeners who drive by to tsk.

Cheers.

Half Off.

Usually I love it.

Half price books. Duty Free shopping. TJ Maxx. Tuesday Morning. Myers Boxing Day sales. Outlet malls. End of season clearance.

Never to be underrated. Always a bargain to be had.

We play soccer. We are a team made up of older people, it's relative - we are all in our 30's or 40's. We play in the city league. It is fun and social, and we like to win. Always. Who doesn't, ok, aside from the throwback beatnik hippies really? So we play. Hard at times. There is bruising, and joints that groan in displeasure for a day or so after the match. But again we like to win. I am willing to run beyond my age to chase down and prevent someone from getting their dream shot. And whichever hemisphere I live in I choose to play with persons of like mind. I want to play smart, wisdom does come as our brains wrinkle. So my sweeper is a bit OCD in his directions to players on the pitch in front of him, insessently calling out to go right, drop, stay tight, take him wide ... yada, yada,yada. I am not lacking in confidence in my abilities so there is no squashing for me. My time in Oz, taught me many things, give as well as I get has been invaulable, in a friendly cheeky way rather than with malice.

I speak often with my children about sportsmanship. One of my kids struggles, taking every play to heart and being intensely competitive, the poor child can not help it, the genetics came from two very athletic parents, we've handicapped him from birth. So I take note. I teach and practice good sportsmanship always, it would be a disservice to the child to do any less. He is a cherib, it would be devestating to set a sore example for him. I have high standards. So I play, competitive yet aware.

Tonight, we played infants. Not really, half were in Uni and half in high school. But young, far before their brains have fully developed. One thing as you age becomes aparrent ... play to your strengths. Play smart rather than fast. We are old, but we can look at a pitch and see the pass. And play it. We were up by one. Blissfull really when two of the kids goals we handed them on silver platters through a lapse in concentration - happens as we age. \

So.

We've 7 minutes left.

The youngens are getting frustrated and aggro. Best to just politely hold them out until the ref calls time.

And remember that with age comes brain wrinkles and the wisdom that it's just a social game and there's no need for a tantrum over a soccer match at 7pm on a Sunday evening.

Half off is not so great at is used to be, they were half our age but a win is a win, anyway it is just a game.

Cheers.

Chilli Peppers?

I was taking a shower outside in my back garden.

That was the start of it all. It started, I was showering in the back yard, making sure I rinsed all the conditioner out of my hair, it's long, it's time consuming. I was at the same time having a conversation, with the guys who were on their bikes in the back yard. They could not see me, it was the tall red bricks that prevented them from peering in on my shower. Fast forward a few minutes, now I'm chatting with the guys in my lounge room while wearing a towel on my head, takes a while to dry all that hair as well. I'm having a 'come to Jesus' with the guys about how they have been riding their bmx bikes inside my house - a no-no, and how really they should be thinking about what kind of example they are setting for my kids and the sweet little homeschool kids that live across the street. When low and behold I hear a LOUD freight train outside that turns out to be a major tornado coming up the street, I tell the Red Hot Chilli Peppers quickly to find cover while I squirrell away my kids.

And that settles it. No more Ferrero Rocher and vodka right before bed. Those dreams are just a wee bit too freaky, really are the Chilli Peppers going to listen to me?

Dinner and a Ring.

I love birthdays! Family. Friends. Mine. Pretty much I love them all. There are several things that are a must for birthdays in our house. Chocolate must be consumed before anything else on the birthday morning, be it in the form of cake or block or brownie. It really does not matter. If chocolate is you r thing, or if by chance bacon pesto pasta is your thing - have at it! Another thing, you get to pick the evening meal. One day my children might hope for finer, more refined evening meals. Presently they are fairly easy to please, although we have yet to find really nice sushi in TX. And the presents, you get to open them as you wish. All at once, in scattered bits throughout the day, in order by size, the possibilities are endless.

So I had a happy day. I like bagels, wholemeal seeded with a light little bit of cream cheese and a precious slice of roast turkey on top was breakie for me. For dinner we invited some friends here to go out. Outback Steak House. I wanted a steak, what can I say - I am not a vegan. And we haven't been since my sons were tiny. So we went, my self, my 3 rowdy kids, my friends and their 2 kids and an extra kid as well. We sat at the round table. I am fairly certain that even though we tried to be sensible, we kept it to a dull roar. Six children between the ages of 8 and 12. And not all siblings. There was much to be talked about, by everyone. Anyway, the meal was lovely, we ordered, they brought, we consumed, and they they took the dishes away - utter bliss for a single mum. No washing up!!!!!!!!!!! So we asked for the bill, split check please so I can pay for my brood, and Brett can pay for theirs. This is when the waitress smiled just as the cat who has just eaten the pet budgie and told us another customer had paid our bill, and she was not allowed to tell who. We sat, all nine of us. The kids were not aware of the goings on. We sat, me with my hand resting on my little stash of cash I'd saved up for this night and Brett and Lezlie, holding onto their credit card, staring at one another. Stunned. Incredibly curious. Floored. Who would do that? There were a couple of people who stopped by our table during the meal. No one knew it was my birthday. I am not a fan of the singing of the birthday song by waiters & waitresses, so we skip it on my birthday - in public that is, at home - my children can belt it out with the best of them. Such a wonderful present - I asked the waitress to please even though we could not know whom it was to please pass along our thanks.

My grammie and granddaddy are aging. They are going to be 90 at the end of 2007. They usually send me a card for my birthday. I love it, my Grammie's scrawlling writing, still strong as she ages. Always signed love, Hugs & Kisses. for as long as I can remember. I am not my grandparents favourite grandchild, it is common knowledge who is, my dad is their favourite child - he's the baby, and my older sister is the favourite grandchild - they love all of the rest of us dearly, but she is the hands down favourite. I am completely fine with that. I love them, they have always been elderly and retired and lived on golf courses, my entire life. My granddaddy cuts gemstones for a hobby. He always has. Mine is amethyst. Lovely. My duaghter's a ruby. I got a parcel in the post day before yesterday. I like to stack mine and open throughout the day on my birthday. So I did. Something to look forward to after work. I sat and opened the parcel from Grammie, and yes it's from Grammie, she is the one who keeps up with those things in their marraige, Granddaddy plans the road trips, Grammie posts the mail. Inside the parcel was a pink wrapping paper containing a birthday card. Inside the card was a little flea market coin purse, grammie and graddaddy grew up during the depression, they are frugal. Inside the flea market coin purse was a Tourmaline ring my granddaddy cut and hand set with wrapped gold wire for my grammie - to put it in her words "many years ago". Now that is saying something, she talks about my father's childhood as if it were yesterday. What a treasure. My sweet little 4 ft Grammie has given me.

My heart is full.

WHOOP!

My boys have done it!

Texas A&M 69
Kansas 66

That's really all that needs be said.

Oh and they did it AT KANSAS.

Don't mess with the Aggies.

Ed Watchers Unite

Last time I was in the states, during what my Grammie refers to as 'the incident' - you know the one where I left my sorry ass abusive bastard of a husband because he wouldn't stop beating my kid.

Well. So I moved back to the town we had lived in back when things were happy, blissful even. We had friends there. We were loved. Lots of people had moved away but they kept in touch. It was not so little that everybody knew your business. Thank goodness, because who wants anybody knowing that ugly business. I enrolled my kids in school. Then pulled my littlest kid from the public school and parked her in a lovely little tiny school. She loved it.

I coped. Well sort of anyway.

I would get up at the godforsaken hour that they start school in this crazy place - it is still dark damn it, if God has not turned on the lights yet, you are not supposed to be out of the bed much less traipsing off to public school. (another story I get distracted.) I'd pack lunches and take the kids to school and then drive on over home and run to my hearts content. In my living room. On. The. Treadmill.

And watch old reruns of Ed.

I think I achieved my goal, not that I had one in mind when I left the mongrel Denver in January, however when I arrived home in Australia in July a friend noted I was 'over' my ex.

SO.

Ed. Watchers. Unite.

December.

Southbank, at first before they got the bouganvillas in, the walk looked horrid, amazing power of a wee little plant. And a prickly spikey one at that.
My New Years Day view. Palm Beach. Lovely. I lingered in the sand after a very light and refreshing lunch, yes, mangos consumed.
Story Bridge. I drank many a drink under this bridge during my time living in Oz. Not so much in the wino with the paper bag, as in the Deery Hotel, not a hotel for sleeping, but a pub with a spot of fine food and drink.

Cheers.

In Love.

Is to be tortured and torn. Heart racing and swelling, anticipation running wild like small children released from school for the summer holidays. Followed closely by the crashing pitfall of devestation, the heart melts and wallows and oozes jellylike as it falls smearing a trail down the cabinetfront on the way to the floor, there it splats into fractured goo.

Pity being in love.

Two countries. Two homes. Only one continent has an actual house that I own (at least partially). But both are home. I feel peaceful in each for completely different reasons. It is bucketing down, the rain pours from the clouds, mother nature is squeezing out her kitchen sink sponge after wiping up an earthly mess, repeatedly. Were it not 9 degrees celcius, I would run not walk outside and dance nearly naked in the deluge. I absolutely love the feel of rain on my skin, living without rain for years in Australia has brought a slightly unstable obsession with the stuff. We have not guttering, or downpipes here in Texas, so the rains in bastardised fashion just falls off the edge of the roof. If it were 30 degrees I'd stand at the bend in my house where two rooflines dump into a corner and let it all soak through. I am safe here in Texas, my kids will likely not be inundated with cult garbage living in a different hemisphere, well he still trys but distance makes them see clearly the insanity of it without the damaging emotion. In Australia, I love mangos,mangos,mangos, and friends. I have endured the most stressful times of my adult life while living there, and had precious mates to pop out for a wee bit of a drink to help ease me through. Or shout me a cuppa. Walk through the forrest, play matches and matches of soccer with. Recline in the sand and not talk at all about the hell I was going through just soak up precious sunshine for days on end, knowing that salt, sun and sand are a therapy in themselves - at least for me.

I leave a bit of my heart behind everytime I leave, both countries, so many people I love in both, and each for there own quirks.

noun, two words. or one. depends on what you like.

chicken pot pie reheated at 1am. with a green leafy salad. and a lovely glass of milk.

he had just brushed his stubbly chin across my belly. the sweet bliss of pleasures yet to be had were right there for the taking. ..

you know the feeling, you squeeze your eyes tighly closed, grab the pillow, roll over quickly in the vain hope that you might just somehow slip back into that delicious dream.


but no.

it is not to be.

why? because of the two little people who have invaded your space because THEY can not sleep, and they miss him, sadly not the bloke in the dream, but the one whom donated genetics.

uh-humm.

jet lag -noun a temporary disruption of the body's normal biological rhythms after high-speed air travel through several time zones.