#401 Wiggles Band-Aids

I should really be grateful for my parents and my sister coming to visit us today. It has been way too long since my parents were over, and I was so excited to show the fam around, and head out by the bay into the still and fresh air, and say “here’s home.”

But no. Instead I am grateful for freaking Wiggles Band-Aids.

Because not even 15 minutes after their arrival, baby girl decided to bolt, Usain style, around the corner of the house, for no other reason other than she is a toddler and running is as normal to her as is refusing bedtime, wanting to eat chocolate, and deciding that Mum must not shop in peace. (For any non-parents that are confused, that means all of the above are NORMAL).

She tripped and fell on the uneven path out the back (one of our 1 billion to-dos on our no-existing to-do list) and scraped both her palms, so much so that skin was now missing. It didn’t look too bad – sure there was blood – but still, knowing that the skin had ripped off, even if ever so slightly, I knew it would be stinging.

And then there was the crying. Sure, she is a dramatic one, but she is also a trooper. She is tougher than some boys, and will normally get up after a fall, dusting herself off. That is how we raised her – ‘no fuss, up you go.’

But she would NOT stop.

I don’t think she was use to the constant stinging pain. Nothing would help, yet eventually after screaming the house down, we tried washing her hands, and also, applying Band-Aids.

She has never to this day, allowed Band-Aids on her. Which has made my life hard at times, because when I want to help cover a wound she’s gotten, she will scream “no!” ’til red in the face, and continue to wail. And cry. And moan. And scream.

While I rip my hair out trying to figure out how to help a girl that doesn’t want help.

But, after the application and removal of 8 Wiggles Band-Aids (this was due to the fact that as soon as they were on, they had to come off), we succeeded. Her last pair went on about midday, and thank God they’re still on. She’s napping with them.

Thank F&^% for themed Band-Aids. I don’t know what I would have done without them today.

#385 Sharing the (food) love

I’m a huge, huge, HUGE lover of carbs. Bread, potatoes, rice, pasta, pastries…

Nom nom nom.

But while I love the food group, it is also in return loving me… in particularly my tummy.

:/

It’s because of this reason, and also the fact that I am aware and listening to my body as it tells me it needs a break, that I’m trying to take special precaution to just, scale it back a bit.

Today I made my Nigella cinnamon plums with French toast. Delicious, but following that brekkie we were all feeling really full. After a coffee out at the Main street, and then trying to squeeze in a quick lunch before my late work shift, I was faced with a conundrum.

When I have bread for breakfast, I avoid it for lunch. When I have cereal for breakfast, I usually then have bread for lunch. One or the other.

Today in haste, I threw together what I could, what I had that wasn’t bread. Whip up some couscous, throw in a can of tuna and voila – lunch done.

However, what I have just learnt via some google discovering, and also what I should have realised via my body screaming ‘no!’ at the couscous thought, is that couscous isn’t actually all that nutritious, and there are far better low-carb options out there.

I mean, my body was telling me so, anyway. Sitting in front of this bowl of couscous and tuna, I felt sooo uninspired. As I began to eat, forcing myself to eat something, anything, yet feeling like this was not making me feel any better, convincing myself that I had to eat something before work began or else I would really feel flat, Hubbie brought his lunch over to the table and sat opposite me. In his bowl, was also tuna… but mixed up in that was a selection of freshly cut lettuce, capsicum, carrots, tomatoes and onion.

What a sight for sore eyes. Those colours lifted me up, and I HAD to have a bite.

But when I did, I was so, so sad.

I wanted his meal. So, so bad.

I told him so. And he laughed. He thought it was hilarious. “Why didn’t you offer to make me that?” I whined. “I can’t eat this, I feel so blah. I don’t know what I was thinking.”

I picked at my couscous and tuna, feeling deflated. I did the only thing I thought to do. The thing I never do – put myself first.

“Can I have yours, please?” I actually pleaded with him. He thought I was joking, but after a few more whines, he put his bowl in front of me, took mine, and then went to the kitchen to spice up my meal, for him.

My mouth came alive with his salad and tuna bowl! It was simple, and yet the refreshing change from the couscous made me feel so much lighter. Hubbie came back with my reinvented bowl now, laughing, and I finished his meal, happily.

It was only while driving to work that I really thought about what had transpired. And I was immediately grateful.

Because true love, has many definitions. Devotion. Honesty. Affection. Happiness. Laughter.

And I added one to the list, which I’m sure has been the realisation of many out there, of true love…

If your partner is willing to share, or even better, GIVE you their meal, well…

No one can deny the presence of the deepest, most affectionate, caring and honest, passionate love there is.

This man must fucking love me. He gave me his tuna salad after all.

😉

#381 ‘Snap the f*&k out of it’

Is what Hubbie said to me as I was having a whine as we were bathing baby girl.

Or something to that effect.

I deserved it though. Whole-heartedly. I was still wretched when he said it, but I know I deserved it.

To sum it up simply, I was upset about my tummy. And a little about my arms. I had started workout sessions a few weeks ago, but because after a particular session I later developed quite concentrated lower back pain, I had to stop.

Then I felt unwell for a few days, and I’ve just been hanging around the house, all woe is me. Feeling sorry for myself.

It’s hard when you notice you don’t look the way you want to look. When your body is different, and you want to change it, and don’t know how, or where to start, and then when you do find the motivation and courage to put yourself out there –

Ow. ‘Ow,’ ‘ouch’ and ‘ooh’ happens.

My tummy is not how I want it to be, and even though I was proactive about fixing it, developing an exercise-related injury made me feel like ‘What!? What do I do now?’

Whinging, moaning.

I know. Like a little bitch.

So he started “I’m just gonna put it in perspective for you here.”

And suddenly, I read his mind. I knew what he was gonna say, and where he was gonna go, and immediately, my negativity sobered up. I let him say it anyway.

He told me how he was feeling flat at work today, getting out of his car, and then he saw a man across the road in an electric wheelchair. That man’s only mode of transport was that chair, and that was the way he was going to spend his life. His only life. In a wheelchair.

But wait, he continued. He wasn’t done sobering me up yet. I listened as he recalled the story someone had told him recently, of an adult woman, who wears a nappy, and basically has her shit cleaned up by a family member, every day.

She is not well, this woman. Which is why she has to wear a nappy. And if it weren’t for her family, looking out for her and tending to her, she wouldn’t even have a clean bum.

Is she ever going to ever have a boyfriend, Hubbie asked?

Will she ever have sex?

Will she ever get married?

Will she ever have kids?

No, no, no, no. No to all counts and so many more. The one life she has been given, is this one. And this is how she has to live, this life. Will she come back in another lifetime as a supermodel? Does it even matter, if the above answers are no? How does it matter, if this life is the way, it is, spent in a nappy?

I then took the move to agree with him, and added that I’d read the startling fact recently that the majority of the world, is poor. So anyone getting by half-decently, like us, had hit the jackpot. Basically, we were incredibly rich compared to many folk doing it tough out in the world.

And I was shitty about my stomach. Post-baby. And my arms.

For fuck’s sake.

I then felt, awfully bad, for feeling the way I had. For being so ungrateful. Because I know this shit! Gratefulness, is my bread and butter. And I had completely forgotten to use any of it, instead wallowing in selfish pity.

So, this story serves two purposes. A grateful thank you to Hubbie for being so blunt and reminding me how lucky I am, for so, so, so many reasons.

And also to serve as a reminder, to anyone else wallowing in self-pity out there, that life isn’t all that bad. It’s actually pretty freaking awesome. You too, should snap out of it.

And he will kick my butt in basketball by the way. He’s promised me that. And my stomach too.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

#297 Madonna’s Billboard acceptance speech

There is really nothing more I can say than to simply post the above link for everyone to see. If you haven’t heard or watched it already, Madonna says plenty in her Billboard Woman of the Year speech. She says it ALL, with more honesty and poignancy, humour and candour, and sincerity and laughs, than anyone can ever say.

She is, of course, Madonna.

I love her. I think she is ahead of her time, and people just don’t know how to deal with her. They want to put her in their little box, but hold on… she doesn’t fit into this box, or that box, and this box is too triangular…

What do we do then? We abuse her. We intimidate her. We talk down on her. We make fun of her. We make a mockery of her because that is easy, and asking ourselves why she unsettles us and our way of thinking is too difficult to even ponder, so let’s just be dicks.

People are often scared and intimidated, unsure of what to do with people who rebel against the norm, who do not conform with what is ‘given,’ and who speak their mind and express their views about everything, so openly.

She is only doing what many men in entertainment out there were doing. Are doing. And yet it is unacceptable, for her, to do so as well. Not just her. But any woman who openly expresses her mind without fear or shame or inhibition.

Stay shy. Stay timid. Be quiet. Stick to the straight and narrow. Sit on the fence. As a woman, doing that, YOU WILL DO JUST FINE.

Fuck that shit.

You can watch it and see for yourself. But I think the most clear, defining moment for me of this video, the moment that speaks volumes, because maybe it’s the Universe’s silent message to me in watching this, is when Madonna thanks all the naysayers for pushing her beyond what she thought was possible of her. She thanks them with utmost sincerity.

I frankly think that those naysayers should just go and shove one up their arse, to be honest. I mean, if we’re going to be honest here. Just go and give yourself one if you can’t handle it.

But no. Maybe we all take a page from Madonna’s book. Never give up. Stay strong in your beliefs, and your vision. Don’t let them belittle you. Rise about it all.

And then thank the fuckers for making you the brilliant, successful, and amazing person that you are.

Because Bitch, she’s Madonna. And I’m grateful for this icon in the world.

(I do not own the rights to this video).

 

#286 The ‘you don’t have a clue’ video

A lot of people talk of today’s increased technology and all its other subsequent advancements as some kind of demise of humankind. However, I tend to think that there are some brilliant inventions and possibilities that have come out of technology. They have made our lives healthier, easier, and so much more convenient.

Take the fitbit. People can be acutely aware of how much movement they make a day and increase that for optimum health results.

Take the electric garage door. You can sit in your car, rain, hail or shine, and with the simplest press of a button allow a huge chunk of metal to cascade up, or down, while you stay in heated/air-conditioned luxury (another technological amazing advancement).

Take the internet. You can google almost anything, I mean ANYTHING, and have some kind of valid/legit answer pop up. Look up a country’s demographics, find out how long it takes to travel by plane from Melbourne to Maroochydore, what is the proper, English/Australian spelling for manoeuvring (this one ALL THE TIME)… it goes on and on and on.

And then, YOUTUBE.

🙂

Well of course technology would also make our lives more fun, wouldn’t it?

I came across an unbelievably funny video last year. I then saw it again when a friend shared it on facebook, where once again I died laughing and nearly passed out from laughing so hard and forgetting to breathe.

I had wanted to show it to Hubbie at the time and share the video love, but time got the better of us, and then I forget… ’til tonight.

After showing him something else on facebook, I suddenly remembered. I then summoned my inner stalker detective, and proceeded to trawl through my friend’s facebook timeline, until I found the God damn post from over a year and a half ago. Finally.

He watched it, with me cacking myself in the background. He found it amusing, but not Laugh Out Loud hilarious like I did.

SO I WILL SHARE IT WITH YOU ALL INSTEAD!

Warning. This is probably funniest to those with children… in particular, Mothers. Because, you know, we know.

And the childless, have no fucking idea.

And that’s why the video is so hilarious. Early into it, I saw myself and Hubbie so vividly with the comedian’s remark “we could have a mini you and mini me…”

Oh man.

Enjoy 🙂

(I own no part of this video or any rights associated to it whatsoever).

#215 Jumping on the bed

It’s been a fucked up kind of day. I don’t say that lightly. Nor do I swear (online) lightly. (Offline I swear like a trooper).

It’s been a fucked up time. I don’t need to tell you that I’ve been sick, with one thing or another, for the past 2 weeks.

I don’t need to tell you, that there is much confusion and many uncertain elements up in the air in relation to our impending Sea change.

I don’t need to tell you, that we have to put new house visions on the backburner because very little is going to plan.

I don’t need to tell you, that I have 30+ flat-packed boxes and a whole house to pack.

I don’t need to tell you that baby girl has been trying today, despite me begging her to go easy on her sick Mum.

But I do need to tell you that, because the latter is what makes it all the more rewarding.

This isn’t that type of blog: it’s not a ranting blog, rather it’s a gratitude blog. But sometimes I just need to paint a picture. Despite many good things lately, there have also been many shit things. And feeling like crap day in and day out, and then having your child be difficult with you repeatedly… I haven’t had the best Mothering day, let me tell you.

But whenever I’m having a low day, I find that this whole project actually helps me to try and make it better, or try to find something worth being grateful for. Despite all the snotty noses, tears and tantrums (all ME), I had some really nice moments with baby girl today.

And one of them, was when we were jumping on my bed. There was nothing particularly striking or unusual about the crazy event: I mean, as the name suggests – we just went a bit psycho jumping and laughing about on the bed. Followed by a good deal of tickling, wrestling, squeals, leaps and jumps, and kisses and hugs.

But it was pretty awesome. And it made me think, that jumping on the bed is a bit of a cure for all the adult shit out there, stressing us out and making us go grey too early.

I’m grateful for it, and for baby girl who makes me feel like a kid when I really need it.

 

#185 Laughter amidst the madness

Driving home late, on yet another Saturday night. Another family function. Of course, August. Again, driving my parents. And Hubbie. And baby girl.

Hubbie has drank, as well as had multiple coffees. I love the guy immensely, but he is a DRAINER. He just won’t stop talking. I’m like “shhh!”

“She won’t wake up!” He proclaims about baby girl, an octave louder.

“You have to respect women,” he’s saying to my parents in the back seat. I internally eye roll. “I’ve always believed that, but now even more after baby girl… imagine now, I’m in the back, with SmikG, and baby girl is at the front with her husband. I want to make sure she’s looked after, respected.”

My parents just nod. I can hear their amused thoughts.

“Shhh!” I go again.

“It’s ok, she’s fine!” Again he practically shouts this. I grimace. I put down the volume in the car, accessible from my steering wheel. He catches this within time and laughs at how I put it down after he’s turned up the dial.

“How can she hear it, if I can’t?”

I scowl, turning it down again when he’s not watching.

“Maybe I’m talking too much.” He turns to my parents. “It’s the alcohol. And the coffee. I’m talking tonight for the whole week! During the week SmikG talks… I won’t talk.”

Eye roll.

My Mum pipes up. “That’s how my husband used to be.” My Dad laughs from beside her. “He would drink and then not stop talking all night. I would go to bed and he’d still be talking! Oh, and if I upset him the slightest… I wouldn’t hear the end of it.”

They both laugh, and I smile, remembering this story I’ve already heard. It’s the first time my face has turned upwards the whole trip home.

“Respect,” Hubbie is saying again. “You have to respect women. It may not be your  daughter, but it’ll be someone else’s daughter. It’s no good how there are men that don’t respect women, I don’t like that.”

Everyone nods, hoping to shut him up.

“I wish baby girl finds someone that respects her. I wish baby girl finds someone like me!”

In that moment I withhold from bursting out into laughter.

‘I don’t want her to find someone like you – someone to shit her incessantly! I don’t want her to be pissed!’

This thought makes me laugh so hard from the inside, that suddenly, despite my shitty-ness at Hubbie refusing to be quiet, refusing to keep the music down, and just repeating repeating repeating like a parrot, things are a little more lighter.

After we’ve dropped off my parents, I tell him what I thought earlier.

He smiles. “If that’s the worst baby girl has, a husband that shits her on the drive home… if that’s her only problem, I’m happy.”

Yes, his inability to listen to me, to anyone, at all, after multiple drinks of coffee and alcohol, totally fucking shits me up the wall. I freaking want to go insane.

But he’s right. It’s a pretty funny problem to have.

It’s nice to be able to find the funny-ness, amidst the frenzy.

I love my annoying Hubbie.

;P