Merry Christmas To All

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But I forgot to tell the kids “to all a good night”,  because they got up and excitedly thundered downstairs at ten minutes to one in the morning! Husband and I were just drifting off to sleep after watching his fave movie Love Actually and then talking about boobs, and so we were a bit stunned and sleepy. Was it morning already? Hail no. He ushered them back upstairs, and then did the same thing just two hours later, poor guy. It almost sounds like a night time breastfeeding routine. He slept upstairs with them that time (co-sleeping much?) and then came back four hours later after getting kicked around by 8yo, headsy-toesy style. 7 and 5yos also came down then, but 8yo is still asleep upstsirs now, and 7yo has pronounced this “the worst Christmas ever”, presumably because he has been awake for nearly two hours and has only basked in the glory of the gifts of life and a plentiful panty, ho hum. Meanwhile, I can’t find any underpants and I’m a bit hungover; woe is the life of early retirement. I’m excited for an eventual morning of tea and toast, and thankfulness and recycling.

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Merry Christmas!

Another Griswold Christmas

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Okay, I should have written this eeeks ago when we got our tree, but whatevs. I’ve been busy and etc, just like everybody else. Let me wrack my brain and recap…
We went to the same tree farm that we have been to for the last few years. I don’t know if they recognized us but by the end of the visit, the apple sling was off limits, so, yeah.

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Anyhoo, Husband drove with 7yo in the truck and when we had both arrived, we hopped out of our respective vehicles gingerly because it had been raining like cats and dogs and everywhere was boggy as shit. No one fell over straight away, but with people intent on getting their asses run over by walking behind reversing vehicles, – seriously, WTF people! – and then our kids followed the dumb ass example and nearly actually got run over. FFS! Cue the shortbread cookies and cider.
We trudged here, there and everywhere arguing over the size and stagnation of a suitable tree, and eventually settled on one but kept looking and then couldn’t find our first choice and then changed our mind, anyway.
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Husband and I did agree on a tree, but then the unthinkable happened… We saw that three guys were needed to lift the mofo. Oh shit. I kept silent as it was hauled onto the trailer of the little tractor and driven away. We ambled back down the hill and waited. It took a long time, and I wondered if it had, indeed, become bogged in the mud due to the weight of the tree. It came and then was unloaded.
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No apples in the face, a handful of muddy knees but no tears or swearing until much later.

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All’s well that ends well? He got over it and could look me in the eye and speak civilly to me eventually.

Adventure in Progress

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I love it when the boys go on an expedition. They fastidiously pack their backpacks with snacks and drinks, hopeful that healthy snacks will allow them to take a treat or two, as well. They hunt for belts so they can walk with their swords, they grab jackets in case it is cold or wet, they often take books to read or notebooks to write in, and then complain when they can’t think of other important items to weigh them down on their journey. They encourage or discourage each other about bringing toys along for the adventure.
Once outside, they rediscover things forgotten and left outside for days or weeks, and pretend to hack stuff along the way to wherever they are going.
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I like when they are gone for longer than ten minutes, which doesn’t happen often because they really wish I was going with them. I love that they want me with them, but as I’ve often said to them, kids can’t always have proper adventures when they are with their parents. I don’t recall any parents being involved when people were flying around on the wishing chair. I might have to read them some Enid Blyton books so they get the idea. Maybe 7yo will be ready ro read some of them himself, soon. In the mean time, I’m keeping myself busy by the fire.

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Mousies

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Tidied the pantry because I found widdle mousey turds in a few places a while back. Bloody hell, they will get in anywhere. Not sure how, because everytime I find a hole somewhere, I seal it up with wire, and I’m all out of places to seal. Husband says there is too much food available to them in our house. I agree, but that is not what they are eating, stupid bastards. Do they eat the crumbs and scraps on the floor in the kitchen? No. Do they eat the spilt pasta in the pantry? No. They prefer to dine on plastic and old seeds, by chewing a hole in a bag that is stacked behind and underneath a bunch of other heavy stuff. Omg. Anyhoo, will see how long this lasts.

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At least this way, I will be able to check for more widdle turds every day against the stark white lino faux tile, rather than the plethora of cardboard crap and hastily thrown away toys that was there before. I have also put in two traps, even though nearly 5yo is adamamt that the mice need to live and make a house. My retort, of course, is that they shall not live in my house.

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Mr Waah Waah


So glad he’s not asking for pets yet.

Hello?

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For some reason I am awake late at night pondering the phone habits of teenaged peoples and their questionably adorable young nephews and nieces.
When I was younger and staying with my cool aunts, they would be chatting on their phones (in their own room, omg, how cool) with a friend and then they would say to this person that they would put me on the phone. The fuck? I hated this as a child. Sorry aunties. If I remember correctly, and I almost certainly don’t, I would shake my head and stare helplessly at the phone handset as it was put to my ear. I would wait for the inevitable strange voice prompting hello on the other end. I would respond in kind. And then, nothing. I had nothing to say to strangers who were on the other end of a phone from my cool older relation with coloured hair.
I still hate this, being put on the phone to talk to people I don’t plan on talking to. As a general rule I don’t have much to say (except talking about just that? On a blog?),  and I don’t want to feel put on the spot. So I don’t do that to my kids, generally. When we skype, they know that’s what we are doing, they can skip in and out of a conversation, they can be kids. Maybe that’s just me. I did the Briggs Myers/Myers Briggs personality quiz and got my assigned letters. It seems legit and confirms all the things that I hate. Apparently I am ISFP, but maybe it should be BITCH,  I don’t know. Anyway, don’t call me.

Mission Log

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Star Date: It’s dark so it must be early.

This morning seemed to be on track; there was minimal fighting, 8yo chose to work on his project before I even came out to supervise breakfast endeavours. Sure, 4.5yo (who, incidentally, turns 5 in 6weeks) refused to get out of his pajamas, but really, there are worse things that can derail a good day. We listened to classical music on the drive to school, there was no traffic. Insert contented sigh.

Cut to later: 7 & and 4.5yos had started a fight club in the little class library, that soft-carpeted area of tranquility in an otherwise unruly class of energetic monkeys. The other kids were cheering. Everyone loves a spectacle.

Yes, I am raising gladiators, and no, not like in Scandal, even though FITZ RULZ!! LOVE HIM! My two youngest have radical gladiator names so they are building to big things in their future, but not today.

And then, back at home, and this is the dagger in my heart, 4.5yo confirms that he, in fact, doesn’t like chocolate. Or caramel.

Seriously. Who doesn’t like chocolate, and is he really my child?

And I’m meant to be, you know, eating a balanced diet, so…

regret nothing

Yeah. End transmission.

Mrs Sassy Pants

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I’m a groover and a shaker in my own way, my own drum and all that. So the clothes that I find in shops aren’t always whst I like amd if tjey are, they don’t always fit because I’m a woman, if you can but dig it, not a mannequin.

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Stupid example of how to make clothes fit

So I am always super duper happy when I find jeans or other pants that fit, and unhappy to the other extreme when they wear out. Of course, they only wear out in one spot because that’s where all the action is. Inside leg seams. Ho hum. It’s tough being sexy.
Talking to a friend about what a right-off the jeans end up being, and thinking later about all the fabric I have hoarded thoughtfully kept for future projects, led me to google some ideas and I found something pretty interesting…

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Holy shit!

That’s right, patchwork jeans are a thing. Guess who just saved themselves $900?? Bet your sweet (and shapely) ass I did.
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I sewed the first of the inside leg seams so that I could fold it back over and cover the worn fabric, then I got a little creative with the rest. And voila! I’m laughing all the way to the bank. ❤

Dry Runs

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Been hearing a lot on the radio and tv about The Big One. Apparently our water supply – well, the town’s water supply, we are on well water but who knows if we will be affected the same way – sits on land that will be affected by liquifaction, so the water will literally go down the plug hole. Meaning everyone will die of thirst, or be killed as a result of fighting over water. Good times.
There was a blackout at our house last weekend, so we had a practice run as to how things will go.
1. Everybody exclaim over the lack of power
2. Flick every light switch on and off quickly. We have a large house with loads of switches…
3. Trip over every toy on the floor whilst attempting to play in the dark
4. Ooh and aah over candles with faces alarmingly close to the flames
5. Grab and run around with flashlights
6. Open the fridge and stand in front of it to look at everything. Close fridge without putting anything in or taking anything out
7. Discover water is not working because the well pump is on the electricity, and therefore powerless.
8. Assume last nights dinner was a poor choice. Go to the bathroom. The exhaust fan will not work. The toilet cistern will not refill. Call out through semi-open bathroom door not to flush if you only do a wee.
9. Crack open last of the bulk bottled water. Leave half-drunk cups of water in every room
10. Accompany child to the bathroom because it’s still dark. Curse lack of exhaust fan. That’s now 3 toilets that are out of water.
11. Give everyone the last of the clif bars for breakfast. Weigh option of driving to store to buy more: using gas, risk of riots, getting shot etc, drawing attention to your use of resources from envious and desperate fellow citizens…
12. Decide against foraying into town. Go upstairs to use the bathroom. At least this window can open. That’s 4 toilets now used. Berate self for not buying this:
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13. Mentally attempt to locate the funnel
14. Give self a talking to in the mirror about justifying not buying the expensive washboard, even though there is now almost no way to clean clothing etc.
15. Collect eggs from the chickens. Initiate smug internal monologue about disaster preparedness.
16. Have power miraculously return and save family from untimely death due to dire bathroom conditions.
17. Flush toilets because you can as often as you turn off the lights the kids flicked on earlier during calamity.
18. Go out for breakfast, flaunting resources with your devil-may-care attitude.

Take away notes from this experience:
*she pee
*buy more emergency waterbottles
*store spare fuel stored in jerry cans
*install underground panic room and escape hatch under kitchen bench
*investigate diy youtube videos on kitchen joinery and tunneling reinforcement
*consider pillow treatment for all in event of global catastrophe…

Late Night Special

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You know those feelings that perk up, or intuitive thoughts that pop into your head randomly for no reason? I trust those, because there is always a reason. Whether or not it is to avoid a car that would have reversed into you, or you randomly drive past a friend’s house and they actually need your help or were just about to call you, or you decide to check on the kids before going to bed yourself, I trust those feelings. They have stood me in good stead when shit gets real. Like, blowout whilst asleep in bed, for reals.
Totes random, 4.5yo has been toilet trained for years – he actually was dry at night long before he mastered the art of not pissing his pants during the day – so he was just as upset as I was when I woke him up to coax him out of his newly coloured pants. Poor sausage.
Egad. I had conveniently forgotten all about poo cleanups and had nothing much around to help after he was back in bed. The other boys often get up during the night to go to the bathroom, so I had to think fast… Mouthwash. It’s all of the things I need to degerm a bathroom floor, including a strong minty freshness.
So much for an early night. On the other hand, all that running up and down stairs has earned me my steps for today! Currently sitting at 12k and counting.

It’s The Little Things

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Nothing puts everything into perspective like getting ready to go out to a (OMG Foo Fighters) concert when one of the kids has a massive belly blowout and uses 1000 squares of tp to clog up the S bend, right as you want to run out the door. Add into the mix some colour-mixed clothes from the washing machine, new and far more complicated homework for 8yo, and now the traffic on the highway, and I am starting to get a bit of anxious belly myself.