Cat Calling Make You A Pussy

Dear cat callers in the car,
Thanks for the compliments! It was so nice to hear everything you’d like to do to my body. The added graphic details made it so much better! I felt so good about myself afterwards, I was shaking from happiness and wanted to run into one of the closest houses just to tell them how nice you are. It was so nice of you to turn around and keep following me almost the whole way home! The company was great! I especially loved it when you called a frigid bitch because I didn’t reply. You are so right. I should have been more grateful since you and your friend took the time out of your day to all but stalk me from your car while paying compliments to my body and giving great mental images. Oh, I promise I will try to smile more since apparently it would make me prettier. Do you really think it would? You kept calling me sweet cheeks and baby – doesn’t that mean you already think I’m pretty? The comment telling me I’d look better with my head buried in pillows has made me a little confused …

Let’s cut the crap shall we?

First and foremost, I am okay. There was no physical damage and I was just shaken up but otherwise unharmed.
For those who didn’t get it, I was being sarcastic. No woman is going to thank you for making her feel utterly uncomfortable in her own skin. Because guess what? Let me fill you in a small secret. We don’t like it. We don’t ask for it and we sure as shit don’t find it complimenting.

You and others like you who think it’s all good to cat call and make suggestive gestures to women are the reason most of us are scared to walk home in the dark. Or walk with our keys between our fingers. Or why our parents beg us for a confirmation text or call that we arrived safely when we step outside our house. It’s not pleasant; you’re not doing me “a favour”. You’re being an arsehole and a poor excuse for a man and before you say “oh it’s just a little cat call”, let me tell you that there is a massive difference between a simple cat call and basic sexual harassment. A line which some seem to ignore.

I know I’ll probably get a lot of backlash from this from people saying its tradition or it’s just for fun or I should take the compliment. Calm down, they’ll say. Stop standing on your soapbox they’ll say. It’s just a compliment, why are you complaining? You must be one of those people who likes to put trigger warnings on everything and gets butthurt at a male sneezing … Let me tell you why I shouldn’t and don’t “just take the compliment”.

CASE IN POINT:
“Why don’t you smile? You’d look prettier!”
“Mmmmm Shake it baby shake it all the way over on my dick!”
“You’d be so pretty on your knees! I’d make you feel real good.”
“I’d love to pound that ass and see how far you can take it.”
“Look at her! She’d take it all the way. Isn’t that right sweet cheeks? You look like you’re a dirty bitch.”
“You have really long legs … they’d look great wrapped around my neck.”
“Let me show you how a real man fucks baby.”
“When I am through with you, you won’t ever move again.”
“Bet I can make you scream in more ways than one.”

This, and other vulgar remarks, is what I got yelled at me. By two strange men in a car who followed me almost all the way to my house. I was walking home from dropping my children off to school. I was wearing long pants, boots and a baggy jumper. There was no skin on show, no sign indicating that I wanted to be harassed. I could have taken the comments just fine if they didn’t turn their car around to keep going while driving so close to the pavement, I honestly thought I was going to be taken. And that fear is real.

The amount of kidnappings and rapes and murders has and still are, steadily climbing over the years. We have more sexual abuse and harassment than ever before. Funnily enough, we are still stuck in a ‘rape culture’ and there are fair too many people still too scared to say anything which assholes like these guys know. “Catcalling isn’t the same as rape.” No you are right, but it still leaves a mark. It’s mental abuse and sexual harassment. Plain and simple. So no, we are not going to “take the compliment” anymore.

Do you know how that feels? That fear? No? It’s not a game to us. It’s not fun or wanted or needed. We don’t ask for it no matter what we are wearing cause fun fact people: women don’t dress just for you. I had my hand in my bag gripping my keys just waiting for it. And no, I am not exaggerating. Welcome to real world.
Calling me vulgar names because I gave you the finger makes you look even more pathetic. I don’t need you to make my day. I don’t need any man to make my day. I make my own god damn day your self-centred wankers.

How would you like it if a girl suddenly started yelling at you? You’d feel complimented for the second before it starts turning nasty and it does … it always does. “Hey babe nice ass I can’t even tell you how much I wanna bang that.” “Hey babe, why don’t you move that dick over my way and I’ll show you how a real woman moves?” “You’d look so pretty on your knees.” “What’s the matter baby? Can’t take a compliment? Frigid dick.” “Don’t have the loving of a good woman?” “You should be thanking me for paying a compliment/ attention to an ugly thing like you.” “You can thank me while on your knees all night long” “I’m going to break you for the next girl.” …. yeah bet everything’s not a joke or compliments now huh? I bet you men would love it if some strange woman came out of nowhere and grabbed a fistful. “But you’ve got it out so that must mean I can touch.” Those excuses just sound better and better. And you know what? I am sure men get harassed just as much as women. It’s not pleasant for anybody who goes through it. It’s scary and enough is enough.

People laugh and joke and say that we are making a big deal out of nothing. It’s not nothing. It’s not us trying to get attention. It’s real, it’s creepy and we are over it. Why should I take something I don’t want and not argue back? Why am I the bad person for sticking up for myself? Why are there double standards? Why is it that there’s still assholes who think that’s okay?

Don’t you have a mother? Sister? Daughters? Partner? Would you feel okay knowing someone out there is yelling the same comments at them? Why is it okay for you to harass someone else’s daughter, mother, partner, sister? Think about that before you start cat calling at the next woman.

Because cat calling is for pussies and enough is enough.

 

 

 

 

 

Stay at Home Heroes

What do stay at home mums do all day?

This is one of the worst questions out there. Are you serious? What do they do all day? They keep the bloody kids alive for starters!

I am a stay at home mum. For that, I am very grateful. It means that I am home to watch my babies grow and get to see all the special moments. It also means that suddenly I am a target for every gossiping, self-entitled wanker.

Where is this coming from I hear you ask? Society apparently. So, I was at the shops the other day (I have been stewing on this for a while) after dropping moo off to school, getting dinner and what not and suddenly I am confronted by the vicious silver tongue of society’s arsehole. Now, I have been called many things in my life. It happens when you refuse to format to society’s expectations and when your “resting bitch face” is just your face. But never, and I mean never ever, have I been called a “vampire of society.” Yep, you read that right. This … woman … was very loudly declaring in a very public place full of mum with little ones or pregnant that “Stay at home mums are the vampires of society. Sucking up time space and good people’s money while sitting on their arse getting fat and opening their legs to anyone willing.”

Yep.

Words cannot even begin to describe the rage. Creative, I’ll give her that but she was lucky I didn’t punch her. Who says that?

Okay dickhead let’s look at the stats. According to abs.gov.au in 2003, 91% of families with children under 14 year old had the father working. Of that 91% of fathers who worked, 84% were employed full time.

So if we use logical, which I strongly don’t think you have, that means only 9% of fathers don’t work. So we break down the 9% into different reasons – didn’t want to work, wanted to work but not actively looking, permanently unable to work and wanted to work/looking for work but unable to start within 4 weeks.

Fun fact though: it’s 91% against 63%. That means that 63% of families also have their mother working. It’s also fun to know that In 2004–05, 1.6 million fathers were employed and 1.3 million mums all who had children under 15 within both couple families and single parents. Doesn’t quite sound like a fat arsed vampire spreading her legs for everyone huh?

Oh and let’s not forget that stay at home dad’s, which I bet you have an opinion on, has steadily risen by about 13% each year. Which means the mum is working … just in case that wasn’t clear.

And then of course if your firmly in the place of “Well just send the kids to care then” argument, let’s look at those stats.

The average cost PER DAY in Australia for childcare is anywhere from $70 to $200 PER DAY. A nanny is $17 – $35 AN HOUR, family day care is $6 – $17 AN HOUR and a baby sitter is $15 to $35 AN HOUR. So in order to actually make money, you wanna be on good money (like $25+ an hour) which ironically, is quite hard to do considering that 75% of parents have a school aged children. For those lucky bastards who don’t have to do a school, it means you have to start work after 9 AM and finish before 3PM. Oh and if your child is sick you can’t work or if you get a call from the school you have to drop everything and go straight away and then of course there is the sports and dances and stalls and school activities that you kinda have to go to cause, you know, your partner works full time and possible overtime.

It’s all well and good for you to stand there and sprout bullshit but until you actually go out there and try and find something close to home, that pays great and has super flexible hours and leaves you with enough energy to actual parent when they get home and functional until bed time – shut up.

The options for such unicorn like jobs are the coffee industry which pays shit, waitressing which again pays shit, fast food services which are just shit all round from what I can gather or you can stay at home and raise your children and save money on childcare or whatever and actually see your children grow up.

Because you know what? Who gives a flying fuck what society thinks? Stay at home mums were all the rage not even 30 years ago. It was “a woman’s job”. Now, we are lazy, money hungry vampires of society because we would rather raise our kids’ right.

Most stay at home mums I know either work close to home or have their own businesses allowing them to work from home. I am one of them. It’s not the grand illusion that apparently some people think it is.

You are a referee between your children, you are a nurse, a cook (at times you even feel like a gourmet chef with how picky they are), you’re a personal washer and drier and dishwasher and even then it never ends. You keep the house clean, make sure the shopping is done, bills are paid and everyone has everything they need even when it ends up with you missing out. Don’t tell me stay at home mum’s sit on their arse all day. Ain’t no stay at home mum got time for that.

So to the “lovely” opinioned woman making all of the stay at home mums in the shop centre feel like shit, I only have a few words of advice.

Keep your uneducated, idiotic opinions to yourself and save your breath.

Because all you are doing is lowering everyone’s IQ points every time you open your mouth.

14 year olds now vs then

Did I miss something?

Was there like a memo or something sent out? Loud announcement? Please, I’d really like to know. I want to know who told these kids (man I sound old) they need to skip the embarrassing part of being a younger teen.

Because to whoever you are – and internet I am looking at you – you fucking suck.

There are 14-year-olds running around with on point (or however you say it) contour and incredible eye make – up. Their eyebrows are perfect and they look like models. Like wtf? No. No, you do not get to skip past “using your mums shitty cheap mascara that itches like crazy, terrible eye shadow colours and a mix and match on what your actual skin tone is by using every little bottle of foundation you can find” phase. What gives you the right?!

Pfft child please. Hell no. Spin around on your little high heels and skinny jeans and go and put something embarrassing on. You are making the rest of us feel awkward.

Please don’t get me wrong. They look gorgeous and I am not shaming anybody. It just bugs me that the unofficial traditional freaking rite of passage has officially ended. You aren’t supposed to look like you know what you are doing. That’s not how this works. Especially at 14. That’s the pinnacle year everyone looks back on and cringes with self-loathing. You see all these memes on Facebook that are like “What would you tell your 17-year-old self?” Wrong question mate. We all know at 17 we were freaking dickheads. Obviously, the answer would be DON’T DO IT DICKHEAD! The right question to ask is “What would you tell your 14-year-old self?” Put. Down. The. Fucking. Eyeliner. And if you were born in the 90’s or hell even the 80’s – you know what? If you were relatively young in the 90’s – you know that answer is right.

God look at the 80’s for crying out loud. There were more random colours worn and more hair spray used in that decade than I reckon we will ever use again. My mother still cringes if I bring up her 80’s hair.  And do not even get me start on the colour palette of the 70’s.

Actually, I don’t know a single person who doesn’t cringe or sigh and literally leave the conversation when the topic of younger teen years and “fashion” pops up!

So, listen up. Let me tell you how it goes and readers, by all means, chime in with your memories. I am going to teach you how to do your make up … 90’s style.

  • Start with a shade of foundation anywhere from 2 upwards either lighter or darker than your skin tone. And pile that on. You want a really awkward glow happening.
  • Don’t bother about your neck. We didn’t find our necks until about 2008.
  • Ignore contouring. That was a model thing or a movie star thing not our thing.
  • But you are going to want to stock up on blush. Don’t forget to make it 2+ shades darker.
  • Now, grab your eyeshadow palette and by palette, I mean those gaudy colours you found for 2 bucks at the chemist or $2 shop. Rub that shit in until you swear it is never coming off because it is so cheap it probably won’t come off.
  • And lastly everybody’s favourite make up tool – EYELINER! Grab your eyeliner and don’t worry about your cat eye/perfect wing helpful tape or whatever else you use to make it perfect cause all you are going to do is circle your eyes panda style.

Congratulations! You now look like a 90’s kid and that shaky gross feeling you have is completely normal. It’s called shame.

To finish it off add dangling earrings – doesn’t really matter which ones you wear they will all look terrible and tie a black shoe lace or elastic around your neck (Oh? You didn’t realise we invented that look?) Now you are done. Go outside with your Walkman or bulky as iPod, weird fitting jeans, ugly trainers and enjoy.

There. That’s how it should be. You do that for a few years, get some really terrible photos you will want to burn but will always be brought out when you least expect it and you’ll be fine. Mind you, I grew up before mobiles were big and had decent cameras so in a way, I do understand the need to not look stupid.

But, it is still tradition though and I for one am sad and slightly awkward that it is no longer a thing. After all, how will the next generation embarrass themselves in an attempt to better themselves if you all look perfect now?

 

The Adventures of School Holidays

So as you could probably tell, day two of school holidays didn’t happen. I had totally planned to do a ‘mums log’ everyday but I was too busy with the therapy to even think about writing if I am being honest. I am kidding. Well not about the being busy part – I have been super busy – but about the therapy part. It hasn’t been that bad *twitch twitch*

What was I doing I hear you ask? Well sit back and let me wow you with my amazing parental skills and the incredible mind of my daughter.

We were astronauts on planet Bumflufffartpoo where the aliens were stinky and the planet was made up of rubbish.

We were superheros fighting crime and doing karate that looked a little too much like ballet without the pointy shoes. We were the best ever. We were Suppppppper Moooooo and Little Baby Billy with their sidekick Suppppppppper Mum! We flew all over the world saving everyone from the bad guy who had the powers of water and soap. I don’t know how that came about but who am I to question the minds of my babes?

We searched for exotic animals and tried to take their photos. Did you know that alligators have 56789 teeth and love to eat chicken nuggets? Neither did I but there you have it.  We found baby giraffe, lion, tigers, hippo and cheetah eggs and watched carefully as they hatched … then had to run super-fast cause they decided that we tasted like fairy floss.

We were clowns in the circus and acrobats on a mat. I wasn’t allowed to juggle because I “Was the worst juggler ever seen!” Great imagination … terrible people skills.

We were the greatest dancers to ever live and danced for Kings and Queens and Princesses and Princes. And Moo was so good that the King made her a princess and she was to go and live in a magical land far away in a pretty pink castle covered in flowers and she could eat chocolate and watch Ninjago all day with no annoying little brothers around.

We ventured to the library where Moo got her very own library card and proceeded to tell everyone about it that we meant for the rest of the day. She was so excited she almost cried which made the little old lady behind us tear up and tell us how she was the first woman to get her library card when the library first opened in her town 65 years ago. We lost it after we got home and have yet to find it.

We were ninjas from ninjago and I was always the bad guy. But I had to always be on my knees seeing as bad guys are never taller than the good guys. I assume it’s because they are filled with sheer awesomeness but you will have to ask Moo.

We lived in huts in a forest and had to be very quiet when we left the huts in case the birds attacked. We could only leave at night and if we were covered in mud and sticks so the birds thought we were trees. We decidedly ignored the fact that trees don’t move.

There of course was many picnics and cartoons watched and a lot of outdoor games.

We visited friends and family and took the time to sit back and relax for more than 5 minutes.

I had a lot of fun exploring the vast wildness of Moo’s imagination and am incredible proud to be a parent of someone who enjoys putting it to good use. But boy, I feel like I need a holiday from the school holidays. Why is there no handbook on handling school holidays? And the food consumption! My God it was as if they were worried there was a shortage of food! Insane!

In saying that, it has been 2 days since school went back and my house feels … empty. It’s so quiet I actually contemplated turning on Peppa Pig just for back ground noise. I am so use to her playing or Ninjago (it depends on whose turn it is to pick the show) that not having the high pitched whinging rude voice blasting from the TV just feels weird.  I managed to get everything I needed done but I missed my babies.

I missed the adventures and the games she would come up with. I missed seeing her eyes light up as a grand idea popped into her brilliant mind. I missed having to hoist Boof up and cover his mouth so he wouldn’t give away our hiding spot in hide-and-seek. I missed an excuse to have a small snooze on the couch … ninjago is perfect for a quick 20-minute nap … Peppa is great for a 10 minute nap.

For all that I was pooped over the holidays, suddenly I can’t wait until the next set.

But now, I have a grumpy 5-year-old who is worn out from school and a grumpy 2-year-old who is just grumpy because his sister is.

Maybe I can trick them into playing superheros with me before bed … everyone loves superheros rigt?

From the (loud) Mouth of Moo

I had no idea what to post today (the follow up of the massive flop that was the school holidays “mum log” will be up tomorrow) I was kinda just going to go with HAPPY EASTER! But felt that lacked the usual … me. So I am stepping back from the sarcasm and dazzling wit for one post and handing it over to my daughter who also has a dazzling wit. And by that I mean she will dictate what I type because “typing is hard mum and I am too tired” Oh the woe of 5.

I am writing it exactly how she tells me ( I have no choice really) so any repeats or long sentences and words that aren’t where they should be is all her doing – for once. The spelling is all me though.

Without further ado, I hand over my daughter – Moo.

What Easter means to me (moo):

Easter means that the Easter bunny will come and get the Easter eggs and puts them out for a hunt and when you wake up you will find all the eggs. But if you are naughty, you won’t get Easter eggs and I was really lucky that I changed my bad attitude otherwise I wouldn’t have gotten any eggs. That would have made me super mad and upset and I might have cried. Mummy, do you think there were many kids who didn’t have any eggs?

Me: Maybe bub.

Moo: that would be horrible! No eggs! No chocolate! It’s not Easter without chocolate mummy. ( I hear you baby girl)

So what did you do today?

There was a lot Easter eggs when I woke up. I was very excited and wasn’t a single sad or grumpy or anything else and I got a really big surprise cause there was so many Easter eggs. I ran into mummy and daddy’s room to wake them up but they told me that I had to wait and read a book for 5 minutes as it was really really really early. Then we got up and after mummy took a million billion pictures we hunted the eggs. Then we later on we went to mamma and poppy’s for to do another Easter egg hunt but mum said the Easter bunny might not have come to mamma and poppy’s but I was really hoping he would. When we got to mama and poppy’s I saw lots of Easter eggs. There were hundreds and thousands and … no, actually it was more like 57 92 3. I think. Doesn’t matter Mum, there was just a lot. (yes, yes there was)

And there was an Easter egg in a fruit bowl I saw it before Billy did. There was an egg in the Buddha, one near the TV, two near the photos, four eggs in the candles but Daddy had to help me with those cause I am not as tall as he is, one in the vase, some on the table. Then it was finished but I kept checking just in case we missed some but we didn’t. We were really clever and good detectives so of course we found them all. We got Easter eggs and a big Easter bunny from Mama and Poppy! I tried to save mine but it was so good and Boof had already opened his. Then we tried to put the wrapper back on the chocolate Easter egg but I couldn’t so I had to eat it. (Great logic kiddo J)

Then we had French toast with honey on it with yogurt and super yummy berries that were all squishy. It tasted delicious. Mama and Poppy are really good cooks! The best in the whole world! I think they are better than you Mum! (Gee … thanks kid)

Then we went home and Mum made me have a nap. I hate having naps because they are so boring because you can’t do anything like play or sing. You just have to lie there and sleep and it’s so boring!

Then after that Meema came over for dinner. We got presents. We got a wind up Easter bunny which is so cute and new jammies and I got a new dress I don’t know what Boof got, but my dress is so pretty! Then we had dinner – a big feast of roast chicken and pasta and bread and gravy. And now I am getting ready to go to Meema’s house to have a sleep over I am so excited.

Favourite part about Easter:

Ummm … cause I love the Easter bunny giving us chocolate eggs. And being with mama and poppy and Saki and Meema and of course my family, my mum and dad and Boof cause I love my family and they love me. I am so happy its Easter. I don’t like it when it’s not Easter and I wish we had Easter every day!

Happy Easter everybody … Mum can I have some more chocolate now?

And now a special message from little Boof –  Ummm my chocolate and moos chocolate and bunny. *hops on the floor*

No DNA testing required – these kids are mine if their chocolate consumption is any indication.

I love Easter because I adore the look of wonder and awe on my babies faces when they see the foot prints and the eggs the Bunny has left. I know these years won’t last and someday hopefully not soon, the magic will be broken. So make the most of it. Take the fantasy and make it your own. Spread the love, the joy, the awe and the magic and let the warm feelings of innocence and childlike excitement escape.

Because we are never too old for magic.

Happy Easter one and all. Stay safe and loved, and I hope the Easter Bunny was as good to you as he was to us.

Bring on the chocolate coma!!

 

 

 

School Helladays – Day 1

Day 1:

Mothers Log: 10:46 AM

I sit here alone and scared. Not because I am alone, oh no I relish that. It’s the fear that grips me deep in my heart that has my palms sweaty and knees weak. Goosebumps flash over my skin and I hear the thundering of my heart in my chest.

What am I so afraid of? You ask. It’s a horror unlike anything ever seen before. The very thought of it drives people mad!

My children … they are …. Quiet.

Okay so I may have been over exaggerating. The fear was real though. As you might have guessed by the looming “Day 1” above, it is officially school holidays … and no one is okay with it.

Boof doesn’t know what to do with himself considering Moo is home and Moo doesn’t know what to do because she is home and not at school and I don’t know what to do because they are both home and I can’t get anything done!

I now understand why my parents weren’t as excited for school holidays as we were as kids.

So far, we have had eight tantrums (mine not included), four screaming matches (between the kids not me) and multiple “MUMMMMMMMMM!!!!” and it’s still relatively early. I have been asked too many times to count if Moo can see her friends even though it’s only been two days. Food fights have happened twice and even though they both are eating the same thing, it still isn’t good enough and they are demanding that they have the same thing … I am lost on what to do with that one.

God help us all.

I survived sneaking in to see what they were doing … they were playing schools. Talk about your withdrawal symptoms. They are getting along. Moo is being the teacher because “She is the oldest and prettiest and that’s how it goes.” Can’t blame her for aiming high I guess. Boof is just sitting there colouring in, not even paying attention … let’s hope that not a premonition for his actual school career.

Anddddddddddddd we’re back to being at each other’s throats. Fantastic. That was short lived.

Also, fun note, somehow Boof has managed to delete my article for work, my assignment that I have spent weeks and folders I haven’t even touched in a week. How does that even happen?! It’s not in the trash or moved or recent files …. Nothing.

That’s what I get for having to pee and not closing my computer up like Fort Knox.

Here’s to school holidays. Can’t wait to see what Day 2 brings. Stay tuned.

Ban the thumb baths!

As a kid, one of the worst things your parents could do in public was lick their thumbs.

The other was yell at you in front of your friends.

My mum and I were talking today and the subject came up about licking thumbs and washing your children’s face with it and how much it grosses me out. So, like most topics I talk about with mum, I realised I had to put this into a post and tell the world that enough is enough.

There was no surprise about a thumb bath.

We knew what was coming. That dreaded feeling of knowing what’s coming but also knowing that if you protest, it will go for longer. We couldn’t have that. What do you do? Do you enjoy your meal and potentially risk it or sacrifice the food for tiny nibbles? The rubbing would get harsher the angrier they were as well. Anyone else felt like their skin was going to come off? Stuck on the end of the dreaded wet thumb? And the muttering! “Don’t know why we take you out.” “Look at this mess!” “Why is it so sticky?” “How am I meant to get this off now?” Geez, I am so sorry for inconveniencing your thumb bath mother. Please, forgive me and by all means, burn away my cheek skin with your vicious thumb.

You always tried so hard not to make a mess knowing that that was your fate if you put even a smidge of sauce or cream on your face. You could see the glint in your parent’s eyes knowing that you weren’t as cleaned as you hoped and man, are parents quick with a wet thumb. Before you even have the chance to wipe it on your sleeve BAM! Wet thumb gets rid of all traces.

It’s like something out of a horror movie really.

Grandparents are even worse! My Grandma use to spit …  read: SPIT not lick …  a napkin and attack our faces with it. for someone so little and seemingly frail, damn she had a grip on her. Speaking of grips, what is with the fish grip? Something about parents or grandparents pinching your lips into a fish mouth that you unable to move anyway. Not from lack of trying. Is it in the mother hand book? Cause someone, teach me? I would love to be able to quieten and still my children with a fish grip.

My mum always claimed she never did that to myself nor my brother. Pfft. Please, I distinctly remember it in the “please repress” section of my memories. She even tried it when I was a teen! Denied it she tried, busted by her friend she was. Like come on mum, I can lick my own damn thumb now, put yours away for retirement already and give my nerves a break. I don’t need to be looking over my shoulder every time I eat toast or something with jam on it just in case your spit soaked thumb decides to sneak up.

I am glad to report, it has been in fact placed into retirement.

Mine on the other hand I am saddened to say, is officially born.

I did it. The one thing I promised … no SWORE …  I would never do to my children. I licked my thumb and cleaned their face. And I saw the same shocked, awe and disgust echoed in their eyes that I felt once myself. I was so ashamed.

It wasn’t even a conscious thought though! How scary is that?! I had no baby wipes on me (rookie mistake) so didn’t even stop to think of the issues surrounding a thumb tongue bath. What am I? An animal? My God, I have fallen so far. I even realised what I was doing half way towards their face and did nothing to stop myself. Just watched as their eyes widened and rounded their head snapped back with a horrified gasp all as if it was in slow motion. What the actual hell?

Maybe it’s secretly programed into our brains. We were embarrassed as kids so let’s share the embarrassment and awkward thumb bath tradition even if we hate it? Well fuck that I say. It’s sick and gross and no one wants grandma spit on their face even at the age of 5.

So, to all the mums and grandmas and great grannies out there, please for the sake and love of your children and their children, put the thumb down! Break tradition! Give the kids a break! Dirt will not harm them! wearing your spittle in front of their friends and the public will.

And to my babies, I am so sorry I did that and will try not to subject you to the horror again.

Justice tasted somewhat sweet though I do have to admit.

Public health care is enough to make you sick

The public health care system is a joke.

I’ve said it before and I know I will end up saying it again. Many times, most likely. It is a joke. A big fat money hungry ‘if we can’t see it, it’s in your head’ joke and I am done with it. Head’s up reader, Mama bear is pissed off.

I hate going to hospital. The only reason I go is because Wil makes me and the pain or sickness is literally so bad I can’t move or see through it. I don’t know why I bother though. Because it’s a reoccurring illness, they don’t take it or me seriously. They also have the balls to ask me how to treat myself. What the actual hell? I am not the one with the fancy degree that makes me think I am above everyone else. You did the study, you wanted to help so help me!

They poke and prod my side and when I yell in pain, it’s “oh that seems to be tender doesn’t it?” No shit you idiot that’s the whole freaking reason I am here! I certainly don’t come for the food, do I? And it’s the same questions by every person that you encounter. I get that it’s to flush out the junkies and see if you are lying and all that jazz but when someone is in pain and it takes them a little longer to get their words out, don’t look at them like they are something you picked out from between your toes.

I can barely walk … lying down hurts hell, breathing hurts at this stage and yet I am still not fixed. You base your theories of what it is on scans you did almost a year ago. You have the balls to look at me like I am crazy when I end up in tears … and I mean ugly snot filled red faced crying … and tell you I am not leaving until I feel safe enough to go home and not end up in the foetal position in my kitchen. Yet, here I am. At home. Still the same amount of pain I was when I came to you and asked for help. Because you couldn’t be bothered doing your goddamn job.

You kicked me out, while still in pain claiming there is nothing else you can do when you haven’t even bothered to try or listen. We need the beds, you claim. It was so quiet you could hear a sparrow fart and the nurses had time to catch up on paper work and coffee. To the nurses at the hospital, I am not aiming this at you. You were the only ones nice enough to listen and comfort me. The doctors didn’t even have the guts to visit me themselves when I was discharged but told the nurses to tell me what the plan was. Was it so I couldn’t call you on your shit again? Or demand that I stay until you fix this again? What, couldn’t the big brave clever doctor face poor sickly little old me? You’re a coward and a terrible doctor.

Let me tell you something. You go to medical school for however long and you’re smart and can pick out a gallstone from kidney stone and well done you. But do they teach you bed side manner? Do they teach you feelings are just as important as diagnoses? Do they teach you that no matter how important you are or how high up on the hospital chain you are, the people you are treating are just that. People. Real life human people who need just a little bit of empathy and a whole lot of comfort and understanding when you are dishing out what is wrong with them.

I have never felt more low in my life. You reduced me to tears of both anger and shame. You made me feel like I was a liar and an idiot and that you, the big fancy doctor on your high horse brought with your thousands of dollars pay check, seemed to know my body better than me.  I get looked at like I’m a junky. I get looked at like I’m a liar. I got accused of sticking my fingers down my throat when I threw up and panicked cause there was blood. I had eyes rolled, breathed scoffed and deep heavy ‘I can’t be bothered’ sighs thrown at me the entire time I was there. I got told that because of all the pain meds I have been given, I am backed up and that’s probably the cause of my pain… which made no sense considering I came to you with the pain and you were the ones feeding me pain pills like they were tic tacs.  Ah huh, that degree is totally paying off!

Do you really think I enjoy being here? I have a gorgeous man at home and two beautiful children. Do you honestly think I’d rather be in the sterile white depressing place more than my warm home? That I would rather be woken every 30 minutes to have blood pressure and heart rate taken and pills shoved down my throat instead of sleeping a whole night through? That I would rather be in a place that scorns you for being sick than at home surrounded by loved ones?

You can take your health care system and shove it because I would rather endure the pain at home than come anywhere near you, your lack of empathy and your condescending bullshit.
 

I don’t want to ‘adult’ anymore!

I had a job interview yesterday.

It was probably the most adult thing I have done in a while other than parent my babies. I haven’t had an interview in years and I knew I was social awkward before but today … phew … boy did that just cement the idea. I wrote out a list of questions and thoughts and ideas in the last week and thought I had it in the bag. I forgot about the nervousness and how gut churning putting yourself out there was.

I guess it is a little like dating not that I have had to worry about that in years (thank God). You build up the perfect idea in your head. You envision every perfect scenario. You are charming and confident and damn do you just blow their socks away. You make the perfect ice breaker and they laugh and you are in for the win. Then the day comes and you are nothing but a shaking, sweating bumbling mess who is praying to whoever is listening that you don’t smell, have bad breath or that they can’t see your shaking hands.

Nothing that you imagine days before happens. You are not as confident as you wanted to be and every question and smooth answer you had has long gone. Don’t get me wrong, I didn’t think I was that bad and I was honest, upfront and myself the whole time but there were times where I wished I was a hell of a lot cooler.

I was a wreck. Plain and simple.

It got my thinking though. Why the hell don’t they teach us how to do interviews in high school? Or go on a date? Or anything remotely adult that we desperately need! I don’t know about you guys but I could have done with Adulthood 101 more than Agriculture or learning about all the different ways to find the right side of a bloody triangle.

How to do your taxes and open a bank account. How to get a car or even just your license. How to dress up for an interview and how much is too much. Sure, they taught us how to write resumes but did they teach us how to actually use them?

English was useful to learn how to write and even though we wrote and practise speeches, there was no tips on how to not be a sweaty mess. All my English teachers just told us to suck it up and it was okay to be nervous. I doubt they realised just how nervous most of us were. I always envied those who could just get up and do it and looked so cool, calm and collected. There was always at least one that put the sweaty masses to shame. Damn those cool cats.

What was their secret and why the hell didn’t they share it with the rest of the class?

Even with the mass boost of technology and people having the ability to Skype their speeches (assholes) there are still plenty of people left in the world who freak out over doing anything remotely adulty. Making a phone call sucks. Remembering to pay bills sucks. Having bills suck even worse and yet we all want the freedom.

Goddamn it educational system, do something about it. I bet you $10 there is at least a handful of you guys who suck at speaking and doing adult things like the rest of us. Enough of bloody Pythagoras freaking Theorem and more useful things like how to not be a sweaty nervous shaking mess when it comes to do adult things!

On the plus side, I am pretty sure I kicked ass in the interview. Here’s hoping.

 

 

Here’s to you babe

I am not the best fiancé.

I forget things, don’t know things and more times than not, I end up grumpy over stupid things. I will grumble and complain and blow things way out of proportion and then cry when he gets upset.

I don’t know his favourite movie (in my defence, it seems to change every time I ask) or his favourite Xbox game or who his celebrity crush is. Sometimes I forget his favourite colour and things he hates to eat. I knew them once … when we first started dating and over time I have forgotten them, much to my horror and guilt.

But when I think about it, the things I know now came about because I forgot the others. The things I know show the time and energy we have put into making us work. It shows that I know him better than he may know himself and in return, I have someone who knows me … and still loves me anyway. The things I know may not mean much to the outside world, but to me, it means that I have found the other half of myself.

I know that he sleeps on the right or facing the door. Which works for me, because I can’t sleep on that side. I know how he takes his coffee and when to offer tea. I know that he can’t lie to save himself, not that he lies often. His jaw clenches and he tries to stop his left eye from twitching. I know that it’s not those things that give him away. It’s the small smirk and minuscule head shake that tells me I have busted him. I also know that he is stubborn and head strong and we clash often but I know that no matter what, he won’t let me go until we are okay again.

I know we don’t ever go to bed mad because it hurts too much. I know that when I am sick he gets mad at the fact that he can’t fix me up instantly. I know the look on his face as the stress leaves it the second he walks through the door and has his arms full of our children. I know that I am so incredibly lucky to have him as a father of our children and as my partner for life.

I know that no matter how old he gets, he will always be the hardest worker I know.

I know he thinks I am beautiful even on my worst days. I know he doesn’t care that I spend the day in my PJs sometimes or that the house doesn’t look perfect. I know he understands that sometimes, the day gets away from me, especially when I am on a safari or moon bouncing with the kids. I know that he understands me even when I think he doesn’t and I know I drive him crazy.

I know that he doesn’t find me as funny as what I think I am and I know that he will always be my biggest critic but only to help me better myself. I know he will always be my biggest supporter no matter what walk of life I choose.

I know the feel of his hands and the warmth of his cuddles. I know the sound of him falling asleep and the twitches he makes. I know that if I move even a little bit and he isn’t completely out cold, he will wrap an arm around me and pull me close, as if to calm me down. My favourite part is that I know the sound of his heart beat as it beats in time with mine.

I know that he appreciates the small things even when I think he doesn’t notice. I know that he would never let anyone say anything bad about me. I know that right as I write this, he is sitting on the couch, dead tired and aching from working long hours but won’t complain. I know he wants to have a nap but won’t, instead he’ll push me to have one. Even though I am not the one who got up at 5am.

I know he is one of the strongest men I know and yet, he’ll still strive to be better. I know that he doesn’t understand to me, he is perfect and there is no better than how he is right now.  I know that I want to fall asleep with him and wake up to him every day for the rest of my life and continue to not keep my promise of making Sunday pancakes.

I know that I don’t show my appreciation enough and for that babes, I am sorry. But you should know by now you mean the world to me and I have never been so proud than be your wife to be.

Lastly, and most importantly, I know that no matter what happens, I will continue to love him more and more each day.

Here’s to you Wil, may we continue to drive each other nuts forever more.