Monthly Archives: June 2008

Our nasty habits weren’t confined to bed

June 21, 2008 By in Laugh, Live Tags: , 12 Comments

By Jimminy I am buggered.

For those that don’t know and should bloody know if they read my posts or have been otherwise engaged with trivial important stuff: I am in the process of emptying out the entire house, as we are moving out of home for 10 days to have the floors sanded and polished. Our whole home is timber floored, so this is, as you can imagine, a big job.

Yep, after 5 years of renovation, restoration and rejuvenation, the major work is coming to a close and only one thing stands between (hopefully) retired DIYers and ‘only the small jobs to go’ – and that is the sanding and polishing of the floors. Me being me, left it until this morning to even start. The menfolk didn’t  get excited, so neither was I.  Plenty of time. Those that know me know I think I am a bit of a domestic Diva, and pride myself on non cluttering and throwing things out. So where did all this stuff come from????? I think it breeds. Little naughties taking place behind closed doors.

If I have to lift another box or look at another pile of stuff tonight I am going to offer it to the homeless. Really. I’m stuffed! It’s not as bad as moving out – because there is no requirement for wrapping all cups and plates, they are only going as far as the shed -  and no need to pack up the outdoor furniture and plants and things. No need to empty and defrost the fridge, just move it. But, everything does have to have a home for  the next 10 days, a home that is not actually inside your ummm… home.  Big furniture. Little. Beds. Computers. Couches, chairs and tables. Even food must be out, because of toxic residue. Pray it does not rain too hard, because in my house, everything’s partying on the deck.  It must be quite a reunion.  Some of my crap furniture has not seen each other for a few years.

I can just hear my furniture talking now. “Oh look dresser, table has had a face lift! Looks like she has a bit of work done to her legs too” “Oh, buffet, I think you might be right. And the old chest looks like she may have had a spot of micro-dermabrasion there, her surface looks much more smooth than last we saw her”. “Hey, pssst – have you seen Aunt Gladys’s mirror? Not all she was cracked up to be as she ages, is she?!”  I wonder if they shun the new IKEA cheapies for the pre-teen room? (“Look at that young thing and all her frippery. never saw such veneer in my day”) I wonder what the new cheapies think of the antiques? (“Blimey. You think the old coot would have given in to woodworm by now”.) I had better make sure the wine fridge is in the laundry.

Hubby says we have about 5 more hours of work to do. So, a few more hours for him tomorrow, then off to my Clayton’s holiday, where we are paying big bucks for a unit close to the waterfront (yes, we do already live close to the waterfront. That is a drawback of living here – you either live here or holiday here so we have to rent a tourist holiday apartment in our own back yard). A $700.00 a week unit where I get to nip home every day and feed the dog, the cat and the possum, where I get to pour buckets of water over my herbs and veggies, check on the tradies, and make sure no one has stolen my stuff. Oh, and go to work, do the school run, finish school reports and come sit on my crowded deck so I can get a daily dose of Internet.

So, will I miss renovating? Like a hole in the head.

Ode to my House.
(With apologies to Carole Bayer Sager,  Bette Midler,  and Bruce Roberts )

I stayed up late most nights since we moved in
I didn’t mind ’cause of the state you were in
May I remind you that it’s been 5 years since then

Today the husband well, he said to me
Stop whinging girl, just look what we achieved
All this so you can enjoy a cottage by the sea

So  I packed my toys away
Shots of my boys away
My 45′s away
My school work files away
My cooking supplies away
My old tye-dyes away
My many shoes away
I’m moving out today….

Our nasty habits weren’t confined to bed
My friends came round and looked at me with dread
They thought this whole house was one big bad joke played on me – fool!

Packed up my rubber duck
I just don’t give a fuck damn
Because my sense of fun
Was gone by year one

Packed all my clothes away
Threw my old rags away
I’m going (not too) far away
I’m moving out today

Packed up my fork and spoon
There’s no more moving rooms
There’s no more joists that squeak
My roof no longer leaks

My walls no longer sag
Or smell like old wet rag
People can now come round
and not sit on the ground

Packed up my dirty shoes
What’s left of nails and screws
My stacks of magazines
Man you should hear me scream
My mangy cat can stay
Renovatings gone away
It’s headed that-o-way
I’m moving out today …

La lala la la laa, la la la lalalalaa. lalalalah lah la lah..

(WordPress is going to the homeless too, soon, if it does not stop buggering up my formatting!!!!!!!!)

Invasion of the Body Snatchers.

June 13, 2008 By in Laugh, Live Tags: , , , , 16 Comments

You want to know what came back from camp? I know you do, because you keep emailing me to ask :)  Let me tell you what came back from camp.

Something resembling a pre-teen child wearing the same clothes*my* child was wearing when I saw him last.  Something that ambled rather than walked, was glassy eyed and did not construct sentences with cognition, rather, mumbled words strung together that sounded like ‘no sleep’ and ‘camp fire’ and ‘flooded tents’ and ‘flour bombs’ and ‘leeches‘.  This shuffling muttering object had a distinct (and the emphasis here should be on the ‘stinct’)  smell stink odour stench reek scent tang aroma about his person.   He was obviously, at some stage, from a family who cared, as  he was wearing shoes, socks, and had had a reasonably decent haircut at one stage. I could tell this although I was not sure about the choice of hair wax resembling mud.  It did match the ear wax, however. And the toe jam. He carried a duffle bag and swag that *looked* like my son’s. Only my son’s duffle bag was blue, and swag, green. This objects’ belongings were brown and bits of that brown kept falling off onto my nice clean floor.

I eyed this ambling tranced like object dubiously. Was I expected to wash it? Care for it? I would need rubber gloves, sheep dip and a half gallon of Lysol to do that.

As it headed for my bathroom – the one I bleached white while my real son was away – it shed clothing, layers of mud and chunks of campsite.  It muttered and turned on the shower. Put the plug in the bottom of the bath. I was fascinated – for this amazing hobbit like creature had an astonishing gift. As the water flowed, clear from the spigot, the hobbit did some magic - presumably all that muttering – and the water turned a lovely shade of hippopotamus poo brown. Complete with chunky stuff. It was morbidly fascinating.  It (The hobbit, not the poo) layed and lolled and rolled in the water for over an hour. The muttering stopped and the only way I could tell if the hobbit was alive was the occasional splashing of water and the smell of the half bottle of Dettol he added to the water.

I heard the water drain away. I heard the bath refill. I heard the sound of someone calling my name. “Mum! Mum! Tick!  Tick! ” Was he here, my son? Had the hobbit eaten him?   Was he warning of impending explosion ah-la ALIEN? I peek. He stands, no longer brown, but pink. (Sort of. The toes and fingernails and behind the ears tattletaled he was still a hobbit).  He points to a region close enough to his testicles to be scary. Suu-uu-uure enough, there is a tiny tick embedded in the skin.   I don’t know who this hobbit is or what he did with my son, but maybe if I remove the tick he will release the boy-child and be gone. I humbly do my duty.

Afterwards, I feed the now-less-mud-encrusted hobbit – who looks like someone I gave birth to many years ago – and the alien gives thanks by muttering 3 or 4 words of garble and falls asleep at the dinner table. At 4.30 in the afternoon. I throw away more of the clothing than I wash. And I am at peace, for no one died or was axe murdered or lost in the bush or ground face first into the campfire.

Oh – and I am pleased to report that overnight, the invasion of the body snatchers was reversed, and my son was alive, well, and raring to go at dawn the next day.

Love, Actually

June 12, 2008 By in Live, Love Tags: , 9 Comments

I had occasion this evening to zip over to our local pharmacy to buy a thank you gift for someone who has made a difference in our lives. I did not have a lot of time, I had 30 minutes before I had to pick up number one son from Scouts.  I figure it should only take a few minutes.

I make my first mistake… approached by a sales assistant who offered help.  What type of person is she? Practical, I state. Non-girly. Practical.  Very practical. She offered me all sorts of  things that only a blonde eighteen year old who wears green eyeshadow and false eyelashes would like for herself ideas. Cosmetics. Too personal. Perfume. Also too personal. Skin care. Who buys skin care for a thank you?  Nail care.  Huh? Hair glitter. Bath bubbles.  Husband comes in to what’s taking so long. Sorry.  Hubby and I have a quick look on the shelves and settle on the ‘perfect’ gift. Head to the register, pay for the gift.

I make my second mistake of the evening. Would you like that gift wrapped?

Do you remember the movie, Love Actually? There is a scene in the movie with Rowan Atkinson, who wants to wrap the gift purchased by Alan Rickman.  My sales assistant was trainedby Mr Bean. Seriously, she was.  The paper, the scissors, the fragrant  pot pourri.  Husband fidgets and swap feet. More pot pourri, more sticky tape. Husband throat clears and waggles his eyebrows at me. I start to giggle.  A ribbon. Another ribbon. He clears his throat again, looks at his watch and rattles his keys. Oh look, another ribbon.  Then we twirl this bit, trim that bit. By now I am laughing so had on the inside and have tears in my eyes. Husband’s face is turning shades of plum.  She rummages under the desk for the right something or other. Glitter stickers?  Husband is having apoplexy. I have to look elsewhere, anywhere else, in the store.

The final flourish, and she presents the parcel. I thank  her solemnly, tell her how wondeful it looks, and escape to the car park. Once outside, I cannot help but erupt into giggles.

Mr Bean, eat your heart out.

And we were late.

Purging the Demons (Guest Post)

June 11, 2008 By in Live, Love 12 Comments

Guest Post: From my younger brother, Neil.

It started with a growl, then an almighty ROAR. I walked to my bedroom door. In front of me was a small closed in veranda then the bathroom.

To my left was the kitchen and its lair.

I was two steps into the veranda when it appeared.

I froze on the spot, trapped by fear.

He turned to his left. Empowered by rage he tore the bathroom door from its hinges with his right hand, stormed forward flicking away the closed shower curtain with his left and punched the virgin sacrifice in the face with a demonic straight right.

As her knees buckled he grabbed her hair with his left hand and slammed another straight right into her head.

It was at this point an angel stepped in and grabbed his shoulders.

He shrugged her off and smashed another straight right into the virgins head before letting her drop to the floor like a wet rag.

The angel tried to grab him again, but he was too powerful. He fired his right elbow over his shoulder, then his left. He turned around and fired a RIGHT LEFT RIGHT combination that sent the angel to the floor unconscious. He turned again, bent his left knee and drove his right boot into the virgin’s stomach.

After two long breaths he turned to leave the bathroom and there I was. Facing him. I could see the demon in his deep black eyes. He looked at me and visibly softened.

“You’re my boy” he said and walked past me to drink from his sacred chalice.

Dib dib dib… Dob dob dob

June 9, 2008 By in Live Tags: , , 8 Comments

My son is in the process of transitioning from  a cub scout to a boy scout.  This is a pretty big deal for him. And for me.  In joey scouts, and cub scouts, they have a leader. The leader plans and supervises and generally… well… leads. But in boy scouts the emphasis is on self leading. Responsibility. Management of self. Working as a team.  Only 3 transitional visits from cubs to scouts, and he is away on his first camp.

This camp is a 4 day job, if you count the late Friday arrival. They will sleep in a self made tent constructed of poles and canvass. Sleep in their sleeping bags on the ground. Cook for themselves, pee in the bush, not wash, roam around 13 acres of bushland at night with a torch. They are in the bush. Did I mention the bush? No electricity. A campfire, for which they must chop wood themselves. In the rain.

So this mama, walking through the bush late Friday night in the dark as she willingly (?) delivered her son into this situation, was undeniabley nervous about her offspring and his 4 day adventure. Throughout all of this, and the week preceding, husband and son scoffed at my mumminess. Scoffed at my worry, my concerns about drop bears and kangawallafoxes.

A general conversation struck up between parents about weekend plans. I heard one male ask my husband, casually, ”What are you up to? Going away?”. Just as casually, hubby replied, “Oh no, staying aound the house… you know, just in case”.  Later in the car he confided in me. “I could not imagine going away for the weekend. What if something happened to him and we could not get there”?.  I felt better straight away, and a little smug.

I can only imagine how he will present when he comes home tonight. Probably in the same clothes he left in, dirty, smelly, tired, and ecstatic. With stories of drop bears and kangawallafoxes.

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