This must be from December 2010:

“I have come to (hopefully) my last ob visit; I got up this morning after a sleep in – thank you wonderful husband!! – and put on my soft and comfy (sweat) pants, which use an elasticised belt to keep them up. I also love my cotton cardy, though it is a definite poo brown. I had lofty notions of changing into clean jeans and a shirt that covers my belly, but I didn’t. Now I’m here and the food stains are glaring at me under the fluorescents, boo! When did I start leaving the house looking like this? My skin is almost as lack-lustre as my cardigan, and my hands and hair are definitely those of someone else. I know I brushed my hair this morning, I suppose another shampoo would go hand in hand with that to alleviate the feelings of blergh when I glanced in the rear view mirror before I came inside. The next inevitable step, will surely be that I don’t bother looking in the rear view anymore.”

That would have been just before almost 3yo was born. I have since given away the cardigan but the pants cinch in pretty tightly, and they are the only sweat pants I own, so *hangs head* I still have them. I do glance in the rear view mirror regularly – and not just for traffic or backseat nonsense – but I have given away shampoo, what was I thinking! I use baking soda and vinegar to wash my hair now, and it glows and is so soft, it is in the best condition of my life. I was usually mortified by some of the people in the ob waiting rooms, but perhaps I am small-minded with small-horizons and have had little to no human experience. I guess that boils down to being a snob. My snobbish self would probably look at my uncovered-belly self with dirty hair and scowl or something. I hope I could do it surreptitiously. I don’t do those looks very well, though, the surreptitious ones, I mean. I was sort of called out for it at dinner the other night, when I was listening to glamorous and employed women talk about their sex lives and other deep and meaningful subjects (are there any other?). I apparently had eyebrows that wouldn’t come down, thereby giving away my incredulity. Perhaps I am just not mature enough to take part in risque subjects without being tipsy, or perhaps I’m just a cow.

Husband is “away”, “working in a different office” is what we tell the boys. That is true, of course, though different offices are from here to there and in between. Husband flies everywhere, and because he flies often he will often get upgrades. Boohoo, too bad so sad. Sometimes there will be wifi on board and he will have to work, again with the boohoos, sometimes he will merely sleep, now cue my boohoos.

I know that travelling can be grueling, eating airplane food, drinking airplane red wine, watching movies that one doesn’t watch otherwise, driving different cars every other week, staying in hotels, bloody hell. Oh I’m sure that sometimes the sound of the air conditioning units is SO annoying, swimming occasionally before a dinner meeting can be tough to fit in, eating steak (or salad??) with the high flyers is stressful, or riding a mechanical fucking bull might strain one’s neck. Hmmm, yeah, that.

When I was younger, I wanted to be a secretary when I grew up because it looked so cool, so luxurious, like a celebrity lifestyle. Sure, I was 6 at the time, but from where I stand in the unrobotically-cleaned kitchen, it still looks pretty fucking celebrity. Showers every night, corporate clothes (oh, the woes of dry-cleaning), being in demand and on the phone and typing away on computers in every airport lounge, sounds kind of nice.

Of course, every work-away-from-home parent would beg to differ, they are missing out on dinner time, and bath time, and bed time, and loose teeth, and school lunches, and lego and a bunch of other day-to-day miracles, but leave them at home long enough, perhaps they become encrusted with these miracles, along with the rice bubbles and yogurt and strawberry pulp from all the yesterdays, and they start to check their flight statuses again. 

There are a few things in my life I do regret, though I cannot regret many things as I know that changing them or wanting to, would alter where I am now, which is not what I would want, hence not having time travel as a super power.

I do regret dumping a shite load of poetry that I wrote all through high school because I decided to move in with a tool of a boyfriend. (I do actually regret wasting my precious time on him but refer first paragraph.) I do regret wasting most of today (hardly on the same scale) because I have a heap of things that need doing and a heap almost as much that wants doing.  I often regret some of what I eat, though not at the time, but when I eat things I don’t regret I often wish I had eaten something I would. Sometimes I regret indulging my children at particular times only because I lose my train of thought and cannot write what was totally awesome and running through my head at the time. I do regret not waking myself up and writing down all the awesome things that go through my  head because I want to believe that I will remember them later, but I don’t regret going the f**k to sleep. I usually regret farting in the car, but not as much as Husband does. I always regret not getting enough snacks for any trip we take because the moment we get in the car, even if the boys have JUST EATEN, they will want snacks. Even a packet of rice cakes will suffice but we run out often or Husband has “cleaned out the car”, which is not as helpful as he thinks it is. I always regret not exercising, not taking any of the time I have wantonly wasted and ran off a few laps on the wii or kicked my own ass on the elliptical or something, but when I am bored of being bored and too bored to sit on the couch or too ridiculous to read my awesome book (insert name of current book – they are all awesome) I could be doing crunches or biggest loser marathon arm make-overs or some thing. Husband would agree, though he would be thinking along the lines of exercising the broom.

I do not regret that my children – while cheeky and sometimes shitty – are independent and argumentative. That may come back to bite me in some selfish way all too soon. I do not regret spending money unnecessarily on the boys (it’s shopping, right?!) for things that they might be interested in – I consider that encouragement. I also do not regret bribing them with treats as part of said encouragement. Case in point – almost 5yo started from the starting gate at the local bmx track today!! Therefore, everyone had ice-cream plus sprinkles and gummies which are full of the chemicals I try to avoid, but it was his choice. If only I could find something worthy of bribing the almost 3yo so that he would start using the toilet on a regular basis! I regret him weeing under the dining room table and in the car.

I’ve seen the “5 minutes with…” pretty  much everywhere, and since the big boys are playing with lego, I might actually have that much time.

What are you doing right now? Actually, I’m laying on my bed perusing crap online while one of my children takes a nap and I contemplate the same, but then the remainder of my children will come and ask for something as simple as a cup of water, which they are more than capable of getting themselves. Then I would feel way more tired than I do now.

What should you be doing right now? Sorting laundry. Always sorting laundry. I love organizing and washing it, and hanging it on the clothes line, but I do poorly in the follow up stakes. There are a number of baskets over-flowing with clean laundry which I will continue to walk past until I use it as a procrastination tool for something else. I should also bake some cookies, so boys don’t start asking for store-bought rubbish which they know are full of “chemicals” and preservatives.

What would you like to be doing right now? Sleeping, swimming (how come the kids get to have all the fun?), reading (The Wrath of Angels by John Connolly), writing my very own novel/s about stuff, but this counts as writing and also has points in the procrastination column.

If you had $1M what would you do with it (all bills are paid, don’t spend it on school fees, investment funds are disallowed)? Go vintage shopping. There are a few small shops where I live, but I recently read that there is a BY THE POUND vintage store in Portland, wtf?? I’d also put a secret passage in our house! Saw that on pinterest. And I guess a holiday in Hawaii wouldn’t go astray, either. There are also a bunch of things I would love to do to our house, like shutters, wooden flooring and a polished concrete deck with Pottery Barn conservatory.

I hear people yelling/fighting, so I guess my 5 minutes are up.

Everyone loves the baby.

When I was growing up, everyone seemed to give my little sister whatever she wanted because she was “just a baby”. Little did they realize that at home, she was devil spawn. I felt the injustices of positive discrimination, I wonder if my boys do now.

Our youngest will be three in December, egad! And don’t mind if I do, but he is ADORABLE! He has a mouthful of words and can give back what he gets, so he is full of character. Add in his little body, and what a heart-breaker! Even the swimming instructor for the big boys has a baby crush on him. Maybe that sounds sort of creepy, (maybe it would be if the swim guy was ugly) but everyone can see how awesome he is – and how confident in the water – when he is swashbuckling around the little pool.

Of course, being the smallest does go part the way to being the cutest. When we are riding our bikes around the park, all the grandmas have a variation of “oooh, isn’t he cute, I didn’t see him on the back there” as we pedal away. Add in the big bobble-head helmet and porcelain skin, and the big boys are sort of out-done before they’ve begun.

I try not to take his side too often, I try to keep an eye on what he is doing and be realistic about what is going on – I felt like I took the blame way more than was called for because my sister was smaller and therefore couldn’t possibly do as many naughty things and that is Bull. Shit. I also know that he takes his examples from his brothers (guess my sister did, too, dang! Just gave myself away.) But when he sweetly sings “sor-ry” and gives me a cheese, what can I do?

Time outs. And don’t you forget it.

I used to love roller coasters, high swings, fast scooters and all of those things, but shortly after we got married, I turned into an old lady and stopped liking them. I also, generally, have never liked spicy foods or even ordering different items off the menu at oft-frequented restaurants for fear of disappointment in the new dish, but I digress.

After our honeymoon, Husband and I visited my parents interstate and went to Warner Bros Movie World. After going on the Scooby Doo coaster, I confirmed to myself and all who would listen that I was, henceforth, completely done with roller coasters. It was more than a little scary for me, and that is lame, hence being done. Husband was incredulous, and convinced me to go on the Lethal Weapon ride with him. Big. Mistake. That roller coaster is one that hangs UPSIDE DOWN. I was petrified and little mortified, as I think a little wee came out. Absolutely done this time. And, I stuck to my old lady-guns and refused his entreaties to go on the Super Man ride. Fat chance.

However, in the past six months or so, my young lady has been building up inside me, and coming out in ways such as eating (gasp) spicy foods, ordering different things on menus than what I normally would, delegating a little of the housework (shock! horror!) and even sledding down large hills, which I did today. Actually, I did a little sledding in December when my parents visited as well – we went to Hoodoo in the mountains and egad! I nearly wet myself again.

Today, as I stepped onto the flimsy poly-whatever sled, at the top of the hill that really ought to have one of those gradient street signs with pictures of trucks driving down steep roads, I was even thinking to myself “this is a mistake”, “too steep”, and then “TOO FAST”, something about falling over, grazing one’s self from elbow to everywhere, and then “that wasn’t so bad, I am stepping out of my comfort zone, living out of the box etc”. Phew. I thought about doing it again but by then nearly-3yo was calling for the swings, so, yeah.

Stepping out of my “zone” has been good for me, as I’m sure it is for everyone. It has empowered me to do things more confidently, like start this blog, and share it online, and sign up for fun runs WHAT THE?? And start friendly conversations with not quite random strangers, and smile more. That sounds silly but it’s true. And that has in turn made me the well-put-together parent at whatever event, and perhaps I’ve put on some makeup, some nice jewelry (spell check says that is correct but it doesn’t look right to me) or something else that makes people look again. I know that because I am more often than not the other parent, surreptitiously double-taking one or two other parents with their matching socks, clean clothes and nice hair, what-everrrr people! And it is an awesome feeling to be that other parent with nice hair or whatever, or not even matching socks but a smile on my face, and a feeling that I can conquer the world because I can fly by the seat of my pants and enjoy (most) every minute of it.

(In unrelated news, phone sales really piss me off)

Today my almost 5yo told me in the car that he will try and get bitten by a spider so that he can turn into Spiderman. We discussed vehemently not getting bitten by a spider on purpose, for such reasons as the unreality of the whole Spiderman story, chemicals and processes used in science labs, said chemicals and processes probably killing spiders rather than enhancing their natural capabilities, etc.

On the other hand, if perhaps I could get bitten on purpose and gain superhuman parenting energies and skills, that might be another story. My powers would include endless amounts of energy not requiring sleep for recharging, wisdom beyond my years and patience to rival that of deities, and the ability to fly would certainly not go astray! Time travel would be fraught with dangers, so that’s out. George Jetson tubes to get here, there or anywhere would be too fast – it would be nice to fly through the air and dry those busy mama armpits sometimes; also, think of the mama timeouts! Reading people’s minds would be helpful sometimes, but bad bad bad in the end. I wouldn’t want any webs or lasers or any other crazy shit coming out of my body, surely there is enough of that already, post child-birth and post fresh-as-a-daisy-hot-young-person as I am now anyway.

And alter egos. Surely there is enough work involved in keeping my clothes clean getting out of the house when I can have time away, without having to change face masks or costumes. Capes would get caught in the car doors all the time, Lycra isn’t always my thing, on the other hand, secret hideouts would be awesome!

But at the end of the day, I try to be chemical free – for our foods, our household and body products, so I guess that means insect venom as well.