The secret life of me.

Sponsored by Diet Coke

If you punch in the words Diet Coke into the search button of this blog, you will find no less than twenty blog posts that refer to my favourite soft drink. This was something that didn’t go unnoticed by the people from Diet Coke, and so they have asked me to share with you, how Diet Coke fits into my day.

So, let us begin.

I know it must be 5am because the cat is attacking my feet, waking me up from a dream where the Pope was skiing in his full papal vestment down Thredbo’s Friday Flats. I get up, kick him out of our room and return to bed. I then hear him clawing the bejeezuz out of the new couch, so I leap up, open the back door and let him out.

I wake for the second time and get up. First things first, I check my face in the magnifying mirror and greet any new wrinkles that have popped up.

“Welcome to my face!” I say before making a beeline to Ye Olde Nespresso Machine.

Time to wake the Woogettes, who thoughtfully choose to sleep in each school day, yet somehow manage to be up at the crack of dawn come weekends. The next hour is traumatic for all, as lunch boxes, shoes, socks, homework, and all manner of crap has to be located. A bagel and fruit plate for one, and a triple weetbix for another one as they sit at the table and bicker away while I make another cup of coffee in the kitchen while eating toast over the sink, and plead with them to behave in a brotherly fashion.

Commence Brush Teeth Nagging Festival. Pack dishwasher. Load up the washing machine. Walk past the following scenario knowing that it is going to grow significantly throughout the day. Ponder the merits of being a nudist and shake fist at the constant cart wheeler who lives in our house, who causes my gallery display to resemble the aftermath of a small earthquake.

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Write my daily blog post. I cannot write in advance or schedule posts. My brain does not respond well to such organization. I type fast, trying to keep up with my thoughts and then I hit the old PUBLISH button. Once it is live, I edit it. This is possibly the worst thing to do as a writer, but it works for me.

With the kids packed off to school for the day, I realize that in a short time I will be a complete hot mess, due to the fact that Karen, the Huffy Puffy Trainer to the Reluctant, will be knocking on my door. She has to come and get me, or I will fake some sort of illness to get out of it. We train twice a week, with Mrs. Goodman from down the road, and Mrs. Jenkins from a few blocks over.

I don’t train for any other reason than it has really helped my headspace over the last few years. I tend to swear a bit, and chuck an occasional tantrum, but I do feel better having done it.

On Mondays, we run. We run for 40 seconds and walk for a minute and a bit. Photo or it didn’t happen?


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Lie on the couch in my own filth, gasping.

Flog my blog a bit on Facey and Twitter. Respond to emails. Unpack dishwasher. Ponder the meaning of life. Make beds. Swiffer the floor because I am addicted to swiffering. SO MUCH HAIR.

Put on another load of washing.

Without fail, I grab a can of Diet Coke as I watch Anne Sanders present the morning news. I am a complete and tragic news hound. And I LOVE it when there is a baby zoo animal story featured at the end.

It is my guilt free time to stop the madness after a hectic morning. I have a Diet Coke every day during the week as a little treat. It is the simple things that bring me joy. And Anne is so soothing.

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Right-o. Time to get down and dirty with my keyboard as I get on with a list of work that piles up over time. A couple of thousand words knocked off a draft of a book I am writing. Drafting up proposals and sending them off with hopeful smiling emoticons. Answering a stack of emails, all the while under the watchful eye of my ever-present assistant.

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I work on a Big Mac… like a HUGE big one called Bertha. I have a Macbook Air to work on when I travel but if truth were told, the tiny keyboard hinders my creativity. Not really. I just cannot attack it as much as I can with Bertha.

During this writing block, I often look in the fridge for something magical to appear so I can eat it. Like leftover lasagna, or some delicious Thai Beef Salad, but it is never in there. So I make a sandwich. And then I think about sandwiches and where they originally came from, and make a note in my iPhone to research sandwiches. And yes, this is how I come up with content ideas for the blog. It is EVERYWHERE I look.

It’s exhausting.

It is time to face facts. It is something I can no longer ignore. I must climb Mount Washmore. My secret is to divvy the mountain up into 5 piles. Mine, Mr.Woog, Jack, Horatio and one devoted to householdy things like tea towels, bath sheets and the like. Then I work through each pile, fold and put it away, all the while thinking how unappreciated I am.

I then do a generalized tidy of the house, but my tip here is…. Phone a friend. I call a friend for a catch up while I spray and wipe the benches, plump cushions, swiff a bit more, put crap away…. that type of thing. It takes my mind off the mundane, plus I get another dose of social intercourse!

Or if I am not really feeling it, I lie on my couch and watch a bit of KUWTK.

Walk to school to pick the boys up. Walk home make them tell me all about their day including who they played with, who swapped their cheese sandwich for some gyoza (Well played Horatio) and any other tid-bits that I can manage to squeeze out of them. When we get home, it is straight into the homework before afternoon neighborhood playtime commences!

Our street is full of kids and there is always a cricket game happening. Sometimes I yell at them out the window if a ball smashes against it. I have no idea how that window has managed to survive so far.

Put a load on. Recommence the establishment of the next Mount Washmore. Listen out for a motorbike, which signals the return of my beloved. We catch up in the kitchen and I give him couple of “housewife” jobs to do. I need to tell him, as he cannot see what I can see.

Finish up any emails that need tending to. Shut down Bertha for the day.

Feed cat, who is basically screaming at me by this stage.

Like pigs at the trough, it is time for dinner where ¾ of the table will happily eat what is put in front of them, and the other will complain and push whatever is being served around the plate.

After dinner, I clock off. Down tools. You see we have a rule that if you cook it, you don’t clean it. The day I taught my kids how to pack and unpack a dishwasher was one of the best days in my life.

In a controversial move, I prefer to shower of an evening. I hate getting into bed feeling grimy. Showered and comfy womfied up, IT IS SHOW TIME! Every night Jack puts on a concert for Mr. Woog and myself and we sit on his bed, thinking, “Where the hell did you even come from?” but in a proud parenting way.

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Resist urge to eat anything sweet in the house. Watch some bad TV. Resist urge more.

Give into urge and go and find the chocolate stash. I will confess my kids can sniff out any chocolate no matter where I hide it. BUT recently I found a new place and have been as safe as houses ever since. If you are at my place and fancy some chocolate, oven mitt, bottom drawer. You are welcome!

Brush teeth so I don’t eat more chocolate.

Chastise husband for tea bag in sink scenario.

Kids in bed. A casual suggestion of sex nagging from Mr. Woog goes ignored by me for I have important rubbish to watch on television.

I am in bed looking at Facebook on my iPhone and laughing at short clips of cats doing dangerous things.

I switch on my meditation app. I lie on my back, close my eyes gently and let the smooth dulcet tones of the dude wash over me. I relax my left leg, and then my right, and by the time we reach the top of my head, I am snoring like a band saw through a steel pole.

Cat attacks my feet, and we do it all again.

This is a typical day in my life. Some days are diamonds, and some days are dog shit, but I will not wish them away. Because everyday I learn something new. I see something from another perspective and the mundane days cushions the days that you actually remember.

Do you have a daily ritual? One thing that you do every day?