Hello there, long time no rant! Well a while ago, I decided that I would trial this blog thing and that was fine and it really helped with my cerebral toxic vomit which was truly surprising. Now as a few of you know, I’m a quite scattered individual – a real Queen of Chaos – if you will, much to the delight of my dear family and friends. Then life happened, as it does, so more and more time passed between blog purges and that was okay at the time because I felt “lighter” and awesome – a real feeling of “yeah, I’ve got the parenting sh*t handled!” So I stopped doing it all together and had another mini human – my little snuggle bug. He’s completely different to his tornado brother, literally chalk and cheese! So if you can’t guess what happened I’ll tell you…..eventually sh*t completely hit the fan…..BOOM!…..I know, SHOCK right?….and everything started to go haywire and fall apart…..SOOOO now I’m back!

Now I’m not going to make any promises about weekly posting or anything like that because quite frankly I know myself and that is just far too much pressure for this self proclaimed Queen of Chaos! What I can promise though, is that I will be MUCH better at “purging” my cerebral vomit – which you can either choose to read or not to read. That in itself is slightly terrifying because although I may appear all sassy and “if you don’t like it, then don’t look” but the reality is that I do care what people think. I care a lot – crazy I know! But there’s that little thing called judgement rearing it’s ugly head again…..so what did I do? Something a bit crazy and scary…….I actually went to the Facebook page attached to this blog and started inviting people to it! People I actually know! Not only that but I even turned the comments on! Now in hindsight a baptism of fire might not have been a little bit of bull in a China shop option…..BUT I’ve done it now and can’t very well go an unfriend them all now can I?

So here I am, I’ve gone and opened myself up to friends, family and community acquaintances that I’ve known and respected my entire life! It all sounds lovely and warm fuzzy in theory, doesn’t it? However the reality is TERRIFYING because now I’m incredibly vulnerable! Well look at that, judgement, jumping in there again, but seriously think about it…..would you do it? Now this blog might not ever be hugely popular or develop a cult following, like Constance Hall, who I personally have a huge amount of respect for, she is just damn fabulous! However, it’s not really for anyone else, it’s for my own personal metal health.

Now in order for me to do this self therapy successfully, I have to be my actual brutally honest self, not my watered down public self. So I am to try and do just that and I going to ask two things of you all; firstly – ask you to be kind (particularly if you choose to comment) and secondly tell you to brace yourself people it could get a little brutal, confronting and even a little WILD…..

So PMS….it’s just one little abbreviation isn’t it?? And yet it pretty much manages to strike extreme fear right to the very core of every person without a vagina over the age of 15……..and YET we are just supposed to take it on the chin and solider on…….because it simply cannot be anywhere near as bad or painful as the man flu. Well guess what – NEWSFLASH boys – it’s SO worse…..way worse! Depending on how your body functions, PMS is that time (usually 1-3 days) before or after your period when let’s face it – you basically turn a little insane. Now I know that every woman is a bit of a hypochondriac when it comes to describing their period pain and PMS but mine is pretty intense…..I’m not sure if it’s just because I’m awesome or it’s made more dangerous due to being bipolar but I seem to get PMS before AND after my period…….that’s right I’m basically a psychopathic demon spawn from hell, a threat to all humanity for an ENTIRE WEEK! So this makes for a rather interesting turn of events for everyone involved within my vicinity…..luckily for me I live and work with my family. As crazy as I am, they accept me and forgive me……eventually.

One day my dear BFG turned to me when we were in the stock camp and wanted to know why I had woken up “as such a little cup of psycho” that morning – to which I verbally unleashed rather vividly ‘that my body was just in the process of ripping down the walls of an internal house built for an egg our body no longer needs……no biggie’…….needless to say he just stared at me in shock, like I had 3 heads. Now for some of you that may have been a little graphic – sorry no apologies here, it needs to be said that periods and PMS gargle hairy balls (just to give you all a visual picture about how I feel about our monthly woman predicaments). Along with the unpleasantness of our internal house demolition there is the long list of extras that the men in our lives generally know nothing about. Luckily the list of added extras you receive vary for person to person – so here’s just a few of my little added extras. Well there’s the bloating transforming me to looking like I’m 6 months pregnant, the cramping which can be best described as a kangaroo having an epileptic fit inside your uterus, the water retention making me resemble something similar to a female sponge bob square pants, the erratic eating which for me can vary from inhaling my fridge whenever I walk past it to the very thought of food making me feel ill and then there’s the PMS which results in me being generally all round un-user friendly for about a week.

However the most traumatising thing about all this, is that it only ends when we are either pregnant or in menopause – both of which have their own joys……and then there’s the charming completely invasive medical checks we endure. Pap smears…….the very word sends a shiver down the spine – regardless of whether you get the cotton bud or bottle brush option. Mammograms…….now I’ve never had one but my nanna described the process to me as when “you take your top off and the doctor takes one boossie and squeezes it tight between two cold metal pads and takes a picture, then they do the other one”. Now to me that doesn’t sound very fun to me, not one little bit. When you think about it women are quite amazing beasts – sorry to be a little crass – but we are literally the only creatures in the universe that can bleed for a week and live…..and we do this regularly!! So I say we are therefore allowed to be slightly psychotic and hormonal for a few days. Not to get on the man-hating wagon but c’mon ladies I think we all know that most of our men don’t handle pain all that well……man flu anyone? I mean they’re usually not very good patients, my BFG for example – let’s just say the bigger they are, the harder they fall.

So let’s go over to the blokes – what’s the worst they’ve got to deal with? What, maybe erectile dysfunction (ED) and prostate exams? Ooo I know right – how taboo?! Well ED is combated with a pill and a prostate exam is basically a finger in the butt……and now they don’t even have that to deal with as it’s been replaced with a more accurate blood test. Seriously, whoever said men were the stronger sex must have been high off their ass! I’m not saying that I don’t enjoy the whole sisterhood “girl power” thing – really I’m all for it because we are extraordinary creatures! We’re tough – can you really imagine a male going through the pains of labour and childbirth?? I know my BFG (he’s really one big softie) would be begging for mercy. We can multi-task like our lives depend on it plus at the end of the day……we’ve these things called boobs. However that touching feely, hugging female bonding stuff kind that usually goes along with the “girl power” stuff…..well it makes me feel a little ill – in fact I’d go as far to say as I’d rather stab myself in the eye with a rusty nail than get all touchy feely and hug a total stranger in the name of female bonding. Just being honest here – if I want to hug you I will……if not then don’t force the hug just accept it. My most liked/disliked personal attribute is my unpredictability and trust me (as my BFG will tell you), sometimes my behaviour is downright explosive…..unfortunately this is usually beyond my control (like I’m watching a movie) and sometimes I’m not even aware I’ve behaved that way at all. Now this is not meant to be a hard core feminist ‘oh woe is me’, man hating post – just the honest reality of the awesomeness of periods, PMS and all that comes with it.

Unfortunately for him, my BFG sparked this wild raving hormonal rant……..by foolishly telling me “it’ll only last a couple of days” when I happened to complain of severe period pain and cramping the other day…….normally I would have probably just have ignored him or replied with some sort of smart arse remark.
However not that day, that day he was verbally assassinated, that day the very sound of him existing in my universe was infuriating beyond all belief!! In fact that day, pretty much everything had me to the point of total madness – the sky was the wrong shade of blue, a bird chirped at me, somebody was breathing my air……it was just one of those days. On one of those days, literally the sound of breathing or chewing loudly is enough to make me snap and verbally assassinate anyone – usually my dear BFG is unfortunately on the receiving end (as everyone else is giving me a rather wide berth) and he knows that I prefer to be around people….most of the time. Okay so we’ve established that periods and all that comes with them SUCKS serious ass – luckily we have the little joy of experiencing them until we’re either pregnant or menopausal, which I kind of think is a bit of a raw deal. So let’s take a closer look shall we??

Pregnancy – now all the books give you big spiel of “it’s this amazing mystical time where you’re growing another life blah blah blah”…….Well here’s the typical breakdown people – firstly there’s morning sickness FYI whoever decided on that mean should have the sh*t slapped out of them……as in my case it was ‘all day and any time of the day or night sickness’ for a little over 3 months. Here’s a few delightful others;

*Weight gain – and I hate to burst your bubble but the mystical feeling of growing another life is pretty much lost once you get into the later months as you outgrow your clothes, shoes, car etc and simple tasks such as bending or not sweating are beyond you

*Fluid retention – pretty self-explanatory….I was literally a human sponge!

*Farting – apparently the little human you are growing is causing quite an internal ruckus, resulting in you farting like a great dane

Those aren’t even any of the scary ones like gestational diabetes or haemorrhoids! Now it’s not all horrible – in fact my pregnancy was pretty hassle free really (once the morning sickness finished) just don’t tell a pregnant woman “it’s a magical experience” as she may just waddle up and slap the sh*t out of you.

Menopause – now I haven’t experienced this, so here’s a couple of my mums experiences……

* Mood swings – now you thought women went psycho from PMS…..well just wait until those hormones start drying up all together = crazy town population YOU!  It’s like bipolar and schizophrenia rolled into one on steroids! I think I might have to buy 20 cats and start living alone…..

* Body temperature – my mum now refers to herself as an internal inferno but I like to think she has a theme song “…..this girl is on fire…..” Also apparently you start sweating in crevices you didn’t even know you had

I know right? Can’t wait for that…….sign me up!

A lady named Constance Hall, another blogger (look her up on Facebook she’s hilarious!!), describes my day perfectly

“I’m sorry husband for getting angry at the sound of your breathing; I know you have to do it. I’m sorry kids for getting angry at the 4 million questions you asked me yesterday, I’m your mum, it’s my job to pretend I care even when I don’t. I’m sorry for cracking the shits at the sound of anyone eating near me, that’s just mean.”

Just so you know – I’m not normally a psychopathic, universe hating threat to humanity…….just on a monthly occurrence. My BFG has assured me that I’m not usually that bad – however the last one was particularly unpleasant…….he may be using some poetic licencing there and perhaps a little self-preservation for life has kicked in, who knows?

So another year is done and dusted, down the gurgler, whatever you want to call it……so what happens now?? Well from what I hear, a lot of people wait until the 1^st of January every year to make one or many resolutions about how they are going to change for the better during the next twelve months……usually while extremely hung over. Now the problem with these resolution(s) is that pretty much all of them are completely unrealistic and unattainable for a twelve month time frame……resulting in the resolution maker feeling like a failure at some point. Turns out that I used to be one of those people…..so last year I took the first teeny tiny step towards abolishing this silly self-destructive habit – I didn’t make a resolution. For the first time ever I didn’t make a New Year’s resolution…..instead I decided to do something realistic for a change – I decided to start saying the word ‘NO’, well just a little more often than I usually do.

So this year, I’m going to go one step further and set a goal! Yes that’s right I said it…..an actual goal and I’m even going a step further by sharing it all with you – I am going to write a weekly blog in 2016. That’s right – a weekly blog – one every week, that’s 52 blogs for 2016! So there it is – out in the universe for everyone to see, read, hear, drink it in, throwaway or whatever but it’s out there now, out in the universe just floating around. Anyway yesterday I shared this goal with a good friend – so now I’m committed to it because she’s vowed to kick my rather luscious booty if I start to slacken at any time. So let this be the first of my 52 posts…..look out cyber world – brace yourself for the cerebral dribble that is heading your way over the next twelve months!

So this year I will be the big three zero – that’s right half way to sixty!! I’ve decided that 2016 is going to be the year that I finally pull my finger out and do a few things for myself that I’ve been putting off for a while now either because I feel a bit selfish, scared…..or just haven’t been arsed. So listen up world, this year I’m coming at ya – dreams and all. Why have I finally decided that this is the year that I unleash the real me upon the unsuspecting universe?! Maybe it’s because I’m becoming more mellow in my old age or that I’ve decided that I just shouldn’t really care what people think anymore……which to anyone that really knows me is HUGE! As I spend a rather large amount of time worrying about what I think people are judging me for…..still following me and all my craziness? So looks like I’m really going all out there this year and making not one but TWO goals! That’s right I said TWO goals for 2016 – HOLY MONKEY! I will actively try to stop worrying about what I think others are judging me for as what they think is not my problem, it’s theirs and theirs alone! BOOM –earth shattering and mind blowing stuff coming at you right there people.

For some reason over time we’ve changed January 1^st, from just a date to this enormously intimidating occasion by pilling on the added pressure of numerous resolutions. We tell ourselves that these resolutions are as realistic and achievable as walking down to the shops and we decide that they are so easy that we give ourselves even more pressure by adding deadlines to these resolutions. Now with most of these resolutions being a little unrealistic to start with, all this unnecessary pressure usually ends in an uncontrollable cascading torrent of emotions that can swallow you up if you let them. Sounds a little horrific doesn’t it??? So why oh why do we do it to ourselves? Why can’t we just be happy to have survived another year?? Why do we feel that we need to change or better ourselves every year? Is it for our benefit? Is it for the benefit of others? Or do we do it just because we think it’s what other people expected us to do? It sounds like a whole lot of crazy when you say it aloud doesn’t? All this extra pressure, setting yourself up to fail at either unachievable goals or achievable goals but set within unrealistic time frames….and for what? To give us just one more thing to obsess about over the next twelve months – like any of us need that awesomeness right?

So far I’ve shared with you the fact that I’ve set myself two goals this year. As some of you may have noticed, I have also decided to let you all into my world a little more by adding photos of my home and my life. This was a massive step for me – to let you into my little safety bubble…..to show me in all my ‘realness’……open and vulnerable, absolutely ripe for the judgement of others.  So why had I held back previously? It’s my blog – supposedly my ‘free’ and honest space. Well simply because I spent far too much time worrying about what I thought  other people were judging me for – taking on other people’s “stuff” even before it has become “stuff’. So how have I decided to combat my internal craziness you ask? I must have formulated some sort of tool or coping mechanism, in order to stop myself spontaneously combusting due to internal obsession and paranoia. I mean if it was just as easy as just not worrying about it anymore – surely I would have done it years ago! Surely no normal person wants to drag all that ridiculous sh*t around with them? Anyone who knows me can tell you that I am far from normal – in a word….I’m unique!

Another shock, I turned on the comment section of my blog which is something that I swore I wouldn’t ever do……See there’s that fear of judgement thing rearing its ugly head again…*sigh* I really should stop dragging that around everywhere – it’s exhausting! So now the comment section is turned on – why? Um well I guess I decided that most of my friends know that it’s actually me that’s writing this blog so why should I be afraid of their judgements? They’ve known me long enough to tolerate, interpret, accept and embrace me and all my weirdness. Plus when you think about it, there isn’t much point trying to judge my thoughts or actions…..they’re not really what you’d call predictable after all. In fact the thing that I most like and dislike about myself is just that – my unpredictability and impulsiveness.

So I’m bucking the trend of resolutions this year and shockingly (I know! I can’t believe it either) I’m dancing along to the beat of my very own drum! For me this year January 1^st came and went with no melt downs or major catastrophes = winner winner chicken dinner! 2016 has started with a big boot up the keester …..Let’s just see if I can keep the motivation rocking and rolling along.

Well it’s that time of year again – the big C. When the big jolly fellow in red comes all and spreads warm fuzzies and good cheer to all. It seems to be coming round faster and faster every year these days doesn’t it? Or maybe it’s just me getting older. When I was a kid, I remember hearing people say “Geez, Christmas has come around quick again hasn’t? Can’t believe it’s already been a year”……and thinking “are these people kidding me?!? What the *** could be longer than a year??” Well folks, I am now one of those people that think Christmas has come around again quickly and can’t believe a year has gone by already. Does this mean that I’m now officially a grown up? Hmmm…….maybe not…..Ah well from what I hear these days – being a grown up is mostly overrated anyways. So newsflash I’ve decided that I’m not going to grow up (well anymore anyways); I’m just going to get older and then eventually age backwards of course! Like the case of Benjamin Button but in reverse!

So anyway back to the magic of Christmas, especially the magic of an Aussie bush Christmas. Now if you’ve never been lucky enough to experience one – put it on your bucket list people! It’s totally unique, like a white Christmas (now that’s on my bucket list), but in the desert – so way way way hotter! Now what you ask makes an Aussie bush Christmas so special? Well here’s just a few off the top of my head; 1. Santa comes and visits you personally at your house! No, I don’t just mean on Christmas eve, while your all tucked up in bed snoring away. Thanks to good old Australia Post and whichever company is currently operating the Birdsville and Innamincka Tracks mail service – Santa arrives with the mail, by aeroplane, usually a week or two before Christmas. He brings individual presents for all the station kids, bottles of yummy wine for the parents and spreads his good cheer all about the place. It’s exciting and a little bit weird to now be sharing this experience with my little budda, especially as it really doesn’t seem very long ago that I was standing at the air strip waiting for Santa to arrive.
2. The heat.…and oh boy does it get hot! This year it was a lovely and crispy 44 degrees just around the time we were sitting down for our hot Christmas food extravaganza! It seemed to take forever to cool down this year; it was still a nice warm 34 degrees at 9:30pm! 3. Out here giving someone a carton of beer as a Christmas present will totally make their day, especially if it’s a cold one. 4. You never get uninvited guests crashing throwing off your grove. 4. The neighbours (our closest neighbour is 50km away) never complain about the noise level or how drunk you get! 5. A midday siesta is pretty much expected due to the heat. 6. A gigantic water fight, slip and slide and/or swimming of some sort is ALWAYS a given.

I must admit that I’m a complete and total Christmas tragic (which I inherited from my dear mother). In fact the only reason my house doesn’t look like the North Pole exploded inside it and smothering every inch of its exterior in fairy lights – is my extremely anorexic bank balance. In fact if I won the lottery tomorrow, I’d probably blow half of it on Christmas decorations (unless my BFG intervened quickly). In all seriousness though how amazing are fairy lights?? I loooooove fairy lights – gah! I mean I love fairy lights the way little kids love bubbles and peekaboo……some of you I’m sure are reading this scoffing right now, but what can I say – I’m really just a big kid.

Christmas has always been a little bittersweet in our house, my dad passed away when I was 7, but somehow mum always managed to make our Christmases magical. Our house was always (and still is) decorated, filled with delicious mouth-watering smells and Aussie themed carols blaring. My mums Christmas lunches were, and still to this day are, legendary. She goes all out and puts on the full spread – roast chicken, turkey and pork with crackling, leg ham, prawns, oysters, an array of salads and then when your just about to burst, out comes the dessert round – pavlova, trifle, rum balls, fruit platters and homemade brandy Christmas pudding (curtesy of my nanna)……all while it’s over 40 degrees! Then of course there is the drinks – usually some sort of punch or frozen cocktails, beers and some damn good bubbly! However the best thing about my mums Christmas food extravaganza is that nobody needs to cook for at least a couple of days afterwards – excellent for those of us sporting some pretty spectacular boxing day hangovers.

I’ve got lots of great Christmas memories stored from over the years, so in the spirit of Christmas sharing, here are a couple of my favourites. One year when we went interstate to visit family for Christmas, my mum and aunty wrote on all 7 of us (my brothers, cousins and myself) – just silly things like “Ho Ho Ho!”, “Santa was here”, “Merry Christmas”. It was so exciting! It backfired a little though, as my youngest brother didn’t shower for about 3 days……as he didn’t want his personal Santa message to rub off! Another time she borrowed some work boots and stomped around the house in them through a trail of snow aka baby powder – I remember how ridiculously excited the three of us were to find those footprints! Possibly one of my favourites involves the age old Christmas debate – fake tree vs real tree. Well before my dad passed away, we used to drive around and bring home a real tree, and living where we live it was usually a wattle tree or coolabah (eucalyptus) tree. Well one year, there was a raging debate amongst my younger brother (let’s call him brother 1 or B1) and I, over which type of tree we should bring back on the Toyota. I can’t remember which of us wanted what tree or even what tree we did eventually bring home, but what I do remember is how beautiful the tree we eventually picked was. It was perfect – nice and bushy (lots of decorating room), masses of pale green leaves, evenly spaced branches/sub branches (perfect for hanging ornaments) and most importantly a strong straight trunk. Well as it turns out, we weren’t the only ones who thought they’d found the prefect tree……so did the 50 trillion small ants that invaded our lounge room and infiltrated every crevice within every beautifully wrapped present under the tree! Poor mum thought she’d finally gotten rid of that awful acid ant smell……and then when we excitedly opened everything after Santa came…..then BAM! There it was again – like a smack in the face and little black dead ant bodies mashed into the carpet everywhere.

This year it was my little buddas second Christmas, which was a little exciting for my BFG and me (in fact the entire family) as this was the first time he really had any idea about what the heck was going on. When it came to present opening time – it was just a paper tearing frenzy!
Even now I have absolutely no idea who I received some of my presents from. Sadly I think it might have been the last Christmas that I’ll get to sleep in for until he’s about 30….GAH! Holy crap how old will I be by then???……It’s best just not to think about that……EVER!

Anyways we had a very quiet Christmas this year, as far as Christmases in my family goes. It was a little strange but I must admit it was exactly what I wanted – so well done Santa. This year, the week before Christmas, we were on of the lucky few, who got one of the most exciting presents that Santa could have given out – RAIN! All up we ended up with 32ml of liquid gold and there are literally no words to describe that wonderful smell that comes just before the rain does. I think it’s the most beautiful smell in the world, I wish that it could be bottled as perfume so I could literally bathe in it. To me, it’s the most relaxing smell in the entire universe. One little sniff and a little patch of excitement starts to claw its way across your belly growing bigger and bigger, because you know what’s coming but you don’t say it aloud just in case you scare it away……the first drops start to fall and a silent wave of relief washes over everything.

This time however, I didn’t feel relieved (I know I should be beaten with a stick for that) but I didn’t. Instead I felt what I’d almost describe as agitated, stupid I know TRUST ME I know! I know now what the reason for my agitation was and it seems silly, completely childish and even a little bit selfish. All I could think about was that my mum wouldn’t make it back in time for Christmas due to the rain (and road closures). I should have been just thankful for the unexpected rain, especially as there are so many others out there doing it tough and praying for rain every day. So then I felt a little, no I felt a lot guilty! How could I be so silly? I spoke to mum about being worried she wouldn’t make it home and she got angry. Not because she didn’t want to be here but because I should have been thankful for the rain and besides the 25^th is just a date – we could celebrate Christmas whenever she arrived. I know she was right but why was I so caught up on the fact that she might not have been able to get here? After nearly 30 years do I still just need my mum for some things, or am I just a selfish toad? Sometimes I’m a little of both……I know I have to grow up and deal with the fact that one day my mum will just not be able to make it – even if we haven’t had any rain……to me that’s a little bit sad and to be honest a large bit scary as hell. Hopefully I won’t have to contemplate that reality any time soon. So until then, I’ll still look forward to having the annual Christmas food extravaganza and not having to cook for a couple of days.

Luckily the roads dried out quickly and she made here on the afternoon of the 23^rd December. As she was coming through the boundary gate, you could hear the familiar Aussie Christmas carols blaring over the uhf radio and a smile spread across my face like a mad man. It finally felt like Christmas! I know this will sound as corny as hell, but when my mum pulled up in the shade of the new shed fully loaded with Christmas goodies, a silent wave of relief washed over me.

Right okay so today it’s all about my little Budda and how he’s now at that age where he HAS to “help” with everything…..and he’s been doing this since he was basically walking! Now realistically Budda has only been “helping” incessantly (bordering on stalking) for the past few months….it has just been a very long few months. Just simple things can now so easily turn into a battle for middle earth and all because someone gets frustrated……usually me.

Now I realise you’re probably all thinking – “oh how cute!”, “she just needs to realise how lucky she is to have such a joyful little helper”……..well all you people obviously have no children! You see the “helping” starts off as very cute to the point where you literally have warm fuzzy feelings bursting from every inch of your skin – remember the old cartoons when you were a kid where the animal/person is surrounded by sweet little birds and floating love hearts everywhere? Well it’s a similar feeling….

And then slowly the frustration begins to sneak into your being, as you’ve just realised that a 3 minute job has now taken at least 25 (and it’s only half done)……but as you look down on that excited smiling little face and it all just melts away. Again that frustration starts to sneak back in clawing its way up your leg and into your belly….and finally you just think “surely a little help can’t hurt, I’ll just demonstrate how it’s done” – well holy hell you may as well have just ignited all the fires of hell simultaneously!! BEWARE the wrath of a toddler who thinks you are trying to keep all the “fun” things to yourself! Best man the walls, pull up the draw bridge and batten down the hatches – the battle of wills has begun!

And now comes the fun part – oh yes, the fun part! Now comes the muffled and somewhat suppressed sigh of every embattled mother across the planet and then the “talk down” begins. The “talk down” is what I like to call that period in time where you must call upon your magical and all-knowing inner super mum to deal with the small demon like spawn from hell that is currently turning purple with hulk like rage, usually screaming and sprawling out to cover as much floor space as humanly possible….and all while being (of course) in the most public place possible…..During this wonderful time many emotions are felt – embarrassment, rage, self-pity and let’s face it most of us are either resisting the urge to yank that small human off the floor by the arm and flee at top speed with every fibre of our being or want the ground to open up and swallow us. Scarily most of this is not due to the fact that we feel we’ve somehow failed in our small human raising abilities/duties but in fact due to the pressure we put on ourselves for the approval of other people……and (dum dum dum *sinister sounding drum beats*) other parents! Crazy isn’t it??

So after many reasonably quietly and carefully chosen words through semi gritted teeth in front of what feels like 50,000 eyes comes the next stage…..”negotiation”. So by now you’ve gone through several transformations – normal mum, frustrated mum, super mum/inner child wrangling goddess to something that closely resembles a hostage negotiator. The negotiation stage is not always a last resort – as in a bribe but sometimes it’s an ultimatum fluffily disguised as a choice….as in “we can stay here, finish what we’re doing (i.e. shopping etc) and have fun or we can go home” (usually followed by and you can go to bed). The beauty of this ‘choice’ is that you haven’t actually specified what the fun is = you can make it whatever you want! You are not locked into any form of verbal contract which they WILL undoubtedly recite to you word for word at any given point on time “but you said we’d….” Thankfully my Budda’s not old enough to do that….yet

In my case, it’s usually a bribe as I’m either grasping to the end of my frayed rope by one fingernail and the threat of small human death or severe maiming is an imminent possibility or cringing internally dying of embarrassment. Now I’m sure goody too shoes old UK Super Nanny wouldn’t approve of my methods…..but in my all new honest 2.0 version blog I don’t give an aunts fanny! I’ll shamelessly admit that, I’m NOT above bribing children. In saying that, not all my bribes are actually carried out – as I tell my Budda “mummy is old and she gets forgetful every now and then”. It’s much easier than admitting 1: I don’t have whatever I promised, 2: I never intended to give him whatever it was, 3: I had a BP moment (shocking I know!)

I know all you fellow mothers out there know exactly what I’m talking about……and how secretly (very secretly) we’re all wondering how we have managed to keep it all together and not just accidently snapped and killed someone.…and all for the sake of our little humans. And for all those of you currently incubating little bundles of joy away or those of you still deliriously happily thinking about bringing a small human into your world – ENJOY THE WILD RIDE! I’m not saying it’s always like this – most of the time I love my little helper and basically just the enthusiasm he brings to simple every day jobs. My little Buddas eagerness, zest and excitement to complete any job, is honestly motivating and just plain fun…most of the time that is.

Without sounding incredibly biased, I do love my little Budda and more than just – “he’s my son and it’s in the contract”. His lust for life is infectious – absolutely exhausting but undeniably irresistible.  Totally revitalising, like a quick splash of water right to the face while you’re having your midday nanna nap. He can really lift my mood – chase those BP moments away if you will, other times well let’s just not go there shall we? Any parent can fill in those blanks….I’m sure. This entry may just seem like one big rant by a bitter mum that finds parenthood excruciating and all that it entails – not true! I love being a mum – I do…..but frankly it’s the hardest job I ever done. I’m sure everyone has once heard the expression – “anything worth doing is hard work” – well that’s what it is really, hard work.

I wouldn’t change it for the world but anyone who thinks ‘stay at home mums’ don’t work or have a job – BOO to you! Shame on you! Now I could be all philosophical and go on about how we are growing and shaping the future of our nation, our world even but that would be sickening and cliché – causing many of you to click on the big red X. Whereas the reality of it is, that we’re all just doing our doing our best – being the best parents we can be, all the while keeping our sanity, fending off ‘helping hands’ and being stalked by little feet and never-ending cries of “mmuuuuummmmeeee”.

I mean c’mon whether we like to admit it out loud or not, we’ve either all got a “helper” or we know one….and they’re not all toddlers are they?

Censorship – hmmm why do I find the word censorship so alarming? I mean it’s just a little old three syllable word isn’t it? Well let’s explore more of my weirdness shall we? So according to the ever wise Dictionary.com – Censorship means “to control or suppress the behaviour of others, usually on moral grounds” or “to ban or cut portions of (a publication, film, letter, etc.).”

Maybe it’s the fact that practically any word with more than one vowel, poses a possible traumatic experience for me and my fellow dyslexic’s…..maybe or perhaps it’s the idea of someone censoring me – someone stating what I can and can’t say out loud…..maybe. I think this little word disturbs me because I, like most people, use it
frequently…….without even knowing! No surely not – how can this be so?? In the form of “self-censorship” of course – *gasp* Shocking isn’t it? I mean why would a 29 year old individual do such an unintelligent and limiting thing to herself? Hmmmm….well again, like most other people, I do this to myself without even acknowledging that I’m doing it, until afterwards. Usually by looking through the aftermath of what has occurred – *sigh* hindsight is a truly wonderful thing isn’t it?

So why do I feel the need to do this to myself? Why do I feel that my fellow humans don’t deserve to hear my amazing and most learned comments?? Am I really that worried about what other people think of what I say? Am I really that afraid of judgement in general? Well the answer is – you bet your sweet aunts’ fanny I am!

Obviously there’s some pretty severe and maybe not so subconscious self-judgement issues going on in my little world but c’mon people I can’t be the only one vacationing here. So what’s up with my judgemental phobia?? Perhaps it’s just another charming little element to my weirdness that keeps my BFG forever on his toes?…..or perhaps it’s
something a little deeper? I’m sensing that it may be something a little deeper.

Seriously though – why do I care so much about what other people think? I can’t be alone there…..surely not? I even have the audacity to parade around wearing this mask – telling myself and even my friends “pfft I don’t care what they think – I’ll never see them again”……..but I DO care…..oh how I care *sigh*.
It drives me internally insane! As ridiculous as it is, I even worry about the thoughts of people whom I’ve never met before – just randoms walking down the street….how freaking crazy is that?!! There is obviously only one conclusion = self- censorship is crazy!! So why do I do to myself? Why do we do this to ourselves? It’s pure madness honestly.

An example how much I care about the judgement of others is even with this blog – my cerebral regurgitations – my supposed therapeutic outlet…..even this is self-censored!! WHY?? What’s the point of having a
therapeutic outlet if you can’t use it therapeutically?
This was supposed to be freeing, my own personal outlet to the universe that couldn’t be tainted or restrained by anyone – it was the key to unlocking my internal carefree bad ass!……and then I discovered my mum was reading this…..

I should be honoured my wonderful mummy wants to read the wacky and weird inner workings of my mind. I mean I’ve seen the kind of things my mum reads and it’s very intimidating. You know the kind of book you pick up and pull a muscle and even before you’ve cracked the spine? They’re all full of knowledge and manage to paint pictures in your mind. My point is
instead of feeling daunted and neurotic – I should feel proud that she would choose my cerebral dribble over some multiple award winning authors…..and yet there is this little niggling insecurity creeping up my legs, past my torso and into my brain. What if some of my cerebral regurgitations offend her in some one unintentionally? I would never want that. What if she reads something she doesn’t like or something that changes how she sees me? I can’t tell her to stop reading it not only would it hurt her feelings but I don’t want to do that! I secretly like the fact that she reads my blog.

So I have but one option – a promise, an assertion if you will – I will TRY to care less about the judgement of others any most in importantly myself. In turn I WILL reduce my own self-censorship levels until it’s something I CHOOSE to do not something that I automatically do. So you have been warned people – the flood gates are about to open…..it will not be for the
faint of heart – so if you have a heart condition I’d close this page now. Just save yourself the trouble and click the little red X in the top right hand corner……..otherwise strap yourself in and enjoy the ride = BEWARE!

So here is the real sitch, if you like, as we stand at this minute in time – I have wicked PMS (that lasts all week long), the mum of my longest serving friend in the world (basically a second mum to me) had a stroke but is now on the long road to recovery one small step at a time, worrying about my longest serving friend, my BFG lost his job, TG has started somewhat successful potty training (wee in the potty then poo on the floor), my BFG has a broken ankle, quietly dreading my Christmas shopping list, my psychiatrist has upped my happy pills and if one more of my friends/friend of a friend/acquaintances/random person I’ve met once in my life asks “when the next one’s coming along?” or insinuates in anyway that there’s “another one on the way”, I’m a going to come at them like a spider monkey! For the record peeps – no sadly not pregnant…..it’s just a bit of extra pudding that I’m just carrying around.

So you may have picked up on the fact that I’ve been feeling a little unmotivated by life in general – just a few small things piling up like those dust bunnies that hide under your bed. For example – why I haven’t written a new blog for a loooooooong time! Sorry to those of you who’ve been frantically refreshing this page for weeks (I know you’re out there in cyber space somewhere). So I haven’t exactly been sitting around
twiddling my thumbs recently, over the past 2 months we have been quite busy trying to get all
the cattle work done before it gets hot. In saying that I haven’t exactly been run off my feet for the past week and a half either…..then there’s deciding (censoring) what to write – I mean heaven forbid I just write whatever I want on my own blog!?! But I guess we can now cancel
out that as I am now caring less about the judgement of others and accepting that this is actually MY blog, MY therapeutic outlet and if someone doesn’t like w
hat they read then they can just click the little red X….

Today I thought I’d give you a little insight into my inner workings.

Sometimes I feel 25 feet tall and bulletproof (much taller than my current 5”1 status), ready to take down Godzilla with one hand tied behind my back……Then something bursts my bubble – except in my mind, bursting my bubble is the equivalent obliterating it with a machine gun……or so it feels. So YAY to me and all my bipolar awesomeness = just tack it on the end of my never ending list of overwhelming and sometimes awe-inspiring defects. My BFG and I like to try and keep it light – we call it “having a BP moment” –
sometimes you just have to laugh otherwise you WILL cry. I have good days and bad days but never really normal days – my bad days well they can range from literally a matter of hours to days or even months before fluctuating. I like to think it keeps my BFG on his toes….he likes to think that I do it to mess with him – and who knows maybe sometimes I do (subconsciously of course!)

Okay so I got a little side-tracked there (people who know me can tell you that I take the whole meaning of multi-tasking to another level – I can have 3-4 conversations at once (and sometimes that’s just with myself). My mind is literally going a million miles an hour – so fast in fact that the inside of my brain looks something like a German autobahn and every car on it is jammed full of different topics/information etc. The more cars that come onto the autobahn the more multi-topic conversations I can switch between…….now with all these crazy drivers there is bound to be a crash and BOOM that’s when stuff gets way too confusing and crazy for even me to control = the jumbled, excited verbal diarrhoea that tends to randomly pour out of my mouth orifice during what started as a somewhat normal conversation. The only problem with this is that unfortunately, I don’t have any control over of how many cars are on the autobahn at any one time and I usually don’t know if a crash is about to occur until after it happens……

Most of my family and dear friends usually have no idea how to handle me most of the time – which I tell myself is totally fine…..I mean who doesn’t like being a little mysterious?? But honestly it’s exhausting trying to interpret myself for other people – even those closest to me. You know when you’re having a conversation with someone and suddenly a glimpse of panic flits across their face followed by a look of pure confusion? No well lucky you – this is a daily occurrence for me. Not that it’s not amusing and more often than not surprising – sometimes I even like being surprised at what comes out of my mouth…..sometimes. Other times….well let’s just say that I’m as shocked as everyone else.

Sometimes I feel a little sorry for my loved ones, especially if they have incurred my uncontrollable verbal excretions or unyielding wrath for pretty much no reason – it can be pretty exhausting being in my inner circle (or my life for that fact) and I fully appreciate their hard work and tolerance! However, what they don’t understand is that of course there was a reason for whatever version of me they happened to encounter at that point in time – be it a bird chirped at me, the sky just happened to be the wrong shade of blue that day or a genuine catastrophe (as seen/felt and experienced by other people than just me, myself and I). Honestly, most of the time, I have no idea what or why it’s happening until after it’s happened. I’m not sure what is more distressing – not knowing/being aware until after the fact when damage control must go into overdrive……or knowing. Well when I say knowing, it’s not really knowing – it’s literally like watching a movie of yourself doing/saying irrational and to some extent illogical things with no rhyme or reason and no stop/erase button.

I’m commonly known for accidently saying things that I’m thinking out loud (without knowing that I have done so) = awkward! Sadly, I am also known for doing the reverse – which is even MORE awkward, as the conversation is left hanging with the other person looking at you like you’re a complete idiot with 3 heads (you me being none the wiser until afterwards). Hopefully my little Budda will have more effectively functioning filter than mine – from experience I can say that this will definitely be helpful to him in the future.

It’s not all bad though, being bipolar – my life is NEVER boring!! I’ve accepted that my weird little brain works in mysterious yet wonderful ways – for example I’m a fantastic multi-tasker! I can start literally 20 things at once – just don’t expect them finished all in one day. I’m a great list maker – however if it’s not on the list it basically doesn’t exist and I’m pretty sure I may die of ink poisoning one day. I’m creative – this is where my super human ability to think outside the box is very useful!  I’ve discovered as I’m getting older, I’m becoming a little more “zen” with all my weirdness and have accepted it as just a part (be it a big part) of my awesomeness. This wasn’t always the case and over the years, my “BP moments” have cost me friends (well turns out they weren’t very good friends) who didn’t understand how to “handle me” – as I’ve been told. Thankfully, I was able to find another weirdo and make little weirdos! Some weirdos are sadly not as lucky as me.

My life as intense (yes that’s a good word to describe it) as it gets, I realise that I’m fortunate to have everything I have – even my never ending list of overwhelming and sometimes awe-inspiring defects. Sometimes it’s up and sometimes it’s down and sometimes it’s both at once = interesting for everyone involved! Luckily for me my BFG is fully prepared (well either that or in blissful ignorance until it slaps himself in the face) and straps himself in for the ever changing and turbulent ride that is our travelling circus.

After all when the sh*t totally hits the fan and one of my “bad days” rolls around or a “BP moment” flashes by – he usually manages to let me know that life would be incredibly boring without me.

He really is my favourite human

I’ve been teaching my little budda all the body parts, as he’s become increasingly fixated on body parts over the past two months  – particularly doodles, bums and boobies. As amusing as this can be, it has also been beyond mortifying on MANY occasions! So once the mortification and shock has worn off (usually someone else’s shock and my mortification), it’s usually a very funny experience (especially if you’re watching it happen to someone else).

Isn’t it amazing how much little boys (and big boys for that matter) are obsessed with their doodles? Sometimes, I wish I was as excited about anything as much as my little budda is about his doodle…. I mean he’s always looking at it, touching it, even taking off his clothes and nappy off to check that it’s still there….where the hell else would it be??? Even in the bath surrounded by toys and bubbles…..you guessed it – still one hand on the doodle….

Now I must admit that because of this rather wide spread body parts fascination, I was initially quite concerned that there must be something wrong. So I began quizzing other mums I knew, starting with my mum – after all she successfully raised not just me but two other children to adulthood plus she is also a retired mid wife (basically a baby cheat sheet) but most importantly she understands my weirdness (she’ll be able to interpret what I want). Well firstly, as anyone with a baby will know, I got the age old “every baby/kid is different…..” so I just cut her off right there and pointed out that as my primary source of information (above Google or RFDS medi-consult) plus being a mum and a mid wife she was basically a baby cheat sheet and it was pretty much her duty to let me start cramming! Now to this……let’s just say I didn’t get the response I was after…..turns out there is nothing wrong with him (not itchy etc), he is just a normal doodle touching, boobie and bum obsessed little boy.

God this is bound to be embarrassing for the rest of my life (as boys obsessions with their doodles, as it turns out only ends when they die). Then I started to internally freak out….How am I supposed to deal with doodle questions??? BFG is only here every second week for a week)…..I don’t have a doodle…..and their wrinkly and weird looking. After pretty much exploding my mental panic attack brown paper bag I gave myself a mental slap and began the deal with it. So now I’m now pretty much just as fascinated with his doodle as he is! Without sounding gross or pedo-like…..

Seeming as he was a breastfed baby, I somewhat get budda’s fascination with boobies – basically they’re breakfast/lunch/dinner = they’re awesome. Now I’m used to him touching my boobies and when we’re playing on the floor or the couch and he lifts up/pulls down my shirt, I make a bit of a joke out of it and tell him “they’re my boobies now, you gave them up. You don’t need them anymore, you’re a big boy”. Usually that suffices or I ask him “where are your boobies” and he points etc. However, when he does it to other women that’s a different story……that’s when I die a little inside….Luckily he’s still relatively cute, so the unsuspecting women who fall victim to buddas groping’s, laugh it off. However he is now in the transmission from cute baby/toddler to demon spawn two year old – so I’m not sure not much longer this cuteness will last.

Bums are also high on his list of fascination……long gone is the time of me going to the toilet alone – unless I want a meltdown of epic proportions….it’s not exactly a relaxing experience – trying to finish up doing your business (either 1 or 2) with an audience all the while fending off “helping hands” as apparently you are not capable of wiping yourself……this is sometimes a far too much and I just have to take a stand and shut the door……..knowing full well the consequences of my actions – but it’s my bum damn it and the only one wiping this bad boy is me! Plus we’re not even up to toilet training yet so why oh why does he want to try and help wipe???

The funniest bit of my little buddas bum obsession – is the actual crack…….yes that’s right the actual bum crack! It’s almost like he thinks there’s hidden treasure in there somewhere…..He’s always trying to dig around in there and FYI doesn’t matter whose bum crack it is either! Even the pets aren’t always safe……especially the dogs, walking around with their tails in the air – they’re basically holding up a neon sign aren’t they??? Luckily I’ve now managed to clamp down and stamp out any and all non-human bum crack investigation……human bum crack investigation however is still very much uncontrolled at my house…..but I’m working on it. My advice – don’t bend down without your back to the wall unless you want a very small finger in your bum crack!

I probably don’t understand “doodle awesomeness” because I don’t have one. Well I sort of get it – doodles = standing up to pee and you can pretty much pee anywhere, so that’s convenient I guess, and I know I’m sounding completely girly here, but let’s face it – they’re not exactly pretty are they? I however get “boobie awesomeness” – they’re soft, they feed babies and they’re mine! Plus they’re great for “assisting” getting what you want sometimes (c’mon we’ve all done it at least once ladies). “Bum awesomeness” I’m not so sure about though…….

So I’m now another year older but I’m not totally sure that I’m any wiser. When I talk with my friends, the phrase “when I’m a grown up” comes up in conversation a lot – in fact the subject of adulthood in general comes up a lot. Grown up jobs, grown up lives, grown up things – but how exactly do we know when we’re a “grown up”?

So this year I’m the big 29 – the final year of my twenties and one step closer to the big 3..0 or as my baby brother likes to remind me…half way to 60! Ah to be young and know everything again….

Question to the universe – how do you know when you have become a grown up? Most days I wonder just how exactly I manage function on a daily basis….my house usually looks like I have 25 hobos living in it and my list of daily tasks remains barely touched. Due to being the somewhat amazing combination of Bipolar and
having ADD, I need to have lists! Anyone who knows me, is aware th
at I am constantly distracted by shiny things (like a bird) and life in general = I must have a list (basically if it’s not on the list then it doesn’t exist). Many people know about my lists – I literally have dozens of scrap piece
s of paper scattered throughout my house with remnants of scribbled and most times illegible lists. These can range from; to do’s, packing, things to cook for the week or even just music to download…..Usually I love my slightly dysfunctional disorganised (well I know where everything is) chaos but sometimes it’s even too much for me! I’m pretty sure it drives almost everyone else crazy. I’m sure even my BFG even wonders how I survive on a daily basis, but like the humble creature he is; says nothing and just straps himself in
for the wild ride!

So if growing up and growing older are the same – why do th
ey feel so different? Some days I can feel about 300 years old but still not feel anything remotely close to mature. Well as of today – my 29^th birthday – I have come to the somewhat mature decision – that I do not want to grow up, instead I will just get older.

I started thinking about what being a grown up means to me. The first thoughts that came to mind were – success, secure job, car, house, kids and life pretty much planned out and under control. However my current reality is this;

* Success – hmmmm….we’ll just skip this one for now

* Secure Job – possibly being a farmer should be rethought (although I know both my BFG and I would never be happy being anything else but farmers)

* Car – well if I’m truthful I own a chrome bull bar and a very nice bonnet

* House – comfortable but rented not owned (can’t even begin to imagine owning a house)

* Kids – 1 boy (exhausting, terrifying and fun at the same time) and I’d like to think I’ve done a reasonably good job so far (he is still alive = winning!)

* Life pretty much planned out and under control…..does anyone really have everything under control? I certainly don’t. I can’t even offer the illusion of having it remotely under control….

Maybe it’s my new birthday wisdom emerging, maybe it’s acceptance or maybe it’s just being too tired to care – but maybe it’s okay to not have everything sorted, planned and under control. Maybe just accepting what you have and being happy with that is what makes you a grown up? To be truthful, I have no idea what being a grown up means and maybe I never will but the important thing – is that I’m OKAY with that! And not okay, like when your parents force you to apologise to a sibling after a fight through clenched teeth with rolling eyes, but really truly okay with it. If you want to get all hippie and spiritual, I suppose you could say I’ve made peace with the fact that my slightly dysfunctional disorganised chaos of a life gives people hives just to think about (especially my wonderful mum) BUT it works for me and my travelling circus.

Now over the years we’ve all been on at least one family holiday, either as a child, tween (a mysterious pre-teenage creature), adult or parent. I know I’ve been on many family holidays all over the place; ranging from state-wide, to interstate and even overseas (well over the ditch to New Zealand). Most have been great packed full of memories with cousins and laughter but there is also a couple which can only be described, as well hell wrapped in a bow. Literally family carnage trapped in a confined space i.e. the tin can that is our family car. Growing up where I did, any family holiday we took always started with a looooong drive (usually to jump on a plane) – around 1,000km. I remember many successful and failed car games, counting the number of things we saw i.e. emus, a certain colour car, caravans and then there was always the favourite of who got the most waves from oncoming traffic. There was also the “rock off” to see who got the very back seat aka the sin bin (usually me for stirring up my youngest brother).

Very recently, I was lucky enough to partake in my first family holiday as a parent – just a casual 1,900km cross country visit to my husband’s unsuspecting family. My better half is the tall (6”4) and silent type, well at least until he feels comfortable around people. He’s a gentle giant but he’s my equivalent of the BFG (big friendly giant). So BFG, came up with (as he thought) the remarkably good idea that driving versus instead of flying, stating that it was the perfect way to catch up on some quality time together because things in our travelling circus had been a bit hectic lately. Plus it’ll be fun to take our little budda on an adventure (but mainly because of the amount of sh*t that has to be carted around to care for a mini human). It really is amazing how something (well sometimes they really are a thing) the size of a small dog can accumulate more clothing, furniture and accessories than both my giant and I combined!

Blast off is around 4:30am, around 5 hours later on the “short cut” somewhere along a dirt road in random nowhere, my intense Game of Thrones love affair was disrupted by “hey, is that milk or vomit around budda’s mouth?” Somewhat grumpily, I drag my eyes out of my book to see – yes you guessed it – traces of vomit. As the car screeches to a halt and I resentfully slide the iPad shut; I hear this god awful screaming of “NO! NO! OH MY GOD NO!” from the direction of the driver’s seat. Curious by what exactly has triggered such a traumatic meltdown, I turn to what I can honestly only describe as something straight out of a movie…..a scary mothers worst nightmare movie. A fat white worm – no a tube – of vomit shooting towards the back of my head rest, at what I’m sure (despite BFG’s claims) was the speed of light. So there I was with a dry reaching BFG heaving by the bullbar, trying to unbuckle a car seat while soothing a hysterical toddler and minimise spew contact with myself and our now very smelly car.

Once all the spew coated baby junk (clothing, blankets, toys, car seat) was hurled from the car, super mum had her moment to shine when low and behold stashed in the bottom of the nappy bag was my trusty container of bicarb soda = winning! I hastily rubbed it and sand into the car seat and stuffed all yukky clothes, blankets and spew coated toys into a random plastic bag found on the floor and shoved it as far into the back as I could. Re-dressing budda was another matter; it’s what I would imagine trying to stuff an octopus into a crochet bag is like. That night we manage to find a motel with a guest laundry in Thargomindah = small victories!! Budda is relishing in the freedom of the motel room by running laps like a nascar driver yelling at the top of his lungs – thank god we’re down the back of the motel…..all spew stuff is now drying in a Chinese laundry set up in our room and budda is finally passed out in some random contorted position – *sigh* think I’ll just tilt the television to enjoy a movie while BFG is in the shower………To say I immediately regretted this decision was an understatement….as the television suddenly fell out of the wall and into my (as my brother likes to call them) small carnie hands! BFG appears dripping from the shower to my cries of panic in total disbelief of what has happened. After about 30 minutes of much swearing, the television is back on the wall and I am ordered to “go to sleep and touch nothing until we leave”. At least we’re still laughing about it – things can only go up from here right?