Tag Archives: humour

The pressure of 1 January

I think my calendar is wrong.

It says today is 1 January 2017, but nothing monumental has happened to me, so I think there may be a mistake.

You see, I’m just as irritable and anxious as on 31 December 2016.

I’m still eating chocolate like there’s no tomorrow, despite being on Weight Watchers (well to be fair, people are tying me down and stuffing Lindt balls down my throat!).

I am still terrible with my money and feeling ill that I work so hard and can never seem to be able to afford anything.

The finance fairy has also forgotten to stop by and pay off my credit card debt.

My bottom is still big and wobbly. My fadoobadahs (upper arms) are also still wobbly and I can’t see any definition anywhere on my body.

I still have some wrinkles and grey hair.

My children are still a little bit annoying.

I’m still nagging.

And my hormones are acting like a bunch of bees in a jar after you shake them up.

So, what’s the deal, eh? It’s the New Year, peoples! Where is the sudden turnaround?

This “New Year, New You”hoohah is a lot of hogwash!

Bring on 2018.

 

 

Merry martyr Christmas

 

martyr2Tonight I put on my Christmas martyr pants, stood on my Christmas martyr soap box and let it rip.

“I am doing EVERYTHING around here to get ready for Christmas and no-one else is doing ANYTHING!!”

“Like what?” came the reply from my rather shell shocked family.

So I listed all the stuff I have been doing or will do in the lead up to 25 December:

My martyr list

  • Buy four presents and cards for friends of my children who selfishly decided to be born in December.
  • Buy 50 chocolates Santas and 50 small Christmas cards for my children’s classmates.
  • Buy a Christmas present for the kids’ tennis coach.
  • Buy Christmas gift bags to carry all the Christmas stuff to school.
  • Make over 60 brownies as presents for teachers, school crossing supervisors, after school care carers, workmates, family and friends.
  • Write 40 Christmas cards to family and friends.
  • Source and buy Christmas presents for my children. Track down the one doll my daughter wants that has sold out everywhere, so I’m forced to buy it online. Then the wrong one is delivered. Then I panic that the correct one won’t arrive on time so I ask my lovely workmates to keep an eye out for it in the stores. Then I really panic and decide to buy another one just in case. Then the store sends me the correct one plus the second one I bought; and my workmate buys me one too. So I now have three  dolls.
  • Book my children in to school holiday program for January that needs to be booked and paid for in December.
  • Buy a Kris Kringle gift.
  • Buy new Christmas lights for the Christmas tree because the cats ate the lights last year.
  • Buy the cats a Christmas present.
  • Get up at sparrow’s fart to line up to have photos of the kids taken with Santa.
  • Book in for a spray tan, manicure, pedicure and hair cut before Christmas.
  • Book kids in for a hair cut before Christmas.
  • Make sure the kids have nice outfits to wear for Christmas Day.

Impressive, isn’t it?

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Be calm, my feminist sistas

feminism-wallpaperAs anyone who knows me can attest, I am a proud, tub-thumping feminist.

And as my husband can attest, I’m not shy about standing up and speaking out about women’s issues (usually after reading the Sunday papers).

I admire many women who also speak out, which is why I have struggled lately with the recent articles I’ve read about the so-called “feminists for Trump”.

It seems that a lot of women – whether  they call themselves feminists or not – are in utter disbelief that other women voted for Trump. They can’t understand why. And they seem to want to tell these women why they shouldn’t have.

The one article that fired me up to write this blog was written by the amazing Anne Summers.

While I admire Anne Summers and her feminist views, when I read her article The new facts of life for Trump women  I just wanted to say, “Anne. Relax. Women fought hard for the right to vote and you’ve got to let them vote for who they want.”

Don’t get me wrong. I am also flabbergasted that some women were able to overlook some of the things Donald Trump has said about women. I really am.

But I do have a theory as to why. They are used to hearing these things and they don’t expect any better. They’re not used to expecting a politician to stand up for women’s rights – many female politicians don’t do it, so why should men?

But I would never judge these women as somehow letting down women worldwide, or of being uneducated, or voting through a sense of self-loathing.

 

Because to me, feminism is about choice and empowerment.

The suffragettes worked hard and gave their lives to give women the freedom to vote. And as feminists, we can’t celebrate that freedom, then disown or belittle the choices women make.

We can’t say you must vote for a woman simple because she is a woman. Women will vote for the person they think will do the best job.

I hate to disagree with Anne Summers, but Trump becoming President will not “hurtle us back to the baddest of bad old days where women are rated on their appearances…or where few hold high office or leadership roles” because we never really left those days.

I may sound cyclical, but I’m not. I think I’m realistic.

The fight for equal opportunity was not going to end if Hillary Clinton became the President. Did it end for women in Australia when Julia Gillard became our first female prime minister? No.

Let’s calm down on the hysteria. This will not set back the women’s movement, it will just keep it bubbling along and maybe even galvanise those women who don’t see a role for feminism in their lives.

I know we’re tired and feel like after all these years, we need a break. But we need to keep fighting the good fight. Girl power will live on!

 

 

 

 

The deafening sound of a silent blog

Would silenceyou believe it’s taken me about three weeks and at least 12 failed attempts to actually sit down and write on my blog? I’m not even sure I can call it my blog anymore, as it’s probably disowned me due to terrible neglect.

I imagine my blog sitting on the top of my computer monitor, swinging its legs and waving its arms around at me each time I’m sitting down bashing away at the keyboard, doing anything but blogging.

“Shhh!” I say. “I’ve got nothing meaningful to say to you yet.”

Or.

“Shhh! You’re a reminder of when I had time to sit down and gather my thoughts in such a way that they were worthy of sharing.”

Or.

“Shhh! Everyone is writing really articulate blogs and I just..can’t..put..words..good..together.”

But today I have found a sliver of time to sit down and check in.

Today I have raced out of the office to pick up my son from school because he was looking very green and complaining of a headache and sore tummy. And for once, I didn’t grab some work to bring home with me.

So here I am. He’s tucked up in bed asleep and I have a house to myself – for a bit.

Now…what shall we talk about?

 

 

I’ll show you how bad I can be!

Well, I’ve almost finished my Michelle Bridges 12WBT program (it’s now Week 10).

And I’ve flunked. Failed. Fallen off the wagon. Wasted my time. Wasted her time.

I am definitely fitter and have regained a love of exercise, but my weight has not budged much. And today when I weighed myself I had PUT ON weight.

And there is no mystery to it, my loyal and loving readers. I eat too much. Since about Week 4 when I fell ill, I have been following her food plan – and then some!

And that’s all it took to fall off the wagon and not get back on. I was sick for a few days, felt miserable and reached for food. And it got its greedy hooks back in to me.

And I was doing so well! Truly! I could see myself in lovely clothes, feeling happy and healthy.

I could see my goals so clearly and I felt like I was working steadily towards them. Until I wasn’t.

I am the demon child of the 12WBT program.

For example, today I started to count calories again to try and get back on track after Easter.

I did OK until lunchtime when the chocolate was calling my name.

But I still kept track of the calories and once they reached my limit of 1500, something clicked. And I got angry (at myself and the calorie content of a Lindt chocolate bunny).

I was mad. And what do people who are trying to lose weight but know they are doing the wrong thing do when they are mad?

I ate MORE! And dammit, I ate for Australia. I ate for all of you who are trying not to overeat.

stubborn childAnd in my head, I was yelling at that calorie counter app that was showing the amount of extra calories I had consumed in bold red numbers: “Hah! You think 500 calories over the limit is bad?! I’ll show you how bad I can be!” And ate a bit more.

So now I’m off to have dinner of lettuce leaf and to lick my wounds.

But in the immortal worlds of Scarlett O’Hara – tomorrow is another day!

I forgive me

I forgive me for ignoring my six-year-old son’s pleas that he had to go to the toilet when we got to the park (“But you just went!”) and so he ended up soiling himself and crying.

I forgive me for yelling at my son who just soiled himself because he couldn’t hang on that one extra minute.

I forgive me for giving my son extra treats to make up for the terribleness of the park incident.

I forgive me for dressifunny-parenting-quote-pic1ng my six-year-old son in his sister’s track pants this morning and not noticing they were two sizes too big until we got to school.

I forgive me for dressing my son in ridiculously big track pants which lead to some boys tease him about it at school that made him feel sad.

I forgive me for giving my son extra treats to make up for the terribleness of the wrong size track pants incident.

 

 

Being 41

Being 41 is weird.

wearing-moms-heels-pinterestIt’s making me Google ‘serums’ that can turn back years of sun damage. Gosh, if I could step back in time, I would slap that bottle of Reef Oil with the SPF -5 out of my hands and make myself wear a hat, top and 30+ sunscreen!

It’s making me stand in front of the mirror, and use both hands on each side of my face to flatten out my wrinkles. Botox? Yes please!

It’s making me panic that I get so excited about sunny days and doing three loads of washing!

It’s making me get extra tests at the docs for health issues as ‘a precautionary measure’. Gosh, I miss the feeling of invincibility when you are young!

It’s making me break out which is weird! What is the deal with adult acne?!

It’s made me get a blood test to check I was menopausal. But it turned out that I am just a bad tempered b*tch!

It’s made keeping fit so, so hard! Huffing and puffing on the treadmill is just not as much fun when it serves as a cruel reminder of how much I’ve let myself go!

It’s making me not want to enter certain clothing stores, just incase the shop assistants are thinking I am shopping there for my teenage daughter!

It’s making me feel the need to hide my immaturity. Surely, I’m not the only 41-year-old that gets teary-eyed while watching ‘Frozen’; or who laughs at fart jokes, right?

It’s making me feistier, as my tolerance for bullish** is w-a-a-y lower than ever. Actually, I like this part of being 41!

Here’s to growing old disgracefully!

 

 

Not funny

I don’t like my body’s sense of humour.

It’s doing stuff that, quite frankly, I don’t find funny.

For example, it thinks it’s hilarious that as I get older, it is hiding fat in different parts of my body. Like a sick game of hide and seek.

I always had a slight muffin top when overweight, but now it’s more of a inflatable ring around my waist – not just confined to a bit of overflow at the sides; but an overflow all around.

And my body is absolutely laughing itself silly every time I put on a slightly fitted top and turn around to see not just bra fat, but a roll of fat between the bra fat and the muffin top!

ImageAnd I can hear it smirking when I notice some bumpy cellulite on my upper arms, despite doing lot and lots of push up and dips and bicep curls.

“Ha, Ha, Ha,” it says ” You can try to lose weight and exercise, but I have other plans. Mou-hah-hah (evil laugh).”

And it thinks the way it wobbles around like jelly on a plate when I am doing exercises is a real rib tickler!

How am I dealing with all this?

I am stamping my little feet (feeling everything wobble) and yelling out:

It’s.

Not.

Funny!

I humbly accept this award

ImageI wrote my little blog anonymously for a year. It was fun, but pretty soon, I craved some engagement with the blogging world and a few months ago I ‘came out’. It has been terrific! I love being part of the blogging community and the amazing support we all give each other. It makes me go all warm and fuzzy!

So I wanted to thank More Issues Than Time Magazine for nominating me for the I Am Part of the WordPress Family Award.

It’s a fun and fabulous blog so you must check it out. And of course anyone who follows my blog is naturally my very bestest friend!

One of the criterias of accepting the award is to nominate 10 others you see as having an impact on your WordPress experience and family.

My Top 10 blogs are below. They make me laugh and nod in agreement all at once:

She’s A Maineiac

What Party?

towiwoolwich

Girl On The Contrary

The Byronic Man

The Good Greatsby

Martha Hudsuckle

Twinfamy

Kate Says Stuff

Be A Fun Mum

Check ’em out and let them know I sent you!

What? Me scary?!

I’ve been thinking a bit about perception v reality lately.

Image
Pray you don’t catch me on a bad day!

Recently at work I’ve had people tell me that I am scary! It threw me at first.  I really never thought of myself as being intimidating enough to provoke fear into grown men!

Me? Scary? Surely not. I’m a pussy cat.

But when I think about it, I think I can be scary at times even though I would like to think of myself as someone who is approachable and nice.

My scariness comes from my low b***shit tolerance.

Since becoming a Mum, I’ve noticed that I have no patience for time wasters and people that generally make my life trickier than it needs to be. So I may be a bit forceful and direct.  Sorry.

Believe me, underneath that so-called scary person is someone who wants to do her very best at work and to produce good outcomes for everyone.

So, if I am a bit direct and sound as though I am picking away at your ideas, it may be because I know I have to race out of the office in five minutes to pick up my little boy from day care and I don’t want to be late because I’ve missed him all day and can’t wait to get home and be with the rest of my family. Working Mum guilt – same old story.

Or, more than likely, I am struggling with an enormous workload; operating under my normal haze of exhaustion, and your incompetence is simply making my job harder than ever!

See? Not so scary after all, right?