So You Quit Parenting?

Some days you don’t think you should have the honour of being called a ‘mother’.

Some days it all just feels too hard.

Some days you whine like a bitch and cry like a baby. You cry more than your own baby.

Some days it takes every ounce of energy not to say ‘fuck off’ to your children for every second, every look, every breath that they take, especially for when you’re hiding out in the toilet.

Some days you hate the role of “mother”. It’s unpaid and unappreciated and you’d rather bury yourself in your ten-foot high dirty washing pile even though you’re scared of germs and goobies. And by germs and goobies you mean stinking-arse-crack-and-sweaty-ball-jock goobies. Bonus, at least, you know they’d never look for you there.

Some days when they say, for the hundredth time prior to 9am, that they’re hungry you just want to grab them by those shitty jocks, lift them so high in the air it’s no longer a wedgie they’re wearing but dental floss for their back molars. Here’s hoping they can taste their own ball sweat.

Some days your patience is as thin as the air we breathe but not as thin as the air that’s coming out of their little lungs coz that air is heavy and loud and you hate that whole breathing sound thing they do some days!

Some days you’d just love some fucking silence!

Some days you just want to unleash the wrath of brain cell killing by giving them their iPads and 24 hours of screen time and high-fat, artery-hardening junk food for breakfast, lunch and dinner and a padded cell (actually, that’s for you) just so you don’t have to hear them or see them or talk to them for one whole glorious day.

Some days you feel so wild at the lack of gratitude your kids have that there’s a little ball inside your belly that wants to explode and bounce shit-fuck-shit off every single wall but you don’t because of the guilt and mess. But mainly the mess. But that doesn’t matter anyway because your clean-two-minutes-ago home is, thanks to them, now-a-fucken-pig-sty.

Some days you can only manage to eat popcorn for lunch because there’s nothing left to eat and there’s no way you are dumb enough to tackle the supermarket with this fucked up attitude and those demons kids.

Some days you let that popcorn get the better of you and you beat yourself up because you only started your new weight loss diet two hours ago.

36717f689e870ef4c10299ae5bf01d0f

Some days you want to throw a two-day-old-shitty-nappy with your fiery resignation letter tucked inside at the bosses face, defiantly stick your middle finger out and scream “Fuck you, I QUIT!”

Except there is no boss.

The only boss here is you.

And that wasn’t a two-day old shitty nappy if you’re honest – it was three.

So now you have three-day-old-shit in your eye.

And possibly some in your mouth.

Some days you can blame PMS for your behaviour.

Somedays you can’t.

Some days you’re not a nice Mummy, hell you’d lucky to be classed as a nice person some days.

Some days it’s ok too.

One Love

DRK xxx

oh-mother-mother-mother-quotes.jpeg?w=580

original_not-easy-being-mother

 

Superwoman Reincarnated

What happens when you finally sort your mental shit out? Well not much apparently. The earth doesn’t explode into a billion delicious oreo cookie pieces. You don’t magically look any different. People don’t fall over each other to be around the new you. But blogging does become more difficult. Or perhaps just different.

My gripes, my vents, my deep personal and over shared thoughts are now silenced. I’ve dealt with them. I guess in a way they are still there, they always will be so the skeptics say but they are fainter than before and I can laugh way louder than them now. And so I do. I laugh louder. I laugh more. Which is nice and I’m proud of that.

Here have a 9 minute laugh on me…

I never thought I’d ever be able to say this but when I occasionally weigh myself these days I feel … Nothing. Nothing at all. Not even when I had to weigh myself at the hospital on Sunday in front of a complete stranger and in fact the worst kind of stranger – a woman stranger. This would have given me sweaty palms and high blood pressure if I had of been standing there as the old me. I would have begun to make excuses about having fallen off the wagon recently, having had a big night of pizza loving the night before, or the best and most used excuse of all time – having five kids! This particular excuse has always been used as a distraction and it’s worked every time. Ok so it was a little bit of an excuse too but that’s got to wearing thin considering my youngest is nearly 2.5! It definitely distracts people momentarily though as I apparently look way too young to have five kids. Not sure how I’m supposed to look – haggard or whore-ish perhaps?

Anyway…..

I proudly stood there on the scales with this complete female stranger hovering beside me, a nurse who ‘The New Me’ knew had seen much worse in her career like blood and guts and things stuck up peoples anal passages. Things way more exciting than the numbers the scale was about to announce. Finally the numbers stopped going up (and up and up) and I noticed I weighed +3kg more than I have EVER done before. I didn’t even get the chance to freak out before ‘The New Me’ rationalised this weight gain instantly clarifying that my body was wearing shoes, socks, jeans, singlet, bra, top, jumper and a puffer vest, yes a puffer vest! That’s a fair bit of extra kaygees right there. Best of all though, I didn’t feel ashamed of me or that number. I didn’t go home and cry. I didn’t go home and start a new diet – aka starvation-slash-binge-slash-newest-fad-diet-slash-starvation-again. I didn’t go home and look in the mirror so I could personally curse the ugly, fat reflection staring back at me. No. No I didn’t. I took my sick not-so-little baby home with my healthy and able body. I held him the entire five hours I was there in the hospital ED and I did that with my strong capable arms. I kissed his head. I wiped his tears. I lifted him in and out of his car seat and I carried him up our 9 stairs to get home. I cuddled him. I loved him. And not once did I think about that number again that day.

blog2

I love this about ‘The New Me’. I love that there is more liberation in my head. There’s more room for things to float freely. To be able to feel the real stuff without the added anxieties that a compacted thought system can make you feel. There’s more space to rationalise, to breathe, to just be in and enjoy the moment. Even if it’s a shitty moment. A moment where you worry about your sick kid. But let me break this down for you too – I am not a miracle. I am not magically cured and now living the perfect life in the perfect body of the perfect wife/mother/woman. My kids still drive me crazy and I am still known for yelling like a banshee. I argue with my non-perfect husband, I cry at silly ads on TV and wouldn’t you know it I bleed just like every human on this Earth. But now I don’t care what others think of me. I don’t care if they notice my spare tyre once carefully hidden beneath my top. I don’t care if they hate freckles, my nose stud, my tattoos. I don’t care if they like me or if they don’t. I only care about being me.

Blog

With my new found freedom of mind and with all that extra air in there I didn’t think I could blog again. I’m not sure how I can go from sharing all this crazy head stuff to not having anything mental left to share. I could use this blog to vent about my messy, noisy children, my frustrating yet totally loved husband, my treadmillish routined life BUT I think I’m going to offer more of myself to you than that. I’m feeling naughty and not afraid of the possibilities. I’m feeling brave! And I’m scared where this empty wild head leaves my blogging now but I know I will find my new groove, I can feel it feathering away inside me – like an internal tickle but not like an anal itch. It’s exciting, frightening and frustrating. It may take some time and we are all well aware of my patience (yep – zilch, nada, zip) but I’m one of the lucky ones who has time. So be patient my little super heroes, my fans, my followers, my friends and in the words of The Terminator, I’ll be back! And better than ever too!

blog4

One love,
DRK xxx

Wednesday Is Love Day (totally WILD!)

As a mother of five you would expect me to be a pro at Mothers Groups! You would think that being a mother to at least one toddler at a time for the past 17 years would actually make me the Mothers Group CEO – fucking worldwide – by now!

But truth be told I have never been to a Mothers group….

Well actually, thats a lie.

I did go once but there were women and children all over the place!

There were Mums outside bitching about the Mums inside, there were kids, like, everywhere, climbing shit, hitting shit, snotting snot shit all over the place. There was whinging about who hadn’t made morning tea or brought the milk for the past 4 weeks and there was instant fucking coffee. I’d rather drink the piss the crazy little two year old just did at my feet than drink instant coffee. Yes I am a coffee snob! I believe if I am going to increase my heart rate, make myself feel like I’ve just popped an ecstasy pill and can conquer the world (or just my ironing pile) then I am damn well going to make sure that coffee is barista brewed. Barista coffee is heaven scent, it’s an art form, it’s sex in a cup – orgasm and all! Instant coffee rips you off. There’s no build up, no effort, there’s no love or post-coital cuddles. The only thing instant coffee is good for is pouring over vomit. True story! It absorbs the vomit smell and dehydrates it so you can just sweep it up – I’m assuming that will take days of drying though!

Coffee

Back to my one and only visit to a Mothers Groups … There was so much competitiveness – whose kid was doing what, who had the worst/best experience of someone else’s experience and just a whole lot of not listening to each other or pretending life and everything in it was awesome, including perfect husbands which we all know is bullshit. There is no such thing as a perfect husband (or wife), god bless them. Oh and did I mention there were a billion fucking kids! I know there would be nice Mothers Groups out there. I know I could have just got them on a bad day. I know that some of those chicks are actually really nice chicks and I fucking like them a lot! But it was just too much for me! Too much of a commitment, too much hard work, too much involvement of doing and remembering stuff.

fathers-group-what-to-expect-jpg

Then one day something fucking magical happened and it was something that really just unfolded on its own.

There was no forcing, no pressure, no strategy.

We created a Love Day – that day in the week we all look forward too, sometimes even need to fast forward to and quite simply LOVE. Wednesday is Love Day (WILD).

WILD is for women only. Kids can come, simply because they have to, but they have to go and play – like by themselves or with each other – you know like we had to do when we were kids. WILD started with like minded women who also happened to be my long term friends. We hang out, we force the children to move more than 50cm from our physical bodies (except for my two year old who is taking longer to detach his cute little toosh from my lap than the others – yay go Diesel!) and we fucken talk. Laugh. Vent. Cry. Counsel. We bake if we want too – which is never in my case – we cut up fruit if we can be arsed but we always, always have coffee – unless someone is detoxing or suffering from morning sickness then there’s a shitload of awesome Clean Tea in mismatched tea cups being poured!

It started innocently enough on any day of the business week that we were free. Then it moved to Wednesdays, permanently. We all agree this is the day we look forward to the most in the week. It’s our respite. There is just the four of us, normally, but it doesn’t mean others aren’t welcome. It’s cheaper than therapy and better than valium. Now we meet every Wednesday, occasionally on a Friday too and any other day in between that two of us are free at any one time.

We never have nothing to talk about. There are never any rules or restrictions. It is a love affair to rival the greatest love affairs of all time. We are all different yet we are all the same and we complement each other in ways that are really quite comforting and easy. There is no ‘trying’, no being careful with what you have to say, there are no wardrobe meltdowns because I feel that I have to compete with their gorgeousness – and that they totally are! There is also never any comparison of kids, their behaviours or abilities. In fact, we hardly remember we have them when we are together.

Mum

So I’ve decided Mothers Groups are not for me. They are too big, too impersonal, too focused on children and being a mother. WILD is the calm in the storm for me. It’s the normal in my crazy. It is my little life reprieve where I get to breath, feel like a woman and not just a mother. Wednesdays make me dust off my knees, refocus, refuel and regroup before the love/hate onslaught of motherhood continues. WILD makes me a better mother, a happier person and keeps me firmly and calmly seated in the roller coaster of life.

One Love

DRK xxx

Me and my WILD girls….. At other events not at WILD specifically!


Time Traveller

Today I received a message from myself. A message from the 26th April 2013 version of me. It popped up on my iPhone. It popped up on my Mac. I sent myself a clear message – clear to me because I knew exactly what I had intended for it to mean on it’s arrival today. It was designed in 2013 to activate me today in 2015. It said ….

“Today it clicked”

What the??? Seriously! On this day 2 years ago I decided to set up a calendar event to remind me, convince me that all it takes is one click. One click and whola you are thin. You are successful. You have time and money up your sleeves. One click and you are magically happy, your house is clean and your kids listen to you. Lets be honest though – in all its simplicity that click was really directed at my weight.

What was I doing two years ago that made me come up with this marvellous idea? At what point did I actually think a message from my past self would actually work? My future self maybe but my past self really?? It does, however, show me that two years ago and today are just the same because I’m still as focused now as I was then on the same stuff. What is that quote about insanity …”The definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over again and expecting a different result.” The simple fact is that I am not willing to work for it. Any of it. I’m lazy.

  

What clicked today was my guilt. Which clicks a lot. Guilt that I didn’t get my kids out of bed to go to the ANZAC dawn service yesterday morning because I was worried my youngest would cause a scene when there was supposed to be silence. Guilty because I sat on the couch for most of the morning, eating on and off but mainly on. Guilty because I saw a person who makes me hate myself and so I came home and ate chocolate. Guilty because I am sitting here typing rather than snuggling with my baby on the couch – but I think the couch has had enough of me today. Guilt because I am still the same as I was in 2013 and even earlier, much earlier than that. Guilt because I sit here whinging when so many others have it worse.

  

Today it clicked just how much I beat myself up still after all this time. Beat myself up because I live in my head – yes we’ve have had this discussion recently! Today it clicked that maybe I don’t really want to change if I haven’t already. Or maybe what’s holding me back is stronger than the result I am chasing or I’m allowing that to be the truth. Like captive Elephants who, from an early age, have a single rope strapped to their ankle. Then as they grow into over a 3000kg creature they still believe that this single rope can hold them back. With the largest brain of any land animal elephants are conditioned to believe this to be true yet they have the capacity, the strength and the brain power to move forward! They just believe they can’t.

 

Why do I live like this. Chained up to beliefs that hold me back. I want to be free!

  

So today I did what any smart land animal would do – I deleted my click. I deleted that fucker right off my calendar of events. This isn’t a magic show. It’s fucken life. I am not David Copperfield and that “magic” is all about illusion anyway! I’m still working on this…. This is far from over!

One love

DRK xxx

Master of Exercise – Master of Health – True Story!

My health is important to me. It used to be (used to be as in a couple of weeks ago) just about my weight – that illusive number – but due to lots of recent (like really recent) awakenings I now know I want to feel healthy coz, quite simply, I can’t feel 60kg … That’s just a number it isn’t a describing word, or as those smart people say, an adjective. You cannot “feel” 60kg unless you have really, really big giant hands and you are cradling 6 x 1kg bags of loose potatoes. So in keeping with this feeling healthy (which really is something you can feel) I’ve upped the exercise in the last three weeks, not to punish myself like in previous lives but because I actually enjoy (yeah I said it) the way the end result makes me feel – there’s that feel word again, ah think I’m going to vomit! So, yeah, a few weeks of health awareness means I am definitely now your Guru! Read on and you’ll see why!

No approval neededUpping exercise started with walking every morning with my Mum and pushing my 2 year old in the pram. We initially started with 3kms around the blocks which are pretty flat surfaces, then we have upped it to 4kms using big hills as the non-toxic heart starters. Doing it every morning means my day starts out right (I can’t speak for my Mum but she does come along willingly, I promise) and as a bonus it gets the noisy early riser out of the house before he wakes everyone else up!

One day I was not feeling completely satisfied with my morning walk so I decided to add some treadmill action in at lunchtime.  I started with a walk/jog and then days in I pushed it to interval training of walking at a steep incline and jogging/sprinting on the flats. Once I had managed to conquer 5km with some left in my tank I decided to push it further again by adding 25 push ups, 20 tricep dips and a yoga(ish) style cool down and a blessed thanking to the universe to end my sessions.

1a64589eb115cf8953851d3eead630f5

49fc8d3f93cc00c01fb924a02e564679

Yoga-Fails-1

Yep, I’m hardly graceful or flexible but I give it a go!

So I’m thinking, “Awesome, I got this fitness shit nailed!” and decided to push myself to the next level. I’ve been a fitness head before so I was feeling like this was me making my big fit chic comeback…

Now if you are a friend or a follower of my blog you know that I have certain weight and body issues which means I own every fitness, health and food app you can ever think of to further confuse and frustrate me. There’s this one app in particular that I knew I had to give a red hot go, possibly because I had already given it a super review just to convince the world that I do indeed use these apps… The phone app in question? PT in My Pocket. Which is as it says … A Personal Trainer in your pocket or palm of you hand or in my case placed precariously on the edge of my bed end. I picked a 10 minute session with the best intentions of doing it twice maybe even three times if I was still feeling it. And I did it. I finished it….. Once. Then I spent the next 1.5hrs dry retching, shaking like a leaf and unable to sleep – yeah I thought it was a good idea to do it at 9 o’clock at night, I’m not just a pretty face right, I’m smart too!

Days later I am still reeling from this bitch called PT in My Pocket. I have throbbing pains in places that shouldn’t throb unless you’ve had a wild fifty shades of grey night ….. with your entire neighbourhood! And there are more aches than the osteoarthritis clinic waiting room on pension day. These are not the good aches and pains of oh-shit-I-cant-sit-down-coz-my-muscles-are-so-freaking-awesome type but more like the uh-oh-I-think-you’re-getting-a-bit-too-ambitious-and-old-to-be-a-try-hard-hardcore-fit-chic-oh-shit-was-that-a-tendon pain.

funny-pictures-exercise-eggs-bacon

I’m hurting. So is my pride. Where has my awesomeness gone? Where has my 45 minute training without vomiting gone? 10 minutes! Seriously?! Now I have to wait until the bursitis in my knee settles down AND I have pay for a physio appointment to help get me back into … well into some type of normal human like stance AND I have to remember to keep my mouth from opening up and whining otherwise my husbands ears might bleed….

There is so much to be grateful for … Must. Stop. Whining!

redfoo

Soooooooooo tell me about your awesome workouts? Who ACTUALLY nailed it today … Go on inspire me….. PLEEEAASSSEE!

One Love

DRK xxx

Day Whatever – Embracing My Wagon

I am still off my wagon, not officially and not in a completely tragic, middle-finger-fucking way. I am just off the diet-I-was-doing wagon and I am instead walking alongside it, the wagon that is. I’m quite possibly tightroping cliffside but so far I’m doing ok.

At this stage I have lost a total of 4.5kgs in 2 weeks with another 4-6kg to go. That’s if I am basing my life and my happiness on the number on the scales. With my little loss I am already feeling better, my thighs aren’t rubbing so harshly now, I’ve started running again (ok it’s still just a fast walk) and I am enjoying and feeling sustained eating healthy, small portions. So then how am I off the wagon you may be wondering? Well, I am not doing the exact specifics of the diet I am/was following. This means I haven’t lost weight in a few days but I am feeling ok about that at the moment because I am still being healthy.

The only thing I worry about is that I think this is a cycle for me and I’m trying really hard to remember for sure if it is. See, I think I start these strict diets and then as I am hurtling along, doing well, I decide to jump and run alongside it to see how well I can do on my own. Like a test. In the past, it hasn’t worked. In the past I have always failed, faltered and fallen over while trying to keep up with the wagon and its many awesome passengers. Sometimes I have actually hurtled over the edge and definitely with tragic circumstances!

But something IS different this time ……..

“What’s different Cristy?” – you ask frustratingly as you wipe my chin coz once again I am dribbling a little bit of shit….

Well yesterday something golden happened. Something I didn’t expect. It arrived via Australia Post and, with applause, earlier than expected! It was my golden ticket to the possible land of diet freedom in the form of a book! I could never have imagined that a book could bring me so much clarity. So much okness – yes I am making up words now to explain it’s magical qualities! This book had me laughing out loud, yes LOL’ing, while I sat in my car waiting for the kids after school. In fact, I peed myself laughing, really I did, and the book made me feel ok about that too – especially seeing as I was reading about the author shitting herself! Hey, ones or twos – I’m not judging!!

Are you dying to know what the hell I am talking about, which book comes with a golden ticket? Well, it’s a newly released book called ‘Embrace’. It’s written by Taryn Brumfitt who has started a world-wide movement to encourage women to accept their bodies while living a healthy, balanced life! And (so far) it’s fucking fantastic! Can I say that any louder? IT. IS. FUCKING. FANTASTIC! While reading the book not only did I relate strongly to Taryn and her stories but I also felt like she was my soul sister – and not in some hippy, tribal, drum-banging way. I mean that in the way that she swears a lot, she’s rich in her honesty, she’s blunt but with a lovely realness you just can’t fake! This woman is just like me! The only difference is that she loves and accepts her body.

She has been fit as shit and now as a ‘normal’ ‘healthy’ size 12 she is completely ok and completely happy with her beautiful, glorious, wonderful, womanly body! I WANT TO BE LIKE THAT TOO! I want to be ok! I want to embrace my figure and just be! BE healthy, BE happy, BE fulfilled. These things do not mean being a size X, Y, Z or weighing under X kg’s, having under 0% fucking body fat. It also doesn’t mean I need to exercise for hours every day to prove I am beautiful or socially accepted neither should it mean I have to suck back on my dry-retching from the green shit I try to swallow every morning *gag*gag*shudder*

Being healthy, from Taryn’s perspective, is about balance. It’s about acceptance. It is as much about mental health as it is about physical health and of course, emotional stability and spiritual fitness. And by spiritual fitness I mean putting life into perspective, being grateful for a body that is working, is willing and able to function because my body is the house to my soul.

Here’s my ‘click‘. It’s happening. And it’s not the type of click in which my middle finger on my right hand flips itself into an erect position in defiance and a demeaning ‘fuck you dieting’. It is simply a click of the pieces in my minds puzzle falling into place. Of understanding better, accepting more and embracing that which I am. It doesn’t mean I won’t continue losing weight because I KNOW with my continued healthy eating that I will indeed lose more. But it won’t be such a mental head fuck, I won’t be desperately ‘trying’. I will just be doing. Enjoying not punishing.

“My body is not an ornament. It is the vehicle to my dreams.” – Taryn Brumfitt

Ahhhh, exciting!

One love

DRKxxx

#Ihaveembraced

Check her out http://www.bodyimagemovement.com.au or better still buy the book yourself it’s gold!

The Diet Wagon

I am known for my honesty. Here especially. I tell it like it is and I own my shit. So here’s a dose of reality and shit-owning….

There was a wagon fall…. Last night…

In fact I started to lean precariously over the edge of that said wagon by mid afternoon yesterday. I’m not sure what the trigger was, not sure that it even matters but what I do know is it started with the desire for chips – hot salty chips – my greatest weakness.

And I came close. So close in fact just a mere 25m to the driveway in fulfilling that desire only to back out at the last minute – I was proud. Real proud. I think I even high-fived myself …. Yep, seriously I did!

But then ….

THEN my mouth fell into a pile of Smarties. There’s no other explanation as to how they got there. Worst of all I don’t even like Smarties.

And then it was caught chewing on the leftover sausage roll that was covered in sauce. I’m partial to savoury pastries but I don’t even like sausage rolls.

And then. And then AND THEN……. I found a pile of salt & vinegar chips in my hand which were on a conveyor belt to my mouth. Again, I’m not even a fan of these!

Seriously?! Why?!

Now instead of fulfilling the actual craving I had yesterday I went and consumed 3 times the crap! 3 times the things I don’t love, that I hardly even like and certainly never crave.

Ok, so whats the damage? Well I’ve gained a little and I am actually feeling a little shocked seeing as I have been doing so well. I have also set myself back a few days which means I will not reach my goal of 68kg tomorrow. Which, of course, then snowballs and effects my goals for the following week, and the week after etc, etc.

I tried to talk to my husband about it but that was after I had almost bitten his head off when he cocked his head to the side and asked, while I was eating a minuscule piece of pepperoni, how my diet was going? Really dangerous territory! In fact if I wasn’t so concerned about additional calories his head would have been seriously fucked up!

10553545_440917769396391_4946594825099486869_n1

Anyway my conversation with him about stuffing up yesterday went a little like this:

“So, I was craving hot chips … And then … And then I didn’t do it…” **insert*unregognisable blubbering** “I just drove on past… And then I slipped over … And then there was these smarties in my mouth ….” **insert**laughing-slash-crying-slash-blubbering-slash-indecipherable** He just sat there bewildered. No idea what the hell I was talking about and he just couldn’t get his head around the smarties comment. He totally didn’t get it. Fair enough I suppose and hey I think it’s almost THAT time of the month  though I’m not going to tell him that!

As a result of my fall yesterday my wagons parked up today. I am neither off it nor on it. I am confused by it and angry with it. Slightly disappointed in it and working on the courage to get back on it. I haven’t given up. I’ve eaten well today – bar that slice of pepperoni – I’ve been for a walk and then I went for a jog (or a faster walk by other definitions) and I plan on having a small protein and salad meal for dinner.

This wasn’t an epic fail but it was still a try hard fail. I’m not looking forward to the ‘numbers’ tomorrow and yes I know I should just not weigh myself – but I know I will. It’s a force greater than me sometimes – the pull to know if I am getting closer to or further from my ‘ideal weight’.

Hope your wagon journeys are safe and on a flat surface – leave the bumpy shit to me! I’ll be back!

One love,

DRK xxx

falling-off-the-wagon