Thirty Five Minutes

I woke up this morning in a very respectable fashion for a geeky mother on a chilly Friday. Instead of getting out of bed on time I developed a plan for when the Doctor finally comes to rescue me from my life and ask me to run away with him. Our first stop will be to go back in time one hour so I can get more sleep. I think this was very clever and even posted this on Facebook.  Impressed with the awesome that I can create even while still half asleep I gave myself permission to sleep another ten minutes.  

That ten minutes though may have helped lose ten years off my life unfortunately.

As I dragged my weary self out of bedside into my bathroom to get dressed I was bombarded with Connor Tencza's Fashion 101. Somehow she knew I was wake and rocketed into my room to help me select my ensemble for the day.  It was another 15 minutes of arguing that I didn't need kitten heals to go with a t shirt.  No, I am not putting on gloves.  Yes, I am comfortable knowing that my pants don't really reflect fashion forward thinking.  Go away now.  Leave.  Oh look, the cat! 

Sorry that I gave you up like that Monty.  I needed an escape and you decided to sleep on my head last night.  Consequences for actions Bro.

Busying herself with the cute and annoyed kitty I ran down the steps. Rounding the corner to the kitchen I found that Sasha had tipped the garbage can and sprayed trash all over floor.  Its not enough that she gets into the can, she has fling as much stuff as she can all over the floor.  I start lamenting the lack of tea in my hands and begin cleaning up trash. Emptying the can entirely I put the bag on the porch to take out to bin later. I have to get my tea, NOW.

This is when I notice that Teddy is gone. This can't be right. He knows that he has a doctors appointment this morning and that he isn't going to school until later.  I run to my phone to call him, tripping over Sasha making another run at the garbage can. She actually snorted in disgust to find out that the bin was empty.  Ha! IN YO FACE DOG! DENIED! 

I probably shouldn't take such pleasure in her dejection but that's where I am at this point in my life. Don't judge.

I am still trying to get a hold of Teddy and my call goes to voice mail. Oh good God, this is bad. I can't drive to go get him at school and go to the appointment we just won't make it.  Looking over my shoulder I see...actually hear that Connor and Tessi are downstairs now.  Connor is running a fast pace trying to keep up with her cute little itty bitty pudding pop of a kitty who obviously needs her to scratch his head.  Mister Pudding Pop Kitty has very different ideas of what he is wiling to allow Miss Thang to do. Monty makes a rather graceful leap over the couch, bounces off the pool table and hurdles himself outside the back door and up into the bush.  I give him a 9.5 for his floor work but took points off for not sticking the landing.

Ignoring the crying over losing poor Monty I finally get a hold of Teddy who is annoyed at getting a call from me. Apparently it is social suicide to get a call from mummy while on the bus.  Too bad sunshine. Maybe next time you will pay attention when I tell you don't go to school.  He's already been on the bus for a few minutes so its too far for him to walk back.  I tell him to get off at the next stop and I bellow at the girls to run and open the gate because we have to tear down the street to get Teddy.  After promising that no one is on the street and no one will see them, especially BOYS, in their night clothes I get them into the car and I...well the only correct way to describe it is that I launched us down the street and up the death hill to go get him. I am very grateful for the lack of attention the Hornsby Shire's Finest shows my street. I REALLY don't need any more points on my license.  

Teddy was already at the end of the main road when I caught up to him and began the trek back.  At this point my brain can only handle two or three bits of information at a time. 1. I have no tea in my hand and 2. We are now late.  Everything else just bounces off my skull and I ignore it. I start answering questions with, "No tea" and "can't talk, late" I hope that actually answered someones questions but honestly I'm not sure. Actually I didn't care as it seemed to work and we made it home.  It was all fine and good until I pulled up to the gate and saw Sasha. She was on the porch ripping into the trash and flinging everything she could behind her on to the porch.

I screamed for someone to get out of the car and open the gate so I can get up the drive way and stop her. My children were obviously caught up in shoot and awe because instead of leaping out to get the gate they all just sat there and stared at the dog.

Before you read any further I would like to say that I am not proud of the following actions. In retrospect, I should have used better judgement and chosen my words more carefully. Since I do not want my blog to get slapped with an advisory label I will use clever word choices to mask what I really said.  I hope you can follow it.  Here goes.

Buck, cluck!!!!!  Oh my trucking God! What is that piece of whit dog doing? Open the God lamb gate. MOVE!!! truck, cluck, ruck. Piece of whit dog. I hope you die you bastard- can't think of anything that rhymes with bastard, but since Sasha's parents were never legally married I think I can get away with the traditional usage of it.

The gates then magically then opened and I was able to drive up the drive way and stop my darling puppy from continuing her trash massacre.  When I calmed down a few minutes later I realized thats pouting off that particular kind vulgarity was not the wisest choice.  Especially with Connor since she will never, ever forget this. I decided to get their attention as best I could and threaten the girls with death and worse, removal of Skylanders and all lip gloss if they tell anyone (especially teachers) that I said all those bad words in front of them.  They promised to purge it from their minds.

After breakfast I sent them to get dressed.   Since  neither of them understand that sound travels yet I overheard them organizing their thoughts over what happened.  

Tessi::  "I heard 4 F words and 3 B words"

Connor: " No, no it was 5  F words because one used an -ing ending. That counts. "

Tessi:  "What about the S word?"

Connor:  " Oh.... I dunno, lost count."

Tessi:  :"Yeah, me too. Lets just say a lot!"

Teddy had to cover his mouth to hide his laughter at me.  At least he felt bad enough to go make me tea.

This all occurred between 7:05 and 7:40 this morning.  35 minutes is enough to set my head spinning for the day.  I tried to calm myself down.  After all, I have my tea, we aren't going to be late to school after all and everyone actually has a clean uniform today.  Life isn't too bad.

I look down to see Sasha sitting sweetly next to me with her head nudging my arm so I'll pet her.  She really has a great cute face so I cave and bend down and rub her head. She gazes up at me with love in her eyes and then belches loudly in my face.

I was wrong. When the Doctor comes to get me to to travel in time with him I'm not going to go back an hour and sleep more.  I'm going back 4 years to when I found Sasha's picture on the rescue site and before I say, "Oh she looks good," I'm going to punch myself in the face.  It will be kinder to all parties involved.

Bought With My Very Own Hands

After reading my musings and rants it can't come as a great shock that I am not much of a cook.  More accurately I should say that I loathe and detest all things in the kitchen.  If I have to put more than one thing in a microwave I feel that I've cooked a full dinner.  I try not sputter and swear every time I cook but I make no promises.  You won't find me pining over kitchen renovation magazines. I could be in a gourmet kitchen with all the fancy toys and gadgets, with a self-stocking pantry and I'd still have a drawer full of delivery menus. Truth be told if I was wealthy enough to have that kitchen I'd have two drawers.

I was raised by a woman that hated cooking. My mother equated cooking with laundry and cleaning the bathroom; a chore to be completed. That's pretty much how I view it. I am responsible for dinner usually 5 days a week and by Friday I hate everyone and everything around me.  Ted cooks on the weekend because he loves it so damn much.  He's very sweet and polite and always asks me what I want for dinner.  I in turn always respond with a clever, "I couldn't care less if I actively tried" or my personal favorite, " To not cook.  That's all I want."

When it comes to the social obligation of bringing a nibbles over to a friends house I prefer to outsource it. I see nothing wrong with driving miles out of my way to stop at a bakery and spend $10 bucks on something that looks good, tastes fabulous and most importantly of all, I didn't have to make it.  Any time there is a all hands call at the school for baked goods you can count on me to stop off at the grocery store and pick up adorable cupcakes. Who doesn't love adorable cupcakes?

Yet every time I do this and I comment how I "bought this this my very own hands" I'm met with either a condescending smile or an effusive, "Oh you are such a jokester!"  Um, no I'm not. I'm serious. I didn't bake this and I don't think it means less than the stuff you did.

I've volunteered at enough school events that I have overheard woman make comments about those *shudder* store bought  items. It's as if they are somehow drenched in dirt and poly saturated fats. All the  women in the room are expected to wrinkle their noses and wring their hands in horror.  The delectable treats weren't made with that special touch of love that only a mother has so obviously they are inferior. 

I think that's utter crap. My mother love-filled concoctions look like something fed to the really bad criminals at Rikers Island.  Do we honestly want to serve up dish of that to perspective students?  I think they should be MORE impressed with my offerings.  I have respected my limitations, adapted and overcome the problem.  More importantly I have spared them the burden of eating my animosity-filled cooking. Where's my love?

I understand the importance of recognizing effort. Of course I do.  Hard work deserves recognition and I always, very sincerely, thank those that cook and bake for my family.  But if they love it so much are they really going through extra effort?  Does the food taste that much better because someone made it at home?

I am going to a friends house in a few days for tea so we can discuss how to keep our daughters from killing each other.  It's a very tense situation as both of our girls have extremely poor communication skills and can pick a fight about anything.  This could easily end fairly viciously with the moms not talking and the girls facing off against each other at dawn with gorgeous, yet quite sharp glittery scissors.  This is an important meeting of the minds and both of us need our "A" games.

Can anyone honestly say that I would show her more respect by showing up sleep-deprived, in a foul mood with a lopsided bread that looks and tastes like concrete?  My friend will be moved to have a rational discussion with me because I've shown her my baking skills with cookies that serve also as door stops?  Be serious, with that tone set we're more likely to end the session with a sputtering, "....and the horse your candy-assed kid rode in on!"

Nope.  Not worth it. After I drop off the kids at school I'm driving in heavy traffic past her house to the bakery to pick up a gorgeous tea cake. I'll drive back to her house and ruck up to the door saying, "Bought with my own hands" and we will separate still friends and hopefully have helped our daughters.

That's the special touch of love only a mother has. At least this one does.

My Name is Cecelia and I Drink Wine

 I love wine. All different kinds. White, red, champagne, sparking wine, all of it.  Open a bottle anywhere within 100 feet of me and my ears perk up and I'm heading your way with a glass.

Except Merlot.  But not because its not at its best in the Napa Valley, as we learned from the movie Sideways. It just doesn't work for me. I don't judge though, like religion and politics, everyone is free to enjoy the wine of their choice. Except Manischewitz wine.  THAT I judge.  Ugh..... The Australian equivalent is Passion Pop.  Vile, simply vile. 

But everything else, yep, I'm good. The only thing I hate about wine though is the pretentious, snobby attitude that goes with it.  We have all seen THOSE people who sniff each glass and announce loudly that one simply could not drink that wine while wearing white shoes after Labor Day or something.  I knew someone once who always very loudly stated that it was impossible to find any good red wine under $30. It helps to pinch up your nose and clench your jaw as you read that last sentence to get an idea what a pontificating twit that guy was.   I used to entertain myself with searching the liquor store for bottles from the region he liked but under $10. I'd hand it to him and he would verbally vomit some nonsense about price and quality going hand-in-hand.  Obviously, we were not close friends but I do miss jacking with him.  Sigh....

It drives me batty that people take such a marvelous thing like a delicious beverage and make it a status symbol.  

NEWS FLASH: if your image is projected only by the right things to eat drink or wear then look around...you my friend are the jerk of the room.  Yes, the rest of us are all talking about and laughing at you. 

But back to my favorite part of this story....wine.  I began to get interested in wine back when I lived in Texas.  I had books that talked about different vintners and learned about grapes. I learned how their smooshed up goodness was turned into lovely beverages.  I was really enjoying reading about the different types of wine and starting to feel a little confidant in my education of all things vino.

Then I moved to Australia.  I should tell you that if you even remotely enjoy wine you should drop what you are doing and head straight to the Qantas terminal and fly over here.  I should let you know that some of the greatest wines in the world being produced right here. Now is the time I should start listing all the incredible wines and how inexpensive most of them are and how thrilled everyone would be if they just had one sip.  

  I should tell you all that but then you people might start coming over and taking my wine.  No! Go back! Napa Valley is perfectly fine for you.  Willamette Valley is lovely and perfect over there.

Besides Australia has sharks, you've seen the pictures.  Oh absolutely!  On land, on the highways and in the wineries.  Sure.  Very dangerous.  You wouldn't like it here.

Alright fine.  The sharks aren't actually in the wineries.  I will be honest and admit that  I have been in wine heaven since we landed and I haven't looked back.

Ted and I were lucky enough on our first trip to the Hunter Valley to go to the Pokolbin Brothers Winery on a tasting tour.  http://www.pokolbinbrothers.com.au/ This place was like no other winery in that in was in a large tin shed that also house the bicycles that they rent out to tourists. http://www.grapemobile.com.au/ 

It was different because instead of the tasting sip other wineries poured for us, Glen, one of the owners, poured us a full large glass.  I think Ted fell in love with him right then and there.  We kicked back and had a nice chat about wine and Life. 

Finally what made this winery stand out was that their 2007 Chardonnay was the best wine I have ever had in my life. To this day, still nothing competes.  At the time it was sold for $20 a bottle; which is insanely high for Ted and me. I pride myself on finding fabulous, inexpensive wine.  This wine though...this wine we never argued about the cost.  We save up coins from laundry and wrestle two year-olds for change to pay for this beauty.

Over the years we've bought as much as we could, usually around tax return time and ration out each sip.  Sure I've open a bottle of wine for any reason but an event as to be "Pokolbin Brothers Worthy" before those bad boys get cracked.

Thanks to the Internet and the magic of Facebook Glen and I are now in contact. Because he is a kind and merciful man (why yes! That is blatant sucking up. Don't mind if I do!) he has sent me a few bottles of the nectar of the gods.

A few weeks ago out of the blue he sent me their latest creation. The 2007 Chardonnay is no more.  It is an ex-wine. And the world is sadder for it.  However now they have a sparkling moscato.  He offered it to Ted and me to try.

I can believe that I was just able to type those last few sentences.  I am friends with someone who makes wine for a living and he sent us a bottle to try that can only be bought from his cellar door.

My head is spinning.  This is MY life?  Not bad for the crazy yank who ten years ago got a book as a present that describes the different types of wine.  Life can be good my friends it can be good.

As for the wine. Yep. It's pretty fantastic.  Sweet at first but then the aftertaste disappears quickly so your mouth isn't too sweet for the next taste.  And the next one.  And maybe one more.

You know those lovely decorative cork stoppers you can get? The ones you put in to save leftover wine so it doesn't go bad?  Yeah.....I don't get those.  I don't know how people end up with leftover wine. Those things make as much sense as buying a pet rock. 

I must still be very relaxed and happy after last weeks trip away if I'm writing about happy and lovely things like wine.

I overheard Tessi practice her speech about her family this morning. She had a bit about her being a surprise member of our family and had a picture of 13 month old Connor getting ready to whack a three day old Tessi so I'm expecting a call from the school this afternoon.

No, that's not Pokolbin Brothers worthy.  Not around here.  But I have confidence in Tessi, Connor and Teddy.  Their fighting skills will have me chipping at the bottle we have very soon.

Mommy Has Been in Time Out

I have been quiet on the Internet the past few days. Quiet for normal people does't quite mean the same thing for me.  Quiet for me means checking email, Facebook, Twitter, Pinterest, the news, Reddit and only doing an occasional post.   Now I do understand that this is the sum of most normal people's daily Internet activity.  However for me, that's practically the equivilant of going radio silent. Besides, when have I ever been considered normal?

I have been in Katoomba, which is in the Blue Mountains, since the 19th and will be going home tomorrow the 23rd.  I am staying at bed and breakfast that does not cater to children and my room overlooks the Jamison Valley.  Here is a picture showing the view from my bed my the past few days.

 

                                

As you can obviously tell from amongst my many talents, photography is not one of them. Neither is using photo editing software.  No matter, I think the photo is good enough to illicit some grumbling and death threats from my fellow-stressed out friends.  What can I say?  Haters gonna hate.

This place is quiet, peaceful and COLD. My kind of heaven. 

It would be easy and frankly quite predicable of me to to share with you what I've done over the past few days.  It wouldn't take much to turn this into your average travel blog. Instead though, I thought I would be more like myself and share with you what I haven't done. I think by telling you that I will be able to paint a more accurate picture of the importance of this holiday to me.

Things I haven't done since Sunday.

1. Spell anything out loud

 I have no idea how teachers do it....other than inherent sainthood. I am constantly spelling things for Connor &Tessi and it has been driving me mad. I have been trying to be patient and not spell everything l.o.o.k.i.t.u.p.y.o.u.r.s.e.l.f. but it has been rough the past few weeks. 

2. Repeat Myself

More accurately I should say that I haven't had to ask if I need repeat myself.  Need to do so while glaring disdainfully over the top rim of my glasses.  Sure I've repeated myself. I'm the funny-talker in these parts after all. No one understands me at first. It's only after they hear me and then put on their polite "Oh! It's a Yank talking" hat does communication really occur.  

3. Hunt for Shoes 

I brought two pairs of shoes with me.  I've only worn one pair but I had my spare just in case. I have been aware, at all times, where these shoes are located. Seriously. In real life as Tessi would say. 

4. Turn on a stove. 

Those of you who have been forced to endure my cooking can fall on your knees with me and rejoice in the fact that I haven't cooked a bloody thing since last Friday night. I know I am! 

5. Remind someone to share the TV.

 I have my own in my room. I haven't turned it on once. My children will be horror struck when I tell them this pearl.  One TV for one person and I never turned it on. Blasphemy!

6. Mediate.  

I haven't settled a single argument in 4 days. Mediation services aeren't mentioned a whole lot in parenting books. Sure they talk about diaper rash and the importance of keeping kids from smoking but nobody ever mentions that a large chunk of  parenthood is settling fights. Just last week I found myself using a biblical solution and offered to slice the sought after hair bow into two pieces. And much like the bible the rotten brat who stole it in the first place was more than happy to watch it get severed. Since it was one I actually made I dissapointed both parties and refused either of them the right to wear it.

 Not once in the last 4 days have I had to threaten to cut a hair bow into two pieces. You just can't put a price on the happiness that has brought me.

7. Wash Dishes

This may seem amusing considering the usual state of overflowing dishes my sink is usually in.  Obviously washing dishes doesn't seem high on my priority list. Yet that sink taunts me. It taunts me every time I walk by and see the pile growing. It's a cathedral..a testimony to my failings as a house cleaner. That's ok, I can't see it from here. Pile away Baby, I dont't care.

It hasn't been all roses and sunshine here I have to admit. I have had to adjust and adapt to my surroundings.

I was actually chastised by the B&B owner my first morning here for leaving the table to pour myself a cup of tea.  "It's my job to pamper you Cecelia!" she said huffily, before setting done the tea pot squarely in front of me.  I was just thrilled at not having to make breakfast it didn't occur to me that tea would be delivered too. I demurely apologized and asked for a second cup.

Also I learned the hard way that not everyone appreciates my quirky sense of humor. There was an older, very polite couple sharing the breakfast table with me the first day. They live very far apart from each other and this is their meeting place. Very romantic. When asked why I was alone, I shared that this was my birthday/Mother'sDay/ Thank you for not killing us all in our sleep present.  The look of shock and horror on their faces suggested that they are not overly burdened with children...or a sense of humor.

I covered quickly by pretending that I was joking and wormed my way back into their good graces. Oh that silly Yank sense of humor!  Riiiiiight.

Tomorrow I head home. I won't lie, I could easily stay here another couple of days. What rational person says, "Oh I am so over someone else makig the bed and cooking breakfast! who needs silence and days of uninterputed reading!?"  whacko, looney liars, that's who.

However I'm happy to report that I do feel rested and (gulp, dare I say it?) I miss my minions of Chaos and Destruction.  Not the dishes or the spelling, mind you, but I do miss the minions.

And here you are, a trip to the Blue Muntains wouldn't be complete without yet another picture of the Three Sisters. Even a bad picture is still pretty fantastic.

                                  

Missing the Near Hit

I drove Teddy to AFL training tonight. He could take the bus to the park but it gets dark very early now and my Spidey-Mom senses always tingle a bit at the thought of him on public transportation at night. It doesn't really make a whole lot of sense since its still at 6:00 at night and not 3 in the morning.  Fortunately I've found that being a mom means that I don't have to justify my whacko mood swings to anyone. No bus at night. The end.

Connor and Tessi are still sick so I planned to just drop Himself off and head back home. Normally we pull up and the girls run around for a few minutes until Ted meets us there and he drives them home. I stay until training is over. Honestly, I like this part because sometimes one my friends is there and we have a nice chat or I sit in the car in quiet. Either works out to be a fab way to spend 90 minutes as far as I'm concerned.

Tonight though there is none of that as I have to get the girls back home. Not a real problem, just not ideal. I pull away from my drive way and start heading up the street when I notice something black and moving right in front of me.  I didn't have a lot of time to react appropriately but I think I handled myself with the decorum and grace befitting a woman of my station.

After screaming, (expletive!) (expletive!) (expletive!) "Move you stupid (expletive!)" I slammed the brakes and came to a quick stop a few feet before my almost victim. Our friendly neighborhood bush tailed possum. This guy is the size of a cat and either is stone deaf or he does.not.give.a.rat's.rearend. if a two-ton vehicle is barreling down upon him. It took about 5 seconds for him to finally turn and notice that the metal dragon was breathing on his tail feathers.  Then he casually turned, and so help me God, flicked his tail at me and sauntered off the to side of the road and watched as I passed.

Big deal right? We all have near misses like that. Who needs to read about it? I will give you that, but I bet not too many of you have the Aussie branch of the "We Wish We Were PETA and We Care About All Cute Fuzzy Animals Society" riding in the back of your car.

"What was that Mummy?"  "What's wrong Mummy, why are you swearing again?"  "Nothing girls. I thought I was going to hit something but I didn't" I said wearily, knowing full damn well this wasn't going to be the end of it. "Oh no! What did you hit?!  Did you kill it?"  "I DIDN'T hit it. I stopped. Everything is fine."  Connor persists, "But what was it?"  Sigh, seeing that there is no hope, I tell her that it was a possum, it was a very big possum.

A silent pause greets me for a few seconds.  In my rookie days I would have taken this quiet for acceptance and moving onto new topic.  I have learned in the past few years though, that with Connor this means she is choosing a new line of attack.  

"Are you sure it was a possum?" She says, "How can you be sure? It's dark and hard to see."   I throw back immediately, "Connor, I looked right at it. It was the size of a cat, I saw the damn thing and it was a possum that I saw and did not hit it!" 

See in my state of annoyance I make a classic blunder. I gave Connor just the ammunition she needed to launch a full on verbal offensive. I said the words cat and hit in the same sentence.  I know I'm doomed the moment the words leave my mouth. It's all over but the crying now. I grip the steering wheel tighter and wait for it to hit me.

"Ohmygod.itwasacat.iknowitwas.areyousureyoudidnthitthwtpoorcat?whatifyoukilledit?poorkitty.wehavetogobackandsaverhecat.inmywarriorcatsbookspoorcatsdieallrhetimevecauseofterriblecars"

I spent the remainder of the six minute drive to AFL training explaining repeatedly how not only was it not a cat, but that I actually did not hit it.  There was no earth shatterimg kaboom, so to speak.  Teddy does his best to diffuse the situation by asking me if I have ever hit anything with my car. As I'm trying to calm Connor about the poor battered kitten she is envisioning I'm trying to remember if I have killed anything. A few close calls but I can't think of anything that I permenantly retired. 

 Of course that sets Connor off again. "Near misses? What does that mean?"  I explained that it meant just what happened, I almost hit something but I missed.  "Mummy" she rather crisply adds, "Isn't that a near hit?"  

Grrrrrr, YES CONNOR.  Now is the perfect time to argue with me about the social nuances of word meanings. It's like a clean, less drug-using version of George Carlin has been reincarnated in her and she is using his word play skill against me. 

Tessi, who has oddly been silent pipes in with, "Don't yell at Mummy! It was an accident, she didn't mean to kill the cat!"

What?!  Um, thanks for the support Chica but 1. It wasn't a cat and 2. I didn't even hit it, let alone kill it!  My hero Teddy comes back with,"So have you even SEEN anything hit by a car?" 

My glare of hatred is so intense it could be seen even in the dark. Since he is my offspring though, it just made him giggle.  Oh sorry, manly men don't giggle, he snorted with derision.

I managed to get him to the park and return us home without killing any more poor orphan one-eyed kittens traveling uphill in snow both ways. Ted was home and working on dinner. I should have stayed to help him with the girls I know but I left right away and here I am sitting at the park in silence finishing out the rest of the 90 minutes.  As I left my not-so-dear friend the possum was still anyhangin out on the side of road. His tail wasn't flicking at me but I'm not exaggerating when I say I think I heard him snicker me.

 For a brief moment I thought about running over his furry butt. At least then I would be guilty of what I had been defending myself against.  However I kept control and didn't.  I think that makes me an honorary member of PETA.  I think though that I might start keeping a small squirt gun in my car for the next creature that doesn't move out of my way right off.  

Either that or use on the kid screaming at me for the "near miss" or "near hit".

Yin versus Yang

Both of my girls are home sick today. Death colds caught up to them and I had to take them to the doctors office yesterday. Of course, I made them go to school first 'cause I had Gold Class tickets to see the new Star Trek movie.

Yes, yes, I know...that permently removes my name from the Loving Awesome Mommy competition. But did you notice What I said?  GOLD CLASS tickets. The barker lounges recline electronically, Under 18's are not welcome and there is a full bar. Come on.

In my defense Tessi played a basketball game the night before and didn't act sick at all. She was in fine team goon form.  No personal fouls this time; she's getting much better at not getting caught.  Her record is 6 in a single game. Yes, those of you who follow the game,  you read that correctly. Six.  For those of you who are not basketball savvy, the maximum is 5 fouls before ejection of the offending player. What can I say, that is one impressive chick.   

She's mentioned a few head aches over the past few days and has actually willingly laid down quietly for a few minutes a couple of times but nothing outrageous.  In retrospect, I should have taken the resting thing as a sign of near terminal illness. I know better, I do. But Gold Class has a way of clouding your judgement sometimes. I'm not proud of myself, just admitting the truth.

Connor too, has been slightly under the weather and has been coughing a fair bit. So much so that we named the cough Rascal.  Then again, half the school is hacking up a lung.  Connor hasn't acted overtly sick though.  She has been picking fights with her brother, racing around avoiding chores and on Saturday had one of the loudest parties known to mankind.  Yes I am in fact, including some of the kegger parties I went to in college. I haven't blogged about it yet because my ears still bleed at the memory. Hold on, I need to stuff some more tissues in my ears.

No, these are not your normal average deathly ill, "Need immediate medical care symptoms" children.  No one had a fever yesterday morning so off to school they went and off to the movies I went. Needless to say, I had a fabulous time.  You know this for sure because of how quickly my afternoon went straight to Hell. 

I don't have a lot of life wisdom yet, I don't think you can start claiming infinate knowledge like that until you are shoving 60 pretty hard but I do know this fact:

Mother Nature, God, Yahweh, Allah, the Easter Bunny, Larry Bird or Magic Johnson;  whomever you follow, craves balance. Good and bad. Have too much awful in your life and something good, even something small, will happen. Have a lot of fantasic going on and brace yourself.  You're about to take a bat to the back of the knees. Metaphorically of course.  At least I hope so.  Mental side note...pack away all cricket bats for a few months.

My point is that you can't appreciate one without the other. Too much of one thing is never good..it begins to lose its significance. The two sides need each other. Yin and Yang describes it best I think.

Yin was me enjoying a glass of champers, yummy gourmet nibbles with a great friend while watching a fun movie in insanely comfortable seats.  We giggled and marveled at how well the other half lives and daydreamed about making this a regular event. Since both of us are mere mortals with actual bills to pay, this is a pipe dream, but was a lovely one.

Yang was picking up Tessi at school an hour later only to hear a nasty death rattle cough that almost brought her lungs up and out. Not good.

Yin was me sending Teddy YouTube video trailer clips of the movie because he was sick with jealously that I was going.  I had the time of my life tweaking him about it.  You should have seen his face when he looked at his phone and saw the "Need some ice for that burn?" meme.  I thought his head was going to split open.  It doesn't make up for the snotty pre-teen angst and eye-rolling but it's as close as I can get while limiting myself to only doing things that are legal.

Yang was having the doctor tell me that Connor has bad cold and needs a day of bedrest and Tessi has a respiratory infection & fever and is home for the week.

Yin is my rule about kids staying in the bed when you are home sick from school and not being up and underfoot.

Yang is both my girls not feeling sick at all and not giving a toss about my rules and taking turns every five minutes coming down to ask for something. "No, I'm not carrying the TV into your room." 

Really?  In what universe what that a realistic request? Not this one Sweatheart. I don't feel THAT guilty about sending you to school yesterday.

Yin is me finally having the time at home I need to get caught up on the laundry and the dishes in the sink. I can actually get stuff done and for once be on top of things.

Yang is that it's little chilly today and I'm warm on the couch underneath the blanket with my fully charged iPad.  Monty cat is curled up on the back of the couch warming my neck.  Sasha is lying quietly at my feet so if I move I will surely set off a loud barking frenzy.

Actually, maybe that's Yin too.  Sometimes the lines defining good and bad are a bit blurry.  Except the part about teasing Teddy. That was just bloody awesome. I'm taking that memory to my grave.

I Don't Mean to Brag...

...but wow.  I did it.  The week from Hell and I got through it.  Not only did I get through it but I didn't kill anyone and as far as I know I haven't been turned into the police.  I'm putting survival of last week up with giving birth 3 times and making it through my first 6 months here in Australia.

EPIC as my now 9 year-old daughter says.  Of course every time she says it I get, "You keep on using that word, I dinna think it means what you think a means" stuck in my mind.  But if you think about it, a day with The Princess Bride quotes stuck in your head really can't be called a bad one.  Inconceivable!!

The Mother's Day Stall was a glorious success.  One mom decided not to be held back by official lack of interest and took it upon herself to organize it all.  Initially I was afraid to openly help her because of my poor "moral code" and dismal popularity with the "good mothers" at our little school but I came out swinging and I have to say...we put together one Hell of a stall.

Our teachers and kids at Normanhurst Public School have restored my faith in humanity.  I hate sounding like a maudlin twit but I love this event so much because of the emotions I see in the kids and the teachers.  What a joy.  Watching a little one, especially a kid famous for being a little monster, put heart and soul into choosing a present is staggering to see.

This is coming from me....a woman who is very well known on two continents for her lack of mushy sentiment.  Keep in mind I watched "Titanic" spending 2 hours muttering, "Jesus, when is this stupid boat gonna sink?"  I think I'm lacking the gene sequence that requires a need to cry at weddings, spews that  "awwww" sound when little kids say rude things or channels my inner adorable into carrying a dog in a purse.  I don't get it all.

I actually told a friend of mine on Thursday that, "this is the one week of the year I actually like all kids"  I'm just not a sweet nurturing kind of gal.  I know that doesn't make me sound like your typical mom, but it's honest.  And if I'm even more honest...I bet there are a few more moms out there like me.

Now back to the important thing.  The stall.   I can't talk about it without praising the staff at Normanhurst Public School.  Our teachers have done wonders with their classes, installing superb manners and respect.  Thank you all so much.

It's a shame that some members of our pious parent and community organization can't get over themselves enough to realize what a beautiful thing it is to see a child gleefully picking out a present for his or her mother.  This little gift stall is so very much more than just a few presents on display for Mother's Day.

I suppose though, some people really need that expensive present to feel confident in their worth.  Either that or since it's not important to them it just isn't important at all.  I can just imagine how spectacular the Education Week events or Father's Day BBQ will be.  Of course, more people will be watching those events.

Appearances don't you know.

Myself, I got what I needed when I saw my gorgeous girls race by me and head straight to the expensive table (I have trained them well) and ran back to me with a quick smile and hug.

I got what I needed when one young boy was so terrified about picking out the wrong present he just shut down in tears.  He finally let me help him pick out a beautiful manicure set for his lucky mother.  I don't  know if she will ever know how hard it was for him to choose her gift.  I wonder if she realizes how desperate he was to find something good enough for her.  I think though she must be pretty remarkable if he was so eager to make her happy.

I got more than what I needed when one tiny Kindy looked up at me and said, "I can't hear you, what's your name?" and then she proudly told me hers when I answered.  I think now we are super best friends forever.

And the best part of all...one kid remembered me this morning at school when I walked by and he shouted, "YOU'RE THE MOTHER'S DAY STALL MUM!!!"

Yes, Love...I am.

It's Not My Fault, I Warned Them

 Yesterday I announced that this week I am full on barking mad. Howling at the moon, talking to tin foil kind of crazy.

This brutal honesty and attempt to be open with my family and share my pain has so far gotten me these responses.

One child announced she couldn't possibly eat the toast I made as it just wasn't crispy enough. I told her to enjoy starvation.  It came out sounding very similar to "You will god damn well eat it or you will god damn well starve!" Obviously that isn't what I said because good mothers never, ever swear at their children.

I returned from basketball to learn that Teddy had covered his hair with red hairspray for his sports carnival that day. I know this not because he told me, but because apparently he forgot and laid his weary head on my light beige microfiber couch. And then proceeded to roll around. I started to stutter and my mouth dropped which Teddy took for me beginning to laugh. Tessi chose that moment to bounce up and down on the exercise bike forcing the seat totally and make a loud *CRACK* sound. The horns and fangs appeared as I proceeded to reign down fire like Hell throwing up. 

I went to bed very early last night.

This morning gives no break in the onslaught.  Just now one daughter decided that I didn't know anything and made her own porridge (oatmeal) for herself. 120 seconds later we had exploded oats and reconstituted strawberries coating the inside of the microwave.

Tonight Ted is working late and so I am on full afternoon and evening kid duty. This means the girls will be out at AFL training for 1 1/2 hours at night in the cold. 

It will be unpleasant. There will be tears. Most of them will be mine.

But I'm gonna make DAMN sure some of them are theirs.

I warned them. I warned them that I am crazy right now. These people have chosen to ignore me. They are the family equivalent of those jerks who go surfing in a hurricane, chase after tornados or shoot a gun at Mongo.

All injuries to feelings, psyche and human flesh are no longer the responsibility of your truly. When you drive by me and I am on the ground furiously rolling around and beating the hell out of one of the girls' school backpacks just walk away. 

I warned them and didn't listen.  They have to learn.

The Word of the Week is Don't

This will be a quick entry as this week is Mardi Gras, Oscars, the Olympics and Christmas all rolled up in one whirling vortex of chaos.

Thursday is Connor's Birthday, Friday is our schools's Mother's Day Stall and Saturday Connor is having a sleepover birthday party with 5 of her besties and allowing Tessi to bring a friend. 8 girls under 9.  Teddy is furiously trying to make plans to move out. Ted is trying to go with him but unfortunately for him he married very poorly. I've told him that I really do feel bad for him and that I have great hopes that his second wife will be a much better person.

I have to finish making the cat pinata (which Connor generously noted that it looks like a pig) I have to finish printing and making the items I'm donating to the stall, try and find ANY cat-themed party decorations, bake a cat cake, cupcakes, get birthday snacks for school and wrap birthday presents. 

Oh and then of course the weekly normal 2 AFL training session, 2 basketball sessions,  flute lessons, 426 loads of laundry, cook dinners, make lunches and wade through the filth of the house because I no longer care. More than 60% of the human population lives in abject squalor, we can too.  

I say that I no longer care but Saturday morning I'm going to bolt awake at 6am screaming, "Moms are bringing their daughters to our home to spend the night. They can't see that we live like this!  EVERYONE GET UP!" Then I'll be hysterical for a few hours until I drop over from exhaustion...just in time for the girls to arrive.

Yes, my eye is twitching right now.

This morning Tessi started to ask about her birthday which is not for another monh. My God, that's a life time away! I can't worry about that!  

Again, not the best parenting moment in my life but I may have snapped a wee bit. I did a rather impressive impersonation of Tom Hans in A League of Their Own when he was hemmoraging while not trying to kill Betty when she repeated her throwing mistake.

Hmmmm, maybe that wasn't the impressive part.  Possibly what was impressive was that I didn't actually have a brain bleed as I was explaining the realities of this week to them.  

I warned the girls that I am absolutely crazed this week.  I am totally out of control and they haven't even done anything yet.  Tessi gently suggested that I drink more tea. I told her that there wasn't enough tea in the world to reign me in and she visibly blanched. Yes truly, I am scary right now.

I went on to explain that until Sunday morning, when the last little girl who doesn't live here leaves, their manta is Don't.

Don't ask about any birthday other than Connor's.

Don't ask questions you already know the answer to.

Don't pick a fight with your brother or sister.

Don't pick a fight with Mommy.

Don't miss your bus because you're panicking that you are wearing the wrong uniform when you were right the first time.

Don't ask me for difficult hairstyles, pony tails are your friend.

Don't complain about not having a canteen order when I've just written $100 worth of checks to your school.

Don't sit and list everything you ate at band camp when I've told you 3 times eat your toast.

And for God's sake, if you can't handle any of that...

Don't try and help me at all!

That should cover it.  Wish me luck this week.  I really need it.  If I end up on the news please try not to judge me too harshly. There is really is only so much a rational person can handle. Since I've been a mother for almost 13 years my sense of rational has long gone by the way side.

This One Time....at Band Camp....

No, no, no!  Not that!

Shame on you for going immediately to an obscene pop culture reference.  For those of over 60 who do not understand it I am NOT explaining it, no matter what you say.

My lovely daughter Connor is planning her first band camp experience.  I don't know if it's just our school or all of Australia but band is introduced at an early age.  Connor is in Year 4 and she is already late by a year.  Everyone else started last year in Year 3. I didn't pick up my first instrument until the end of 6th grade as I recall.  No matter, she is up and running and tomorrow leaves for 2 nights and 3 days at a sleep away camp.

Several years ago Teddy went to his one and only band camp. One would think I know what to expect and am prepared.  That one person who thinks that obviously doesn't know me and should slip away quietly into the night.  I am running around like a moron trying to get everything she needs and get it all packed. This is a bit disturbing as in truth,  she doesn't NEED all that much.

According to the official Normanhurst Band Camp list of needed items it's just a few changes of clothes, her music stand, instrument, sleeping bag and pillow and toiletries.

Sadly for me and my pocketbook the official list and Madam Female Fashionista's requirements do not line up exactly. Connor has very definite ideas of what constitutes necessary items.

I hate playing the gender preferences card, I really do.  I have worked quite hard all my kids lives to make sure that that they have clothes or play with toys/games they like rather than ones that are *gender appropriate*  I even hate that phrase.  Every time I get something and I hear with shock, "For a girl?!!!"  or "Wait, that's not for your son right?" I know I've hit a winner in my book.  But there are certain realities even this staunch feminist must accept.

Little boys and little girls are different.  Not BETTER or WORSE, but different. You can try to level the playing field all you want but they are different creatures all together. And like all creatures there are groups that do things a certain way. Sure there are tomboys and and sensitive boys and they are great.  As a parent I think it's vital to allow those that stray from the mainstream to embrace that and be different.  I think different is awesome.  However in my house I have noticed some very finite absolutes and stereotypes that are alive and well.

Packing for the boy is decidedly different than packing for the girl.  Same camp held at the same location.  Same age when they attend camp.  Both are carbon based beings that require air and water to survive.  That's where the similarities end.

Here is how the BOY handled camp:

I sent Teddy to his band camp with the list approved items.  Three days later he came back with a suitcase full of clean clothes looking and smelling like a dead goat.  This is because he wore the same thing for 3 days.  He didn't even crack the seal on the shampoo, box of soap and toothpaste.  Not surprisingly just 2 months ago I sent him to his Year 7 camp and he came home the same way.  Sure, it's disgusting and in the end I burned the underwear...some things can only be killed with fire....but it was a small suitcase and the laundry was easy to do.  I can live with that.  What I can't live with we have antibiotics for.  All good.

Now the GIRL'S Way:

For Connor I'm sending off 3 color coordinated outfits that accentuate her friends attires nicely.  I don't know what the other little girls are wearing but I know that intense thought and reflection were put into choosing the outfits to make sure that they would go with as many as possible ensemble combinations.  There are at least 5 pairs of socks depending on which fit her foot at the right ankle height for each of the shoes shes bringing.

 That brings us to a very serious dilemma as Connor found out she wasn't allowed to bring her thongs (flip flops)  "M.u.m.m.y. (hear the drip.drip.drip of condescension?  Me neither.  That's because it's a god damned flood) thongs are what people MY age wear."

Really?  MY AGE?!  As if I'm the one who invented wearing closed toe shoes at camp.  A camp way out in the woods mind you with bugs and dirt and stuff.  She doesn't even like touching the dirt that's been on the dog's back a few days and she's going to go rock climbing in thongs?  Riiiiiight.  I have her pack the extra shoes with the promise of picking out more socks.

New pj's had to be procured because at her age no one is wearing princess anymore.  It simply isn't done.  "Really Mummy, I will be 9 in just 8 days....how can I possibly wear princess out of the house?"

I know....it's soooo not fashion forward.

Ohhh, dear God...the toiletry bag. What do we pack in that?

The BOY'S Way:

Teddy went with a small bottle of shampoo/conditioner, his asthma medicines a toothbrush and comb.

The GIRL'S  Way;

Connor looked at me with horror when I suggested the combo shampoo/conditioner.  After all, Teddy didn't even use it.  No, no.  Madam needs large, full size bottles of shampoo, conditioner and body wash.  Don't forget the second hand towel for drying her eyes when the water touches her face.  Also, lotion.  She must have scads of lotion.  Don't I know how cold it gets at these camps?  Skin dries out in the cold! She will be out in the middle of nowhere.  My God!  What if her lips get chapped?  Fear not for the 3, not just 1, but 3 lip balms packed should help her survive.

I should mention at this time that it actually isn't winter and we've had  record-breaking warm temperatures this Fall.  Excuse me....Autumn.  The real danger that will cause her lips to dry out is her talking too much.  THAT'S a real problem.  I pack the lip balm.

Connor has become accustomed to having two toothbrushes.  One for the upstairs bathroom and one the downstairs one.  Don't judge.  It makes my life easier.  However Miss Thing wants to bring both with her.  I tried to explain the concept of a two story house versus barracks but I could see that she had tuned me out.  I was able to deduce this when she spun on her heal and walked off with both toothbrushes in her hand and said, 'Whatever, you can't be sure you're right"

She has a point.  It's true that I haven't been an 8 (days away from 9) year old girl in many years and of course I wasn't one in Australia.  Perhaps the laws of physics don't apply here or maybe camps have changed so much over the years that each child has an upstairs and downstairs bath.  I keep hearing about how my generation is coddling kids too much, maybe this is how.

Now we get to the sleeping bag.

The BOY'S Way:

Teddy packed a sleeping bag that was his father's and has the smell of OLD to prove it.  He didn't care.  He took along a sheet but never unpacked it.  I think he used the bag to have sliding races in the hall.

The GIRL'S Way:

Connor is taking the same sleeping bag.  She is NOT happy about that.  It smells like boy.  Teddy has slept in it.  It's not even purple for God's sake.  She asks if I can "sew something" to it to make it more appropriate.  She even waved hear hands around like a prom queen wave as she said, "something"

My offer to sew her head to it is met with disgust and boredom.  I'm actually considering short sheeting the damn thing but I figure that will just earn me a late phone call Friday night to come get her.  Her personality though, is making me dream about every camp prank I've ever heard of just to get the image of her waving her hand at me out of my skull before I snap and put food coloring in her toothpaste.

I just took a quick check to see what Connor had packed in the bag before she left this morning.  She assured me that everything was set and ready go.  Inside I found 4 sets of PJ's - I said she could take one.  There were 5 pairs of socks, 3 pairs of shorts and 4 short sleeved white shirts, two t shirts with cats on them, 1 pair of sneakers and her cat stuffed animal.  Also 3 Warrior Cats books.

No pillow, music stand, jumper (sweater) or underwear.

Yep.  All set.

I admit it.  I toyed with just zipping it up and sending her on her merry way.  I giggled when I pictured the  first time she realizes that she needs to wear her jammies as clothes cause she didn't pack pants.  Alright, I roared with laughter when I thought of her trying to go "commando" or rest her weary head on her small stuffed cat.

I laughed and then I fixed it.  She is all set and will have a great time full of music, wardrobe changes and pillow fights.

Mother's Day is coming.  I want jewelry.

Finding the Pearl

My father is a Buddhist and has counseled me for years to always seek out the pearl in every difficult situation.  He believes quite strongly in finding the positive aspect of every horrible or difficult action that occurs.  It is an honorable, mature and noble philosophy.  It allows for people's inherent goodness to shine through and give a sense of peace to the person who has suffered.

As I'm sure most of my loyal readership will have guessed, I am NOT a Buddhist.  I find it next to impossible to identify something good and pure when I'm busy screaming oaths of defiance and shaking my fists at the heavens.  Usually I am occupying myself with assigning blame and plotting retribution.  I am fantastic with revenge.  Really.  Ask around.

I remember well the actions of my Irish Catholic grandmother and by her side, learned to hold a grudge for centuries.  She taught me how to identify the enemy and attack with vitriolic prose.

Makes me wonder how her son became a Buddhist.

On second thought, no I don't. Grandma is dead and I take daily medicine for acid re-flux.  I think Dad has the right idea of it.

Today marks the end of an especially long school holidays.  Yes I know it was only one extra day but I repeat....it was one EXTRA day, that counts as longer.  Longer duration of holidays with no kids club or all day spas is never a good thing.  E.v.e.r.  I am in need of something positive to jump start my brain. I have been consumed with simply just getting through the day and concentrating on not beating to death anyone who rolled his or eyes at me.

 I thought I would take a lesson from my dad (see Dad, I DO listen sometimes) and I'm going to look back over the last 2 1/2 weeks and find good things that occurred.  Moments I can be very pleased and grateful that occurred.

1.  Out of the last 10 days I slept in until at least 8am every day.  I'm shouting this one out to all those moms who are still stuck with the 5 am wake up calls.  Hang in there Ladies.  Some day you too can teach your children to turn on the TV, open a box of cereal, spill...er um I mean pour milk into a bowl and find clean underwear all by themselves.  Just make sure to install a healthy fear of opening the front door without you around and you will be set.

2.  A dear friend from Texas visited us.  I've known Cam for *cough* 18 *cough* years now and he is a great person to know.  He's also a sarcastic pain in the ass which in my circle of friends is a badge of honor. I love him dearly and have missed him.  Anyone who doesn't appreciate his humor, friendship or his importance in the Tencza family doesn't deserve to sit at the family table.  Upon his departure both my girls sobbed and moaned, "I don't want him to leave.  He was the best fake uncle ever!"  High praise indeed.  Time for the other two fake uncles to make another appearance and reclaim their thrones.

3.  The human being is a fragile beast and it's limitations shouldn't be ignored.  I think it's a good thing that I not cognizant of the number of fights I can handle and control.  On any regular day I can handle 26 screaming altercations before I snap like a green stick and ban short people to their rooms.  Of course that's on a good day when I've had sleep, at least 3 cups of tea and the living room doesn't look like a New Orleans bar room floor the day after Mardi Gras.  Since, like Mardi Gras,  this only occurs once a year I have discovered that I have a limit of 12 screaming banshee attacks before I go postal and send kids flying.

So remember that number.  12  If you overhear me muttering something that sounds like, "That's 10"  start stepping back. I have a fairly long reach for a woman of only 5'7.  Now technically I do have 2 more to go but let's be honest with each other.  When the Wrath of Cecelia is about to be let loose do you really want to rely on my math skills?  I think not.

4.  Connor is not ready to see action movies in the movie theater.   Despite her multiple viewings of Thor, Captain America, The Avengers, Iron Man, and Iron Man 2 at home and her bored assurances of, "Yes mother, I am F.I.N.E." it would seem that movies in the theater are an entirely different situation.  While it's not good that she became completely unhinged during Iron Man 3 yesterday, I feel that it's positive for me to know the exact level of action drama carnage she can handle.

For example, gas-passing chipmunks caterwauling  Beyonce songs sonic boom style are A-okay.  A man sitting on a chair pretending to shoot someone?  Not good.  Anything with iCarly or Victorious characters  using song and their super intelligent teen brains to dupe adults?  Just peachy.  Simply suggesting that a cat is about to be hurt or even annoyed...oh sweet Jesus, kill me now.  Pepper Pots using Girl Power (and a crap ton of enhanced flower nectar and going medieval on the bad guy again, Hunky Dory.  Loud helicopters blowing up mansions not so much.

I feel much better having these parameters established and etched in my memory.  Etched also in my flesh as my arm is covered in claw marks from her trying to climb over my head to make a break for it.

5.  Teddy has a new party trick of watching me intently as I am trying to say something important to him.  While his eyes are locked on mine he then attempts to mouth what I am saying.   It's possibly he's doing it to instill what I'm saying into his brain but more likely he's just being a miserable little bastard.

It took me a few minutes to come up with something positive in this activity.  Finally I decided to settle for it being positive that I didn't floss his brain through his ears with his ear buds.

Yes, I will take some serious pride in that one.  That quite possibly was one of the top five greatest accomplishments of my life.

I will cherish these pearls forever.  I am a much better educated parent and person after these few weeks.

My dad is right, there is always something positive in everything.  For me, I am positively glad these holidays are over.