Day 12 – It’s Happening …. Clickedy, Click

Have you ever read articles on weight loss where people say something along the lines of “it just clicked” – cut to the amazing before and after shots???

Well I have … heaps and heaps and heaps and it annoys the crapola out of me! It’s so frustrating when you’re a dietaholic, like me, and you hear that there was this miraculous ‘click’ for other people who have struggled with their weight too yet for some reason you haven’t heard it, felt it, seen it or touched it for yourself. And I’ve waited, trust me, I have waited AND waited for this clicking shit to happen.

I wonder when they say it do they mean that it was a definitive click that just materialised out of thin air and then they were cured? Or was it a series of clicks because these before and after photos are deceiving to a visual person like me. To me it looks as though one day they woke up overweight, then something clicked and the next morning they were slim! That. Does. My. Fucking. Head. In!!!!

BUT ……

Of course there is a but ….. Isn’t there always?!

I’ve notice changes in the last 12 days. Changes other than the 4.5kg loss (yes I’m bragging). Nice little changes that may be ever so subtle clicks. Like the rarely-there cravings for chocolate and my ability to talk the odd one out of eventuating. Or the teeny little slip-up that stays a teeny little slip-up and doesn’t turn into a guilt induced oh-well-I-fucked-it binge. I am drinking lots of water – in fact, I am craving it. I am finding the word ‘no’ rolls off my tongue easier and I don’t feel completely deprived when I say it.

It’s kinda awesome. It kinda feels like the beginning of something bigger for me and maybe my problem all along was that I was ‘waiting’ for the click when I should have gone out and activated the fucker myself!

Have you heard the click? Are you one of those who has an awesome ‘before’ & ‘after’?

I want to have awesome ‘b&a’ photos – just for me 🙂

One love

DRK xxx

 

 

Working Shit Out ….

What do you do when you don’t know what to do? How do you figure it out?

I am so busy with a full household and with a full household comes a full schedule and with a FIFO husband comes a fucken full schedule. I barely have time to do anything on top of the necessities let alone spend time finding out what it is I really want to do. Even since giving up Facebook with all my extra time I have now started blogging daily (yep, loving it) but I have already let slip some household duties, namely ironing, so I am now overloaded with ironing piles – now remember I have five children right so skimping on ironing even just for one day is bad …. really bad! Also I am not vacuuming every day as I usually would and I have only mopped once this week – which may not sound bad but it’s not my usual way of housewife-ing and again lets just remind you that I have five kids – four of which are stinky dirty boys!

If I had more time (or was more organised) I would have weekly menus, shopping lists ready to go, a de-cluttered home (yes the ironing would be done), I’d exercise more to have the figure that I desperately want, and I’d have a plan of what I want to do in my life. So I need to be organised to be organised right?! Maybe this is fairly common for stay-at-home/working mums because during the whole ‘giving’ and ‘being’ we forget who we are and we become confused as to what it is we should be doing as opposed to what we want to be doing but then that would be totally selfish right?!

So I asked myself an important question and quite possibly a pointless one …. Q: If time and money weren’t an issue what would I do?? Really what would I do? A: Well, my dream is to renovate old character houses, decorating them in styles and themes that I love and then I would on sell them and they would be smokin’ red hot because I have some awesome ideas and concepts! I would write a best selling novel because I have so many friggin’ cool stories locked away in my creative mind. I would holiday in the sunshine coz I like it all sunshiny and warm, hell I’d have a holiday house where I would go to write. I would inspire others to live life – I don’t know how I just would. I’d read a book in a day, a whole freakin book! I’d have a personal yoga instructor and an ironing person and a chef and a person who comes in every day and puts new sheets on my bed! I knew I should of been born a princess!

Not sure it is helpful to think of these things and I think I am done now having a whinge for now …

I would love to hear your dreams and goals – come on, fucken inspire me Superwomen!!!

One Love

DRK xxx

Vagina Biscuits – Yep, Vagina Biscuits!

Sooooooooo ……………..

I ….ah… ummm…. well I googled ‘Vagina Biscuits’ the other day. Yep, Vagina Biscuits. Now I know you may be wondering why on earth I’d google something like that and I’ll get to the reason soon, promise. But it’s likely that you may be a lot wiser then me and already know what a Vagina Biscuit is OR what you think it is, like me who was pretty certain I knew what it was! And let me tell you what I thought it was and what it actually is according to google well lets just say VB’s are definitely not the kind of biscuits you’d share with Nana over a cup of tea!

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Mmmm tasty!

 

 

Let me tell you the two things I learnt from my Google research ….

One: a vagina biscuit isn’t what I thought it was and
Two: a vagina biscuit REALLY ISN’T what I thought it was….

Which leads me to this concern…How did you get here? If you accidentally landed here then what on earth did you google to come across this post or perhaps more importantly, where have you been before you ‘innocently‘ arrived here? But assuming you are one of my loyal followers and that you are here honourably I’m telling you, especially if you are a little bit prudish like me – don’t Google Vagina Biscuits ………… Ok? You got it? Do. Not. Google. VB………………………………….

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…………………………You just Googled Vagina Biscuits didn’t you?!

 

I said I would share the reason why I googled Vagina Biscuit in the first place but first lets shorten it to VB otherwise the word vagina is going to turn my M-rated site into an X rated 1.9.Hundred Johnny-came-lately site! So Googling started innocently enough. With a walk, a good friend and a conversation about her cervix or lack thereof. She was telling me all about these pessaries that she has to use to help her with her progesterone levels and to keep her cervix stable during pregnancy. Pessaries being the VB. A biscuit for your vagina – get it?!

As the words VB tumbled out of her mouth I giggled like a 9 year old who had just heard the word penis for the first time. “What the hell is a VB?” I had asked naively. Happy to share the details she indulged me and we both agreed that it would make a good blog … So when I got home I googled it, to get some inspiration and appropriate information, you know so I wasn’t spinning complete bullshit. Instead I ended up with a shitload of dirty words and words related to all things edible for example: fur burger, pink taco, passion fruit and my personal favourite (*insert sarcasm*) a meat wallet. There was also graphic images of VB, and a god awful song about VB on youtube by some disgusting teenager who obviously hasn’t been taught how to be a real man – his Mama would be real proud! There was nothing, and I do mean nothing, on pessaries, progesterone or cervixes!

The saying ‘learn something new everyday’ certainly applied on this particular day and if you want to know what the real definition of a VB is then head here…… http://www.urbandictionary.com/define.php?term=vagina+biscuit

This is for those who already knew what a VB was ... Now you too have learnt something new! I also thought a banana was appropriate ....

This is for those who already knew what a VB was … Now you too have learnt something new! I also thought a banana was appropriate ….

Well that’ll be enough dirty talk for one day ….

One love

DRK xxxx

 

Men & The Throne

The Throne is that lovely white porcelain chair that men love to spend many hours upon and that women hate to clean and hate even more to realise after sitting upon it that it is wet! Yes, I am discussing bathroom etiquette today. Not the most invigorating post and certainly not the cleanest post I’ll ever do but it’s worth a discussion at least especially considering I have five boys in my household AND I was also brought up in a family with four boys. Kinda makes me qualified don’t you think….

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In general, I believe and please correct me if I am wrong, chairs were designed to be sat upon not stood in front of flashing your …. errrrm … manhood. Chairs are designed to cradle your derrière, be heightened for you to sit with legs bent comfortably at a 90(ish) degree angle and so your feet reach the floor with physical ease – unless of course you are four and 3 feet tall so you dangle them precariously over the edge all the while at risk of falling butt first into the big hole of what is certainly dirty water. This particular white, porcelain chair happens to be a functional piece in another sense and offers a spacious hole in it to allow things to … er… umm…. flow. It’s a pretty big hole but then I guess there are some pretty big arseholes out there too!

Now one of my all time favourite pastimes is having five minutes to myself which is rare (although I am typing this now while sitting at the hairdressers) ….. But that ‘5 minutes of peace’ never includes ladies room visits and that is for two reasons …. 1) What mother ever got a 5 minute break while using the ladies room? This seems to be the meeting place for discussions of: Muuumm X poked Y in the eye, Muuuuuumm Y laughed at X for tripping over and Muuuuuuuuuuummm Y said a swear word – at which point you’re out the door, pants around the ankle only to find out the ‘swear word’ was poobumwee. The second reason 5 minutes peace does not exist in my house while in the ladies room is, and I did mention it, I have five boys. Included in this equation is my husband. They should always be included because generally husbands are just another child who requires lots of one-on-one attention and care but with one massive point of difference you also have to have sex with them, put that on your memo ladies!

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So in theory with five boys there comes at least 15 drops of pee per peeing/shaking session unless it’s the first morning pee then you can almost certainly guarantee there is going to be piss all over the place coz somehow, overnight, their junk grew and the seat shrunk! Lets do the mathematics 15 drops x 5 boys x 5 pees a day equals .. well a urine coated seat, floor and if you’re lucky wall! So this brings forward the discussion – should we be teaching our boys to sit? My answer in flashing desperate neon lights is a big, fat yes!

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They are capable of bending and sitting to do number two’s without any dramas so why can’t they do that for number one’s? Sitting lets the law of gravity help that dingle dangle down where it should and then there are no drips dropped on the seat where the ladies sit. There will never be an argument about putting the toilet seat down, no lady roars when the girls of the house have sat on someone else’s pee because they didn’t even put the seat up in the first place, no whinges and whines when the boys are asked to clean up their ‘mess’ and there will be peace. love and harmony throughout the house.

tlt-useMakes sense doesn’t? This is of course unless you are so well endowed that your member bungee jumps head first into the water but with a member that long you shouldn’t be missing the gapping big hole in the throne now should you? Also when you are using a public restroom do as you please, stand up and pee, show your manhood and beat your fists on your chest I don’t care coz your dribble then isn’t my arses problem. Oh and a urinal – definitely continue standing for this as sitting may be somewhat uncomfortable.

So do you or will you teach your boys to sit?

One love,

DRK xxx

The Break-Up

I’ve recently decided to only keep what I need or love in my life and the first thing to go was Facebook! I’ve always known, though I’d never have admitted it, what a massive time wasting lack of substance, technology induced, application it is for an addict like me! It is like opening a bottle of Scotch, pouring it slowly and deliberately over ice, placing it under the nose of an alcoholic and telling them not to look at it, not to smell it, not to desire it or be angry at it. It’s unkind and impossible to ignore. A few days in and with so much more time in my days I know that it is real connection I crave. I need real people. People who are actually my friends, who know me and what I am up to, who will stop me in the street, embrace me and light up when chatting to me. They know how to pick up the phone and call me, in fact they have my number! They knock on my door and really do ‘like’ my new haircut because they say “I like your new haircut”. They ask me with a real life voice if I am ok, how I’m doing and love to know what’s new with me. That is what human interaction is all about!

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I am over watching other people’s lives but not my own. Living everyone else’s dreams while I’m not even sure what mine are. I am no longer needing to see what everyone is up to, see the breathtaking food they cook, how amazingly they care for their children and how perfect their husbands are. I’m tired of comparing myself and feeling like I am coming off second best, I no longer want to see how much life has now become a competition and I feel no desire to put myself out there to be judged or deliver an image of myself that isn’t true or real because really these are all just snippets – like a trailer of a movie when you only see the good bits only to find out the real movie is quite a disappointment.

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Too many people are too busy taking photos and videos to ‘share’ with friends rather then just being in the moment. Nobody needs proof that I was at the bestest ever dinner party on the weekend or that my amazing and super skilled son score the first (and only) goal at soccer – unless of course I am a murder suspect and need a solid alibi I suppose!

And it’s not just Facebook that I no longer need but also the gazillion subscriber emails that I have flooding my account daily all with the latest trends, deals, bargains or inspirational blah-di-blahs – yep unsubscribed all of those mofos!!

I’ve also quit my business so I can concentrate on my three necessities: my family, my health, my writing. These are my passions. I no longer have to prove I can do it all or that to be a woman in the 21st century that I even have to do it all because while we are doing it all we are not doing one of those things well.

I’ve noticed in the short time I’ve been on my break from Facebook that I am much clearer. I have more time. I know the friendships I will keep will be the friendships filled with substance and genuity. Having 234 friends may seem like you have many people who care for you but essentially you are sharing your chosen and specific information with virtual people. And all this information is stored, analysed and manipulated by Facebook to target you with advertising, to entice you to click on things, to sell you shit all so they make money (and lots of it). This, do you know, was once called a breach of privacy. They spy on you, while you stalk others – it’s a crazy world! So, perhaps with each new ‘friend request’ we accept the less we bond to the real and true parts of human interaction. This is called regression and disconnection not progression and connection, Facebook just wants you to believe that.

One love,
DRK xxx

The Self-Worth Epidemic

Hard times come. Hard times go. Hard times teach us so much about ourselves and who in our lives are true. It educates us in knowing who are the ‘good time’ people and who are the people with their hands outstretched ready to dust off our knees and direct us to an upright position regardless of how many times we fall. In the few months when my decline into a sad state was obvious it made me realise I have plenty of dusty hands around me. I am so lucky to be surrounded by patient, kind and loving people who stood by me on the fall protecting me from harm until I was capable of getting back up on my own. They reminded me that I have the power and the competence of doing this thing called ‘life’. That, yes it can be overwhelming and may have you wondering if you can hold on any longer, but that you are, in fact, not just holding on you are actually rising during these challenging times. These are the times you are learning. You are developing, growing and becoming a better version of the person you are. With these people in my life, who only had good intentions for me, I did indeed grow. They reminded me that I get to choose to accept this time as a lesson and not as a form of punishment. And so that is my point to this post…. The point is what I learnt from these moments in my ‘upside down time’.

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Quote: Oprah

What I learnt as I was on the ground looking at the world upside down is that my belief of having ‘low self-worth’ has been leading me down a path of overwhelming feelings my entire life BUT that is all it is – a belief! And a falsified belief at that because what I know NOW and can see with absolute clarity is that self-worth does not grow or shrink. It does not fade. Self-worth just is. It is a natural, balanced and in-grained part of us all. We all have self-worth. We all have the same and equal amount. It is our self-confidence that tries to get us to believe that our self-worth comes with conditions. Conditions like: you will be worthy enough when you become more successful, when you lose weight, when you get best player, when you-if you-and-only then can you …. But it’s NOT TRUE! You were born with your total capacity full of self-worth. As a baby you did not believe you were a failure every time you fell after you first began to walk. You did not believe that because you had different coloured skin that you were not good enough. You did not believe that because you were chubbier then the baby next to you that you were not worthy of love or success in life. You were born with self-worth, you were born with an equal and anchored amount of it! Self-worth does not change it is a constant in your life that makes YOU WORTHY of whatever it is that you want, every single minute of every single day! The definition of self-worth is: the sense of one’s own value or worth as a person…. One’s own value as a person …. You were born, right? You are alive, right? You are a person, right? Then you’re value is equally as important as the person standing next to you, across from you, in front of you or behind you!

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SUPERWOMEN! Do you hear me? Do you hear me when I say YOU ARE WORTHY! Every inch of you is worthy of love, success, happiness, health, to be heard, to be nurtured, whatever it is you desire! Your self-worth is the same as mine, the same as Oprah’s, the same as Mother Teresa’s, the same as your favourite singer/actress/friend/enemy (favourite enemy – hmmm maybe a little carried away there!) Don’t ever let anyone tell you any different – including yourself! Do NOT ever let your beliefs tell you that you have low self-worth. Your self-worth is perfectly in balance but maybe your self-confidence just needs a little boost (or a swift kick up the arse!) It’s self-confidence that makes you doubt your ability and that is all that is too! Doubt, fear, uncertainty. Simplified it is your confidence in your own ability to do or be whatever it is you want. Do it or don’t do it. Didn’t succeed? Well try again! It is that simple – we’ve made it all so complicated. I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again – BE KIND to your fellow Superwomen (and Supermen followers too)! Let us all raise the self-confidence bar, stop beating up on self-worth, put on our red big girl knickers, capes, sing kumbayah around a camp fire and make daisy chains and fly together! It’ll be much more fun I swear!

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One Love
DRK xxx

Forgotten Baby

I read an article today on “forgotten baby syndrome”. It made me reflect on moments in my life as a parent. THEN I read the comments to that very article! THAT made me feel so incredibly pissed off! So many bullies sitting behind their computer screens riding their high horses about how could anyone ever forget their child! Quite possibly, to many women and men out there, this may be a completely compatible thought with your own. But let me tell you what sleep, or the lack thereof, stresses of being a half yearly single parent, trying to provide for everyone financially, physically, emotionally and mentally can do for a persons judgement and massive lack of it. We are all busy. Too busy and I can, honestly, tell you I have driven many times and had a thunderbolt of panic hit straight through my chest wall as I’ve not been able to remember if I had put my son in the car. Only to turn around with utter relief to see his beautiful face sitting there sleeping like an angel, something he doesn’t do at night. I have, bravely, admitted this to friends at times who have all said the same thing has happened to them, completely without judgement and with 100% compassion to the guilt and horror you are feeling.

On my sons first birthday (my fifth child – not an excuse but an explanation of sorts) I had driven back and forth to the park where his party was being held. I went down to set up. I came home picked up the cold food and took it back. I forgot something, went home, grabbed it and took it back. Then I went home for the final time to get the hot food and the birthday boy who was fast asleep in his cot. He had been minded the whole time by his 16 year old sister, just in case you are wondering. I was flustered, frantic and on auto-stressed-as-fuck-pilot. With something under both arms I jumped in the car with one of my older sons, I gave him the hot food, threw a bag of stuff in the back and drove off. The park is literally 400m up the road. I pulled into the carpark and that bloody thunderbolt hit me straight through the chest wall again except this time when I turned around he wasn’t there! No beautiful little angelic face. It was a terrifying moment and the most frantic 400m drive home.

But I’m lucky. I’m lucky that my daughter was still home, although she was unaware he was still in his cot sleeping. I’m lucky my house didn’t burn down. I’m lucky that this isn’t a tragic personal story about my forgotten baby. Whether its a syndrome or not is not for discussion here all I know is that I can totally see that this is possible. I can. Its awful I know and to those who don’t understand it sounds downright insane, mean, unloving and selfish. What kind of parent, right? Thats what you’re thinking. Well I’m that kind of parent. But you wouldn’t know that because you see me as a mother who nurtures my kids, who brings them up in a loving home. You see me as a normal everyday mum food shopping, dropping kids to school, out on the weekends to sporting activities but I am here to tell you Superwoman or not there are moments in time, moments in my life where I have had a serious wake up call and that article could have been about me. Those judgements you’re passing could be about someone so innocent and pained and broken and having to live with the most heart shattering consequences for the rest of their life. A baby died. There is no justice. No happy ending. There may or may not be such a thing as “forgotten baby syndrome” but tragically and ironically that baby will never be forgotten now.

Be kind

 

One love
DRK xxx

Devils Holiday House

School holidays. Such an awesome time in every mothers life. The most wonderful and nurturing time between a parent and child. So many Superwomen are in unison raving about how great these 8 weeks are, how they have so much more time to do lots of fun stuff together, enjoying their family time and proving it with photos and photos of happy faces, wonderful moments. Now with school holidays coming to an end joy is turning to sadness…. There is a bake-off happening around Oz with gourmet lunches and snacks being prepared for their children’s lunch boxes while they are wiping away their tears….

Sadly that’s not me! The only tears I’m shedding is that there are still 1381 minutes til I’m waving the last of my school age children off! In fact I have been sleeping in my party pants for days now! I’m counting down the minutes til I’m free to clean, to pop to the shop, to scratch my arse and pee in peace! Don’t crucify me as I put myself out there in saying this but I am definitely not one of those Superwomen who loves summer holidays! Let me repeat that … I. Am. NOT. One. Of. Those. Superwomen!

I am in no way bagging those wonderful women either, many of them are dear friends! In fact if anything I am actually totally jealous! They really do love this shit! But as for me I simply don’t get it and it makes me feel just a little insecure as a mother. It makes me doubt every maternal instinct I have that I do not want to spend every second breathing in the air my children breathe. I know I am lucky to have children. I know how precious and fragile life is. I enjoy fun and hanging out as much as anyone but some of the things Superwomen put out there makes me wonder if my children actually become possessed at this time. In fact it’s like a holiday house for the Devil and his mates during the summer break. It is most definitely not rainbows and sunshine. Trying to get them out of the house is a nightmare, trying to keep them in is even worse and the amount of “I’m hungry” and “I’m bored” I receive on a daily basis has me in fits of hysterical depression. It’s like someone from Disney came and stole their imagination cause they simply cannot possibly find anything at all to do, not a darn thing!

I’m being real when I say this – some days it’s really challenging! With so many personalities in this house there are always one or two clashing at regular intervals throughout the day. I don’t love spending every minute of my life with people even when they are my children, sometimes five minutes on the loo is like a five-star holiday. And when I get to that point of wanting to pull my hair out I wonder if I am the worst person in the world for wishing the holidays away.

After the particularly hard days and they are all finally asleep I reflect on my day. I sometimes wonder if I will be able to forgive their bad behavior by morning so we can start afresh. And I’m praying they’ll forgive mine! But then I tiptoe into their rooms and I see their angelic, drooling faces, and I know that I don’t have to wait til morning coz all is already forgiven. Little buggers, I’d be totally lost without them….

School now only 1367 minutes away …..

One love
DRK xxx

World of Warriors

Somewhere between women burning their bras to now has seen the role of ‘wife’ become quite confusing. The stay at home world of a Superwoman is not quite as simple as staying at home anymore it seems. There is this ‘busy’ complex that creates a competitive dynamic between households of who holds the most out of house curriculum activities, while still maintaining the facade of a display like home, well-manicured nails, a perfect relationship and gifted children (none of which I can lay claim to). If it’s not a week of afternoon kids activities to taxi through or personal gym sessions so your body is socially acceptable, well then it’s overnight personal development courses to fix the problem you have with your image in the first place, hot date nights to secure the picture of your ‘perfect’ relationship or a destination wedding you can’t afford to attend.

Spare minutes seem few and far between and if there are short spurts of time that become available then they are quickly rescheduled into coffee and play dates, spring cleans before the in-laws visit and online shopping to fill your house with more ‘things’ you don’t even need. I am a perpetrator of this ‘busy’ fixation. I fill up my days with anything I can to keep busy (and possibly so I can ignore the ceiling high ironing pile I have that would put the Leaning Tower of Pisa to shame).

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It was only a few months ago when something made me discover my ‘I’m so busy’ fascination. It was a Thursday. Windy, slightly fresh but really just a typical day here in G-Town. Thursdays had become ‘daycare’ day for my Mr3 and it was time to pick him up. After signing him out I helped him into the car while at the same time zipping his daycare bag up, buckling his baby brother in and talking on the phone to my Dad to organise a lift for my older sons soccer training. I had so many places to be that afternoon – picking up Mr3 by 3:30 (tick), dropping Mr9 at soccer at 3:45 and Mr12 at basketball at 4:15. Then picking up Mr9 at 4:45, Mr12 at 5:00 and Miss15, from her after school job at 5:15. I may have a split personality and even be two-faced at times but I haven’t developed the superpower of multiplying myself … Well not yet, that’ll come after I’ve developed the amazing mosquito who sucks fat! https://superwomanseven.com/2013/11/05/why-cant-mosquitos-suck-fat/


In my defence for what is about to follow please note that his menagerie of tasks were preceded by the morning school run, a full day of shopping (not for leisure), the afternoon school pick-up (x3) and the after-school-job drop-off…. But back to the story …. I am juggling zipping up the bag and buckling the seatbelts of my precious cargo while also over-thinking all the tasks set before me. I frantically ask my Dad “Can you take Ari to soccer?” Yes, he says, he’s on his way to Lawn Bowls anyway. “Great! He has to be at bowls by 4.” He has to be a bowls? Dad chuckles “No, no I mean soccer!” I’m clearly losing focus at this point but if you had of asked me I would have said that I had this balancing act shit sorted! Then all of a sudden it hits me! My mobile is missing! It’s like having a mini tornado rip through your chest cavity when you suddenly become aware your little technology buddy has disappeared. It is, after all, your life line. It holds all your phone numbers (so you never have to remember any number again including your own), all of your “contacts” details (some of whom you are actually friends with), hell it even holds evidence (via text message) that you told your husband four months ago that you’ve planned a trip away with the girls next month!  So I start searching! Parked up in the daycare carpark, on show for everyone to see. I’m searching like a mad woman possessed by a dead man on Viagra! I’m checking the daycare bag, the centre console, my pockets, in the exhuast, everywhere. A few minutes linger and I twig……….. I am totally wasting my Dads time! I need to concentrate damn it! This shit is important! It’s a distorted exchange of words (on my part), I’m not making any sense at all and my mind is evidently not on the conversation at hand. So I say “Sorry Dad I gotta go – I can’t find my phone.” No worries, he says. We hang up………….. It’s then and only then that I finally become conscious! There resting in my hand after being surgically removed from my ear is that beloved little device … Yep the ‘missing’ phone! DOH!! It’s kinda like the I-can’t-find-my-sunnies-oh-they’re-on-my-head trick – which I had also done earlier that day.

 

This was THE golden moment! The moment I discovered that this was my life’s definition of busy. I was doing too much of everything while totally over-thinking it all. It meant nothing was getting done properly, no genuine love and attention was on offer and I was ripping off everyone involved in my busy life including myself. I wasn’t really listening to my son tell me about his day, I hadn’t nurtured my baby who had been stuck in the car for hours and my Dad, who was doing me a favour, didn’t even get a thank you!

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I had to admit at that point that being busy had become an addiction. There’s a little part of me that wanted (and still wants) every day filled with stuff so I can avoid the ‘other’ stuff – like ironing or on a deeper level, being present. But I also know that the curriculum I’ve set myself is profoundly fulfilling – when completed right. It fulfils all the different variables of “me” that I am passionate about. Whether it’s my stylist business and love of colours to my volunteer work and love of contribution or to my blog writings that are a release of stale energy which clears me. But what I need to learn is how to make this work for me so my success is more gratifying. I need to organise myself so that I am only doing one at a time so I can do that one thing well. Is there any Superwoman (or Superman) who has this mastered, or are at least almost there? Who has this balance of life, children, career and passions fully sorted? And are you willing to share any hot tips to get this Superwoman into a better state of wife/mother/career life?? Who has an app for this?!

 

One love,

DRK xxx

Am I REALLY about to blog about this?

I’m having an affair….

Yes, it is love but it’s a different love than I share with my husband… Speaking of my husband, it’s not a secret – he knows all about it. He’s ok with it. Actually he’s probably more than just ok with it because as a traditional man with old school values, he thinks it’s a necessary attribute a stay at home superwife should have. So, yeah, I am in love … With my vacuum cleaner. There! I’ve said it … Out loud … For the world to hear! What’s that? You don’t understand what I am trying to say? Let me repeat it for you slowly …  I’M.   IN.   LOVE.   MY.   VACUUM.   CLEANER. Yep, I’m coming out of the laundry closet to declare my love and commitment for my DC54 Dyson!

As a real Superwoman I certainly don’t love all my chores but if there was any one chore in the whole housework world that I had to do for the rest of my life I would choose vacuuming, it wins hands down! Even when I win Lotto and I hire myself a full-time cleaner the contract will state they are NOT to vacuum – that’s for me to do! Unlike washing! Every little aspect of it bugs me! Loading the dirty, stinky clothes and then hanging them out just because the big fat white machine beeped at me and told me to! I hate the constant – new-item/hang/peg-on/new-item/hang/peg-on *yawn* cycle. But it’s still not over coz then those bloody things dry! So it becomes the peg-off/fold-clothes/put-into-basket/peg-off/fold-clothes/put-into-basket over and over again. And then! AND THEN you still have to take it all back inside and iron those squillion little pieces of clothing and from recent posts you know how great I am at that! This is the one and only time I ever think I’d possibly be happy living in a nudist’s camp! Isn’t it the most mundane task in the world?! Unlike vacuuming… Vacuuming has instant results!

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I especially love the sound of those big items getting munched – it’s a cheery little noise don’t you think?! Like Lego. Have you ever stepped on a piece of Lego? Then you’ll know what I mean when I say that shit really hurts! I hate the little rogues but I love it when I get my revenge and suck those buggers into the cyclonic barrel…. The sound is pure joy. Sometimes when I am feeling really naughty I delay the Lego retribution like I’m a gunslinger from a western movie ready for a fast draw! I’ll take a moment before settling the score, building the suspense I think to myself “Do my boys really need that piece of Lego?”; “Do I need to bend down and pick it up?” But then it’ll dawn on me … If it truly was such an integral piece in the Lego construction world it wouldn’t be there lying on the floor now would it? Then it happens… clinkedly-clink-clinkedly-clink-clinkedly-CLANK! He’s gone! And there he sits in the translucent bagless cylinder where we can all still see him! You want him? You go get him!

But do you know the very best thing about a vacuum cleaner? No – you’re still not with me are you? Well it’s the sound! That soothing hum of white noise that drowns everything else out – vital when you live with a small community of freakishly loud individuals that some people may call children. It’s well known in this household not to mess with this Superwoman when I have a loaded vacuum cleaner in hand. Whinge, whine, ask over and over and over again for a lolly – go on I dare you – I can’t hear you anyway! Now isn’t that just paradise!

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Whose with me on this? Or is there another chore I should know about that is lovable?

One Love,

DRK xxx