The Olympics started at 6 something this morning. We've taped it and are waiting for my in-laws to arrive before we start watching. I love the Olympics and will watch as much as I can. I boycotted the Beijing Games because it's a travesty that a government that abuses human rights as much as it does has no business hosting the games.
Anyway, we wait and get ready to watch. I've been trying to prepare the kids with history of the games and talking about American accomplishments. I figure they will hear enough about Aussie accomplishments from the tv and their friends I need to do my part to remind that the still are Americans. It's still odd to me to see all the Green and Gold stuff around. I keep expecting to walk into Woolies and see GO USA everywhere. I'm not anti Australia, please don't think that. I just want to remember the good parts of America so I'm using this as a way of doing that. So far this is the knowledge that I've been able to impart to my kids.
1. The Soviets cheated in the 1972 games in Basketball and every American is or should be still pissed. When we watch Men's Basketball we all remember the lying cheaters and point out how they deserve to loose. It doesn't matter if the Soviet Union doesn't exist. Soviets, Russians, whatever...they LOOSE!
2. Less humorlessly, in 1972 11 Israeli athletes were kidnapped and brutally murdered. Sadly, this is the 40th anniversary of that horror. Since the IOC is apparently made up of bunch of cowardly anti-Semites so they refuse acknowledge that horrific event. Well my family does talk about what happened and WE REMEMBER!
3. Americans rock at the Summer Games. We can't ski for crap so we are down a few pegs in the Winter Games but the Summer. Oh yea, that's for us!
4. We will watch Gymnastics but it's not the only sport happening. If you watch just Bob Costas and the NBC feed it's mostly Gymnastics. I HATE when they broadcast Gymnastics warm ups and training when their are medal events occurring in other sports. Ok, maybe they aren't all glamorous but someone has worked hard to try and earn a medal, I would like to see it. Also Rhythmic Gymnastics? Get serious. That's just stupid. Sorry. It's not a sport. No.
5. I like a fair fight. I love watching diving, boxing, pretty much everything but I despise events that are decided by judges. Everyone has heard the joke about the East German judge deliberately low-balling Americans to knock them out. Know why everyone knows it? BECAUSE THEY DID IT. They would cheat some hard working kid just to prove a point. I hate that. Since there is no longer an East Germany we usually sit and play "Spot the new East German Judge" just so we can know who to boo. Mature? No. But it does make for entertaining moments.
So that's what I covered so far. I wish my Aussie friends the best of luck and I fully expect you guys to kick the crap out of us in Swimming 'cause you people are fish. Good racing. Good luck to all the athletes, no matter where you are from. Unless you play basketball for the Russians. Sorry, nothing personally but I hope you come in last.
An American family living in Australia. While we all speak English here, I wouldn't say we all speak the same language.
Saturday, July 28, 2012
Friday, July 27, 2012
Baby's First Con
Sometimes something so devious happens all you can do is enjoy the show.
My girls' birthdays are in May and June. The one-two punch of birthday fever. I usually buy my little fashionistas a new outfit as a present. Connor got her assortment of clothes and accessories but I found out a month later that I missed a major desire of hers. Tessi got her clothes and boots. Boots are apparently the only thing Connor has ever wanted. Or more accurately she's always wanted them from the first second Tessi opened the box.
Connor has been suffering with her bootless feet for a few months now. Occasionally I've heard her justify her actions in a fight with Tessi by saying, "it's ok, cause you got the boots" Apparently, those are some damn fine boots. I had no idea. But then again, being the bad mother I am, I don't really care. As much as my middle child may vehemently disagree I don't owe her fine footwear. If she has to suffer this brutal Sydney winter of 18/60 degrees with simply socks and sneakers, so be it. Life isn't fair...
Moving on, now it's a few months later and we are gearing up for the school's Education Week concerts. Each class performs either a musical number or a play. They dress up in fancy costumes and it's great fun for the kids. I'm been hunting down Teddy's costumes for a few weeks, just found out that Tessi is the lead in hers (Jeez, that's another blog post in and of itself) and Connor has been bringing home bits and pieces of info about hers, no word on costumes. Apparently they are doing some sort of rap; have no idea about what. Alright, I'm up to my neck in bear and gruffelo costumes and helping get Tessi's entire class fitted, I don't really think about Connor's.
Now, here's when I should admit that I have a slight tendency to go a tiny bit overboard with costumes. Halloween, dress up, plays, parades, whatever...I go a bit loony. I sew a ton a crap, I buy the right accessories, I travel to 5 different stores to get the exact right shade of green thread. I once spent 2 hours on the computer searching for the right Apollo 11 patches to print and sew onto to Teddy's costume when he played Buzz Aldrin. I searched in 3 stores once for the perfect fabric to make Connor a zebra costume, then I hit 2 different op-shops until I found the khaki shirt Teddy needed so he could dress up as the hunter that shots the zebra. I literally sewed my finger to to Connor's skirt with the sewing machine as I was trying to get the elastic in the waist. I stopped, pulled the needle back up, swore, kept on sewing.
In short, I'm out of my buggering mind. I know that. It's ok. I'm fine owning that crazy. Most people around me accept it. A few shaking heads but really if someone isn't shaking their head in confusion at me I don't know how to act. What I was not aware however was how easily my neurosis could be taken advantage of by an eight year old.
Yesterday Connor got in the car after school sighing that the class had to dress up as cartoon super heroes. Hmm, that sound like fun. "Yea," she said, "All my friends are dressing up as Wonder Woman, Bat Girl, Spider Girl. But I don't want to do that. I want to be different" Really? Connor, Miss do anything to fit in with her friends, God Forbid any one see that there is anything different about her - SHE wants to be different. Hmm, ok. I'm driving, trying to drown out Tessi reading "The Gruffelo" so I'll go with it. Connor then announces that she is going to be Black Widow.
Alrighty. I can work with this! During the run of the Avengers here I was pretty vocal of my love for Black Widow. Finally a female character in a action movie that kicks ass, doesn't need help, isn't wearing 4 inch heals and has boobs the size of basketballs. Natural of course.
Black Widow. Cool, my daughter wants to be an independent woman who can take of herself and everyone around her. I'm thrilled. Immediately I start planning the outfit. I rule out the black catsuit. Sure, it's awesome but not practical. Too expensive for one-time wear. I will get a long sleeved button down black shirt and black leggings. Yes, this will work. My brain continues to spin, no longer hearing anything about Tessi's weird bear-like creature and his fears and morph straight ahead into authentic costume design. I an hear Connor chanting in the back, "Black Widow is cool. She's a real hero, she doesn't need any guy to save her" It's just feeding the fire in my blood. Hey! I know it! She's an Avenger, I'll put a large red letter "A" on her chest. Wait a minute...a large Scarlet "A" on my daughter's chest. No, I will not be doing that. I read Hawthorne, I know what happens to Hester....Maybe I'll put it on her back. Yes, that will do.
Ok we're almost home buy now and I have the outfit planned. I need the shirt, pants and what else? Yes, boots she needs boots. Nice flat, no stupid high heel, sensible ass-kicking boots.
Did you notice that? Connor has just gotten me to say she needs boots. You know, for the costume. Not because she wants them. No, no. The costume needs the boots to be authentic.
I fell hook, line and sinker for her cunning plan. She didn't give a rat's ass about Black Widow but she KNEW how much I liked the character and how much I'd want to make sure she looked as much like her as possible. "Yes, Mommy, I would love to get the catsuit but that's too much money to spend on something just to wear once. I think the shirt and leggings are perfect. I'll need boots too, don't you think?"
Now as someone who appreciates a good con I am applauding not only her sheer tenacity, but her patience at pulling it off. She planned this. Choose her words carefully; timing the delivery so I would be off guard in the car. She played me like a violin and it was brilliantly done. Now she could have been Bat Girl but there was no guarantee on boots. Now by combining my interest (ahem, ridiculous obsession) in accurate costume design with my joy at my girl not wanting to be one of these fake token female heroes she cemented her chances of success.This is the first step in the 12 steps of playing the system to win as far as I'm concerned. She will need this skill to overcome the truly stupid people she will encounter in her adult like.
As a parent it is more than a little terrifying to realize how much she's been paying attention and learning how to manipulate me. She has been stewing on these damn boots for months. Connor has been covertly paying attention to my likes and dislikes and actively concocted a plan to ensure that she would win. This is only the first step towards a future teeming with ways and means to drive me totally insane. I will have to wear mirrors on my shoulders so I can watch my back with this one.
Well played, Madam. Well played.
My girls' birthdays are in May and June. The one-two punch of birthday fever. I usually buy my little fashionistas a new outfit as a present. Connor got her assortment of clothes and accessories but I found out a month later that I missed a major desire of hers. Tessi got her clothes and boots. Boots are apparently the only thing Connor has ever wanted. Or more accurately she's always wanted them from the first second Tessi opened the box.
Connor has been suffering with her bootless feet for a few months now. Occasionally I've heard her justify her actions in a fight with Tessi by saying, "it's ok, cause you got the boots" Apparently, those are some damn fine boots. I had no idea. But then again, being the bad mother I am, I don't really care. As much as my middle child may vehemently disagree I don't owe her fine footwear. If she has to suffer this brutal Sydney winter of 18/60 degrees with simply socks and sneakers, so be it. Life isn't fair...
Moving on, now it's a few months later and we are gearing up for the school's Education Week concerts. Each class performs either a musical number or a play. They dress up in fancy costumes and it's great fun for the kids. I'm been hunting down Teddy's costumes for a few weeks, just found out that Tessi is the lead in hers (Jeez, that's another blog post in and of itself) and Connor has been bringing home bits and pieces of info about hers, no word on costumes. Apparently they are doing some sort of rap; have no idea about what. Alright, I'm up to my neck in bear and gruffelo costumes and helping get Tessi's entire class fitted, I don't really think about Connor's.
Now, here's when I should admit that I have a slight tendency to go a tiny bit overboard with costumes. Halloween, dress up, plays, parades, whatever...I go a bit loony. I sew a ton a crap, I buy the right accessories, I travel to 5 different stores to get the exact right shade of green thread. I once spent 2 hours on the computer searching for the right Apollo 11 patches to print and sew onto to Teddy's costume when he played Buzz Aldrin. I searched in 3 stores once for the perfect fabric to make Connor a zebra costume, then I hit 2 different op-shops until I found the khaki shirt Teddy needed so he could dress up as the hunter that shots the zebra. I literally sewed my finger to to Connor's skirt with the sewing machine as I was trying to get the elastic in the waist. I stopped, pulled the needle back up, swore, kept on sewing.
In short, I'm out of my buggering mind. I know that. It's ok. I'm fine owning that crazy. Most people around me accept it. A few shaking heads but really if someone isn't shaking their head in confusion at me I don't know how to act. What I was not aware however was how easily my neurosis could be taken advantage of by an eight year old.
Yesterday Connor got in the car after school sighing that the class had to dress up as cartoon super heroes. Hmm, that sound like fun. "Yea," she said, "All my friends are dressing up as Wonder Woman, Bat Girl, Spider Girl. But I don't want to do that. I want to be different" Really? Connor, Miss do anything to fit in with her friends, God Forbid any one see that there is anything different about her - SHE wants to be different. Hmm, ok. I'm driving, trying to drown out Tessi reading "The Gruffelo" so I'll go with it. Connor then announces that she is going to be Black Widow.
Alrighty. I can work with this! During the run of the Avengers here I was pretty vocal of my love for Black Widow. Finally a female character in a action movie that kicks ass, doesn't need help, isn't wearing 4 inch heals and has boobs the size of basketballs. Natural of course.
Black Widow. Cool, my daughter wants to be an independent woman who can take of herself and everyone around her. I'm thrilled. Immediately I start planning the outfit. I rule out the black catsuit. Sure, it's awesome but not practical. Too expensive for one-time wear. I will get a long sleeved button down black shirt and black leggings. Yes, this will work. My brain continues to spin, no longer hearing anything about Tessi's weird bear-like creature and his fears and morph straight ahead into authentic costume design. I an hear Connor chanting in the back, "Black Widow is cool. She's a real hero, she doesn't need any guy to save her" It's just feeding the fire in my blood. Hey! I know it! She's an Avenger, I'll put a large red letter "A" on her chest. Wait a minute...a large Scarlet "A" on my daughter's chest. No, I will not be doing that. I read Hawthorne, I know what happens to Hester....Maybe I'll put it on her back. Yes, that will do.
Ok we're almost home buy now and I have the outfit planned. I need the shirt, pants and what else? Yes, boots she needs boots. Nice flat, no stupid high heel, sensible ass-kicking boots.
Did you notice that? Connor has just gotten me to say she needs boots. You know, for the costume. Not because she wants them. No, no. The costume needs the boots to be authentic.
I fell hook, line and sinker for her cunning plan. She didn't give a rat's ass about Black Widow but she KNEW how much I liked the character and how much I'd want to make sure she looked as much like her as possible. "Yes, Mommy, I would love to get the catsuit but that's too much money to spend on something just to wear once. I think the shirt and leggings are perfect. I'll need boots too, don't you think?"
Now as someone who appreciates a good con I am applauding not only her sheer tenacity, but her patience at pulling it off. She planned this. Choose her words carefully; timing the delivery so I would be off guard in the car. She played me like a violin and it was brilliantly done. Now she could have been Bat Girl but there was no guarantee on boots. Now by combining my interest (ahem, ridiculous obsession) in accurate costume design with my joy at my girl not wanting to be one of these fake token female heroes she cemented her chances of success.This is the first step in the 12 steps of playing the system to win as far as I'm concerned. She will need this skill to overcome the truly stupid people she will encounter in her adult like.
As a parent it is more than a little terrifying to realize how much she's been paying attention and learning how to manipulate me. She has been stewing on these damn boots for months. Connor has been covertly paying attention to my likes and dislikes and actively concocted a plan to ensure that she would win. This is only the first step towards a future teeming with ways and means to drive me totally insane. I will have to wear mirrors on my shoulders so I can watch my back with this one.
Well played, Madam. Well played.
Wednesday, July 18, 2012
Handling Stress
This may come as a shock to everyone, but I don't handle stress well. I know, it's surprising. However really stressful things really send me over the edge. I'm not sure if it's because I don't handle change well, the lack of control, the annoyance of Life having the stones to not do what I want but anyway, when the going gets tough, I lose my ever loving mind. I yell a lot, hyperventilate, my eye twitches, that sort of thing. I haven't ever frothed at the mouth but never say never.
So today I'm trying a preventative plan for handling a stressful situation that is coming to a head today. I'm going to play on the computer for a bit, try and find the damn DSXL of Teddy's that is hidden so I can sell it, walk through the kitchen ignoring the dirty dishes on the sink and counter, shut my eyes as I walk by the table with laundry (at least it's clean!!!) on it and head to the couch and read some inane, trashy, inherently stupid books until I have to go get the kids from school. Then I will take kids to gymnastics, come home and do an eeny-meeny to figure out what champagne to open and figure out something for dinner that no one will want to eat.
Now, I am aware that this is NOT the best, most mature or grown up way to handle my problems. I understand that. However I have elected to embrace my lack of caring about the best way to handle things. I am choosing to believe in my ability to avoid the problem as a way of dealing with it. We can all go to Amazon and print a list of Self-Help books that all say this is the wrong thing to do but since none of those self-righteous bastards live my life they can stick it.
I may stop and get some frozen cookie dough on my way to the couch. Don't judge me. At least my plan doesn't involve alcohol until AFTER I get the kids home. That has to count for something.
Wish us luck.
So today I'm trying a preventative plan for handling a stressful situation that is coming to a head today. I'm going to play on the computer for a bit, try and find the damn DSXL of Teddy's that is hidden so I can sell it, walk through the kitchen ignoring the dirty dishes on the sink and counter, shut my eyes as I walk by the table with laundry (at least it's clean!!!) on it and head to the couch and read some inane, trashy, inherently stupid books until I have to go get the kids from school. Then I will take kids to gymnastics, come home and do an eeny-meeny to figure out what champagne to open and figure out something for dinner that no one will want to eat.
Now, I am aware that this is NOT the best, most mature or grown up way to handle my problems. I understand that. However I have elected to embrace my lack of caring about the best way to handle things. I am choosing to believe in my ability to avoid the problem as a way of dealing with it. We can all go to Amazon and print a list of Self-Help books that all say this is the wrong thing to do but since none of those self-righteous bastards live my life they can stick it.
I may stop and get some frozen cookie dough on my way to the couch. Don't judge me. At least my plan doesn't involve alcohol until AFTER I get the kids home. That has to count for something.
Wish us luck.
Tuesday, July 17, 2012
Job Performance Issues
Back after 2 weeks away. No, I didn't go anywhere, the kids were home for 2 weeks. Here in Australia there is a break of a few weeks in between terms or marking periods as we say back home. It's good in that they don't have 3 months off all at once but it's bad in that they have 2 weeks off at once. I say that not because I hate my kids....no I don't. Just because I'm not the mushy gushy mom that can't stand being away from Precious Snookem's longer than a few hours doesn't mean I actually hate my kids. What I hate is the pack of feral creatures they become when they are trapped together. Oh like for example at home for two weeks.
Every mother (well every HONEST one) will tell you that even though they will walk through fire for their kids listening to the constant fighting, whining, crying, and general bellyaching will make even the most patient saint a psychotic hose beast beast bent on mass murder. Alright, maybe not all mothers will admit to the last part but I do.
However even living through rough holidays and enduring ENDLESS hours of Adventure Time and listening to those damn One Direction songs - good God, REALLY? - only a mother is crazy enough to still have nurturing feelings towards the people causing the strife. I guess it's our version of Stockholm Syndrome. But instead of caring for our captures we're caring about people who's so reason to get out of bed is to piss you off.
This is not normal, I understand that. If an adult spent half as much effort lying to me, ratting out a fellow friend, picking fist fights with yet another friend or asking me the same bloody question 15 times a minute, just to hear my voice, I think you'd agree me that severing ties is required. Or if ties couldn't be severed holding the person in open disdain would be expected. AT THE VERY LEAST no rational person would expect me to been over backwards with concern for the little twit at the slightest provocation of fear or pain.
Unless you are a mother. Then all rules are different and you are the bad person if you snap and tell the little cherub in question to piss off. Yes, yes, I understand that there different rules of engagement with battles with children then with adults but this goes beyond the pale. Any other kid pull half the crap on me that my kids pull and I'd be plotting against them too. Just in a kinder, gentler fashion. No blood, but a bit of public humiliation when I work Canteen. I know my boundaries.
But my kids....that's an entirely different story.
Yesterday, after 2 weeks of not being allowed out of the same room with Connor, watching her needle and pick fights with her siblings, again listening to that damn One Direction and on and on about her new obsession with Big Bang Theory episodes, we all reached the wall. At the end of a long day in the CBD and me furiously trying to make grilled cheese sandwiches for dinner - after Sasha ate the cheese I was going to use and serve up dinner to bored and angry kids Connor would not stop asking me which acting voice to use when saying, "What is going on?" (side note - I have NO damn clue where that came from. She literally walked into the kitchen, stopped between me and the sandwich press and demanded the different ways of saying the phrase. What.the.Hell?) and I snapped, "Oh Christ Connor, look at me. What am I trying to do?" And my insanely annoying daughter responded with, "I know, shut up and go away"
Being the calm, responsible person that I am, I handled that comment the best way I could. I burst into sobbing tears. Not the pretty ones. The tear gushing, snot-flying, splotchy ones that hiccup out of your mouth and when you try to talk you sound like you're speaking a really guttural foreign language. Those tears.
I have never in Connor's life said that to her. Not once. But since I have thought I was immediately consumed with the fear that I had scarred her for life with...what...the aura of the phrase? I dunno, but I knew that I was instantly a bad mother and my poor baby's emotional well being was endangered. No matter that she would have driven a tee totalling monk to drink these past few weeks and there were times I was hoping Teddy would haul off and crack her one....it didn't matter. My mere thoughts had seeped into her brain and therefore I was bad.
This right here is how motherhood is different from other jobs. I have never in my life felt as bad at doing a job as I do most days with motherhood. I didn't feel that bad when I burned entire batches of popcorn when I worked at a movie theater, not as useless when I screwed up some exam scores for a testing center I worked at nowhere near as stupid when I told people the wrong law when I was a paralegal. But have my own kid say she knows to shut up and go away? Yep, grounds for dismissal.
Only I can't get canned. I can't lose this job. So here I was last night, sobbing how sorry I was that Connor thought that and that I never said that and I didn't mean it. Which of course made her cry because she didn't understand why I would be upset. Another parenting win.
So if I had to self evaluate myself for the last term's productivity I'd have to give myself a Developing, with room to Improve. I'm hoping management gives me a bit of sabbatical to reevaluate my commitment to the company. Some place with umbrellas in the drinks.
Every mother (well every HONEST one) will tell you that even though they will walk through fire for their kids listening to the constant fighting, whining, crying, and general bellyaching will make even the most patient saint a psychotic hose beast beast bent on mass murder. Alright, maybe not all mothers will admit to the last part but I do.
However even living through rough holidays and enduring ENDLESS hours of Adventure Time and listening to those damn One Direction songs - good God, REALLY? - only a mother is crazy enough to still have nurturing feelings towards the people causing the strife. I guess it's our version of Stockholm Syndrome. But instead of caring for our captures we're caring about people who's so reason to get out of bed is to piss you off.
This is not normal, I understand that. If an adult spent half as much effort lying to me, ratting out a fellow friend, picking fist fights with yet another friend or asking me the same bloody question 15 times a minute, just to hear my voice, I think you'd agree me that severing ties is required. Or if ties couldn't be severed holding the person in open disdain would be expected. AT THE VERY LEAST no rational person would expect me to been over backwards with concern for the little twit at the slightest provocation of fear or pain.
Unless you are a mother. Then all rules are different and you are the bad person if you snap and tell the little cherub in question to piss off. Yes, yes, I understand that there different rules of engagement with battles with children then with adults but this goes beyond the pale. Any other kid pull half the crap on me that my kids pull and I'd be plotting against them too. Just in a kinder, gentler fashion. No blood, but a bit of public humiliation when I work Canteen. I know my boundaries.
But my kids....that's an entirely different story.
Yesterday, after 2 weeks of not being allowed out of the same room with Connor, watching her needle and pick fights with her siblings, again listening to that damn One Direction and on and on about her new obsession with Big Bang Theory episodes, we all reached the wall. At the end of a long day in the CBD and me furiously trying to make grilled cheese sandwiches for dinner - after Sasha ate the cheese I was going to use and serve up dinner to bored and angry kids Connor would not stop asking me which acting voice to use when saying, "What is going on?" (side note - I have NO damn clue where that came from. She literally walked into the kitchen, stopped between me and the sandwich press and demanded the different ways of saying the phrase. What.the.Hell?) and I snapped, "Oh Christ Connor, look at me. What am I trying to do?" And my insanely annoying daughter responded with, "I know, shut up and go away"
Being the calm, responsible person that I am, I handled that comment the best way I could. I burst into sobbing tears. Not the pretty ones. The tear gushing, snot-flying, splotchy ones that hiccup out of your mouth and when you try to talk you sound like you're speaking a really guttural foreign language. Those tears.
I have never in Connor's life said that to her. Not once. But since I have thought I was immediately consumed with the fear that I had scarred her for life with...what...the aura of the phrase? I dunno, but I knew that I was instantly a bad mother and my poor baby's emotional well being was endangered. No matter that she would have driven a tee totalling monk to drink these past few weeks and there were times I was hoping Teddy would haul off and crack her one....it didn't matter. My mere thoughts had seeped into her brain and therefore I was bad.
This right here is how motherhood is different from other jobs. I have never in my life felt as bad at doing a job as I do most days with motherhood. I didn't feel that bad when I burned entire batches of popcorn when I worked at a movie theater, not as useless when I screwed up some exam scores for a testing center I worked at nowhere near as stupid when I told people the wrong law when I was a paralegal. But have my own kid say she knows to shut up and go away? Yep, grounds for dismissal.
Only I can't get canned. I can't lose this job. So here I was last night, sobbing how sorry I was that Connor thought that and that I never said that and I didn't mean it. Which of course made her cry because she didn't understand why I would be upset. Another parenting win.
So if I had to self evaluate myself for the last term's productivity I'd have to give myself a Developing, with room to Improve. I'm hoping management gives me a bit of sabbatical to reevaluate my commitment to the company. Some place with umbrellas in the drinks.
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