Enough to make my eyes water.

Baby Daniil Shandrov was recently born in Tomsk, Siberia to parents Georgy and Svetlana. Isn't he a peach!

But at 6.5 kilos at birth,  I should say more like a watermelon.  Svetlana had a natural birth without an epidural which is totally amazing in my opinion.

I am such a wuss.  I cannot even stand getting my legs waxed. So during my labour with my first son,  I would be known to ask for everything and anything on offer.  And that was just in my first stage of labour. I was sucking on that gas,  filling my lungs with whatever was in that tank and then yelling "I CAN STILL FEEL IT!"

I would make a crap Scientologist,  who believe in silent births. You are not even allowed to scream obscenities at your husband and all words are written onto placards.  My placards would read:

• I fucking hate you!
• I do not want to have a baby!
• More I SAID FUCKING MORE GAS AND DRUGS AND PILLS.
• Turn that bloody Enya CD off.
• Stop counting down until my next contraction or I am going to stab you you cockhead!

So anyway, back to me. After 48 hours of intense complaining, something happened. My body thought to itself "Sod this for a joke...." and then proceeded to shut up shop,  so to speak.  So Harry came out via the sunroof,  with me vowing to NEVER do that again.

Until two years later,  when I did it again.

So hats off to you Svetlana Shandrov.  You are bloody amazing.

My new hero Svetlana with husband Georgy and new baby/man Daniil.

Were you a-la natural or a sooky lala like me?



Help me.....please.

I detest grocery shopping.  I would rather sit and listen to Kyle Sandilands in a baking hot car for an hour than go grocery shopping. Out local supermarket is a Franklins that is so crappy,  it looks like something leftover from the war.

There is a crappy red mat that reads WELCOME at the door.  NONE of the trolleys work.  There is a bucket in nearly every isle collecting water dripping from the ceiling and always a cleanup in isle 3 going on. But it is the closest one and I can always get a park out the front, which I believe is due to the fact that it is so disgusting that no normal sane person would shop there.

Oh and it always smells like curry.

I go to Franklins to buy tampons, tissues, toilet paper and other things you do not need to eat. I whizz around in a rapid pace and am usually in and out in under 20 minutes.

You see I have stopped buying fresh food from the supermarket since I discovered Aussie Farmers Direct and Highland Farm Meats. You know the paddock to the plate type enterprises that cut out the corporate fat cats who are ripping our farmers off?

I love getting my delivery each week,  but this week I had a puzzling thing in my box.

I ask you darling reader,  what is it called and how does one prepare this yellow penis-like fruit/vegetable?

And counting.......

It is the day before my kids go back to school and let me tell you it cannot come quick enough. I adore my sweet children. Love them to bits but I can say honestly, with my hand on my heart, we are both sick of the sight of each other.

If I hear one more time "Mum, I'm bored....." I may burst into tears and go and lock myself in the garage with a bottle of Vodka and my iPad. Again.

In the past week I have spent an obscene amount of cash on getting the Woogettes "School Ready", the main expense being 2 pairs of shoes each. Jack had actually grown out of ALL of his shoes and has been getting around each day like this.

From the dress up box.

I dropped $105 on a pair of Clarke's for him. Yes that is correct and about the same amount I would spend on a pair of "special occasion" footwear.  I cannot even being to talk about Harry's foot wear, and the custom made orthodics he has which were equivalent to what I spent on my wedding dress.

Kids are expensive.

I read an article in one of the Sunday Mags this morning about a group of Mums who home school their kids. I cannot even begin to imagine what their weekly alcohol bill must be. But at least they can go barefoot I suppose.

Are you ready for your kids to go back to school?



Prodz Vlogz # 2 - The Dymo Label Maker

EDITED to add an APOLOGY to the good people at DYMO

Thanks to the lovely readers who emailed me to let me know that all you have to do is fold the paper horizontally and the backing comes off in two parts. Like a bandaid. Thanks!

Since when did having a play become a "date"?

Being a child of the seventies and living in a cul-de-sac,  school holidays were spent with the neighbourhood kids riding bikes down the big hill,  fishing for guppies in the creek and eating Sunny Boys. We went home when it was dark and Mum would not hassle us all day. It was a gloriously simple existence which was peppered with the occasional drama,  like the time the local pervert flashes his penis at us or when Stacy trod on a submerged broken bottle and dang nearly took her big toe off.

The pervert was tolerated for some reason and we were just told to stay away from him. Good advice for a 5 year old. Beware the pervert.

It was called playing. As in "I am going outside for a play" or "I am going over to Rhonda's for a play."

Now it is a date. And I for one cannot stand it.

Recently I was talking to an acquaintance who was complaining she was exhausted from her daughter's play date. She had spent the day painting with them, baking with them, making a short film with them and playing fairies. I asked her why she had arranged a series of controlled activities and she told me that she wanted her daughter's "play date" to have had a really good time so she will want to come back for more 'playdates."

SHUT UP.

No, I am serious!

Harry is having a friend over for a play today and I asked him what he had planned.  He told me that Will really wants a DS 3D and, as Harry actually has one,  he would spend a bit of time showing off about the fact. Awesome.

So that will be a fun day for Will,  watching Harry play his DS.

Do you have play dates at your house?

Or do you just play?

Did you have a local pervert?



What I WAS going to blog about today.

I was going to blog today about yesterday. And how at 10am I heard a sickening thud which turned out to be my son Jack's head connecting with the floorboards after he fell head first off the top bunk. And how then I had to throw him in the car,  along with his mate Finn and brother Harry and race up to the hospital where I drove around and could not get a park,  all the while shaking Jack so he would not fall asleep due to concussion.

I WAS going to tell the tale of parking on the sidewalk and running into the ER with floppy Jack and being admitted straight away. Of sitting around for a while cradling Jack while his brother kept yelling out "He is FAKING! FAKER!" and his best mate Finn telling medical staff "He was there,  then I looked at the DS and then I looked back and he was gone....."

I WAS going to tell you about how a nurse told me to go and move my car and so I drove around for ages until I found a metered parking space about a kilometer away and went to pay and realised I had lost my wallet and how I burst into tears,  walking back to the ER in the pissing down rain.

Did I mention I was wearing my PJ top?

Anyway, I was going to bore you with things you can do for 5 hours while your child is under observation and how thankful I was for Finn's mum for coming and getting both Finn AND Harry and the panic texts I sent to Mr Woog and the mild flirting that went on with the most heartbreakingly handsome male nurse I had ever seen.

Finally I was going to talk about how, once we were released, we walked back to the car and removed the big ass parking fine from the windshield and drove home and where Jack immediately tripped up the front stone stairs and skinned the buggery out of his knees.

But I won't.

Instead I will share with you Obama's response to the disturbing shenanigans that went on during the recent Republican Candidate Debate. Much more uplifting don't you think?

My Big Night Out.

Not even one week into my solo parenting gig and I cracked. I needed to get out. I needed adult company. So I hired a babysitter who was the sister of someone that my friend Annette had heard of, for a few hours. Turns out she was 14.

In normal circumstances, this would have been an issue. But these were not normal circumstances.

I gave the boys a bath and Harry and I ordered in some Vietnamese. We both woofed through it as we were starving. I am totally off cooking at the moment,  so we are working our way through the takeaway delivery options,  trying hard to stay within the parallels as to what might be considered healthy.

The babysitter arrived and squealed "Cool! You've got Skylanders!" so I did not bother to try and give her instructions. There was no point. We just swapped phone numbers and I told her I would be back in two hours.

I met some of the school mums at the local wine bar up the street.  The thing about school mums is that they like to get out after dark and bitch and moan about kids/work/husbands/kids so I was in fantastic company.  I ordered a vodka and lime, sat back and talked and talked.

AHHHHHH. So good! A night not flicking around dreadful movies or rearranging the furniture.

I met a new friend who had 4 kids.  All were at school apart from her newborn. My new friend was 42 and in between her husband getting a referral for a vasectomy and the actual vasectomy,  she had managed to become impregnated. Totally unplanned.

I felt myself going very hot and a bit dizzy and put a note into my iPhone to make an appointment for Mr Woog when he comes home.

Outside the rain began to drizzle down and the conversation livened up due to the vast quantities of wine that was being necked.  But not me! I sat on that vodka and lime.  Getting hotter and dizzier. I was starting to think I was at the beginning of the change when something stabbed me in the guts.

Ouch.

Bloody Vietnamese rice paper rolls!

I excused myself from the group quickly and walked out into the drizzle.  I live just a few blocks away so I started a meaningful march towards home. Sweaty with the sweats and lightly rain soaked. I counted ONE, TWO, THREE, FOUR to keep my mind off what was a very uncomfortable and scary few minutes.  I turned into my street and immediately stepped into a puddle right up to my middle. I yelled out loud........

"FUCK YOUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUU"

Picture "that scene" in Bridesmaids.

That was me. Soaking wet and stumbling down the street ONETWOTHREEFOURONETWOTHRE. Keys stumbling in the door thingy, dancing on the spot, rushing past Babysitter and Jack who were screaming at the Skylanders, past toilet number one where Harry was sitting as pale as a ghost and into bathroom number two. Were I spent the next few minutes.

Oh the glorious relief! I cannot tell you how good it felt. I went and checked on Harry who seemed to be stabilising before paying and dismissing the Babysitter,  who Jack calls the BEST BABYSITTER IN THE WORLD.  Harry and I both looked at bouncy, bubbly Jack who had fish and rice for dinner. It was 9pm, so Jack was whisked straight to bed.

Harry and I got into my bed which is about 50cm from the nearest toilet.  I was just about asleep when I got a text from Mr Woog,  telling me what a fantastic time he was having and hoped we were all having a fantastic time as well.

I will not repeat what I wrote back as it was far too rude.

This morning,  I am pleased to say that both Harry and I have made a complete recovery and today we plan to make gingerbread men,  which I am told is both craft AND baking. SCORE!