Nutters

LIfe is a bit weird, you're rolling along, just minding your own business, that's enough really I have no time to mind anybody else's business, and then things happen that make you stop and well that's it, just Stop.

That's the dog we adopted last year, wearing an underwear turban. Burleigh has no shame. He can wear underwear any way he likes. He chews sticks, water bowls and he carries the chooks (chickens) around in his mouth every once in a while just to freak them out. We don't have a picture of that, we don't want the PETA people to find out.

Things happen.

Haiti, horrible earthquakes and the days that follow, make me slow down just a wee bit and take a moment.

Then one of your students is riding his bike to Maccas to buy a cheeseburger with his mate, and an accident happens, his mate falls off his bike, hits his head and is lifeflighted to the BIG Smoke to the hospital there. YOur student is in shock, he called 911, he did the right thing, and still he feels an overwhelming sense of guilt. His mates dad had told them "be careful." as they were leaving the house. They were, they did everything right, but his mate is on a ventilator with severe memory loss, he can't get past it.

So I stop. I stop being cranky with my boys when they can't find their soccer uniforms. I stop getting cross with my daughter for forgetting to take her soccer boots to the tournament. They are kids and I am thankful to have them. They are half grown. They will leave home. They will still probably forget things. However, they are Mine.

Dislike.

what do you do?

the person who is supposed to love all kids

   in a position to reach out to youth from differing backgrounds, to draw them in, be kind and show them love...

so what do you do when

                                     they don't like your kid.

You can tell, by the way they talk, how they call you and tell you every little thing your child has done wrong, how they ask your child to be quiet over all others who are talking, at each opportunity.  

                                            What do you do?

you cry.   

do you encourage your kid to keep going regardless?  

                                i am just not sure that you do.

Guilty. as. Charged.

We had a beautiful day ... note here....

and here ...

created and loved a new lunch recipe ...yummy fish fried rice

                           walked the dog till he dropped here....

AND THEN.

I go and ruin it by worrying and being grumpy about Things, schmings, grrrrings, things.  Instead of recalling the day of blissful wild abandon, I fret and grump and grizzle, and ruin the bedtime.  So guilt weighs heavy, as IT Should, foul little wench I became.

            I WILL say SORRY.

I will ask Forgiveness and forgetfulness.

     

                                            I will try new cookie recipe and organic egg dye treats with the natives THIS wEEk.

No more mad, no more sad.  Time to move along skippy.

Risotto

Just a few things to be thankful for...  

The hope of firewood.

Being asked to be a Special Olympics coach.

House.

A car that has done 100,000+ and will keep on ticking.....

3 healthy, happy, well read children.

Soccer.

Piano.

Friends who flirt.

Text.

Family who want us to bring pies for Thanksgiving and tell us straight up which ones so there is no guessing and all are happy and full.

Living close to a library.

No tv during the week.

Sharpies.

Flannelette sheets.

Friends who drive past your house on rubbish day, notice your bin is NOT out and fix that up for you.

The warmth of autumn wrapped up in a creamy dish.

Wanting.

There are so many things I want. And it's not material things. Ok, maybe some of the things are material things. Frames to put photos in, thirty of them, so the hallway isn't so bloody white. Drives me insane. A vacuum that actually sucks instead of my Kirby circa 1950. A job, with health insurance and a bi-monthly paycheck. Chooks that actually stay IN the chook pen. Time to make some anzac biscuits. A bloke to put together the lovely garden table I was given. Or alternately to find that blooming spanner so I could put the damn table together myself. At least ten games of spades with my nutty kids. Non offensive words to say when someone asks if I like the delivery guy they sent me. I did not, he was so nice, probably I should like that guy, the nice one, but I don't, I prefer scruffy and just a wee bit of "you just don't know". The list goes on and on.

The wanting continues. So I wash clothes and write my assignments, and work and work. And try not to go nutso, because crazy is one thing, but nutso that involves stright jackets and padded rooms and heavy regulated meds.

Where is the fun in that?

THis week I'll work at a paid job for 43 hrs.

Study for 12-14 hrs.

Attend soccer training for my peeps 8hrs.

Attend the piano lesson 30 mins.

Cook 6 hrs or less if I'm lucky.

Pack 20 lunches.

Wash 10 loads of laundry, with at least 12 pairs of soccer socks.

Apply for 4 jobs.

Make 5 pennies magically cover $100 worth of expenses.

http://link.brightcove.com/services/link/bcpid1315753316/bclid1437076151/bctid1432781806

And listening to fun new tunes all the way.

Only Half

Leave It to Beaver we are not.

Our family is more train wreck in nature. Divorce. Abuse. Drugs. Poverty. Childhood is a thing we survived, my sister and I.

My brothers 17 and 13 years my junior, had the Leave It to Beaver lifestyle. Two parents who treasure them, and tell them so on a regular basis. A hippie/yuppie of a father and a precious balanced woman for a mother, mature before the arrival of their children. Always a nice house to live in, pantrys full of food, the latest toys, money for the sports they wanted to play. An international childhood. It makes sense then why they do not understand where we girls come from.

They have no concept of what we lived, it was not even in the same section of the library, they relaxed over in the private reference, while we were backlogged, in a bin out the back. Books in dire need of repair.

I do not mind, I have thrived. My sister crazy as she is, has survived in her own way, occassionally at the expense of those around her. Witnessing selfish behavior all through her childhood, it should not be surprising.

We know the whole story of their childhood, it is no shocker they are attending university, one in undergrad and the other in graduate school. They have only looked at a sliver of our lives. Until they do. We love them.

You can't caste stones until you read the whole book, look further than your earliest memory, choose to find out why your oldest sister acts crazy, there are reasons.

THey are only half brothers, until then.

And NO I have not been drinkin'

Today, all day, I have been a fine upstanding citizen.

Cleaned my kitchen, dining and lounge room. Vacuumed.

Filed my income tax return, early.

Had lunch at the Chicken with my Dad. Agreed to enter he and his mates into the Association of Former Students Golf Tournament, even though both my brothers go to our rival school and they'll get snarky about the golf. Whatever. There is a reason they call me the mature one in the family.

So tonight I dropped 2 out of 3 kids off at soccer training. One of the kids had to be picked up at 9pm.

I left the house, I noticed driving home from Easter that my headlights were hitting a wee bit low. Rio Grande Boulevard is 1.2 miles long, I spent one mile of my drive behind a small forest green Ford truck, squinting at the contents of bed. There was a black wire dog crate, the kind that you can unclasp and fold flat if you need to. Initially I thought there was a two-bummed furry white dog in the crate. So I got closer, thinking I might need to get my eyes checked. I contemplated driving with my brights on but I thought it might be a tad rude. Right before my turn off and after a stopsign under a streetlamp, I figured it out.

I tried to take a photo, however, my camera only works after dinner and a movie, and only if I whisper sweet nothings about a house, with a 2 car garage, and a dog and long walks on the beach.

Two lambs, shorn, one wearing a blue jumper (one pampered dogs wear), stuffed into the back of a dog crate in the back of a small green Ford F-150. The lambs were not happy, when I rolled the window down to take the photo, they were baa-ing away-poor little ticked off lambies, naked and squished.

Only in Texas. And NO I have not been drinkin'

She Failed Taks Math.

So I spent Easter with some very lovely folks, was reminded I haven't blogged in a very long time, and made a Funky Monkey run - the handbag was my treasure, begging to go home with me.

So my oldest son has asked several times for a ride to the hairdressers for a trim. He is very fond of his hair, far worse than most women I know. When he was little he liked a number 2 buzz cut, and would run his hand over the spikey short hair often.

Today we had a hour and a half after school/work before soccer training, so I handed him some money and his phone. We talked about what he was going to have done. "Less than an inch off, Mum, that's exactly what I'll tell her"

Okeydokey, I dropped him and ran home to whip up dinner.

Yesterday in the green.

He walked into the hairdressers, told her he wanted a trim, less than one inch off, please.

I got a text, it said simply "come get me".

By the time I got to the stopsign at the end of our street I received a second text, saying, "don't come , i'm halfway home, i walked". I picked him up. And I think he looks lovely, however, I did tell him I would gladly go all mummabear on the hairdresser for him if he wanted me to.

And it is just so sad that the hairdresser, she doesn't know what one inch is.

He is handling it really well.

Dr. Pepper therapy helps.

Sad little Taks Maths Failure of a hairdresser though.

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.