I need a Thermomix.

Not want. Need.

And I mean that.

I went to a demonstration tonight.

Fabulous. Absolutely fabulous. And that is excluding the Thermomix itself. We laughed, we carried on, we had a few wines, and amazingly many of us had never met the other people there.

I had gone to primary school with the host many moons ago, but she was the only person I knew. The others had come from here there and everywhere and we all just had an absolutely fabulous time. The kind of night that is laugh after laugh after laugh. But none of them forced.

Brilliant.

And then the Thermomix.

I now see what all the hype is about.

Now I'll put my excitement into context. As I have mentioned on occasion, I have a tremor. It is getting worse, and things that I used to do without even a thought now require much thought, inclusive of chopping vegetables when preparing meals.

Well. Problem solved. Thermie does it for you. Yes. Yes it does.

And do you know what else? In addition to chopping stuff, it cooks stuff. And not simple stuff. It can steam. And boil. And about a zillion other things. All at once.

And the food I tasted tonight was quite simply amazing.

I am completely 100% sold. It will change my life.

And another thing. It does everything QUICKLY! I mean, meals that would usually take 45 minutes to prepare and cook take 10.

I. Kid. You. Not. I saw it with my very own eyes.

I was skeptical. Massively.

Now I am a convert. In every sense of the word.

I want one. And I want one now. And I'm picturing Veruca Salt and Willy Wonka….

So the night had to end as I had to travel home, which was a good half hour trip.

And as I got out of the car, I turned to the house and was just about to walk around the corner when I caught sight of something in my peripheral vision and stopped.

Where I stopped was approximately 6 inches from the most enormous spiderweb you have ever seen. It spanned a good 2 metres from the tree beside the path right across to the house, and was at least 2 metres high.

What was even more terrifying was the enormous spider weaving away madly right at the centre of said web.

I could have died there and then.

Enormous.

ENORMOUS.

Anyway, it was just lucky I had a mop in the driveway (don't we all) so was able to pull down the web and run inside.

Yes I broke the law of nature. My usual rule is anything inside our house is an invader and shall be treated accordingly, and anything outside the house shall have its space and home respected.

Um. No. Not today.

If my kids ever saw that spider they would never sleep again. And their sleep is hardly perfect now so I just don't wish to take that risk.

So I called on uncle mortein to assist in my quest to rid my house of the mutant spider from hell, and sprayed it while it scooped up the remaining portions of its web and headed for the roof.

I have no idea if it is still in the land of the not permanently sleeping. All I know is that I will not relax any time I leave or enter my house for the rest of my natural life.

Because that is just bloody terrifying.

Care to see??

Bet you thought I was exaggerating hey……...

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My teeth hurt.

And no. Don't tell me to go to the dentist.

My teeth hurt BECAUSE I went to the dentist.

See many decades ago they discovered this thing called amalgam. Amazing stuff. Whack it in teeth and it would last forever.

What they didn't envisage was that whilst the amalgam would still go strong, the tooth couldn't really take the amalgam for 30 odd years, and said tooth would crack.

So I spent well over an hour today having three, yes THREE, amalgam fillings removed and replaced with whatever the hell they use these days.

And if they find out down the track that THAT cracks your teeth, well, do you know what? They can just rip them out and be done with. Because I am not a fan of the dentist. I don't know many people who are.

Still.

It has been a busy week. Lots on. I do usually like busy. But busy work busy is good. Busy running around busy is slightly less good because a) it uses petrol, b) it uses brainpower to get the logistics on track and c) it is just plain exhausting.

I do sometimes feel like a broken record.

I do often feel exhausted.

And today I decided I have had enough of noise. I have just had enough.

So, we sat down, the four of us. It was quiet.

"I have made a decision" I said.

"I'm not going to yell anymore."

Smiles.

"I'm going to speak quietly. And if you don't hear what I am saying to you, then the consequences are a loss of toy."

Smiles gone.

"Because when I speak to you, I need you to pay attention. I need you to listen. I can't do everything myself. I need your help."

Blank. Stares.

"So what do you think? Should we try it?"

And three bodies flung themselves at me and hugged me.

So I'll take that as a yes.

I'm exhausted of late. Just. Exhausted.

I can't imagine why. I mean, it's 11.11pm and I am up. But you know why I'm up. And I am up for that reason again tonight.

But I think I might just have to suck it up and get woken. Because I'm 40 now. Getting on a bit. And I need some bloody sleep!!!!

Miss 5 cried this morning. Not as I dropped her off. No. She waited a good 2 minutes. I was outside, leaning into someone's car window, the mum of one of Miss 5's little friends at school, when the teacher came out to ask if I was Miss 5's mum, which, of course, I was, and readily admitted to.

"She's a bit upset. You'll probably hear her when you get in the door."

Great.

And yes. She was a bit upset. And yes, I did hear her.

Why was she upset? Because she wants me. And doesn't want to ever let me go. And I felt. Like. Crap.

10 minutes I sat with her. She was almost inconsolable. I kept telling her how much I loved her and that I was always here and she just had to go to school, but I was dying inside.

When I finally left her at her classroom with her teacher, and she still wasn't happy, she was still crying, I walked away at the instruction of one of the other teachers "Just go!"

And I cried.

And I got around the corner and that teacher asked if I was ok and I said I wasn't. Because I wasn't.

Because it was my fault. It was my fault that Miss 5 had got upset. Because that morning all the kids were being right proper little buggers and I am just tired. I just need a break. And I told them. I stupidly told them that I thought they should go spend a few days somewhere else so I could have a break.

Who does that? Who???

Whilst it is true that I do, I just should not have said it to them.

We just don't realise how much our words can get into the minds of our babies.

I'm kicking myself. I'm punching myself. I am truly beating myself up.

The teacher who was with me told me not to. She admitted to having said the same, and she has a husband, and support.

We all need a break. We all need support.

We all need to realise that we are only human. Our lives are not television shows. Things don't go smoothly. And feelings get hurt, inadvertently, fairly regularly, for many different reasons.

It doesn't make us any worse parents. But beating ourselves up isn't going to make us any better parents either.

Today was a bad day. It was actually a really bad day.

But the morning drop off in my mind topped the bad charts.

You know I just hate seeing my kids sad. That's all. I know that life is full of heaps of emotions. And that without the bad times the good ones don't seem quite as good.

But I kid you not. If I could save my babies from having to experience sadness and feelings that I have experienced in my life I would do so in a heartbeat.

I want them to experience a wide range of emotions, but I want them to not suffer at the hands of said emotions.

Sadness can be felt at the loss of a treasured possession, rather than the loss of a treasured friend.

This week has seen two dear friends depart this world. One was unsurprising due to a long illness, the other was not anticipated, and quite shocking.

I don't want my babies to experience these harsh realities of life for a long time to come. But I know they will. Because that is the way life works.

I want to protect them. I want to tell them that everything will be ok. I want to hold them tight and just fill them with love.

Sometimes life just isn't fair.

This past week counts in that.

That is all.

I will always win.

Not in every battle.

But in regards to the battle of wills with Miss 4, I will always win.

Because I know how she works. She is me, some 36 years ago.

What she doesn't realise is that I have been there before. I know how she thinks.

And I'm better than her at it. Cos I've been doing it longer.

Tonight was not a great night.

The tears began because Miss 4 wanted to sit in the seat in which Miss 5 was sitting.

Miss 5 offered to move. I told her not to. Because in life you can't always get what you want, and you need to get used to that.

Kudos to Miss 5 for offering, but Miss 4 needs to know.

And then came the "I don't like this."

"Yes you do."

"No I don't."

"Fine. Don't eat it then. But that means no dessert."

Cue. Hysterical. Tears.

Dessert tonight was fruit salad. Watermelon, green and red grapes, and apple. So not over the top "treat" dessert, but dessert nonetheless.

Miss 4 was at the table for a very long time. During that time Master 3 and Miss 5 ate their dinner. It was what we call eggy pancakes. Egg, chopped vegies, chopped meat (chicken tonight), and a bit of flour, then fried in little pattie cake things. Yummo. Easy. Great way to use leftovers (which we did).

Every time the kids have them, it is a hit. Except tonight.

Long story short, Miss 5 and Master 3 ate their dinner. I then prepared their fruit salad for them and gave it to them, and they ate it.

All the while Miss 4 sat at the table in her seat telling me she didn't like her dinner.

My comment? "Fine. Don't eat it. But no dessert."

Bearing in mind dessert is actually fruit. But still.

They sat down for dinner at 5.40pm. Miss 4 finished at 7.03pm. And I made her her fruit salad.

And then we still had bath and reading to go.

But I tell you what. It was a learning experience for her tonight.

She learned that mum will not give in.

Ever.

Too. Bloody. Right.

Yes, the kids were late to bed. Yes, they will be tired tomorrow. No I do not care. Because tonight had to happen. The battle needed to be fought. And Miss 4 needed to see that I will never, EVER back down.

Moral of the story?

Stick. To. Your. Guns.

She ate all her dinner. And got her fruit salad.

And gave me a big hug and kiss goodnight.

Kids. The reason we have grey hair.

Plumbing issues

are never fun.

That moment when your 5 year old yells out from the toilet "Muuuuuuuuuum…. I think you should take a look at this….." you think it is either going to be something incredibly disgusting, or something that you really don't want to see.

Thankfully disgusting it was not, save for the fact that the level of the water after Miss 5 had flushed was approximately equal to the level of the seat.

Not. Ideal.

So I did the sane thing. I hoped it would go away. I got out the plunger, plunged, realised the plunger was not actually intended for that purpose, and went back to hoping.

Fast forward a few hours and yeah. Nah. Not happening.

So I phoned the real estate agent.

RE: "How are you?"

Me: "Good, thanks."

RE: "What can I do for you?"

Me: "I think I'm going to need a plumber….."

RE: "Oh no, why?"

Me: "Well, after you flush the toilet the water just keeps getting higher……"

RE: "EWWWW"

Me: "Um, yes. Ew. And, well, I just don't want it to overflow."

RE: "No probs, we're on it."

And on it they were. Within an hour I got a call from the plumber, and less than a half hour later he was there. At my house, evaluating the toilet.

And then it struck.

Fear.

Immense. Fear.

What if the cause of the blockage in the toilet was Master 3's missing Thomas the Tank Engine?

I don't think I have ever prayed quite so hard as I did right then.. because if it was found to be "our" fault, then pay we would, and pay we cannot afford to do.

So pray I did.

And, well, wouldn't you know it, tree roots. Thank. God. For. That.

And it wasn't a simple task.

The toilet had to be completely removed.

And there it sat, in the back yard, alone. And out popped Miss 5.

"The toilet. It's outside. Well, um, well (*adjust for shaky voice about to cry sound*) how are we going to wee in it if it's out there??"

Ah precious.

Explaining to her that the man was going to put the toilet back where he found it was interesting.

So after a few hours the job was done. Tree roots cleared. Toilet put back. Dog allowed to stop his barking after a marathon effort of protecting us vocally from the invader to our house.

We were all at home today. Why? Because. Because children get sick. Often.

And yesterday we spent three hours at the doctors to diagnose an ear infection and two throat infections. And no, that was not all in one sitting. Which is why it was a tad more frustrating than it could have been.

And no last night was not a fabulous night.

And no I do not wish to talk about it.

Let's just say the toilet is fixed, the kids are on antibiotics and I have wine.

Enough. Said.

I read an article

the other day.

It was something about bedtime and how kids just need you and all that jazz.

Well here's my 2 cents worth.

My days are long. Work days are long. Sometimes incredibly long. Not insofar as the actual time I am there, but the time that is mentally devoted to work even when I am not there, trying to work out the solution to a problem.

Some other days are long too. Days spent with children can be long. Can be enjoyable. Can be less than enjoyable. But can be long.

Now when I read one of those articles that says that kids shouldn't have a bedtime because they need you, well, um, yeah. Nah.

Kids should have a bedtime.

I should have a bedtime. I don't. Because of my kids. But that is an entirely different story.

But kids SHOULD have a bedtime. Why? Because if they don't mummy is going to go off her tree, that's why.

And everyone knows, happy mummy, happy kiddies.

Seriously though, all jokes aside, yes, I can understand that when kids are going to bed they may need you. But they may also be playing you.

Too many new age artsy fartsy bloggy doovy whatsit types spout the "your children are just wanting you" stuff. Yes. I know that. I know my kids want me. I know they want and need cuddles. That's fine.

But when they call out "Muuuuuuum" for the 17th time and I go in there and say, oh so sweetly, "yes my darling, what is it?" and they say "ummmmmmm", I'm sorry, but they are stalling. They are trying to hold off going to sleep for as long as physically possible.

"I need a drink."

"I want a hug" (I'm a sucker for that one because, well, there will come a time when they won't, so I do)

"I'm hungry". Seriously.

"I'm thirsty." See I need a drink.

"She's making me wake up." Said in reference to the child who is asleep in the bed beside her.

"I saw a bug."

"What was that sound?"

Seriously children. You don't understand. Sleep. Is. Good.

If I could go to sleep right now I would. But I don't. Why? Because I know that there is no point.

No point how? You don't understand???

I will spell it out for you, not in a condescending manner, but because you simply don't know. Unless you are my Facebook friend, in which case you would, because it was my status the other day. Night. Evening. Whenever.

Here is the status.

"Sitting here at 11.38pm. Some may wonder why I am still up.

Miss 4 visited (asleep) at 11.11pm. Master 3 visited at 11.35pm (asleep). I can hear Miss 5 now. In a couple of minutes I'll be "done" for the night. So there. You. Go."

And I was right.

See I know the habits of my babies. I know that, usually, 11.30pm brings something. I have no idea what. But always something. It might be a nightmare. It might be a child falling out of bed. It might be a random scream. But always something. Always.

So I stay up. Because I would much rather being awake late than being awoken from slumber at a random time. That being 11.30pm. So not so random. But still. You know what I mean.

I did have a point. No idea what it was.

But yes. I love my kids. I will cuddle them till the cows come home. But come bedtime, well, I think Noni Hazelhurst does a pretty good reading of a book.

That is all I will say for now.

Soup is not a meal.

It really isn't.

Unless it is a curry laksa, or a tom yum goong noodle soup. But that is the only time.

Every other time soup is an entree.

Why? Because it just isn't filling enough to have a tummy full of liquid.

Add garlic bread? Don't mind if I do. And then find myself feeling horrifically bloated from all the carbs. No thanks.

I had minestrone for lunch today.

Yes. I realise that that goes against what I just said.

But it was there. It had been there, at work, under my desk, since I started there in September. I figured I should probably eat it.

And that my friends is what has brought me to the conclusion that soup is not a meal. Because do you know what? I was still absolutely starving at the end of it. Starving. Not literally obviously. But pretty bloody hungry.

So I have decided that unless it is a curry laksa or a tom yum goong noodle soup I shall not be having soup for lunch. Ever again.

Big. Statement. And I know your lives will never be the same again.

Tomorrow Miss 5 is having a lunch order. You have never seen someone so excited. And she is getting, wait for it, FOUR things. Yes. You read correctly. Four things.

I usually let her get two things - a "lunch" thing and a "fun" thing.

Today, as we were looking over the list, me perched at the ready with my sharpie over the paper bag, Miss 5's eyes wider than a the mouth of a crocodile seeing a swimmer in his territory, Miss 5 decided that she wanted a party pie.

Now I know Miss 5. A party pie just ain't gonna cut it. So I said she could have two.

And unbelievably her eyes became even wider.

When she asked for a zooper dooper and I said yes I believe you could have parked a small car in her mouth.

When I asked her if she also wanted a chocolate milk I thought she was going to explode.

See the thing is when I let her get a lunch order I allow $4. Party pies are $1 each. Zooper doopers are 50 cents. Chocolate milk is $1.50. There you go. $4.

But if she orders, for example, mac n cheese, there is $3 gone straight up.

It's all. About. Choices.

Teach em young I say.

So anyway, Miss 5 was that excited about her lunch order that it went in and out of her bag a good dozen times as she looked at it and talked to it and no I'm not a scrooge and she has actually had one before. She's just a special little creature.

Master 3 is getting much better at daycare drop off time. I put the credit on two things. 1. Stickers. Ample use thereof as a reward. Daycare folks adopt the same thing. I love it. 2. Distraction. The lass in his daycare room is a master. An absolute. Master. Amazing. And he doesn't even realise it's happening. Gold.

Miss 4 is pretty good. She goes through a mock shy phase and then off she goes.

It's funny you know. I was going to stay home with the kids until they started school.

Things changed. I ended up back in the workforce long before I ever intended, or wanted.

But do you know what? Tis the best thing that has ever happened. For both me and the kids.

Because I started to realise that I was in a bit of a rut staying home with the kids, doing only kid stuff. I loved being back at work. I also loved being able to finish a cup of coffee while it was hot. And it was also kinda good bringing home some money.

And the kids were doing things. Making things. Making friends and socialising. And getting used to being around others, and doing really well.

And now there is no way I would change our situation. I have gone from working a few days a week to, starting this week, working four days a week.

I have grand plans. Grand plans indeed.

They involve paying off numerous debts (boring, but necessary). After that, the world is my oyster. I aim to get us a house. A bedroom each for the kids. Some space to knock around. 2 bathrooms. 2 living areas. That. That is my goal. And I'll get there.

And if I hadn't ended up back in the workforce when I did, that goal would not even have entered my mind because I would have thought it a physical impossibility. In fact I did think it an impossibility until I did the accidental budget (for five years' worth…. the first year is still pretty bloody depressing!)

And so there you go. Where I am now is where it is to be.

The kids are happy. They are thriving. We don't have as much time together, but the time we do have together (save the odd completely lazy let's do absolutely nothing day) is spent far better and more wisely simply due to the fact that there ARE less of those days.

And that is the thing. Our situation would not be right for everyone. As someone else's situation would not be right for me and my three.

You need to find the right thing for you. You can watch others and think they have the bees knees until you are blue in the face, but you could be in the exact same situation as them and realise that you are miserable.

Because everyone is different. Every family is different.

And guess what? You know your family best. Listen to them. Watch them. Encourage them. Love them.

And things will work out. And you will be happy.

You may not have bacon (as I, currently, do not) but you will still be happy. And you will add bacon to the shopping list.

There endeth the lesson.

Private numbers….

A lot of people have them.

Good for them.

Call me from one and odds are I won't answer.

Why?

Because what. The hell. Are you hiding?? I mean really.

Most of the time the calls I receive from private numbers are not pleasant. They are people who are ringing for whatever reason and think that if they show you their number you won't answer.

Well guess what? I am far more likely to answer if I know who is phoning me! Even IF it will be a less than pleasant confrontation or discussion.

But I digress.

That wasn't what I was going to say.

What I was going to say was this.

My kids were possessed today. Not just a little bit. I am talking Linda Blair head spinning projectile vomiting possessed.

And yes, funny you chortle a tad at that, we WERE actually out in public. And yes, oh of course, we WERE at a rather posh place for lunch. And yes, of COURSE they were loud. And visited the toilets a thousand times.

And yes. There is a small modicum of sarcasm in that which I am writing.

But lunch. Aside from the fact that a rather expensive hamburger ended up on the ground, the table was "washed", and we discovered just how acoustically impractical the venue was, at least from our table, it was not the only thing that we had to do today.

If it had have been I may have survived a tad better.

It was not.

I did not.

We still had to go….sigh….to the supermarket.

Oh. God. No.

Dog food. We needed dog food. I ended up feeding my baby old doggie chicken and rice for dinner last night because I realised that there was no dog food in the cupboard. Don't get me wrong, he was rapt. And I don't mind spoiling him being that he is in his twilight years.

But still. Can't really afford to be doing that every night.

So dog food.

We had to get it.

We got it.

It was not easy. At all.

There were children. Everywhere. It was like that scene from the Matrix where Keanu Reeves is essentially everywhere. That was my kids. In Woolworths.

Longest. Five. Minutes. Ever.

I have never been more glad to be inside my house as I was today. And it was followed up with directions to the children to remove themselves from my immediate vicinity in order that I could caffeinate and calm. CC. Although coffee and calm would have been far better replaced with a whopping great glass of red.

It wasn't. I had no red. I have no red.

I didn't realise that.

If I had have realised that I would have sucked it up and bought a bottle whilst I was out with the Exorcist's love children.

Thank god there was a teeny bit of gin in a bottle tucked away in the fridge. For times such as these.

If tomorrow is a bad one I'm screwed. No. Alcohol. Left.

Must remedy that. Stat.

I have no idea if any of this made any sense.

The kids barely ate dinner tonight either. Quite obviously because it was their favourite. And they want to screw with me. By not eating it.

Ah well. My dog ate well again tonight…. If I had have known then what I know now I wouldn't have bothered going to the supermarket to get dog food…..

Live. And. Learn.

Fail.

I find myself thinking that when mornings go less like Monday of this week and more like today or yesterday.

The kids don't do as they are asked, breakfast might be spilled, too much time is spent watching television, toys are taken out and not put away, things are thrown, whatever. It is not a "good" morning.

But is it a fail? Really?

I think we are too hard on ourselves, generally, us parents.

We expect too much of ourselves and our children.

Here's the thing. They are children. It's in their job description to be erratic and moody and loud and sometimes downright obnoxious. But guess what? Most other kids are the same. It is not a failure on our part as parents. Not at all.

How we react to the behaviour of our children however. That is a different story.

I'm making a conscious effort not to yell. It is difficult. Predominantly because in order to be heard over three rabbling loud children one often must yell, simply to raise above the roar that is their exuberant little noise.

But I hate it. I hate yelling. I hate making noise louder than that which is already being made.

So I'm trying not to. Some days I succeed. Some days I fail. And there is where I'm allowed to say fail. Because it is a specific goal I am trying to achieve. To not yell.

To say that an entire morning is a fail, much as it might be a catchy little expression, is simply untrue, and unjust to all concerned.

Society is hard enough on us as it is. If we work, as parents, we are chastised for not staying home. If we stay home, as parents, we are chastised for not working.

We are damned if we do and damned if we don't.

Why add to the condemnation of society by beating yourself up too?

Don't.

Just don't.

Allow yourself bad days. Because without the bad days the good ones wouldn't seem so good.

There needs to be contrast.

Imagine how boring life would be if every day was the same.

Now, think about the last time you had a day with your child or children that was exactly the same as another. You can't. Because it isn't possible. Whether it is something you do or feel or think or don't do or don't feel or don't think, no two days are the same.

So you yelled today. It's a day. Tomorrow there is another. Try not to yell tomorrow. Dwelling on things that have already happened achieves nil except for having a detrimental effect on your psyche.

Move. On.

So tomorrow, whatever the morning brings it will bring. I will attempt, yet again, not to yell. If I am unsuccessful, I will simply keep trying again the next day.

But in between that I'll make sure that my kids know how much I love them, I will play with them and cuddle them, and they will cuddle me right back.

And I might build a lego tower with them.

Or I might play trains.

Or I might watch them running around.

Or I might not.

I have no idea.

I'm making a conscious effort to allow things to happen, and hope that I can put myself in their shoes, if only just for a little while. If I was them, and I was looking up at me, how would I be feeling?

Makes you think hey?

That was a bit of a deep one now wasn't it……..

I could have been a 50s housewife

this morning.

Except for the fact that it isn't the 50s.

And I am not a housewife.

But that would give you an idea as to how peachy this morning went. I can almost picture myself with bobby pins and a lovely head scarf, waist tying apron and a gingham rockabilly style dress on.

Because the kids. They. Were. Angels.

It was like out of a movie. I asked Miss 4 to get her clothes on. She did. Right then.

I asked Master 3 to get his shoes. He did. Right then.

I asked Miss 5 to come and sit down so I could do her hair. She did. Right then.

It. Was. Amazing.

Consequently we all walked down the front stairs laughing happily, before everyone getting into the car, without fighting, everyone smiling and wow. Just. Wow.

I sat down in the front seat and my shoulders were visibly about half a foot lower than usual. Because not once did I need to even so much as slightly raise my voice to make myself heard.

Not once did the kids do anything to warrant chastising.

No Thomas trains were flung at the head of another.

No yo-yos were spun around haphazardly.

No fights occurred over whose turn it was to go out the front door first.

I can honestly say that it was the most relaxed I have ever been leaving the house.

I dropped the younger two off at daycare, and there were no tears. No complaints. No nothing.

I took Miss 5 to school and she hugged me, tightly, for quite some time, and there was a slight hint of drama threatening to come in. But she fought it, and after many squishy hugs, off I went. With a massive smile on my face.

Anyone seeing me in passing would have thought that I had either just heard some fabulous news, or, well, use your imagination.

So off I toddled to work. It was busy, as per usual.

And then I left early to go get the small ones in time that we could all watch Miss 5 play tennis.

She started last year. All last term I reckon she would have hit the ball three times. Last week she hit it countless times. She was so excited that she came rushing home to tell the others how well she did, and that she hit the coach in the head with the ball (which she did, unintentionally, but loved).

So from that point forth, they were all convinced I was taking them to watch Miss 5 play. I could hardly rain on that parade, so I left work early in order to let them live the dream.

It was great watching her. Interspersed between repeat visits to the toilet. Because Master 3 is still enraptured by the whole concept of using a toilet. And Miss 4 is Miss 4 and will do whatever the hell she wants. So she thinks. But one doesn't fight with a child who says they need to go. Because the one time you think that they are putting it on and they don't really need to is the one time they have left it just that bit too long and you can imagine the rest.

So we watched. They peed. A lot. And we went home.

Leftovers for dinner. Easy peasy.

Relaxing evening, only a few things thrown at heads and a couple of dramatic episodes and they were in bed.

And that was my day. Save for the worry caused by several people close to me being unfortunately in the path of the horrific Victorian bush fires.

And whilst I am trying not to worry, as it achieves very little except to raise one's blood pressure, it is difficult not to be concerned.

So I am sending all my thoughts and prayers to those who have been affected by the fires. And my most heartfelt thanks to all the firefighters who put their own lives at risk to save others, and the property of others.

Kudos.

Stay safe one and all.

It happened again.

I accidentally had a massive night.

It started out so innocently. The kids left home around 6.30pm and an hour or so later I headed out with a friend for "a few drinks".

She even drove, because she, also, anticipated only a short and respectable evening.

It was not a short and respectable evening. Not by any stretch of the imagination.

Quite the contrary.

In fact, it ended in many rounds of shots, dancing (I don't dance) and a cab ride home somewhere between 2 and 3 o'clock (judging by the activity on my Facebook page - the only way one can accurately gauge these things).

And it was a fabulous night. I cannot recall laughing so much and having such a variety of conversations with people who I had never met before. But we will meet again, of that there is no doubt.

Amazing night. Truly amazing.

But, as with everything, there are effects.

I woke up at 10.05am this morning. My first thought was "I need a steak."

So I got up, put the kettle on, and proceeded to spend the next hour thawing out a steak, making red wine and mushroom sauce (from scratch of course) and cooking my massive scotch fillet to absolute perfection before lathering it in what could only be described as a veritable ocean of mushroom sauce.

And it was sensational. Just what the doctor ordered.

Then we had to go back and pick up my friend's car. Via Highpoint. Because of course the only thing you want to do after a massive night is go shopping.

And when we got there we needed food.

After getting a Coke I thought that would suffice. Then I saw someone eating a cheeseburger. And I had to have one.

So have one I did, complete with chips and a drink, although I had only intended to buy the cheeseburger alone. Did they "upsell" me? No. The reason I got the meal was because I knew that that meant I could get more water (to add to the 17 litres I drank before leaving home).

Food eaten, shops to visit.

I don't shop well. I'm really not a normal chick.

I don't find pleasure in browsing through clothes shops and trying things on. I derive far greater pleasure from, well, pretty well anything else to be honest.

My friend is the opposite, and is trying to change my ways somewhat. It won't work. But I admire her for trying. After all, had she not come with me on my expedition I would never have gone into the shop in which I eventually found something to buy, in replacement of another item I had returned that trip, which was in fact the sole reason we had gone shopping in the first place.

Clear as mud?

Good.

Moving on.

I bought an 8kg watermelon. It was $5.

Bargain.

It was a bit heavy though. And as I found out, if you put an 8kg watermelon on the back seat of the car and then drive down a hill, said watermelon will fall off the seat and proceed to roll all over the floor until you get home, in a not un-annoying manner.

I got home and figured I would just sloth for a bit. So I put on the air conditioner and got changed and realised I really wanted KFC.

I did not get KFC.

I made a salad.

Go me.

And then I did it. Half an hour of exercise.

Why?? I. Have. No. Idea.

This is a new thing for me, this whole "exercise" thing. First I can't be bothered. Second I don't see the point in sweating for the sake of sweating. And third, well, I truly suck at it. Probably because I never do it.

So that I did this in itself is quite remarkable. That I followed programs on my phone is even more astounding. That I looked as though I was having a seizure was unsurprising to say the least.

And I opted to do my first "full" half hour workout on a day where it was 41 degrees. And I had had a massive night.

Let's just say one thing. Being intelligent does not automatically make you smart in every way.

So now I am sitting here, still hot from my workout 2.5 hours ago, and knowing that I am going to hurt tomorrow. And I can't even sleep in because the kids will be back early early.

Fabulous.

I suppose I could go to bed early. But I think we all know that isn't going to happen.

I don't understand why though. I'm tired. I really should go to bed.

But I can't. Bedroom is too hot. I guess I could lie down on the sofa.

I'm just talking to myself here. Fair sign I should probably go.

I might go and have a tomato. Because I still want KFC. And I'm not getting it (silent sulk).

And I don't even have any bacon.

Oh the humanity.

The reason my kid is crying

No doubt you have seen various blog posts and pictures of children chucking their very best wobbly whilst their parents take a photograph for posterity.

Well. Let me tell you. Unless you are a parent you wouldn't understand.

So it is my quest tonight to enable you to step into my world for a moment, as I have enabled you to on several other occasions.

Tonight is the "the reason my kid is crying" edition of my blog.

Why? Because. Because I can.

Here goes.

THE REASON MY KID IS CRYING

I didn't give him dessert.

I gave him dessert.

She wanted to wear shorts.

She didn't want to wear shorts.

Her brother looked at her.

He poked himself in his own eye.

He doesn't have any marshmallows in his babycino. Because he just ate them.

His sandwich doesn't have crusts on. Because he asked me to cut them off.

He wanted a drink.

He wanted a drink in THAT cup.

She wanted pigtails, not a ponytail.

She is hot. Because she refuses to take off her jumper and it is 34 degrees.

She is tired (said while lying in bed).

He wanted to get in the car first.

He wanted to get out of the car first.

He didn't want her to get in the car first.

She wanted to get the mail.

Her piece of plain white A4 paper has a rip in it. Because she tore it.

She has no dinner. Because she just ate it.

She didn't want the sauce on that side of the plate.

He wanted to put the toothpaste on the toothbrush himself.

He has water in his eye. From smashing his hands down into the bath water.

She doesn't want to miss Peppa Pig.

She missed Peppa Pig.

Last Christmas she didn't get a banana in her Santa sack.

She can't move in bed. Because she has placed every soft toy she owns beside her.

The fan isn't looking at her.

We're going out.

We're not going out.

The sun is too hot.

His finger is sore. Because he bit it.

He didn't want to wear those shoes.

Her knickers are on inside out.

He can't find his sword.

He found his sword but Mike the Knight isn't on tv.

Peppa Pig is not on every time the tv is turned on.

I asked her to pick up the shoes that she took off in the middle of the room.

I asked him to stop yelling.

I asked her to use words instead of grunts (oh yes. My favourite).

He didn't want to sit in that seat.

She didn't want him to sit in that seat.

I looked at him.

I didn't talk.

And the list could go on….and on….. and on….

Think of this as the first instalment.

And in other news, we hit 10000 page views tonight. What are the odds of my logging in to blog just as the counter clicked to 10000?

Well. Not sure what the odds are but have a look at this……

And yes. That is a photograph of my computer screen. That I took. Because I don't know how to use my computer. And there is no print screen button on a Mac.

And you're welcome. It was my intention to make you feel better about yourself by exposing my complete inability to use my own computer.

Success.

I think it is fairly safe to say

that last night had a few effects.

And no, those effects were not altogether pleasant.

Oh but wait, you don't know what happened last night. I apologise. Let me inform you of the hell that was my evening.

It began not unlike many other evenings. We had some dinner, someone spilled a drink, someone else tried to make a face while holding food in the impression of a chipmunk whilst another laughed, forcing the compacted cheek food to be expelled in a less than elegant manner.

The bath was enormous. It wasn't my fault. It was Master 3's. He was on the loo. And he needed me. And I just so happened to forget that I had started running the bath before he went in there. It was ok, you needn't fret, it wouldn't have overflowed. Miss 5 was kneeling beside it, stark naked, eyes as wide as they could go as the level of the bath climbed higher and higher.

By the time I finally got in there I didn't see how the kids could fit in there without my creating some form of indoor tsunami. They managed. Just.

And water was flung, and there were arguments over who was to captain the green boat. Just another day.

Then bed. Albeit a tad later than usual because Master 3 chose a particularly long book to read, and opted to include sound effects too.

Thankfully he fell asleep fairly quickly, unlike usual.

The others, no. They remained awake. And in that regard it was, as mentioned, not unlike many other nights.

Until.

And let me interject here by saying that yesterday the temperature was around the 40 mark. Ish.

Until the power cut out. And all the fans stopped. And the one air conditioner stopped. And the lights went off. And the washing machine stopped. And I think my heart kinda chimed in there too for just a bit.

"Mummy the fan isn't working anymore."

"I know baby, the power's gone off."

"Why?"

"I don't know baby."

And so rather than continuing yelling from the kitchen I went in to see them and make sure they were okay. They were.

And then it began.

"Does the washing machine work?"

"No."

"Does the microwave work?"

"No."

"Does the oven work?"

"Yes, it's on gas."

"Does the kettle work?"

"No."

"Does the tv work?"

"No. Baby, anything that runs on electricity doesn't work. The power is out."

"What about the water?"

"Yes, the water works."

"Why?"

"Because."

"Because why."

Seriously child. Shoosh. I'm in internal panic mode because I can't remember where the torch is.

So I start to panic. Internally, as mentioned, so the girls wouldn't sense my worry.

And I decided to open the door to let some air in, just in time to see a neighbour walking past. I quizzed him as to whether he also had lost power. Yes. Yes he had. Fabulous. And apparently it was not unusual. (*cue Tom Jones)

Apparently the usual time was 1.5 hours. Great. Miss 5 was starting school today. Always great to start school on a day after a night where you have had little to no sleep. In a sauna.

So I did the best I could. I set up little tea light candle stations all over the house to cast at least a small amount of light. And I soaked face washers and mopped the girls down. Then soaked a sheet and hung it over the door. And then I went into the lounge room, put my phone down (as I had been holding it the entire time to use it as a torch), and went into the kitchen. There I stood, staring at the wall. Thinking.

Oh. My. God. Please let the power come back on.

At different intervals I would go and check on the awake ones, rewet their face washers and tell them that no I did not know why the power went off and no I did not know when it would be back on.

Most of these times I took the phone with me, as mentioned, to use as a torch.

That was until I put it down. And walked out of the room.

And then couldn't remember where I had put it. So brightly thought to myself 'That's ok, I'll just use the torch on my phone to find it.'

Not my brightest thought for the evening. Pardon the pun.

Anyway, long story short, many many hours later our power was restored. And I stood on the sofa in front of the air conditioning, unable to do anything but stand there.

I eventually crawled into bed at some ungodly hour. And it wasn't long before Miss 4 crawled in beside me. And proceeded to spin around, 80s breakdancer style, asleep, in order to be able to repeatedly kick me in the face.

And when Master 3 came in and asked me if he could watch tv, I advised him that yes he could, but it wouldn't work.

"Why?"

"Because it is 3.30 in the morning."

*Master 3 runs off to try.

*Master 3 returns.

"It didn't work."

No. Kidding.

So I told him to get back to bed, which he did for approximately 14 seconds, enabling me to get into the lounge room, turn the air conditioning back on and lie on the sofa.

I convinced him to lie down with me, and after a who knows how long while he fell asleep.

I used that opportunity to escape back to the bedroom, flicking the air conditioning off on the way out, and went back to the hell that was my bed and the incessant face kicking of Miss 4.

Yes. I know. It would have been hard for anyone to choose between being kicked in the head and head butted in the face. Both marvellous options for 4am. Neither terrifically conducive to sleep.

And so we come to where I began. The effects in the morning.

I managed to get everyone ready remarkably quickly. I have no idea how and I can probably never ever replicate it.

Still, this morning it happened and we were out the door such that drop off occurred at daycare at 8.15am. My plan was working.

It was working for approximately 20 seconds before Miss 5 asked where we were going.

I replied that I thought it would be nice if she and I got a babycino and a coffee before her first day back.

I did not anticipate that this would be met with screams. "NOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!! I WANT TO GO TO SCHOOL!!!!!"

Good. God. Child. Seriously??

Yes. Seriously.

I don't wish to relive the next ten minutes, so cut to McDonalds. Babycino ordered.

Time checked. Crap. Not the relaxing time I wanted to spend. We would be rushed.

I stressed to Miss 5 that she should drink hastily, but carefully as we didn't have time to pop home and change her dress if she spilled her babycino.

I think the babycino tipped over on the word spilled and I noticed it hit her dress on the "cino" sound.

In record time we were in the bathrooms and under the sink, then the hand-dryer, and any observers would have thought my reaction was perhaps a little highly strung. But they have NO idea what I had been through and frankly they can go to hell if they're gonna judge me. Live my life and THEN see what you think. If they had have known what the previous 12 hours had held they would have handed me a vodka. Then and there.

Dress cleaned and dried in record time and we head to school.

Take a quick photo, kiss and a hug, wish her a great day, then off to work for the busiest day of my working life.

And welcome. To. My. World.

Undies.

Master 3 is now in them.

Yesterday was the first day.

I was a little hesitant. It has been quite some time since I danced the toilet training ballet.

But Master 3 has been going to the loo each night for about a week, after taking his nappy off, so I figured I would give it a burl.

And I couldn't do it the easy way. Oh no, that would be TOO easy.

I chose a day when we had to go out. Well, we didn't HAVE to go out, but I had arranged to go out to catch up with my dear friend for a usually much needed caffeine fix.

And where we went was right near a park, so after coffee (and a gingerbread man for the kids) (and a visit to the toilet for everyone) we headed over to the park.

There were quite a few mums there with their little ones, everyone happily playing on the swings, or climbing the equipment up to the slide, or spinning madly on the spinny thing.

And then I heard it. From across the playground.

Master 3 was riding the bouncy horse thing.

"MUUUUUUUUUUM!!!!! I DID A WEE IN MY UNDIES!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"

Oh. Cool.

And there were snickers from some of the other mums. A bit of a chuckle here and there.

And then I said "It's his first day in undies" and Oh. My. God. The change in these women was almost palpable.

They began cooing and adding their own child's story and how the first day was and how cute and all that jazz. Interesting hey? Still. It was a bit funny.

I was prepared. Sort of. I did have another pair of undies and shorts, so whipped his wet ones off (they weren't excessively wet though, just a bit) and put the new ones on.

And we had two successful visits to the toilet whilst playing.

And the rest of the day was astounding.

He went. So. Many. Times. Always in the toilet.

Massively proud. Massively.

Today, well, not so much. Not so much at all.

We stayed home. Maybe that was the problem?

Who knows.

All I can tell you is that when your child comes up to you while you are doing the dishes and hands you a pair of undies full of poo, the reaction you have is not one you could ever plan. It comes from the deep down inside part of you and you just don't know.

Me, I was trying not to vomit. Then I cleaned him up, put him on the loo, disposed of the evidence, and then realised. He had brought it to me. From somewhere. Oh. God.

So then began the reconnaissance mission. Thankfully very little damage was done, save for the damage to my health with the raising of my blood pressure and no doubt gaining of a thousand grey hairs.

But the day was not over. Oh no. No it was not.

It's always nice, particularly when you are cooking, to have your child come up and say "I did a wee" when you don't know from where they have come.

My first instinct was to say "Well done" though I didn't say it, because judging by the look on his face I didn't think that was the appropriate response. Turns out I was right.

As it happens, Master 3 had decided to jump up and down on his bed. Then stopped. Then weed. Everywhere. All over his bed.

Fabulous.

So I put him on the toilet. Again. And then proceeded to strip the bed and put everything in the wash.

I lost count of the number of undies we went through today. Many were washed purely because it was "just a spot". Others a tad more.

But we're getting there. It's a slow road. Seemingly slower because, well, it isn't fun. And we all know that time flies when you have fun. The opposite is also true.

And yes, I have wine. And the air-conditioning is on.

And tomorrow is another day.

But my word I'm proud of my little man. Even though we have had a few (!) hiccups today, he's still trying and hasn't let it get him down.

He does rock.

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