This Old House or Tool Time?

I grew up watching This Old House every week. My parents were huge fans of Bob and Norm. The whole family would gather in the TV room, watch the show and there would be many discussions about the work being done, the state of the house as the work progressed and of course the sheer awesomeness of Bob Vila...the coolest home repair guy ever. I think half of my dad's tool bench was a not-so thinly veiled shrine to him.

I watched the show but I never really learned how to do anything. In high school when I took the prerequisite shop classes I was either discouraged by teachers who didn't think girls really wanted to learn boy stuff or I was caught up in my teen nonsense and couldn't be bothered. Not proud of that last bit but it's honest. 

I was a selfish, fairly useless prat at a teenager. My bad.

After surviving my teens and...ahem...aging....which I refuse to do gracefully, I've discovered a lot of hobbies I once thought were lame are actually very cool. Fun, in fact. Sewing is one and woodworking is another. I've made a bathroom cabinet, my bed and a few bits and bobs. Nothin high end, but I enjoyed doing it.

A few years ago my good friend Judie told me about a woodworking blog called Knock-Off Wood. It's done by a gal in Alaska. This a woman that loves expensive furniture but being a SAHM, she had no money for the fancy things. What she does have a lot of is power tools and a bit of lumber and a lot of know-how.  She created plans for making furniture and put them on her blog for free.

This is her website now.  Ana-white.com Check her out for free plans on how to build a ton of fantastic furniture. Her plans are for normal people who have an interest. Brilliant.

On the computer that is. Bloody brilliant. Download it onto paper and work with your tools and that can be a nightmare.  

I wanted to present a complete post about my project, including pictures. But it's been a month now. I'm starting to think it will never be done. So plan B, a few postings with pictures and description of my dumb ass....I mean occasional mistakes. With luck, I will have a completed project come Christmas...2015.

In the Beginning......

Our current entertainment center does not work for me. Lots of openings for DVD cases which we don't really use anymore since I've become a downloading monster. Wires all over the place and the TV is too large for the space. Yuck. I've been looking for months, MONTHS for a replacement but the trend now is lowlife and I don't like that. If I found a cool unit it was either too big or too expensive.  

Wait a minute, I know! I'll make it! 

While  puttering in a used furniture shop I found this unit.

                                   

Sure it's a lowline but it seems to be a perfect base for what I want. It's symmetrical and the anal part of me really likes that. I can build a piece and put it on top. I can customize it to be exactly what I want. After all, I've read a few pages on a website, surely that's enough to go on. What could go wrong?

I purchase the unit and bring it home.

                                          

My little workshop is on the other side of my yard and this bugger is heavy so I bring it into my living room to work on. Not the best place for a work site but it'll only be a few days. I get to work ripping the CD racks and shelves out as I have no use for them.

                                   

One of my favorite sayings is, We make plans and God laughs. That seems to be my life's caption.  A few days long project has turned into a many week construction site.  Pesky things like laundry, basketball, AFL, flute lessons, laundry, dinner, Easter, exhausion and more damn laundry...you get the message...Life sort of gets the best of me. 

Its another week before I can work on it.  I finally get around to putting in the MDF shelving to create spaces custom sized for our stereo equipment. A few days ago I posted about the dreaded Metric System. It's at this point in the project that I get my first sour taste of the power of Metric. The boards are s.l.i.g.h.t.l.y. off so I have to sand them down to fit.  There is saw dust everywhere. 

I feel like I'm snorting the Redwood Forest here.  Look, there is sawdust in places that are simply wrong.  Then I get the brilliant idea to put wheels on the unit. No more lugging heavy furniture around! I will roll it with ease. In fact, I already have casters. I took them off my mattress when I made my new bed. Fantastic, it's an economical change. this way, even though I didnt plan for this originally its still okay because it isnt costing any extra.  Plus its a great design change. I just have to flip it over and drill holes in the bottom and put in the casters.

Just flip it over. On its back. By myself.

Sure. No problem.

I didn't need my lower back anyway.  

Popping that bad boy on its back was enough to make me turn and look away every time I passed the work area for a couple more days. My family decides that like everything else stationery, my project is a perfect resting place for backpacks, toys, drinks, papers...whatever.

Another couple of  days go by before I snap and start clearing crap off and start working again. At this point I start wonderingif I just set fire to it maybe I can just go buy an IKEA special. Surely that would be good enough. 

                                     

          
                             

That depresses me emenslely so I storm out to Bunnings (Aussie Home Depot), buy a sheet of MDF and pay to have the pieces cut in the size I need. Below is the first shot after I put the the frame on top.

Perhaps you don't notice this but ther is a LARGE gap in the back. A rather emmense opening. The pieces were not cut quite like I thought they would be.

Oh Metric System, thou art a heartless bitch.

So here I am with a design failure. It takes me another day to figure out how to turn that huge mistake into a new cool design feature. I do it but man, this is not exactly the cut, nail, glue and paint project I originally designed a few weeks ago.

That's all for now. Next post I tell you about more drama. I can tell you that I have learned that wood glue either dries in 3 hours or 30 seconds. There is no rhyme or reason as to which is going to happen. Also, bringing out paint guarantees that short people will come running out of thin air to "help" When this happens have a diversion or extra cleaning supplies...or both. 

Both is better.

Six Years and Counting

Six years ago today my exhausted family dragged it's collective sorry tushes off of an airplane and stepped onto the New World.  Having never left the North American continent I had absolutely no idea what to expect   You can watch tv, movies and read books written about an area but that's simply not enough to explain all that you need to know about living there.  That can only ever be done by physically being there.  The actual sites, smells, visions all around you.  The words that are spoken and the feelings that all of this invokes; that's how you learn about a new place.

After six years I would not even remotely call myself an expert on Australian life.  How can I?  I've only seen a small tiny fraction of it.  However I have learned quite a bit about Aussies and myself.

Bits and Pieces that I learned only after moving here:

1.  It's considered rude to sit in the back of a cab.  That's right.  If you need to get a taxi you are expected to sit up front with the driver.  Aussies work very hard at not being pretentious....no one is too good for anything.  That includes sitting up front with the person you are paying to drive you around.

2.  They put beets on most sandwiches here.  Even hamburgers.  I had heard this one before we came here but honestly I thought it was a joke.  The joke was on me though when I ordered a hamburger and it came with the thick slice of purple death.  The beet is as ingrained in Aussie culture as Vegemite.  I have no idea why, no one can explain it to me.  It's just there...lurking.

3.  Equinoxes.  I've mentioned this in my blog before but it's worth repeating.  To an Australian, the first day of Spring is March 1st and the first day of Autumn (they refuse to call it Fall) is September 1st. Winter is June First and of course Summer is December First. When I asked what about the equinox I got a tight, "I'm just barely tolerating you, Yank" smile and was told again that it was the first of the month.  Sure the rest of the planet doesn't start tipping until the 21st of the month but apparently it starts tipping on the 1st here.

4.  Aussies put butter on rolls for sausages.  Seriously.  I can't handle that one.  I get downright belligerent when someone tries to hand me a buttered roll to put a sausage in.  Most of my close friends know not to do that.  My really close friends know to do it just to watch my head explode.

5.  Closing for a holiday means every bloody thing you need will be closed.  I grew up in the great retail world of the US.  Sure SOME things close on holidays but you could always find something open when you need something.  Not here.  Tomorrow is Good Friday and EVERYTHING will be closed.  Shops, gas stations, work, schools, libraries, movies, everything.  Now most everything will be closed again on Easter.  That one always confused me.  Everything is closed on the Friday but Sunday most reopen?  Again when I ask why I get a confused look.  Then I'm told, it just is....

6.  There are two kinds of mammals that lay eggs.  The platypus and the echidna.  I had NO idea!  I could have sworn there was only one.  Okay, maybe that's not a major "break in with the news" detail but I thought it was a cool fact.  They are both really weird looking too.  They definitely fit in with the theory that Australia is the land of weird stuff that couldn't survive anywhere else on the planet.

7.  My last information tidbit is about the Australian prime minister.  For the past couple of years our fearless leader is Ms. Julia Gillard.  I absolutely love that she is the prime minister of a large nation.  No, I'm not a Julia Gillard supporter; in fact I think she is a true politician and therefore not to be trusted.  However, I love that she is in charge right now.  Why?  Because she is so openly hated.  I don't know anyone who doesn't have a nasty thing to say about her.  Even the sweetest, kindest people I know have vile opinions about her.

So what's to love you ask?

Well,  I LOVE and adore that even though she is despised and reviled,  no one and I do mean no one hates her because she is a woman, an atheist and is unmarried and living with her partner.  They hate her because of what policies she supports and how she behaves in Parliament.  I still shake my head with surprise and shock when I think of it.

This woman couldn't have been elected dog catcher in Texas.  A state which openly touts a law forbidding atheists from holding public office.  You can be against funding for public schools, rally for the Klu Klux Klan and have multiple drunk driving convictions but as long as you go to church you are good to go in Texas.  It was heart breaking to live there sometimes.  It really was.

When I read about the political hypocrites back in the US screaming bloody murder about nothing and dead silence about important things I sit and think fondly about our dear hated Ms. Gillard and I thank God I live here.

I could go on and on about Australia and I'm sure I will in future posts.    If you've been reading my work for a while you know that many of my musings about Australia will contain my run-ins with the bugs, spiders and snakes.  I'm not going to lie to you and say I'm sure I will learn to appreciate them.  I firmly believe the little buggers are actively trying to kill me.  All I can hope for is that someday I can post about them without sobbing, hiccuping tears.  That will be a major step in my assimilating to Australia plan.

The next six years will be eventful for my family and me I'm sure.  You can't raise 3 kids moving into the teen years in a foreign country and not be eventful.  No matter what though, I do hope the years find us still here Down Under.  Come visit if you can.  I'll remind you about the beets.

What I Should be Doing

There are many things I should be doing.  The dishes in the sink, laundry, mopping the kitchen floor, making the beds, more laundry, sweeping the floors, filling Easter baskets, laundry and planning tonight's dinner.  Of course there is the big huge entertainment center sitting in the middle of my living room that's 90% done.  It's waiting to be sanded, painted and have the hinges put on.  Just waiting....still there.

I walked by all of that to come in here and type.  As I'm typing I am waiting for a book to download.  When it's done I"m sooooo out of here.  I'm going to spend the next hour reading trash and doing nothing substantial.  I've earned it.

Today I got 3 kids up and out to school.  Despite some serious effort on their part I did not kill any of them.  No really, you can check...all left my house breathing.

Keep in mind that for the benefit of this posting I am counting swearing under the breath and pouting as breathing.

All 3 survived to at least the school campus and I braved the pre-Easter grocery store with 5000 of my local Aussies.  I managed to get a parking spot after only 3 laps and I only had to cut off one elderly person to do it.

Don't give me that look.  She was milking it with her walker trying to get sympathy; you and I both know it.  I don't feel bad at all.

I got through the store with 1/2 of my ankle intact, as I had a run-in with a power mom pushing a very posh stroller that seemed to think I wasn't moving fast enough.  I counter-attacked  by taking the last bag of carrot-shaped chocolates she was diving for.

Ha!  Take that Soccer Mom!  Thought you were going to throw me off by driving the baby stroller into the back of my leg?

Girl I've got 3 kids. I have stretch marks that are longer than the scratch you left on me.

Please.  You didn't even slow me down.

Fresh from the battle I've made it home and I have dragged myself and the groceries through the squalor.  It's a genuine catastrophe out there.  I'm sure there are government agencies lining up trying to declare it a disaster area. Plus it's almost 30 degrees...that's 90 degrees for my Imperial loving friends.  At the end of March. That's like 90 degrees at the end of September.  Sure if you live in Texas that's not unusual but I DON'T LIVE THERE ANYMORE.  That's WHY I don't live there anymore.

So for the record it's hot, the minions are gone, the mouse was exterminated last night and I've survived the shops.  If that isn't enough cause to justify trashy literature on the couch in this world...than this is a world I don't want to live in.


Oooh!  Book is done.  See ya!

Drowning in the Stupid

I seem to be overrun with what I like to call the "Stupid" lately.  It's not that I feel that I'm so overly intelligent...far from it in fact.  It's that my life right now is inundated with people who seem desperate to prove to me how stupid they are.  Be it friends on Facebook who post links to "educational" sites written by morons,  to car drivers around me who change lanes into me, all the way to CNN reporters lamenting the suffering of teenage rapists, my head is just spinning from all the moronic activities around me.

It's so bad right now that I've caught myself wondering if the aluminum foil hat the crazy people wear to keep the aliens out may actually work to cut down on the Stupid seeping into my brain.  In fact, I bet that's what the purpose was the whole time.  I certainly can believe that we are in more danger of stupid people than an alien race that's intelligent enough to grasp the complexities of intergalactic space travel but still have their nefarious plans of mind control thwarted by a thin sheet of a metallic element.

So don't be so quick to judge.  Think it over a bit.  I haven't made the hat yet.  But that's because all I have is the Aussie aluminium and not the good American aluminum.  Once I get some I'm going to make it and see if it works.  I'm getting desperate.  I have to do something to shield my poor brain from everything that is sucking intelligent thought from it.

Right now though, marauding aliens are preferable to the particular brand of the Stupid I am battling.  Yes, bring me probing aliens rather than the Pre-teen Maximus Stupidus.  Far, far less painful.

This morning Connor was desperate to do a chore for some money. However she didn't want a chore that involved real work so she settled for searching the house for dirty cups and plates.  They would only be found in the living room and Teddy's room.   So not really a lot of effort, her kind of work.  She came to tell me that she found the girls' touch in Teddy's room.  Since he has a touch and iphone she didn't understand why hers and Tessi's touch would be there.  She really wasn't trying to rat him out, she was just genuinely confused.

I thanked her for giving me the touch and sent her on her way because I knew damn well why the touch was there.  I sat and counted to 75 before I got my mind back enough to form sentences.  Once I counted to 200 and still could only stutter.  I would classify this event as a medium rage point on my chart of Things Mom Loses Her Ever-loving Mind Over.

Here's why I knew what the touch was doing being in Himself's room.

I have always banned the internet in bedrooms.  I really don't want the kids to have unfettered access to the great unknown.  There is a centrally located  kids computer that they know I can see what they are doing.  They do have Touch's, access to my beloved iPad and Teddy has his iPhone.  Just not in their rooms.  Teddy keeps "forgetting" and taking his phone into his room.  I put forgetting in parenthesis because only an idiot would believe that it wasn't on purpose.  Teddy keeps doing it because at twelve, he is convinced I am an idiot.

Last week when Teddy came home sick I told him to leave his phone on the pool table and he didn't.   He took it into his room and watching gaming videos on YouTube   I caught him and said from now on he could only have his phone as he was walking out the door to school and then he had to return it to me on his way in the door.  I pointed out that the only damn reason he had a phone was for MY peace of mind.  Also, I pointed out that I don't want it in his room.

Duly chastised, we went about our merry way.  Now he is deprived of his access to awesomeness since he doesn't have a large data plan and he knows if he maxes out his limit we won't buy him anymore.  The only place he can watch his videos is at home.

So what does Captain Genius do?  He knows that I have his phone with me at night and I also have his touch so of course, he takes his sisters'.

But does he put it back in the morning so no one knows?

Of course not.  He forgets and leaves it on his bed where anyone who walks in can see it.  On top of that he doesn't know to clear the history so I can see everything he's watched on YouTube or looked up on Safari or Chrome.  By the way, that is a GOOD case of the Stupid....I'm very glad he doesn't know to do that yet.  So everyone Shhhhhhh, mum's the word.  Ixnay on the alkingtay about the istoryhay.

But the other Stupid, ohhhhh, that I need to end.  Sneaking the touch into his room?  He can use the kids computer.  He wasn't even looking up bad stuff.  He searched for and watched gaming videos.  He wasn't even watching the games I don't like!   What the Hell?!!!!  There was nothing wrong with what he did other than it was in his room.  Why hide it?

My eye has been twitching all day because more than anything I am annoyed with how stupid he was about it.  Sure it was dumb to take it into his room but then leave it so anyone can find it?  If you are going to be dishonest and deceptive at least do it behind peoples back so they don't know!

No, he has to be overwhelmed with the Stupid, that has to be it.  It must be beyond his control.  Almost like a cloud that descends upon him and he can't see his way out of it.   It's an ethereal being that envelopes him and prevents intelligent thought from seeping into his skull.  Yes, that must be it.  It has to be.

Because if it's not... If his brain is so addled that he doesn't understand that he is fooling no one I truly fear for his safety.  Not just from his ability to stop himself from walking into walls but from me snapping and flicking his head to death.

I'm headed out to the shops now to buy champers and foil.  I can't wait anymore for the good stuff to arrive, will work with the Aussie aluminium.  When you see me walking around with my hat just remember, it's ok.  I'm in a better place now, being shielded from the Stupid.  If you are nice to me, maybe I'll make you one too.

Live by the Calendar, Die by the Calendar

  When you agree to become an incubator for nine months and grow a family in the fine print of the contract is a bit about being the family cruise director.  This the planner of activities for everyone in your life.  What this boils down to is if someone in your family has to do anything at all, it's up to you to remember not only to do it, but when, where and how often.

Let this be a lesson to you all.  ALWAYS READ THE FINE PRINT!

I have a family of five so I have a calendar on my phone, ipad, fridge, computer room, a small one in my purse and one in my car.  In a pinch any piece of paper can be turned into a calendar, just remember to bring the paper to one of your standard calendars and apply the information.  If you don't you'll end up with an angry friend wanting to know where the hell you are and you can't even pretend you never got an invite because she saw you write it on the back of your child's report card.

Not that I've ever done that.

No, no, of course not.  My house runs with Swiss clock precision.

If Swiss precision now means drunken midgets (stolen from Denis Leary, ie famous person) yodeling Edelweiss (stolen from James "Scooter" Summers, ie infamous person in my friends circle) while shooting random events into the air and seeing what sticks, then yes, that's us!

I get my fridge calendar for Christmas...yes, it's become of one my regular gifts. Keep your jewelry and perfume, I need my Mommy Organizer.  After the holidays I sit and write out all the regular events.  Birthdays, holidays, school calendars and the like.  Then as activities pop up, I add them to all my calendars.

Teddy's sporting schedule is pretty easy.  Cricket and AFL always have training on Thursday nights, with cricket games during the summer on Saturday and AFL during the winter on Sunday.  Both my girls did Little Athletics this year with the events on Saturday.  Ted and I split up the games with him to Little A's and me to cricket.  All worked out fine.  Tessi has basketball on Monday evenings and  so far is either at 5 or 5:45.  Not the best times for me but hey, I can adapt.  I'm flexible.

Connor did have piano but that's off this term and Tessi had her reading help on Wedensdays.  That used to be after school but she was showing up exhausted so we moved to during school, just for a few weeks to see if that helps.  Friday Connor has started Kids Club after school and I've been juggling how to get her home but hey, a little extra effort and we're good.

That had been working fine for a while.  It's hectic, but we're moving along.  Then we found out that Under 13's for AFL practice twice a week.  Tuesday and Thursday from 6:30 - 8.  Ooohhh.  Not great.  This is not good for my evenings at all.  Must be done though, we are team players and that is that.  I work it out with Ted to drive straight to the park after he gets off the train and he takes the girls home and then I stay with Teddy until 8.  Unlike all the other activities in our lives Rofe Park is just 3 minutes from our house.  It's the best compromise I can come up with right now to fit everything into the schedule. 

Now for weeks I've been trying to find a flute tutor for Connor.  Have had a bear of a time but finally I managed to get one.  6:25-6:45 on Wednesday nights. 

Ok-ay....really not good.  Not good at all.

 Again, though, there is no choice.  She has to be in lessons to stay in Training Band and I've already bought the damn flute.  So she's in. Into the calendars the entry goes.

Monday I notice that the girls school pictures are on Wednesday.  Hmmm, if Tessi is late to school for her reading help she will miss the pictures and that is a pain to reschedule.  No good, that entry can't stay.  I call her reading teacher and for one week only, we move her appointment back to Wednesday at 3:30.  Sure I've got Connor's lesson at 6:15 but I will race home to get dinner sorted and Teddy can watch Tessi until Ted gets home.  It's fine. Pencil that in.

Then a few hours later I learn that Teddy has to stay after school on Wed and I have to come get him at 4 pm because there are no buses running then.

Right.

This is bad.  Very, very bad,  I can't get to Turramurra until at least 4:30.  In a panic I ask my friend Judie who lives by the high school if Teddy can walk there after school and stay with her until I can get him.  I explain that we will need to hang out there until at least 6pm so we can go straight to Connor's lesson.  No problem she assures me.  She's a great friend like that.

I calm down, knowing that I have done my job and the week is settled.  It's time to start doing the normal chores I need to.  I go back to work on the miserable stinking bane of my exsistence...the entertainmnet center that I wanted to build.  I put wanted in the past tense because I no longer want to do it.  I want to give up and set it all on fire and just go out and buy the piece of furniture like normal people.  However since normal go running and screaming into the night from my family I'm stuck continuing the build.

Yesterday ends with AFL practice and I have an organized plan for Wednesday. Everything is as it should be. 

What I didn't count on was getting an email during the night saying that the Thursday night AFL training has now been moved to Wednesday night because some Sydney Swans (local pro team) are coming to run practice.  G..r...e..a..t...I'm so damn thrilled.  This morning I was in a panic trying to do the girls hair in cute pretty styles for the stupid school pictures and trying to figure out how to put in yet another damn event for the night.  All before I had my cup of tea.  

Unfair, un-bloody fair.

So I texted a friend and begged her watch Tessi at the AFL training while I dash to the stupid flute lesson.  Being awesome, she agrees.

There..I did it.  Every minute from 2:55 until 6:45 is perfectly planned and organized.  Dinner is chicken in a crock pot...not the KFC special (which under the circumstances would have been perfectly acceptable, by the way!) 

I am Mother, hear me roar.

Yeah, Fate heard me roar alright.  And then fell over laughing hysterically and pointing at me with the fickle finger of fate.

Rotten Cow.

Driving back from taking the girls to school I get the dreaded phone call from the high school.  Teddy is sick and wants to come home.

All my appointment swapping, friend coercing for help, map-juggling and calendar bending has all been for naught.  I have driven myself nuts for days and it all switches again.  And do you know what the best part out of all of this?

This isn't even a bad week.  That's right people.  I and every other stay at home parent in the world, go through this just about every week.  I can't speak for working parents because I don't know their routines.  I'm sure it's just as hellish....but a different kind of hellish.

So for all the pompous arrogant people out there who wonder just what we parents do all day, never mind.... you couldn't possibly understand.

Until you get excited about getting new calendars and calendars that organize calendars it just won't make any sense to you.  For those who do understand, I have extra Panadol and Tylenol this week, but I'm not sharing.  I need for when things get really bad.

Juvenile is the New Black

The first memories I have about learning the metric system are in my Eighth Grade science class.  I suppose I must have been taught it before then, but I just don't remember it. What I do remember was my teacher deciding a great way to help the new girl meet her new school was to have her stand up in front of the class and quiz her knowledge about centimeters and kilograms.  Yeah....LOVED that class.  It explains my multiple degrees in the sciences. Oh wait, I don't have any......

I blissfully purged as much of that from my mind as possible and while I did get smatterings of instruction on the metric system throughout the years; as an American I grew up with my pounds, inches and miles. 

Fate then decided to have an uproarious giggle and a flipping of the nose at me and had me move to Australia. This is a country that has the metric system firmly embraced in its warm bosom and revels in its divisable by ten lifestyle. You can not order lunch meat, buy gasoline (petrol), or take a sick child's temperature without knowing and loving the metric system.  

I have spent the last six years learning only what I absolutely have to in order to survive here. The absolute bare minimum. Just the other night I haphazardly appologized to Teddy's science teacher for his obvious failings in using metric as HAHA, his father and I still speak imperial at home. I say haphazardly because I wasn't actually sorry, in fact, I was gloating.   It can be tricky to cover up gloating with fake remorse sometimes.  The teacher never met me before so I'm pretty sure I got away with it.  

Deep inside my soul it chaps my hide that I have to learn the metric system and I just don't want to.  Yes, it's juvenile. It is specifically, the exact opposite of mature. I accept that freely. I concede that my life would be considerably easier if I learned to think in metric.  But the simple truth is I don't want to do it and no one is going to make me. So there. BFfffftttttt!

But my little blow for individual freedom and not being a slave to the man does have consequences.

Here are examples of how I stuff myself up.

1.  When I cook:  See right there!  BOOM! I am already in a foul mood. I'm being forced to cook, now I have to learn your bloody number system?  No.I.Don't.  I turn the oven dial to 170ish and say, "Umm, that's about 350" and begin the cooking process. Sure sometimes there's a bit of charring, some frozen middles and some outcomes I can't accurately describe but it's done. MY WAY. 

2.  Driving: I think in mph and I know the speed limit I should be going. Sure my dashboard is written in kph and all the signs are in kilometers but they don't look right. Downright silly in fact.  I'm on a highway...I know how fast I should be going.

In an effort to promote honesty I should mention that this thought process (plus my lead foot) has lead to enough points being placed on my license to cover the spread of several NFL games.  I may have rethink my stance on that soon or else we are going to be walking everywhere. If I do, I will do it begrudgingly for sure.

3. My Hobbies: I am into woodworking and sewing.  Most everyone I know giggles when I tell them that as at first they seem opposite to each other.  Personally, I see obvious similarities. I cut specific shapes out of material and assemble into a shape of my design.  I use heavy machinery to cut and assemble the pieces. This machinery is bulky, temperamental and often makes me swear and cry.  Exactly the same in my book. I also have exactly the same issue with the metric system with both tasks. 

I get the material - fabric and wood, here in Oz while both my patterns and plans come from the US.  McCalls and Simplicity  (not Vogue...those patterens are the Devil) sewing patterns and furniture plans from Ana-white.com  - she is house frau in Alaska and wizard at creating incredible plans to build quality furniture. Please check out her site.

Trying to convert inches to centimeters is a flipping nightmare. Before you say it, yes I do know there are many converters out there,  I have 2 apps on my phone and they both promise quick and precise measurements.  Utter crap.  Trust me, no matter how many times you do the conversion it never comes out exact. 

Right now, I'm staring at my latest project....a new entertainment center with pieces strewn all over the living room because I can't get the top piece I made to sit flush on top of the box.  I'm just staring at it trying to let the idea of how to fix it jump out and present itself.  We've been here a few days...I suspect we have a few more to go. 

I have an entire blog post going already on this build. Will post it, with artwork, if I ever get it finished.

4.  Weather:  It has taking me years, literally years to not instantly think FREEZING when I hear that it will be 25 degrees today.  Also since I can't seem to follow exactly what the numbers mean I tend to follow the actions of people around me. Let me explain by that.

When people around me start whining about how cold it is when we have a high of 18 degree, I believe them. I start shivering and thinking of hot tea.  Later on when I get a chance to convert it I realize that 18 degrees Celcius translates to 65 Fahrenheit.  Hardly the ass-bitenly cold my Aussie brethren have been complaining about. As someone who spent the first six years of her life in Upstate New York I do have some knowldge of blustery cold....18 degrees aint it.  My car is littered with jumpers (sweatshirts) from the kids and me because I was sure the weather report meant something entirely different that what I thought.

Yes, yes, that problem would correct itself if, after 6 years, I would remember that Sydney doesn't ever get really cold, Winter is just Fall and Summer, while disgustingly hot several days isn't like a Texas hot. Also, if I learned what the numbers actually meant and I thought in metric I would know what was going on.  Again, I don't want to!

Looking back over this post I'm sensing a theme.  I don't want to seems to subtly interwoven amongst the paragraphs.  

Look it's my story. I can can a 20 pound sledge subtle if I want to.

If I use my Freshman 101 Psychology class training I would say I'm deliberty not learning the metric system so I can maintain control over at least one section of my life. There is so much turmoil and upheaval in my life that I am drowning in the chaos that I can do nothing to stop and my stubborn refusal to conform is the branch that is anchoring me to safety.  I am at the mercy of my life and can only react to, not plan to circumstances.   The consequences of my actions are not be positive, but they are solely under my control. 

That's one way of looking at it. A little dark for my taste though.  Maybe there is another reason.  A reason less likely tohave concerned phone calls made to my house.  Perhaps it's just that I am a spoiled brat. A narcissist trying to bend everyone around to my will. Another arrogant American prat who knows that her way is the right way.  As soon as the masses accept the gospel according to me, they will see the error of their ways and will dance happily back to the glorious imperial system. After all,  24-hour shopping and Costco have come to Australia...surely miles, gallons and fahrenheit can't be too far behind?

Um, honestly, neither one of these choices are terribly appealing to me.  I think I'm going to stick with my original "I don't want to and you can't make me!" explanation. It is simple and outrageously juvenile but its by far better than being psychotic or a jerk.

Nanny, nanny, boo, boo. I have burnt and undercooked dinners, mismatched furniture and clothes and soon no license but at least I still know that a yard is 36 inches and 105 degrees outside is Mother Nature's way of saying get the hell out.

So there.

A Day I Asked For

Lately I've been feeling hard pressed for ideas of things to write about.  I wonder if I compose yet another post of me whining, complaining or sobbing about my kids might start to turn people away. Also, honestly, even I get tired of the same old "my kids are loony" missives.  The past few days had me determined to write about something happy and positive.

You can see by the dozens of postings I've logged the past tew days how well THAT worked. 

Alright, Plan B.  I'll write about some Aussie-isms.  I worked on that through the weekend and came up with about 3 paragraphs.  So much for that idea.  I spent Sunday evening wondering what I could write about.  I needed something entertaining yet honest.  

Ask and ye shall receive.   I asked for something to write about and I was given...Monday. 

My day starts early on Mondays now. Connor is starting training band and she now has practice Monday mornings at 7:25am. That means we have to be wheels up by 7am.  That's a bit of a conundrum for me as I don't have enough time to return home and then turn around and take Tessi back to school. I could put her in the before school care program but I really am trying to save money so I discount that.   I come up with the brilliant plan to drive Teddy to school after dropping Connor off, then drive back and drop Tessi off at school. Traffic is horrible that time of day headed towards Turramurra so we we will be stuck in traffic and that will eat up time before I can drop Tessi off after 8:30.  We have iPads, Touches, silly things called books....loads of entertainment.  Lovely. This will work.

Of course I didn't count on Teddy not wanting a ride.  How could I could know that he would prefer an hour and 15 minute,  2 bus and train commute over a 40 minute ride in a car?  No, no, don't give me that look.  He sits in the front seat and has his iPhone; he doesn't even know his sisters are in the car. However this morning he informs the that wants the bus. Okay...that does not work with my plans.  At all.

So I had to tell him that I was taking him to school and that was it. Yes, that did wonders for his mood and personality at 6:30 in the morning.  I've been awake only 15 minutes and have already had one fight. Not a record or anything, but impressive nonetheless.

By 7 am we are out the door and we get to school by 7:15.  Ten minutes early means we are waiting outside the hall being served up as breakfast to the mozzies.  Also known as mosquitos. Everyone is in a smashing mood. Literally. I separate 3 fights and stop a flute from being turned into a weapon.  At 7:20 I give up, leave Connor with a fellow waiting mom and head off to fight traffic to Turramurra.

Only there isn't any traffic. We sail down there and make it there by 7:50. A full 40 minutes before he usually gets there. I ask him how early can I leave him there and Teddy snarls at me,"Not too early, I don't want to look like one of those loser early people."

Riiiiiight. 'Cause avoiding loser early status is high on my list of priorities. 

We compromise and agree to wait a few minutes until several of the buses have come and gone. Being the good responsible mother I am, we kill time by looking up funny videos on YouTube.  I highly recommend "Cats can be Jerks" A moving retrospective film about the angst that dogs and humans feel when subjected to random feline mood swings. It's also pretty damn funny.

At 8:05 I give up and tell him to face his fears and imbrace dorkhood.  A glare and I honestly think a hiss..but it could be that cat video, is my good bye from Himself and off we go.  Traffic will really be a nightmare now so we won't be too early to drop Tessi off.

Once again, traffic is clear. What the Hell? I have spent HOURS of my life trapped on this road in the past.  It is a God-awful nightmare. Rush hour time takes years off of your life.  Except today. I find myself cruising back into Normanhurst at 8:20...a full ten minutes before I'm allowed to drop off a now very bored and put out Tessi.

Okay. I drive long laps around the town and time it to 8:29 and come screaming up to school and boot her out.  I've done it.  My first Monday band practice.

I illegally call from my mobile while driving and book Tessi into NOOSH, the before and after school care program, from now on. I'll sell blood or drugs if I have to in order to pay for it. I don't care.

The rest of the day goes like my normal Monday. Nothing tragic or entertaining.  That evening at 5:15 we head out to go to Tessi's basketball game. We stop by one of her friends house to give her a ride and that's when I discover one of my tires is going flat. My friend is the one who pointed it out to me, as I was totally oblivious.  I decide that it's not TOO flat and take the girls onto basketball. When I park at the complex that's when I see the tire and the lovely little tiny stinking nail sticking in it.

Yep, it's flat, I have to change it. Marvy.

It's a good situation though. I can send the girls inside and go to Tessi's game. Connor is old enough to walk them in and as long as there is no spider or anything between them and the door they will get in. This way I can change the tire I peace and not have to entertain the girls.  Of course the other reason is that this way I can swear in peace too.

I find that even the best tire changing scenario is still a pretty crappy one. 30 minutes of trying to figure it how to lower the spare tire from under the carriage of the car, cranking the jack to lift the car,  jumping down on the wrench that is turning the lug nuts, dragging the new tire over and trying to lift it onto the wheel and I'm telling you, even Mother Theresa would swear like a sailor on leave. 

To the mothers escorting their precious cherubs into the Brickpit Centre....I apologize for forcing you to shield their ears from my announcements that the parents of the lug nuts were never married.  That they in fact, resembled some kind canine excrement and my offerings of more than gentle suggestions that Toyata procures the services of the worlds oldest profession.  Also my implication that the car jack had a massive Oedepal complex and would serve the world better by rotating on an oscillating wand was perhaps a bit extreme. I now regret inviting the lug nuts to embrace themselves aggressively and in a indecent suggestive manner and conceed that it most likely was not the best use of my degree in Communications.

Yes, I imagine it is unusual to find that kind of bawdy language outside our local King's Cross or any world renown red light district.  Give me some credit though. All my usage and syntax was correct.  I swore using both British and American curses interchangeably and I never repeated myself.  Sure my mom is spinning in her grave but I bet my dad would be impressed with me. Not that I'm telling him what I said of course. I'm crazy, not stupid.

Packing everything up and covered in sweat;  I head into the center to find Tessi's game. Takes me a minute but I locate the group and set my stuff down on the bleachers.  Of course I am covered in grease, dirt and sweat so I ask a friend to watch my stuff so I can go clean up.  I return dripping wet because of course with my luck, there are no paper towels. I don't care...the grease is gone and I sit down to watch some 7 year old basketball and rest my back which is killing me.

About 23 seconds later Tessi has a colossal fall and begins wailing that she is dying.  Her bench is on the other side of the court from me so her coach helps her walk off. Now I know that Tessi will cry about being hit by an air molecule so I shout, "You're fine Tessi!!" and give her the thumbs up gesture. She flings herself into the chair sobbing and keening that life is over. Her coach and friends huddle around her. I think someone starts a prayer vigil.

Here I am, the evil troll mom, waiting on the other side of the court watching my poor sweet, delicate, angel-faced babe sobbing as her knee is obviously shattered. 

Swearing under my breath I get up and walk around the court, inching my way up to her and wait for the moment when she has to take a breath in between the sobbing and moaning so I can talk to her.  I dont want to disturb her fine performance.  Academy award winning, this is.  So pitiful, sitting in the chair holding her leg straight out, begging for help.  I catch her just after she cries that she isn't sure she's gonna make it. Looking at her, I ask her to move her knee and the wailing escalates. I touch the knee and she surely was dying. 

Look, my back hurts and I just want to sit down.   

Sighing, I handled the problem the only way I knew I could.  I waited for another break in the sobbing and quickly piped up, "Is that a $2 coin under your seat?" She quickly threw the leg down, stood on it and ducked under the chair to find it. "Where, Where!?"  

I hand her the water bottle and turned to walk back to my seat, calling out,"You're fine Hon, go back in the game." Her bestie still clinging to her tearfully asked, " Are you sure it's not broken?"  with Tessi scrambled up to get back on her seat.

Yea....pretty sure.  

As I walk back to the bleachers I start plotting how I'm going to write about the day's events. It's not lost on me that I have asked for this. I can't go as far as to thank the powers that be for this display but I can't be that annoyed. I did ask for something to write about. 

Christ almighty...did I get it.

Something About Nothing

  On Tuesday I wrote about using less than June Cleaver -like techniques for parenting. Looking back over most of what I've written I'm seeing a bit of a negative trend.  

Alright, Alright!  Yes, a HUGE negative trend. In the is the glass half empty/full question, I'm more of a why bother, just drink it 'cause we're all gonna die eventually type of gal. But I do understand that the constant whining can get get old.  I know that. I don't mean to sound whiney as I write this stuff, it just seems to come out that way. So Tuesday night I promised myself that Wednesday I was going to write about something positive that happened.  

Yes, it would be a happy post about the joys of kids and the glee that can be found in the life of a stay at home mother. After all, I read lots of those type of Facebook postings from my friends. They seem utterly thrilled with their lives and those with kids seem to simply glow from the joy that they have in their kids. They find it, so can I.  It's there. I went to bed after attending the most bizarre parent teacher coconference I had ever even heard of happening and looked forward to the HAPPY that I was sure to find the next day.

Wednesday came and throughout the day I found myself muttering, "Well,  I sure as Hell can't post THAT!" and there were a few, "Nope, I'm sure as Hell not happy about that!"  And my favorite random thought, "What kind of sick bastard would be happy about THAT?" Yes, Fate was not presenting me with bliss in my personal universe.  Clearly this was a plot against me.

I decided that Wedenaday was not the best day to come up with joy material.  Thursday would be better.  Yes, that would work.

Thursday morning arrived and bewteen 6:45 am and 8:40 am I developed a pounding headache.  I wasn't quite twitching, but there was a slight weekness next to my left eye so I did feel the need to hold my eye up.  So no, no, Thursday morning was nothing to write home about.  Not one bloody moment of happiness there.  

Wait!!! I did have a good moments at a Ladies DIY class at the local hardware store. Two of my good friends joined me and that was a good time. It's good to remember what it was like to do an activity just because I wanted to rather than because it was good for one of my kids.   We built a kitchen cabinet, sort of.  It was a flat plat, pre-drilled wholes and cut to size so it was like assembling an Ikea piece, but it was good.  Then we did a gardening project. Um, yeah...not my thing.  I asked my friend (a REAL gardener) if she wanted my planter after I killed the plants.  Knowing me as she did she just agreed.  The woman running the class seemed a bit horrified and and offered for me to plant mint. Supposedly thats an herb that is "impossible to kill."

I admire her pluck, I really do.  I smiled at her and promised, "Oh yes, you can kill it, and I have, " I can say this because there simply is no plant I can't kill.  The planter is at home on the front porch now with rocket (arugula), basil and chives.  I have closed all betting on when they will all be dead. It really can't be considered gambling anymore.  Plant death, much like paying taxes is inevitable.

The rest of the afternoon had more of the "events that shall not be blogged about until a happy event occurs"  - I was still convinced that I wasn't going to say anything until something blissful occurred. I wasn't going to blog about going to the last cricket practice of the season because while I had a great time chatting with my friend while her husband took Teddy to training -HA! Massive score for me getting to miss weeks of staring at paint dry...er um...cricket training - there just wasn't the the euphoric glee that I was looking for.  The "WOW" moment of happiness.

No, no. I am only posting about the awesome joy. The happy submits I see other people commenting on all the time on Facebook.

So here I am on Friday, furiously trying to figure out what to write.  Do you really want to hear about the Turramurra High Parent Teacher Conference? Isn't it the same conference we all go to all around the world? I'm not sure I have anything particularly witty to say about that. Should I type about Connor speaking in the car for 15 minutes straight, with only 1 ten second break? Yes, I timed her and she really did it.  Also yes, I went to bed with my ears ringing as soon as we got home. An update on still trying to kill the mouse?  Really, I just bored myself with reading that.

No, I don't think I need to share the mundane. My week was not filled with awesome but it also wasn't horrible. Middle of the road.  In my world, that counts as being a good week.  So to steal from Seinfeld , this post is a post about nothing, I'm posting so I do  get to count it as something, however in the end, it was really nothing.

Except the plants. 24 hours they are still alive, so I guess that is something.

Using Capitalism to My Advantage

 "Greed, for lack of a better word, is good. Greed is right. Greed works. Greed clarifies, cuts through, and captures, the essence of the evolutionary spirit. Greed, in all of its forms; greed for life, for money, for love, knowledge, has marked the upward surge of mankind and greed, you mark my words, will not only save Teldar Paper, but that other malfunctioning corporation called the U.S.A."

                                  -Gordon Gekko,Wall Street 

I bet Stanley Weiser and Oliver Stone had no idea they were actually writing about one of the cornerstones of parenting when they penned this jewel.  Most of the cute parenting books...ie...written by people who may be around kids but also have staff to deal with them; never seem to mention the benefits of of good old fashioned greed.

Personally, I think taking advantage of a child's capitalistic nature is essential to the surviving of raising children.  Nothing, and I mean nothing motivates kids like money.  Money is power.  Money means the ability to control what they own; what they use to entertain themselves.  Sure, we kids ourselves into thinking we are shaping their minds but in the end when they have the coin...they buy what they want.  Unless I'm standing over them them like the fist of God knocking something out of their hands, but for the most part, my story stands.

Teddy has had a weekly allowance for a few years.  Connor started hers last year on her birthday.  Tessi is counting the seconds until her birthday until hers magically appears.  Money is doled out and they use it at their discrection.  I make the older two put $.50 of their money into savings but other than that, it's their prerogative on how to spend it.

Lately though I've been noticing that the gratitude for the money has been waxing and waning.  Thursday comes and I'm bombarded with, "Can I have my allowance?"  A bored face stands there waiting to be gifted with monies.   Usually this comes right in the middle of me working around the house.  Cleaning or cooking or working.  I don't get paid yet these kids want money.  It always infuriates me to be interupted in the middle of doing work around the house to help them avoid doing work.  Hmmmm.  I'm usually walking around threatening and cajoling, trying to get them to perform some task.  Or if it's assigned chores time I'm hit with "what are my chores?" and "Really, I have to do that?"  right at a time I can't be stuffed to come up with something they can do because I'm in the middle of doing something they can't quite do yet.

I was playing...er um..I mean researching ideas the other day on Pinterest and I saw a pin about putting chores on the backs of magnets and having kids select the chores and get paid for them.  No, I'm not going to show the Pinterest picture.  I think we all know by now now that mere mortals are incapable of copying these color-coordinated displays of crafty glory. You are just going to have to see my photos and imagine them in HD gingham checks and glitter.

Here I have put out the bait.  Also known as the list of chores I need to be completed.

I didn't say a word about it.  Yesterday afternoon I just brought the girls home from school and thought I would see if anyone noticed.  Of course, Connor saw it in under five minutes.  She came up to me asking how much she could get paid for doing chores. Also she is willing to give me list of  chores she is will to do for money. Thanks Sweetie, not ready to offer money for annoying the crap out of your brother, but I appreciate the offer.

This is good news though.  The minions are intrigued.  Makes things easier.  I tell her that we have to wait until Teddy gets home because I don't want to explain it more than once.  

 By the way, that sentence is absolutely hysterical if you have kids.  No matter how you condense it.  NO matter how you compile the information...you will ALWAYS have to explain something at least 4 times before it gets in.  At least.

Himself comes in from school and the buzz is going on furiously.  Money....money...she is offering money..... They gather at the table and the discussion begins.  

I announce that allowances are being discontinued.  There is a brief gasp of horror then a quiet explanation of what discontinued means.  I'm not going to say which kid needed it...I will just make a note that a thesurus is a possible Easter present now.

I explain that the magnets are worth money.  Large ones $2, middle ones $1 and small $.50.  When the chore is completed they bring the magnet to me and I check to see that the chore is done correctly....yes, there was a muffled. "damn"....but I let it go....not really isnt the time to bust them on my no swearing rule.  Also, I honestly want sure which one said it.

After chore is deemed complete I will give them one of these.

They will collect the tickets and turn them into me for money.  We can exchange tickets for cash weekly, monthly or whenever they get a big enough haul. Cold, hard cash money.  The language that all bipedal creatures speak. Finally, I have supreme confidence that they are listening to every word I say.

After I'm done speaking, yes, they actually sat and listened, there was a group conference.  True camaraderie seldom exists between this lot so I brace myself for the hit.

What about chores that are too difficult to do alone?

Hmm, oh...that's a good question...  Walking the dog alone is unsafe for the girls.  They can't handle Damn Dog.  So I say that I will share the $ on that chore alone.  Both girls can get $.50 each for walking the dog.  However, other chores that are shared, ie...wash and hang clothes the cash will be split. Teddy is unamused about this but little lecture about "sucking it up cupcake" and "the better paid jobs are easier for you to do" and he was back on board.

I take this moment to mention that I have marked the tickets and I will know if someone has "accidentally" taken a ticket and not done the work.  I haven't done this of course; I do have some sort of a life, but I'm not telling them that.  Teddy pipes in with an impressive list of different scenerios and their punishments for breaking the rules and cheating.  I tell him to try hard and not cheat me.  Also, If I catch anyone with extra tickets I will take ALL the tickets and distribute them amongst the remaining siblings.

THAT brought out a fury of discussion, let me tell you.  A quivering lip asked, "But what if we lose the tickets?"  These was my moment to present this:

Plastic, zip lock bags with cute pictures with their names on it.  Use these to save the tickets in.  However, should you lose them....too damn bad.  You are out of luck.

I did mention though that if I found some chores weren't being done I would just assign them and they would be completed for free...

I'll be honest, the crickets were chirping a bit there for a few minutes. After some eyelids blinked very hard they all stood up and collectively began sorting through the chores. I believe there was telepathic communication between them to just ignore that crazy nonsense the evil troll just spouted.

The next 45 minutes was filled with a mad rush of chores being done.  In fact, I hear the sad laments moaning about the lack of work to do.  Music, sweet music to my ears. The girls and I left for basketball with a house full of clean windows, swept steps, fed dog and knowledge the dishwasher would be emptied when it was done running.

Now I'm not crazy, I know this won't last. Already we are having issues about reserving chores and stealing all the "good" ones.  But for right now my budding capitalists are running around desperate for work.  

Yes, verily,  greed is good. Off to have a cuppa at my nicely cleaned kitchen table.

I Brought My In-Laws Joy

Please before you get all mushy gushy and say awehhhh, trust me, this morning I would've rather not have brought so much happiness and glee to my in-laws life.

Every week we try to Skype with my in-laws and my father.  It's a way of keeping the kids involved with the grandparents and keeping everybody invovled with each others lives.  We do this either on Saturday or Sunday, depending on the sport season we are in.  Rright now we're finishing up the Cricket and Little Athletics season which means we are gone all day Saturday so we try Skype on Sundays.  In a few weeks we will be moving onto AFL, which is on Sunday so we will be moving the Skype time to Saturday mornings.

It poured all day yesterday so Saturday sport was cancelled.  Ted got the word about Little A's being shut down the night before but Cricket held out as long as they could. Yesterday was the beginning of the playoffs so I suppose I understand them trying to see if the boys could play but really, it rained through the night so unless we were creating cricket water polo...the game wasn't happening.

I do my best to stay in bed on the weekends till at least 8 am.  This is because for years I was not allowed to sleep past five or 5:30  so this is my little petty ME moment. I say petty because it usually means I' m racing around trying to get stuff done before we leave for cricket so its more of a hassle for me. But when I'm lying there in bed all I can think about are  those bleary eyed early mornings and my rear end stays firmly planted. 

Look, my kids are old enough to figure out where the TV is and they know where the fridge lives.  The pantry usually still in the same spot in the kitchen so they can find food and entertainment.  I look at it as teaching them independance.  So, actually this is an example of me being a good parent.  Yes, yes of course, that was my plan the entire time.

Yesterday I was doing still dozing...I mean teaching my children an important life lesson...at 8am and waiting for news about the game.  The game was supposed to start at 9:00 so Teddy was up and about.  I know that must seem suprising that he is so willing to be up and going early in the morning but trust me, its all self-serving. The reason he has no trouble with weekend rise and shinning is that Evil Troll Mom...ie...ME...has banned all Xbox usage during the week. It's even worse for Teddy now that the girls have discovered Skylanders and now they want equal Xbox time.  He has to get up pretty early to get his HALO time in before the Xbox gets defiled by Spyro and Tree Rex.  To save time and listening to me scream, he gets dressed in the cricket whites right away so he doesn't risk losing to a female assault on his prime viewing position on the couch.

Amazing...he can work out the logistics of all of this subterfuge first thing in the morning but he can't understand that I know he's the one that hides empty Diet Coke cans in his bathroom. Genius that one.....

 So there he his, all decked out in Cricket regalia when I come to tell him that cricket was canceled.  I tell him to go change his clothes and we go on with the day.

24 hours later brings us to today.  This morning we get up and begin Skyping Ted's folks.  I end up leaving the computer because I noticed that every time I'm around the dumb thing it stops working. It's a bit ego deflating and difficult to continue claiming to be a geek when my mere aura makes the computer stops working.  No matter, I use this time to start sorting and put away laundry.  I head into Teddy's room and low and behold, I step on a clean cricket uniform that is scrunched up and piled on the floor.

I'm sure that most kind and caring mothers would make some sort of tsk tsk sound, pick up the uniform and hang it back up.  Sadly for my son, I am neither of those things.  I turn and bellow, "JESUS CHRIST! Are you kidding me?!" And I begin what we can refer to as the yelling time.

I yell at him as he gets up from the computer table and walks into his room.  I continue to yell at him as he bends over to pick up the clothes and tries to find a hanger to put it on. I storm out his room, still yelling and head back to the laundry basket on the living room couch. I turn around to find that he has followed me and is muttering some nonsense about not having a hanger. 

All this does is make me angrier because of course he has a hanger. He has the same damn bloody hanger the uniform was on when he got dressed the day before.  As I start to remind him of this I look up at him and there he is.... standing there listening to my rant with a smile on his face and twirling the hanger around his hand like a misshaped hula hoop.

I admit, I lose my mind a bit here. Words were said. Not all of them positive. Well, most of them were in fact, the opposite of positive..Alright, perhaps it was inappropriate of me to threaten to shove his head through a hanger so he could wear it like a necklace. In hindsight....maybe I didn't need to promise to make him wash, dry and put away everyone's laundry on the street. Also I now regret screaming, "Good! I hope it hurts!" when he caught his finger on the hanger and he yelled that it hurt. 

What I don't regret yelling however is, "Don't you bleed on my floor!" Or at least I didn't until I was invited back to the computer by my husband so we could continue our conversation with my in-laws. See they were still on the computer and listening to my torment.

And they were.loving.every.bloody.minute.of.it.

They were having a great time listening to me rant and rave. Bringing back memories of their days in the trenches. They must be happy memories now because it took them long enough to stop laughing. I sat back down and offered an act of contrition for swearing where they could hear.  

Grrr.....I'm going to get that kid. He made me swear in front of my in-laws, damn it.

Mom promised me that I would survive this.  After all, she did. I turn and stare at her son, my husband as he is amusing himself by jacking with the Skype picture so that we look weird to them and I think to myself......I don't know....there is some powerful genetic pull of dumb-assery here.

I don't say that of course. I just smile and nod. Smile and nod...rinse, lather, repeat...

Sent from my iPhone

Operation Jerry Busting

  After yesterday's post about taking Mousey down I went to the shops and bought some cheap mouse traps. Not nearly as vicious and violent as I wantedbut what can you expect for two bucks?

My friend Judie suggested baiting them with burnt bacon and while I do concede she know more about Australian fauna than I do, I decided to go with the classic peanut butter. Not because I felt that my notion was better but strictly because we had eaten out at the RSL last night and if I got out of cooking for the family I sure as Hell wasn't going to waste the night off on a damn mouse. Yes, I stretch my loathing off all things cooking related to that silly extreeme. I'm neither proud nor ashamed of myself for that. It's just who I am.

4 traps were set last night in an attempt to cease the existence of two mice. How many karked it during Operation Jerry Buster? 

Zero.

That's right. Not one trap went off last night.  In fact, I shared this jewel of a picture on Facebook this morning.

Good old Jerry came up, ate the peanut butter off the damn trap and didn't set it off. Fine. I can take a set back. Wars are one after many battles, I get that.  So I asked my husband Ted to head out to Bunnings (Australian Home Depot or Lowes) and get something a wee bit more deadly and tricky for mice.

This is what he brought back.

I know I'm a bit judgemental but really? Does this scream, "Die Bastard Mice!  Welcome to HELL!!!!" to you?  Personally I see a mice-sized horizontal ferris wheel and some very butch hair clips.  

I went upstairs to have some quiet alone time. I must be honest, I'm feeling a bit dejected about this home invasion stuff.  Also, as much as I talk a good game, I don't really enjoy killing things. Certainly don't like seeing them suffer...just doesn't sit well with me. I decide to get a shower to clear my head.

I walk in and there is one of the traps on the side of the tub.  Just as pristine as it was when it was set last night.  Dejected I pick it up gently so I don't set it off on my fingers.  That's when I noticed that Jerry II has pooped all around the trap and then eaten a chunk of the peanut butter off.

Now I have to scrub the damn tub before I even get into it.  As resistant as I am to normaly cleaning you can guess who much I enjoy extra work.  this sets my ever darkening moodly spirally down to Hell.  As I'm gathering the cleanerMonty comes up behind me and tries to trip me as I walk by. Seems the bowl of food is out again. Tripping me up is his subtle way of suggesting I get up off of my ass and feed him.

Really. The house is being over run by multiple rodents. Both of whom I'm sure HE brought in and he can't be stuffed to kill one to eat?

I admit it.  I kind of lost it a little bit then. I stood there and chewed the cat a new one for being the,"Worst hunter gatherer, EVER!!!"  I shook my finger at him, I drew pictures in the air of what it looks like when a real cat hunts and then I said a few unkind words about his mother's previous occupations.

We've come to a bit of an understanding, he and I. He sat and listened to me, I cleaned and then showered while he nibbled on his food. Then I came back to sit on my bed and type this post. Monty reflected on my harsh words and set out to work on doing what he does best.

He's cold, I'm warm and we've already bought the traps anyway.

Can't argue with his logic.  

Drawing a Line with Mother Nature

I really am starting to hate Mother Nature. She is an evil vindictive brat. I would use even stronger language but the broad is brilliant at vengeance.

Monty Cat has brought mice into the house for a long time. Not constantly, just every couple months or so.  He's a typical cat, so he plays with them before he kills them. I've never really liked that so I always try to rescue them from him and return them outdoors. Torturing for pleasure just does not sit well with me.  Plus these are not the mice this American family is used to. Monty brings in Australian Hopping mice. They look different from the common mice I grew up with.  Below is a picture.

Aren't they adorable?! They have big, long pointed ears and they hop. They look like a cross between bunnies and mini kangaroos.  Just so tiny and precious. They are soooo cute.  You take one look at them and can hear the collective, "Awhhhhhhhhhh"

Yeah well, I'm done with that crap. The little bastards have crossed a line with me today and I'm going out and buying extra rusty, sharp and painful mouse traps. I'm not confronted with notions of humane removal. I want pain, fear and a lot of panic from these buggers. There are two now. One upstairs in my room and one downstairs in the kitchen. At least right now there are two. Tomorrow I plan to hang their skins from my flag pole as a warning to other rodents.

THIS HOUSE IS NOT THE HOUSE YOU ARE LOOKING FOR, MOVE ALONG.

Before you leave this site in search of phone numbers to call and turn me in for animal abuse, please listen to my tale of woe. As with most of my life, there is a story behind all this hatred and animosity.

Last week I realized that one of Monty's "toys" had managed to set up residence underneath the cabinet I built in the master bathroom. Yes, I built it. Not IKEA build, but actual cutting wood, assemble with glue and nails and paint.  I'm quite proud of that cabinet. But I've been hearing an odd scratching noise during the night and then an odd odor was appearing in the bathroom, even when it was clean. I moved the cabinet around and there he was.  Mickey Mouse, him and his pile of filth. He's been chewing on the back board of my cabinet and has created his own condo living space.  Ummm, not really so cute and adorable after all.

Still trying to be gentle, I eased the cabinet some more and tried to coax the little guy out. The stupid jerk repaid my kindness by running through Monty's water dish, then over my foot and then climbed into my bathtub. Then as I after I stopped squealing like a 3 year old because "IT TOUCHED ME!" I tip-toed up to the tub to find that the little bastard had shimmied down the drain.

Now, even this was not my breaking point. Nope, I was still holding it together.  I even surprised myself.  "Must be getting used to Australia," I chucked to myself.  I cleaned up underneath the cabinet and figured that Mousey was gone. This was evidenced by the fact that the room stayed clean and there was no scratching sound at night.

Around the same time downstairs in the kitchen some odd events.  I left 1/2 a loaf of cheese and bacon bread on the counter over night. My bad, sue me. I stumbled into the kitchen in the morning...as I do every morning...because I hate the morning and it takes me a while to stop hating every one's guts. This is is why it's important for me to have my tea. It saves lives.

Anyway, I blundered in the room and noticed something odd about the bread. Considering the glaze over my eyes this is impressive. Walking closer it looked like a melon ballet had been used to hole outta chunk of bread.

"Maybe Daddy did it?"  That was the pearl that Tessi came up with to explain the hole.

"No Baby, at 6am Daddy has no interest in a melonballer or bread; he's hauling himself out the door to catch the train.

"Teddy?"

Then we both laughed. Teddy's idea of working with food in the kitchen is chucking sausage rolls in the microwave since he can't be stuffed to turn the oven on.  We giggled for a few minutes and started coming up with real solutions.

Another mouse. It had to be. There was a second damn mouse living in my house.  I had left the window open a bit to let some air in and the bugger got in that way. Okay, problem solved. I shut all the windows and scrubbed the hell outta the kitchen counter -hey don't look so surprised. Mice on the counters are gross, hell, even I clean for that.

So goes the next few days.  I wake up in the morning and see more evidence of Mousey in my bathroom and go downstairs and find that bananas are half eaten.  I am cleaning furiously and starting to lose it.

Today though a line has been crossed and I'm done. 

At 3 am I woke up to hear Monty leaping around the room and banging into things.  "Good boy.  Get the bugger"  I hear thumping, squeaking, a whooshing sound and something I can't describe, sounds like tearing?  Maybe?  I dunno.  I'm too tired to care.  I'm sure as hell not getting up because I don't want to see the carnage.  Then as suddenly as it began, the noises stopped and Monty jumped on the bed, snuggled near my feet and all was quite.  I figure I'll let Ted deal with the mouse in the morning.  After all, he's worked late a couple days this week and left me to handle his children.  He can remove one dead mouse.  I call it Balance.  He calls it petty revenge but this isn't his story and none of my friends care what he thinks anyway. So there.

Only that's not what happens.  I'm not re-woken at 6am to the sound of Ted swearing.  I wake at 6:45 on my own and there is no dead mouse.  Anywhere.  What I do see is hundreds of pulled threads in my very expensive curtains. It seems that Monty has tried to climb up the curtains to get the mouse and failed miserably.  Curtains that came with the house and we are liable for.  I swish the curtains around, hoping at least to be comforted by the corpse of a well and truly punished rodent.

But the buggering thing is not there.  Not anywhere.  The wretched cat didn't kill anything.  Racing into the bathroom and I'm greeted with a sink and bathtub that have been turned in a rodent public toilets.  Monty has the unmitigated gall to start caterwauling for food.  FOOD!  Really?  You had a damn feast delivered to you last night. No kibble for you!

After I scrub, sandblast and vaporize the bathroom I storm downstairs.  Go into my kitchen and find this:

The rotten little monster has eaten through the bag and tunneled a hole in the bread.  It's the last bit of damn bread I have in the house so now I can't make sandwiches for the girls lunch.  We already did a lunch order on Wed at the school canteen and now I have to do another one.

 For my American friends who don't grasp why this is so awful, canteen is bloody expensive.  I pay about $16 for both girls to have lunch and some treats every week.  To do it twice?!!!  No, no, no. 

For Aussie friends who don't understand why the Americans are confused, Teddy's lunch every day at the school cafeteria was $1.70.

See my problem???!!!!!!!!

So I'm done.  No more Mrs. Nice Lady.  The mice are buying the farm.  They will be soon be ex-mice and cease to be. It's Lock N Load time at Casa Tencza and PETA can stuff it.  I didn't want to be mean but they have forced me to do extra cleaning and pay for extra lunches I can't afford.  Uncool Dudes, very uncool. 

Now I have warned the girls that they may see dead mice in the traps and at first yes, I saw a few lip quivers.  Then I mentioned that the mice have been pooping in the bathtubs and on kitchen counters and even Tessi said, 'Kill them Mommy, kill them all,"  Connor was too horrified to speak, she just nodded her head in agreement.  We spent a good twenty minutes plotting the demise of said furry creatures and honestly, it's the best I've felt all week. 

Instead of the flag pole maybe I'll just tie their carcasses to the hood of my car.  Definitely will send a message, don't you think?