Tag: wine

Red Wine & Sweat Pants

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It’s hard to stay focused on one thing when amazing other things are right in center field. Take not getting soft and flabby, or softer and flabbier, for instance. 

 My NYE resolution is to make more time for exercise, which means eating right, as well. I eat pretty well, but it’s been easy to eat not well this past year coz every other week, it’s someone’s birthday at work or there’s a faux holiday to celebrate with delicious snacky treats in the break room which I don’t say no to, plus halloween, thanksgiving and christmas which have their own themed snacks to go right along. My willpower got hammered and then just laid down and died. So that’s what I’m trying to reverse this year. I know it’s all about routine but getting into the routine can be the tough part for me. 

To kick the year off the right way, the boys’ NYE resolution is to adventure more and whine less, 

On track with the miles

and their goal is to ride 1000 miles in 2018. Sounds like a lot but we ride quite a bit, so we just need to be consistent. A few longer rides thrown in throughout the year will help, too. Inching the 5 miler up to 8 or 10 will do no one any harm, especially me.

On the flip side of all that sense is my sensibility, wanting to dally and play, read:  eat. 

Specifically, tomorrow I’m hosting Golden Girls Monopoly hour with cheesecake and white wine, it’s nothing but win Win WIN! provided I get my slop-pay ass back into the routine the very next day. 

But then there is afternoon tea two weeks after that, and two weeks after that, and two weeks after that! 
But there is something on the horizon for me to keep it all in perspective and it’s not what you might think [self-loathing], it’s yet another opportunity to seriously hurt myself or even – you guessed it – die [of shame]. River 2 Ridge.

 

Its not the Warrior Dash, it’s worse! Run a mile, kayak a bunch of miles, ride 40 miles, run 8 miles. Fuck. But I’m in it to come last, not hurt myself and have a good time. Husband and a friend did it last year and while drinking red and watching the kids run around in the rain, it seemed a fun thing to sign up for. Now my friend is having second thoughts but I decided to go ahead, anyway, and sign up for the whole thing. Relay is an option and good for you, but you shouldn’t get to come through to the winner’s circle and share the limelight with people who did the whole thing if you only did it piecemeal, imo. So that’s why I couldn’t do the relay, I wouldn’t respect myself in the morning. 

So while I sit here drinking red and ordering men’s size sweat pants for myself, I dream of tomorrow, And not only the literal tomorrow where I’m consuming good food as well as good times, but the figurative, where I run and paddle and pedal as though my life depends on it. 

Good times.

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Apocalypse Now

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By the time you read this, I could be dead, or very badly hurt, or just badly hurt. Or certainly embarrassed. It’s Saturday and Husband and I are off to another Warrior Dash. The weather appears to be closing in and it may be a sign of my, at least, impending doom.

Impending doom?

I’m out of shape and often out of humor for exercise, save for the foregone conclusion of a drink or two afterwards. So why did I agree to be a part of the continuing trend of trying not to hurt yourself in some sort of event that aims to hurt you? Ask me again in a couple of hours when it’s all over red rover. I’ll be (hospitalized) euphoric that I’m a) alive, b) unscathed and c) choc full of those hormones that pump through your body because of a) and b).
This is my last year of competition, though, unless I rev up my gym visits and stop hurting myself when I try a few sets of push-ups (true story).

Today we are going for the super hero mindset, so I’m dressed accordingly.

Transformation complete

I’ve tossed around the idea of dressing as She Ra for halloween but the shirt may well be ruined after this little outing. Someone please alert my parents if there are no subsequent check-ins later today, or at least, check the hospitals.

Another Dynamite Party

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So. I have a 9yo. He has long hair and smells like a man more often than he realises. We decided on a Napoleon Dynanite theme for his party a while back, but he changed his mind and I had to work on him to change it back because how cool would a Napoleon Dynamite birthday party be??? Seriously, tots, ligers and friendship bracelets, that movie has it all. And so did his party!

Husband bought a shitload of tots and fish fingers, AKA delicious bass. 

We had the obligatory cake and healthy snacks, too, from Tina (that fat lard)’s garden.

I was so glad that a handful of people took advantage of the Deb’s Glamor station, there were heaps of kids “finding their season”.

And you wouldn’t believe how busy the friendship bracelet station was!  I guess everyone wants Pedro’s protection. This shot taken while one of the Mamas had room to breathe.

 I also made up some Rex Kwon Do tattoos with the diy papers I bought from amazon, but the brand I ordered this time wasn’t as reliable as last time. 

Luckily Rex put in an appearance with Uncle Rico, and he helped with the pinata!

Obviously, we couldn’t have a pinata of a girl, regardless of what goes on in Juarez, so I made a rainbow and the kids took turns beating the shit out of it. I’m done with candy, I don’t need that at a party full of under 10s, so I had badges made that said VOTE FOR PEDRO and they were a hit. Mission accomplished!

Milk-tasting, 

a sketching station and then the movie itself, what a fun afternoon. And the mark of every fun party is when one of the dads falls asleep on the couch.

The Different Summer

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There are only 2 weeks left until school starts! I am in two minds about this because the kids drive me mad quite a bit, but also, I haven’t had half as much quality time with them this year, as in previous years. I had a nice week here and there, but that’s it. There were no themed-camp weeks, or gardening, or much else. There was fuck all, really. But there were life lessons in there, anyway, as there are for any who might look for the silver lining.

My kids are not the centre of the universe: I like to think that they knew this already, since I’ve never dropped anything to be at their beck and call, but since I’m working and they are home with Husband, who is also working but just from home, I’m not available to them. They’ve had to make their own adventures, which I think they’ve done in the past, anyway, but let’s face it, my adventures kick ass! They have learned that they fit into a social fabric, rather than being the yarn of the fabric, or whatever other metaphor you like. 

Their actions have consequences: Again, I think they knew this but they surely had it reinforced when I came home in the afternoon/early evenings and if they were dicks, they would hear about it! 

If something hadn’t been done by the time I got home that I had asked about in the mornings, then get thee to bed, devils. 
There’s not always enough time: We ran out of time for pretty much everything this summer, and we all had to just deal. We all wanted playdates and day trips and creative opportunities. There were half as many daytrips and a mere tenth of the number of playdates we would have liked, but with soon-to-be 9yos birthday coming up, we hope to rectify that a little with a stupidly large party that includes two classes, at least that’s an opportunity for some creativity.

I can’t imagine that next summer will be any different, but maybe we’ll be used to it by then?

To Do: drink.

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We have a big house. It’s going to hurt when it falls down on us. There are carpenter ants underneath it and in the walls, munching and munching away to make a space to lay eggs. I can’t remember the names of them, I always think they are Trelawney Ants. 

They are fuckers, is what they are. They were eating a wall at the front of the house, then we had them gassed. I found them in our bedroom, which led to finding a leaking pipe in our bathroom and some horrendous damage, oh goody! With that gone, that should have dried up the ants interest in the house, but today I found them on my bedside, in my wardrobe and my clothes. It’s all a bit overwhelming, not to mention annoying AF. But that’s the joys of homeownership, I suppose. 

Note to self: next time we contemplate buying a house, cloose an empty plot of land and build it ourselves. When we are ready to pour the foundation, also pour every last cent into the wet cement and stop right there. It would be less stressful, I think.

We will need to replace the damaged wood inside the walls, and floors, too, if they are defying gravity, and I wouldn’t put it past them. 

I tried to vacuum the c****s out of my wardrobe, and succeeded for a few minutes, until I saw them all over my clothes and fucking wept – just like Jesus, except not as pious, and then geared up the vacuum but the bag was full, and the GD thing won’t work without a bag and there are no bags left. I hate my life.

Of The Essence

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There is never enough time, and if we had more of it, we’d probably try and do more so we’d end up with the same lack of it. I have the day off work, today, and there was a long list of cool shit I wanted to do, but there’s just not enough time for everything.

We didn’t end up going to the movies, which is a shame because tix were only a buck, but we’d seen it anyway AND we met this cool aussie guy randomly, which never happens. We made it to the coffee shop for df gf #bigwigdonuts, and then enrolled in the summer reading program at the library.

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I feel you, buddy

Now I’m drinking white wine and baking shit, coz that’s how I roll. Later this afternoon will be a different ballgame, though, since we need to tidy the house and that is sort of an undertaking. But I found some smores supplies, so bribes will help, and maybe we can have a campfire. No, actually it’s just marshmallows, but we can still campfire the shit out of them which the boys will enjoy.

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domesticated as fuck

So even though there’s never enough time, today has been quality time, and I’m glad of that.

All The Things

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This week was all the things, including all the feels. I had the week off work since Husband is living it up in the Swiss Alps or etc. Nothing more I appreciate than that my office is understanding about child care!

This week was the absolute best, and not because Husband was absent, but I wouldn’t have been home if he was here, so, draw your own conclusions. I had been looking forward to this week for the last month and let me tell you, parenting paid dividends, this time.

I, of course, had high expectations of everything we would do and we haven’t achieved all of them, but we’ve had the best week, and I didn’t even drink! Here is a rundown:

Monday: hot AF, park, bike riding, skaty bowl, treasure-hunting at goodwill

Tuesday: skaty bowl with friends, other skaty bowl

Wednesday: gorgeous weather, #makemusicday, #makemusicsalem, saw friends, saw #salemsown #therealkyloren as well (he’s had a haircut and looks hotter than ever), saw all our fave bands, frozen yogurt, park, skootering and skateboarding

Thursday: park, scootering, skateboarding, playing in the river, kids art studio, trendy cafe where kids tried new food and didn’t embarrass me

Friday: played wii games with the boys (wii-athon that did not turn into a pissing match, haha!),  trendy cafe again for gf donut holes and we read books quietly, kids art studio. 

I’ve even managed to wash some clothes and have the boys put them away, shock horror [insert licture of laundry – is there an emoji for that, yet??]; last night we had afternoon tea for dinner; the boys have mostly cleaned up that fucking mess of a room where the goddamn lego was fucking everywhere including under and around their expensive bloody instruments. Wonders, people, wonders, never, cease.

Other things I have enjoyed without interference from getting ready for work or being at work or driving to and from work include: sleeping in, wearing skirts, reading til all hours (I do this anyway but it was better this week), relaxed kids, not driving to school, self-directed reading, boys being excited about summer projects, baking, life lessons like patience and making mistakes, and so many other things that I’ve forgotten because I was living in the moment.

Husband will be home tomorrow night and he’s excited to be home because I do all the fun stuff. Thing is, though, I’m back at work next week so the un stuff goes out the window and I’ll be grumpy and poo-bootsy again for being stuck indoors and not on vacation for 3 straight months. That’s where the drinking starts again, I guess. 

Camping

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As a general rule, camping is not my favourite. There are bugs, it’s dirty in the tent, if you’re having sex then it’s sort of impossible, if there’s kids then they fuck around in the tent; all that good stuff. Backyard camping, however, means the kids sleep in a tent and I slip into the house, or I wake up stupidly early after sliding around in the sleeping bag making noises like a shopping bag every five seconds so I continuously wake myself up, then slip into the house in the morning. This episode of That Camping Life involves the latter scenario. I woke up at 5.20. What. The. Fuck.

It was lovely to hear the myriad birds outside the nylon, but it was also lovely to shut the heavy wooden door of my house against their melodic warbles and reheat my forgotten tea from yesterday – black as my camper’s heart because I left the bag in – in the modern, non-camping miracle AKA the microwave, and contemplate where to find another modern miracle, the ibuprofen. I feel pretty good, all things considered, but the camp beds sort of suck, probably because they were made to support 200lbs of camo-encased huntin’, fishin’ and fuckin’ man, after a long day in the undergrowth, gun in hand, before he slakes his hunger for meat and thirst for Pabst Blue Ribbon, or etc, whereas I am a more modest 150lbs, and drank white wine and pinot noir, and spilled peppered pork ribs on my dress. In hindsight, it sounds like I should eat and drink more so I pass out, or just sleep on the ground. Or sleep in my own bed, where Husband has slunk off to, now. 

I’m surprised the boys were still asleep. There were up pretty late, but the sun is up pretty early, these days, and the nylon doesn’t do much to keep out those golden rays.

I also heard an animal sniffing around this morning, before I pulled the tag on the zipper of my sleeping bag, tooth by torturously loud tooth, trying to be quiet even though I knew I would have to clamber over Husband’s face to get out of the tent (not as romantic as it sounds) because he positioned the camp beds against the zip and himself the gatekeeper of it. But there was no sign of our friends’ dog when Husband magnanimously rolled out of the way after I mutterred “fuck it” and tore down the last few inches of that damn zip. Perhaps it was a raccoon, and now it is ripping the nylon to shreds and terrorizing my children while I sip my cooling tea and recross my legs on my plush armchair. Or an opossum, coyote, or even a fucking cougar. 

When I opened my eyes to the tent ceiling, I pictured a bloody jacket hanging there and a T-Rex head nosing about. My getaway would have been short-lived because the zip would keep getting caught on the inside of the sleeping bag, and the camp beds are the wrong way. I would have been crunched up and eaten, and Husband would have slept through it. Or it would eat the dog. Either way, I’m in the house, now, and that’s all that matters.

Work In Progress

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This is a short, true story, true crime you might say.

Out to dinner with the kids and I managed it not to be a big deal that 6yo was ready to cry his eyes out becase we didn’t go to his preferred restaurant, and also that we didn’t have any meltdowns even though we waited 30 actual minutes for our food. 

We had a nice dinner with mostly good manners and mostly polite conversation. I paid. We were leaving. The child I was sitting next to at the table cocked his leg as we were about to walk away from the table and farts. For fuck sake. I hardly even picked up on it because  (it’s hardly rare) I was saying something to the other two, but these two older ladies at the adjacent table started laughing, one of them actually laying her head on the fucking table, she was laughing so hard. I looked at the perpetrater and became irate. If it wasn’t at the end of an otherwise exemplorary example of my parenting outside of our house, I would have joined in and even rapped on the table and nudged the other in the ribs, ey, get a load of this one, haha etc.

No. Couldn’t do that because he proved me wrong in my own estimation. If only he could have waited until we were home, or even until we were locked tight in the car and smothering. 

This is my lesson and let it be yours: the fun never stops and so, too, neither should the gentle reminders about farting at the table.

My Baby Shower

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Well, I suppose that a good conversation goes back and forth, like other good things, including tennis and, haha, got ya there. Anyhoo in this conversation, with myself, I will talk about my own baby shower.

First of all, as an aussie and as the first in my circle to have a baby, there were no baby showers. Showerings of presents was not a constant thing that I was aware of, basically my whole life until coming to America ten years ago, and now there will be 4 baby showers in 8 fucking months in my office alone. Cheese and rice.

We decided to have a baby shower as an excuse for a party or soiree, if you will. We were often doing those things when we were (thin) hip and living in the city. But our baby came early, so the “baby shower” started without me because I was at the hospital with our son. I don’t remember when we had scheduled the shindig, but he was born 5.5weeks early.

Fine and healthy, just fucking early

I don’t know that we had a theme for the do, I assume I had sent some (thin) super cute invitations hand made by yours truly, because I had so much time to buy individual papers from an expensive and trendy stationery shop in Sydney and hand-address every fucking one of them.

People had brought us thoughtful gifts and we still have and even still use some of them. 10yo still has his dog that he was given for his birthday, the day of his actual birth, which was undertaken without pain meds except for some happy gas which didn’t make me as happy as the guy who got to have a free sample as part of the hospital tour for our parenting class, thank you very much. The dog is a bit dreary-coloured now, but still very much loved. Not sure if Spot appeared at the baby shower or afterwards, but he is among a handful of things from those early days.

Needless to say, I was tired and hormonal and a mother without her child at the “baby shower”, so I was probably not as much fun to be around as I think I was before then. 

What would I do now if I were to have a baby shower? Maybe the diapers would be for me, I’ll definitely take the bottles – but make sure they’re not empty! Nipple cream I can probably do without, butt paste I similarly have no use for, but thanks for thinking of me! You can never have too many wipes but I tend to use only the washable kind, these days. If  you want to get me a bag, make it small and trendy as fuck, rather than roomy and with lots of pockets for poo bags and the like. Lastly, I can always use a change of clothes, especially for surprise spills and messes, though they tend to be over my chest rather than the back of my pants, these days, and make it vintage, if you can manage it. A onesie isn’t my style so much, but anything with a ruffle will be gorgeous in photos, and I’ll be sure to send one of myself smashing up a cake.