My First Christmas...love the teeth
Saturday 25 December 2004
Friday 24 December 2004
Merry Christmas!
I know I have been a slack arse blogging, but if having a very energetic 9-and-a-half month old and being four months pregnant isn't a great excuse, I don't know what is.
Tonight, my family will be celebrating a family tradition I really look forward to every year - Midnight Mass. Just thinking about going tonight, however, makes me think back to a Christmas Eve when I was 14 and a very cheap drunk, (come to think of it, I still am a cheap drunk). Anyhow, let me set the scene.
Dad was working the night shift, mum was joining the yearly street Christmas get together before mass, our house was open to all the street's kids - from a mix of cultures and creeds - one of which was my best friend, a Muslim girl I grew up with who lived a few doors down.
Anyway, my eldest sister, who was 20 at the time, had a car and a life, and thought Midnight Mass was boring, but would go out and come back in time. My 16 year old brooding sister - who didn't think it was fair she had to stay home and watch me - thought it would be fun to get stuck into the stash of Tia Maria my mum always had and have some fun. Even to this day, the details are a little sketchy, but here are a few things that have been burned into my memory.
1) Standing at the kitchen sink throwing handfuls at water at kids yelling. ``Is anyone thirsty?''
2) Running through Naremburn with my sister and friend in tow, pounding on the local priest's presbytery door at 10pm asking, ``What time is Midnight Mass''? (In my drunkenness, I really thought this was a legitimate question)
3) Getting dressed to go to church and falling into the wardrobe, with my Muslim friend, flashing my pre-pubescent body and froggy-undies.
Anyway, when my mum got home at 11.45pm, she wasn't impressed. She quizzed my sister - who kept bitch-slapping me to stand up straight - what was wrong with me. Anyway, we made it out the door and walked/stumbled the 500 metres to church. My mum has always sat in the front pew at church and tonight was no exception. By this stage, church was packed. As we entered, all eyes were on us, especially as I was uncontrollably giggling. As we took our places, the aforementioned priest spyed us and gave us the WORST greasy - it was more like a death stare. I vaguely remember not being able to stand and people snickering all around me. As I sat down for the 15th time in 5 minutes, my mum yanked me by the arm and marched me to the side door, expelling me from the sacred mass. Slamming the door behind her, I sat down on the cold stone steps and then proceeded to hurl my guts. Vomit was all over the church steps! I could still hear the carolers inside, but through the haze, I saw an apparition. As it grew closer, I realised it was just my big sister. She just took one look at me, bailed me into her 1976 Toyota Celica and drove me home.
The next morning I suffered my first hangover. Ofcourse, my mum was up banging pots and pans and had the stereo blasting Christmas tunes from 5.30am. I realised that this was my punishment. Not a word was ever spoken about that night - even to this day. She never told dad, who I was scared shitless would withhold my new stack hat. But that day, my pounding head was shown no pity. I guess I deserved it.
I'm really looking forward to this Christmas as it is my baby's first one. I just hope she doesn't throw up on the church choir tonight!
Best wishes to all - and please drive safely.
Tonight, my family will be celebrating a family tradition I really look forward to every year - Midnight Mass. Just thinking about going tonight, however, makes me think back to a Christmas Eve when I was 14 and a very cheap drunk, (come to think of it, I still am a cheap drunk). Anyhow, let me set the scene.
Dad was working the night shift, mum was joining the yearly street Christmas get together before mass, our house was open to all the street's kids - from a mix of cultures and creeds - one of which was my best friend, a Muslim girl I grew up with who lived a few doors down.
Anyway, my eldest sister, who was 20 at the time, had a car and a life, and thought Midnight Mass was boring, but would go out and come back in time. My 16 year old brooding sister - who didn't think it was fair she had to stay home and watch me - thought it would be fun to get stuck into the stash of Tia Maria my mum always had and have some fun. Even to this day, the details are a little sketchy, but here are a few things that have been burned into my memory.
1) Standing at the kitchen sink throwing handfuls at water at kids yelling. ``Is anyone thirsty?''
2) Running through Naremburn with my sister and friend in tow, pounding on the local priest's presbytery door at 10pm asking, ``What time is Midnight Mass''? (In my drunkenness, I really thought this was a legitimate question)
3) Getting dressed to go to church and falling into the wardrobe, with my Muslim friend, flashing my pre-pubescent body and froggy-undies.
Anyway, when my mum got home at 11.45pm, she wasn't impressed. She quizzed my sister - who kept bitch-slapping me to stand up straight - what was wrong with me. Anyway, we made it out the door and walked/stumbled the 500 metres to church. My mum has always sat in the front pew at church and tonight was no exception. By this stage, church was packed. As we entered, all eyes were on us, especially as I was uncontrollably giggling. As we took our places, the aforementioned priest spyed us and gave us the WORST greasy - it was more like a death stare. I vaguely remember not being able to stand and people snickering all around me. As I sat down for the 15th time in 5 minutes, my mum yanked me by the arm and marched me to the side door, expelling me from the sacred mass. Slamming the door behind her, I sat down on the cold stone steps and then proceeded to hurl my guts. Vomit was all over the church steps! I could still hear the carolers inside, but through the haze, I saw an apparition. As it grew closer, I realised it was just my big sister. She just took one look at me, bailed me into her 1976 Toyota Celica and drove me home.
The next morning I suffered my first hangover. Ofcourse, my mum was up banging pots and pans and had the stereo blasting Christmas tunes from 5.30am. I realised that this was my punishment. Not a word was ever spoken about that night - even to this day. She never told dad, who I was scared shitless would withhold my new stack hat. But that day, my pounding head was shown no pity. I guess I deserved it.
I'm really looking forward to this Christmas as it is my baby's first one. I just hope she doesn't throw up on the church choir tonight!
Best wishes to all - and please drive safely.
Sunday 19 December 2004
I miss him so much!
Sorry I haven't written. My other half has been away for 8 days and I miss him so much, it actually hurts to breath. We have never spent one night apart, let alone a week!
With my darling away in the salt mines of Western Australia, I have had hardly any time to do anything except take care of my little cherubic, sometimes psycho baby. I really feel for single mums.
I'm going to have to run, but will write more when he gets back, hopefully in a a couple of days.
Wish me luck.
With my darling away in the salt mines of Western Australia, I have had hardly any time to do anything except take care of my little cherubic, sometimes psycho baby. I really feel for single mums.
I'm going to have to run, but will write more when he gets back, hopefully in a a couple of days.
Wish me luck.
Thursday 9 December 2004
Newsreaders shit me!
What's happened to Helen Kapalos?
Everytime I see her, her hair gets shorter and her voice gets deeper. I can't stand listening to her read the news!!! I would rather stick my head in the freezer and repeatedly bang the door on my head. She talks as if she has something in her mouth that tastes disgusting and is about to throw it up. I don't really mean to be this nasty, but if they need a token wog on Channel 9 news, why not employ me? I'm not saying I'm a supermodel, but I'm sure I'd do a better job than her.
Phew, I've vented.
Anyway, on a completely different subject, with Christmas coming, up, everybody's looking for the answer, everybody wants salvation for the soul. I was really pissed off the other day when some people from other religions (NOT NAMING for FEAR of reprisal) have found Christmas decorations OFFENSIVE! This, I find complete lunacy. A few months ago, there was this GIANT candelabra-thingy (AGAIN, not naming names) in Chatswood which I found a waste of space - it's not like there was a change of faith in the Willoughby City Council constitution, but the point is, I didn't go on radio, stirring up hate by saying I found it offensive. What the hell did Christmas baubles and trees ever do to these people! I understand freedom of religion, but the last time I looked, WE ARE A CHRISTIAN NATION! Next thing you will hear is that Santa has been replaced with the title ``The Man in the red suit who gives ALL people a free Westfield Colouring book at ALL times of year.''
Speaking about Santa, my hubby and bubby and I are going to get our picture with Santa tonight. This is very exciting as I'm not sure whether my little angel will pull off his fake beard or poke his eyes out. Ohh, by the way, my husband refuses to call him Santa, it's (apparently) St Nicholas. I've warned him that if he pushes this line with my daughter, she will be seen as the weird kid at school.
Everytime I see her, her hair gets shorter and her voice gets deeper. I can't stand listening to her read the news!!! I would rather stick my head in the freezer and repeatedly bang the door on my head. She talks as if she has something in her mouth that tastes disgusting and is about to throw it up. I don't really mean to be this nasty, but if they need a token wog on Channel 9 news, why not employ me? I'm not saying I'm a supermodel, but I'm sure I'd do a better job than her.
Phew, I've vented.
Anyway, on a completely different subject, with Christmas coming, up, everybody's looking for the answer, everybody wants salvation for the soul. I was really pissed off the other day when some people from other religions (NOT NAMING for FEAR of reprisal) have found Christmas decorations OFFENSIVE! This, I find complete lunacy. A few months ago, there was this GIANT candelabra-thingy (AGAIN, not naming names) in Chatswood which I found a waste of space - it's not like there was a change of faith in the Willoughby City Council constitution, but the point is, I didn't go on radio, stirring up hate by saying I found it offensive. What the hell did Christmas baubles and trees ever do to these people! I understand freedom of religion, but the last time I looked, WE ARE A CHRISTIAN NATION! Next thing you will hear is that Santa has been replaced with the title ``The Man in the red suit who gives ALL people a free Westfield Colouring book at ALL times of year.''
Speaking about Santa, my hubby and bubby and I are going to get our picture with Santa tonight. This is very exciting as I'm not sure whether my little angel will pull off his fake beard or poke his eyes out. Ohh, by the way, my husband refuses to call him Santa, it's (apparently) St Nicholas. I've warned him that if he pushes this line with my daughter, she will be seen as the weird kid at school.
Wednesday 8 December 2004
Nurofen vs Panadol
I have discovered that my baby is not like other babies.
For one, most mums who are going mental with their little one's antics, pump their babies with Panadol to calm them down, give them a bit of pain relief and get some rest. My bub gets hypo. Not just a little, but last night she stayed up till 2.45am wanting to PLAY! I'm sure everyone in my apartment block heard me yelling at her. I feel really guilt about it now, but FUCK, I was SO tired, sorry EXHAUSTED. Anyway, today I decided to get out of the house and took her to Chatswood to get some shopping done. She must be allergic to Target as she screamed, yelled and chucked the biggest tanty. As I stood at the checkout to pay for the nappies, this kindred soul turned to me and said, ``Have you tried Nurofen for babies?''
Within five minutes, now red faced baby on hip, pushing pram and carrying three shopping bags, I waddled to the chemist and bought what I thought, would be the saviour of my sanity. It was 3pm by now, and she had been awake for six hours. Too stubborn to close her big brown eyes, she was so tired. Anyway, I bought the Nurofen, gave it to her and, lo and behold, within five minutes she was sleeping!
This however, was not to last.
12-and-a-half minutes later, and she was up and at `em, full of beans and charming the pants off each shopper in Westfield.
I'm exhausted. Going to sleep
For one, most mums who are going mental with their little one's antics, pump their babies with Panadol to calm them down, give them a bit of pain relief and get some rest. My bub gets hypo. Not just a little, but last night she stayed up till 2.45am wanting to PLAY! I'm sure everyone in my apartment block heard me yelling at her. I feel really guilt about it now, but FUCK, I was SO tired, sorry EXHAUSTED. Anyway, today I decided to get out of the house and took her to Chatswood to get some shopping done. She must be allergic to Target as she screamed, yelled and chucked the biggest tanty. As I stood at the checkout to pay for the nappies, this kindred soul turned to me and said, ``Have you tried Nurofen for babies?''
Within five minutes, now red faced baby on hip, pushing pram and carrying three shopping bags, I waddled to the chemist and bought what I thought, would be the saviour of my sanity. It was 3pm by now, and she had been awake for six hours. Too stubborn to close her big brown eyes, she was so tired. Anyway, I bought the Nurofen, gave it to her and, lo and behold, within five minutes she was sleeping!
This however, was not to last.
12-and-a-half minutes later, and she was up and at `em, full of beans and charming the pants off each shopper in Westfield.
I'm exhausted. Going to sleep
Tuesday 7 December 2004
More pitter patter of tiny feet,
I can't believe it has been a week and a half since I blogged last, but I have a real excuse.
The best reason is that, wait for it, I'M PREGNANT!!! Yes, I will be going through the whole birth thing all over again come next winter. My darling husband and I had it all confirmed last week. For those of you who have never witnessed an ultrasound, it is truly amazing. The little bugger was even sucking it's thumb! I think, for a while, I was in that Egyptian river, yes DENIAL, but it has definitely sunk in now. While my little princess and the new addition will only be 15 months apart, I'm ecstatic that the Lord has blessed us with another miracle. The morning sickness hasn't been all that bad, it's more the tiredness and headaches, but now all those cravings for Krispy Kremes and Violet Crumbles can be explained. Ohh, and also the reason why I've put on 5 kilograms. (well, that's what I'm telling myself)
The second reason why I haven't blogged is that I picked up some chesty/fluey thing last week. You know that one; blocked ears, blocked nose, chills, sweats and a terrible cough. I honestly haven't been sick like that since 1999 - my last Kickboxing bout. It's totally knocked me for six, and I'm still coughing up green phlegm (gross, I know).
The third reason is that our Hot Water system decided to shit itself last week and it's been an expensive hassle getting it fixed. Something like this always happens just before Christmas, as well as an extra mortgage payment and car insurance. I suppose my loved ones are getting Scratchies this year.
The fourth reason is my angel has been teething, i.e no sleep, clingy, snotty nose, screaming, you get the idea. Yesterday, all she wanted me to do was carry her while standing, I wasn't allowed to sit down. My poor hubby slept on the couch last night - he had to get up at dawn to catch a flight to Melbourne - just to get some sleep.
Well, that's my run down. I should be able to get a little inspiration tonight to write something a bit more entertaining.
``So long have I, gazed into your eyes, wondering what they'd look like on a new born child.''
The best reason is that, wait for it, I'M PREGNANT!!! Yes, I will be going through the whole birth thing all over again come next winter. My darling husband and I had it all confirmed last week. For those of you who have never witnessed an ultrasound, it is truly amazing. The little bugger was even sucking it's thumb! I think, for a while, I was in that Egyptian river, yes DENIAL, but it has definitely sunk in now. While my little princess and the new addition will only be 15 months apart, I'm ecstatic that the Lord has blessed us with another miracle. The morning sickness hasn't been all that bad, it's more the tiredness and headaches, but now all those cravings for Krispy Kremes and Violet Crumbles can be explained. Ohh, and also the reason why I've put on 5 kilograms. (well, that's what I'm telling myself)
The second reason why I haven't blogged is that I picked up some chesty/fluey thing last week. You know that one; blocked ears, blocked nose, chills, sweats and a terrible cough. I honestly haven't been sick like that since 1999 - my last Kickboxing bout. It's totally knocked me for six, and I'm still coughing up green phlegm (gross, I know).
The third reason is that our Hot Water system decided to shit itself last week and it's been an expensive hassle getting it fixed. Something like this always happens just before Christmas, as well as an extra mortgage payment and car insurance. I suppose my loved ones are getting Scratchies this year.
The fourth reason is my angel has been teething, i.e no sleep, clingy, snotty nose, screaming, you get the idea. Yesterday, all she wanted me to do was carry her while standing, I wasn't allowed to sit down. My poor hubby slept on the couch last night - he had to get up at dawn to catch a flight to Melbourne - just to get some sleep.
Well, that's my run down. I should be able to get a little inspiration tonight to write something a bit more entertaining.
``So long have I, gazed into your eyes, wondering what they'd look like on a new born child.''
Thursday 25 November 2004
You really don't know fear until you have had a child.
I am, by nature, a very fearful person.
It probably stems from my childhood and my mother who has many phobias of her own, and she unwittingly passed them on to me. Not hat she meant to, but it most certainly has something to do with me being extremely clumsy and, of course, the baby of the family for 8 years.
I've been rushed to the emergency department more times than I can remember, and my file there is larger than my whole entire family. At last count, I've had 12 broken bones, 6 torn ligaments, a scratched cornea (which was millimetres from my iris and certain blindness) and I nearly drowned. But that's another story.
Anyway, eventhough I'm an adult, I'm terrified of thunderstorms, but love snakes.I'll never drive faster than 80km/h but I'll faces an opponent in the ring 15 kgs heavier,a whole foot taller and from Maori decent.
I really don't want to pass on my phobias to my daughter, but I find myself wiping her hands with anti-bacterial lotion if she's touched something in public. I know she has to build up her immunity - I wouldn't want her to become the baby in the bubble - but I just can't help it. I'm always afraid something is going to happen to her, and it will be my fault. When she was born, I didn't even want people to hold her because of ''germs''. I thought, somehow I would muck her up as I was always the first kid in the family who would scuff their brand-new shoes. Since she was born, I haven't slept for more than 45mins in one sessions, constantly waking to check she's breathing. Am I neurotic?
Last night, though, I received the biggest scare of my entire life. The poor little teething bub was whingeing all afternoon, so I finally succumbed and gave her some Panadol. I must have squirted the liquid too quick down her throat and it ended up in her windpipe. Without going into too much detail, she wasn't breathing properly and I had to stick my fingers down her throat to make her throw up. For a full hour after that, I just held her, big tears splashing down my cheeks.
When Darp came over an hour later for dinner, I was still a mess.
Anyway, on a lighter note, it was great to see the bugger - even though he's grown a mullet! When I asked him my usual question, ``So are you seeing anyone new? Sorry, let me re-phrase that, how many girls are you seeing at the moment??'' I was quite surprised that the answer was ``one'' and that she was quite pretty, intelligent and normal. Not that Darp hasn't has his share of lookers, but they always seem to have some weird thing going on in their heads. By the way Darp, yes you are a cradle snatcher... only joking you know I love ya.
It probably stems from my childhood and my mother who has many phobias of her own, and she unwittingly passed them on to me. Not hat she meant to, but it most certainly has something to do with me being extremely clumsy and, of course, the baby of the family for 8 years.
I've been rushed to the emergency department more times than I can remember, and my file there is larger than my whole entire family. At last count, I've had 12 broken bones, 6 torn ligaments, a scratched cornea (which was millimetres from my iris and certain blindness) and I nearly drowned. But that's another story.
Anyway, eventhough I'm an adult, I'm terrified of thunderstorms, but love snakes.I'll never drive faster than 80km/h but I'll faces an opponent in the ring 15 kgs heavier,a whole foot taller and from Maori decent.
I really don't want to pass on my phobias to my daughter, but I find myself wiping her hands with anti-bacterial lotion if she's touched something in public. I know she has to build up her immunity - I wouldn't want her to become the baby in the bubble - but I just can't help it. I'm always afraid something is going to happen to her, and it will be my fault. When she was born, I didn't even want people to hold her because of ''germs''. I thought, somehow I would muck her up as I was always the first kid in the family who would scuff their brand-new shoes. Since she was born, I haven't slept for more than 45mins in one sessions, constantly waking to check she's breathing. Am I neurotic?
Last night, though, I received the biggest scare of my entire life. The poor little teething bub was whingeing all afternoon, so I finally succumbed and gave her some Panadol. I must have squirted the liquid too quick down her throat and it ended up in her windpipe. Without going into too much detail, she wasn't breathing properly and I had to stick my fingers down her throat to make her throw up. For a full hour after that, I just held her, big tears splashing down my cheeks.
When Darp came over an hour later for dinner, I was still a mess.
Anyway, on a lighter note, it was great to see the bugger - even though he's grown a mullet! When I asked him my usual question, ``So are you seeing anyone new? Sorry, let me re-phrase that, how many girls are you seeing at the moment??'' I was quite surprised that the answer was ``one'' and that she was quite pretty, intelligent and normal. Not that Darp hasn't has his share of lookers, but they always seem to have some weird thing going on in their heads. By the way Darp, yes you are a cradle snatcher... only joking you know I love ya.
Wednesday 24 November 2004
Babies are smarter than you think!
Why is it every time I change my little girl's nappy, within three minutes she has done a big, stinky poo?
Every morning, her Huggies is wet, heavy and does not contain anything resembling what she ingested the night before. Every morning, I feed her Weetbix and yogurt and wait, wait for the stink. But then, I cave in and change the wet nappy. It's then she gives me this mischievous grin. Her eyes sparkle and she stares into space for a minute or two. And then BAM! I smell it. She must have this obsessive compulsive thing that her brown pebbles must be laid in a clean, dry nappy. So, then off I go to change her nappy for the second time in 5 minutes.
Whoever is under the delusion that changing a baby's nappy is cute has not changed many in their lifetime. At first, it's a little fun. ``Ohh, look at their little widdle-widdles!'' ``How cute are these little nappies!'' But soon the novelty wears off.
When they are really newborn, the first couple of days, their poo is a dark green, sticky, tar like substance. It doesn't smell but it sticks to their little bums. A few days after that, if they are breastfeed, it changes to a diarrhea like yellowy substance that doesn't really smell, but stains ANYTHING it gets on. Let me re-tell a story that happened when my bub was only 10 days old.
It was a Saturday morning and my husband very kindly offered to change our daughter's nappy and let me lay in bed a little longer than usual. I warned him to do it quickly - off with the old, on with the new - like greased lightning. He assured me it would be fine. ``How hard is it to change a nappy?'' he said. I felt reassured and closed my eyes. Without exaggeration, 45 seconds later, I heard this explosive, wet fart and then ``Oh Shit.'' I jumped out of bed and to my horror found my husband's T'shirt covered in yellow, runny poo. As he was standing a good 15 cms away from the change table, a trail of the disgusting stuff was all over the bathroom floor tiles and dripping down the change table, soiling clean nappies, towels and other baby paraphanalia. Just as I got to the bathroom door, my clever little girl followed it up with a long wizz and proceeded to smear her arms, tummy, hair, legs in the mess. She actually had this look of evil on her face as she swam in the excrement. I just looked at him. He didn't know what to say. I was about to explode ( as you can imagine a new mum who has had less than 4 hours sleep would being faced with this). ``Don;t worry babe, I'll clean her up,just go back to bed''. I just glared at him, grabbed the now filthy bugger and proceeded to strip her now yellow stained clothes. Naked, I carried her over to the sink to wash her off when, out of nowhere, she let rip another wet, runny fart. Baby poo slithered down my body (I was holding her close), down my legs and onto my Tweety fluffy slippers which stained immediately. At that stage, my husband was about to crack up but then he caught the look in my eyes. ``This may be funny tomorrow, but if you f****n dare laugh, I will smear this shit all over you,'' I hissed. He bent down diligently and started cleaning my feet with baby wipes. Unbelievably, and I swear I'm not making this up, she let it rip once again. Still without a nappy, more poo sprayed my hubby as he was kneeling on the floor cleaning me up. There were no words.
Suffice is to say, ever since Pooey Saturday, we learned our lesson never to leave her without a nappy on.
Anyway, ever since she's been on solids, her poos stink so badly! It makes me want to throw up and constantly live with the Glen 20 can within arms reach. My double problem, is that I have a very sensitive nose and can smell things a mile away. I also have a problem with certain smells; eggs, raw meat, fish and a number of other things. Many times, I've rewashed the dishes after my hubby has kindly finished just cos I can still smell egg, fish, meat etc etc etc.
Do I have a problem?
PS Have been craving Violet Crumbles for the last two nights Every time I go to bed, all I can think of ar these delicious treats... and I can't even remember the last time I ate one! I'll have to go and buy a share pack of them today and eat the whole bag myself.
Every morning, her Huggies is wet, heavy and does not contain anything resembling what she ingested the night before. Every morning, I feed her Weetbix and yogurt and wait, wait for the stink. But then, I cave in and change the wet nappy. It's then she gives me this mischievous grin. Her eyes sparkle and she stares into space for a minute or two. And then BAM! I smell it. She must have this obsessive compulsive thing that her brown pebbles must be laid in a clean, dry nappy. So, then off I go to change her nappy for the second time in 5 minutes.
Whoever is under the delusion that changing a baby's nappy is cute has not changed many in their lifetime. At first, it's a little fun. ``Ohh, look at their little widdle-widdles!'' ``How cute are these little nappies!'' But soon the novelty wears off.
When they are really newborn, the first couple of days, their poo is a dark green, sticky, tar like substance. It doesn't smell but it sticks to their little bums. A few days after that, if they are breastfeed, it changes to a diarrhea like yellowy substance that doesn't really smell, but stains ANYTHING it gets on. Let me re-tell a story that happened when my bub was only 10 days old.
It was a Saturday morning and my husband very kindly offered to change our daughter's nappy and let me lay in bed a little longer than usual. I warned him to do it quickly - off with the old, on with the new - like greased lightning. He assured me it would be fine. ``How hard is it to change a nappy?'' he said. I felt reassured and closed my eyes. Without exaggeration, 45 seconds later, I heard this explosive, wet fart and then ``Oh Shit.'' I jumped out of bed and to my horror found my husband's T'shirt covered in yellow, runny poo. As he was standing a good 15 cms away from the change table, a trail of the disgusting stuff was all over the bathroom floor tiles and dripping down the change table, soiling clean nappies, towels and other baby paraphanalia. Just as I got to the bathroom door, my clever little girl followed it up with a long wizz and proceeded to smear her arms, tummy, hair, legs in the mess. She actually had this look of evil on her face as she swam in the excrement. I just looked at him. He didn't know what to say. I was about to explode ( as you can imagine a new mum who has had less than 4 hours sleep would being faced with this). ``Don;t worry babe, I'll clean her up,just go back to bed''. I just glared at him, grabbed the now filthy bugger and proceeded to strip her now yellow stained clothes. Naked, I carried her over to the sink to wash her off when, out of nowhere, she let rip another wet, runny fart. Baby poo slithered down my body (I was holding her close), down my legs and onto my Tweety fluffy slippers which stained immediately. At that stage, my husband was about to crack up but then he caught the look in my eyes. ``This may be funny tomorrow, but if you f****n dare laugh, I will smear this shit all over you,'' I hissed. He bent down diligently and started cleaning my feet with baby wipes. Unbelievably, and I swear I'm not making this up, she let it rip once again. Still without a nappy, more poo sprayed my hubby as he was kneeling on the floor cleaning me up. There were no words.
Suffice is to say, ever since Pooey Saturday, we learned our lesson never to leave her without a nappy on.
Anyway, ever since she's been on solids, her poos stink so badly! It makes me want to throw up and constantly live with the Glen 20 can within arms reach. My double problem, is that I have a very sensitive nose and can smell things a mile away. I also have a problem with certain smells; eggs, raw meat, fish and a number of other things. Many times, I've rewashed the dishes after my hubby has kindly finished just cos I can still smell egg, fish, meat etc etc etc.
Do I have a problem?
PS Have been craving Violet Crumbles for the last two nights Every time I go to bed, all I can think of ar these delicious treats... and I can't even remember the last time I ate one! I'll have to go and buy a share pack of them today and eat the whole bag myself.
Tuesday 23 November 2004
Catchy bloody songs!
I know it's been a week since I blogged last, but I've been so busy doing absolutely F all. (does that make sense??)
One thing that I have discovered is that at 3.30pm every week day, I can actually zone out for half an hour. Why I hear you ask? 1, 2, 3, 4 HI 5! Yes, my daughter loves the annoying buggers, and it seems as if their annoyingly easy to remember songs have rubbed off on me. This week's feature song is ``Snakes and Ladders.'' I was actually singing it while at Coles yesterday! No joke..
``Up, up, up and I'm sliding down, snakes and ladders I'm chasing you around.''
Ohhh, I'm so sad, I know the words off by heart! Nathan the over-actor, over-dancer really tries, he just cracks me up. I love watching just how sweaty his armpits can get! But, the one that really irritates me is that Charlie chic.. I hate the way she sings and smiles, she's too sickly sweet.
Whenever I watch these types of shows, I wonder why they don't have wogs? They have the token Asian and finally on Playschool they have some indigenous Australians, but how about someone with olive skin, a different name other than Wayne or Lisa? Maybe in another 200 years.
Today, I was so excited, my little baby nearly crawled and she said BYE BYE! I left her with mum to go to a Market Research group. $80 to talk about how bad the McDonald's ads are. It was quite fun seeing as one of my biggest pet hates are bad TV commercials. Now I have an extra $80 to buy a new top or shoes.
``How did I ever come this far without baby? That was before, my eyes had seen the light.Never did you ever give me reason to doubt you baby. You are my destiny....''
(20 points for anyone who can name the Prince song those lyrics are from. An extra 10 for the Album)
One thing that I have discovered is that at 3.30pm every week day, I can actually zone out for half an hour. Why I hear you ask? 1, 2, 3, 4 HI 5! Yes, my daughter loves the annoying buggers, and it seems as if their annoyingly easy to remember songs have rubbed off on me. This week's feature song is ``Snakes and Ladders.'' I was actually singing it while at Coles yesterday! No joke..
``Up, up, up and I'm sliding down, snakes and ladders I'm chasing you around.''
Ohhh, I'm so sad, I know the words off by heart! Nathan the over-actor, over-dancer really tries, he just cracks me up. I love watching just how sweaty his armpits can get! But, the one that really irritates me is that Charlie chic.. I hate the way she sings and smiles, she's too sickly sweet.
Whenever I watch these types of shows, I wonder why they don't have wogs? They have the token Asian and finally on Playschool they have some indigenous Australians, but how about someone with olive skin, a different name other than Wayne or Lisa? Maybe in another 200 years.
Today, I was so excited, my little baby nearly crawled and she said BYE BYE! I left her with mum to go to a Market Research group. $80 to talk about how bad the McDonald's ads are. It was quite fun seeing as one of my biggest pet hates are bad TV commercials. Now I have an extra $80 to buy a new top or shoes.
``How did I ever come this far without baby? That was before, my eyes had seen the light.Never did you ever give me reason to doubt you baby. You are my destiny....''
(20 points for anyone who can name the Prince song those lyrics are from. An extra 10 for the Album)
Wednesday 17 November 2004
I'm losing my brain!
It's been said that every time a woman has a baby, she loses one quarter of her brain.
I'm not sure how accurate this is, but honestly some days, since I had my little munchkin, I feel like the biggest bimbo.
Anyway, today my sister and I went to Burwood Westfield. We visit a different shopping centre every couple of days to break the monotony of being at home with kids. As we push our prams around - she has this double pram monstrosity that clears a path in any shopping centre traffic jam - we gossip, try on shoes and eat McDonald's or Subway. We bitch about skinny girls, fat girls, faggy looking woggy guys and people with really bad fashion sense.
For example, there was this girl who looked about 25 today who looked like a complete idiot. She had dyed her long hair jet black and had peroxided a thick streak of her hair on top of her head white blonde. She looked like a freaking skunk! And to make things worse, she was wearing skin tight black and white snake skin vinyl pants. She also had on ten centimetre high stiletto thigh length boots - with STUDS! I'll relate the exchange between my sister and I.
``Oh my God, check out this chic, she looks like a freaking skunk,'' I said.
``Whichever hairdresser did that to her should be shot,'' she said.
``And look, she's walking with her (mid 50-year-old Indian) parents. I would be embarrassed to walk with my daughter if she looked like that,'' I said.
``If that was my daughter, I'd smack her in the head and wouldn't let her leave the house looking like that.'' she said.
We then burst into peals of laughter.
Another favourite pastime of ours is checking out good looking guys. While we are both married to gorgeous men, a little bit of eye candy never goes astray. You would be surprised how many good looking guys there are at shopping centres during the day. The funny thing is, if we ever caught our hubbies checking out another woman, we'd both be shouting blue murder. I'll relate another exchange we had today.
``You should have seen his sexy guy on Burwood Rd getting into his truck.He wasn't wearing a shirt, only shorts. He was hot,'' I said.
``Did he have a good body?'' she said.
``Yeah. But then I saw that he was getting into a truck with garbage removal services printed on it,'' I said.
``Ohhhhhh.''
I don't exactly understand her last ``ohhhhh.'' She was probably imagining what the guy looked like not being turned on by garbage!
Anyway, back to the topic of this entry. After we finished our shopping, my sister and I parted company and I went to buy some meat. I'm not really familiar with Burwood Westfield, but I was sure I knew how to get back to my car. I mean, how hard could it be? I parked in the Parents with Prams section right outside the doors to the shops. You wouldn't believe it, but I walked around and around for about 45 mins. I was getting disoriented, baby was screaming ``MAMA MAMA MAMA MAMA'' and I was at the point of losing it. I found a customer service desk.
``I've lost my car, I mean I don't know how to get to the carpark. I went up the escalator thingy and Target was one level up.''
I then burst into tears. This woman just looked at me in complete disbelief.
``Okay pet, no need to cry. Do you remember what colour you parked on?''
I just stood there shaking my head, tears coursing down my cheeks.
``I think it was pink.'' I sobbed.
``No dear, there isn't a pink level.''
Anyway after explaining where I thought the car was she looked at me with a look of pity on her face and said,
``You are on the right level. Just walk 100 metres and then go down the travelator.''
``But, I just came from that direction, I've been walking up and down this section for 10 mins.''
I think at this point she thought I was insane. She walked around her desk and escorted me to the travelator which led straight to my car. I had walked past it about 7 times.
Now can you see why I think I'm losing my brain??
I'm not sure how accurate this is, but honestly some days, since I had my little munchkin, I feel like the biggest bimbo.
Anyway, today my sister and I went to Burwood Westfield. We visit a different shopping centre every couple of days to break the monotony of being at home with kids. As we push our prams around - she has this double pram monstrosity that clears a path in any shopping centre traffic jam - we gossip, try on shoes and eat McDonald's or Subway. We bitch about skinny girls, fat girls, faggy looking woggy guys and people with really bad fashion sense.
For example, there was this girl who looked about 25 today who looked like a complete idiot. She had dyed her long hair jet black and had peroxided a thick streak of her hair on top of her head white blonde. She looked like a freaking skunk! And to make things worse, she was wearing skin tight black and white snake skin vinyl pants. She also had on ten centimetre high stiletto thigh length boots - with STUDS! I'll relate the exchange between my sister and I.
``Oh my God, check out this chic, she looks like a freaking skunk,'' I said.
``Whichever hairdresser did that to her should be shot,'' she said.
``And look, she's walking with her (mid 50-year-old Indian) parents. I would be embarrassed to walk with my daughter if she looked like that,'' I said.
``If that was my daughter, I'd smack her in the head and wouldn't let her leave the house looking like that.'' she said.
We then burst into peals of laughter.
Another favourite pastime of ours is checking out good looking guys. While we are both married to gorgeous men, a little bit of eye candy never goes astray. You would be surprised how many good looking guys there are at shopping centres during the day. The funny thing is, if we ever caught our hubbies checking out another woman, we'd both be shouting blue murder. I'll relate another exchange we had today.
``You should have seen his sexy guy on Burwood Rd getting into his truck.He wasn't wearing a shirt, only shorts. He was hot,'' I said.
``Did he have a good body?'' she said.
``Yeah. But then I saw that he was getting into a truck with garbage removal services printed on it,'' I said.
``Ohhhhhh.''
I don't exactly understand her last ``ohhhhh.'' She was probably imagining what the guy looked like not being turned on by garbage!
Anyway, back to the topic of this entry. After we finished our shopping, my sister and I parted company and I went to buy some meat. I'm not really familiar with Burwood Westfield, but I was sure I knew how to get back to my car. I mean, how hard could it be? I parked in the Parents with Prams section right outside the doors to the shops. You wouldn't believe it, but I walked around and around for about 45 mins. I was getting disoriented, baby was screaming ``MAMA MAMA MAMA MAMA'' and I was at the point of losing it. I found a customer service desk.
``I've lost my car, I mean I don't know how to get to the carpark. I went up the escalator thingy and Target was one level up.''
I then burst into tears. This woman just looked at me in complete disbelief.
``Okay pet, no need to cry. Do you remember what colour you parked on?''
I just stood there shaking my head, tears coursing down my cheeks.
``I think it was pink.'' I sobbed.
``No dear, there isn't a pink level.''
Anyway after explaining where I thought the car was she looked at me with a look of pity on her face and said,
``You are on the right level. Just walk 100 metres and then go down the travelator.''
``But, I just came from that direction, I've been walking up and down this section for 10 mins.''
I think at this point she thought I was insane. She walked around her desk and escorted me to the travelator which led straight to my car. I had walked past it about 7 times.
Now can you see why I think I'm losing my brain??
Tuesday 16 November 2004
I'm so pissed off right now!
Ok, so I tuned into the Cutting Edge at 8.30pm tonight to see what promised to be a very interesting doco on Evangelism in America. Three quarters of the way through, and the stupid show freezes. Instead of SBS apologising or un-pausing the show, they leave it frozen on a Guatemalan Evangelist with bad hair mid way through sentence. And to make matters worse, it stayed like that for 15 minutes, while I got angrier and angrier. Finally, it starts going again only to FREEZE UP AGAIN on the bad-haired Guatemalan. Then, the show abruptly ends, without any explanation and Mary Kostakidis is reading the news. While I think Mary is tops, I really wanted to see the end of the program.
Fark!! I was just getting stuck into it and getting worked up about the hypocrisy of the whole Evangelism thing but I'm too pissed to off to write about it.
I'm going to bed!
PS I know I'm getting readers, but I'm not getting many comments. I enjoy reading these comments, so feel free to put forward your two cents worth.
Good night.
Fark!! I was just getting stuck into it and getting worked up about the hypocrisy of the whole Evangelism thing but I'm too pissed to off to write about it.
I'm going to bed!
PS I know I'm getting readers, but I'm not getting many comments. I enjoy reading these comments, so feel free to put forward your two cents worth.
Good night.
It's all over.....
As Carrie wrote her last column women all over Australia were awash with floods of tears.
Okay, I'm being a touch overdramatic, but last night as the credits rolled after the final episode of Sex and the City, I was truly on a downer. For me, it was the perfect ending, but I am a die hard romantic. My husband rolled his eyes as I cried when Carrie and Big (we now know his name is John) kissed and he swept her away back to New York.
Now that's how a woman should be kissed!!!
I do feel sorry for my hubby. I love him to death, but he is probably the least romantic person I've ever met. As a typical little princess (well, that's what my parents call me), I want the fairytale, the beautiful fru fru ball gowns, the roses, chocolates, music. Anyway, I suppose he's used to me gushing, but I'm sure the the poor bloke was ready to stick his head in the oven after having to hear me say ``why don't you kiss me like that'' or ``say something romantic''.
Are there romantic men out there like in the movies?? If Shrek can be romantic and sweep his ogre Fiona off her feet, I think there's hope for my Balkan prince yet.
Well, my baby just woke up from her 15 minute nap. I can't believe her naps are getting shorter and shorter. I'm exhausted, the house is a mess and I'm still in my nightgown.
Aghhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh. And now I have to start thinking about what I'm going to cook for dinner.
Okay, I'm being a touch overdramatic, but last night as the credits rolled after the final episode of Sex and the City, I was truly on a downer. For me, it was the perfect ending, but I am a die hard romantic. My husband rolled his eyes as I cried when Carrie and Big (we now know his name is John) kissed and he swept her away back to New York.
Now that's how a woman should be kissed!!!
I do feel sorry for my hubby. I love him to death, but he is probably the least romantic person I've ever met. As a typical little princess (well, that's what my parents call me), I want the fairytale, the beautiful fru fru ball gowns, the roses, chocolates, music. Anyway, I suppose he's used to me gushing, but I'm sure the the poor bloke was ready to stick his head in the oven after having to hear me say ``why don't you kiss me like that'' or ``say something romantic''.
Are there romantic men out there like in the movies?? If Shrek can be romantic and sweep his ogre Fiona off her feet, I think there's hope for my Balkan prince yet.
Well, my baby just woke up from her 15 minute nap. I can't believe her naps are getting shorter and shorter. I'm exhausted, the house is a mess and I'm still in my nightgown.
Aghhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh. And now I have to start thinking about what I'm going to cook for dinner.
Sunday 14 November 2004
Un-funniest home videos
I hate Funniest Home Videos. Not as much as 60 minutes, but I do hate this stupid show with a passion. Unfortunately, my husband is under the distinct misconception that out 8-month-old finds this pathetic excuse for entertainment funny. She's a baby, she finds her own farts (and loud ones they truly are) hilarious.
Anyway,I was making mashed chicken and zucchini for her and I hear that annoying ``Australia, Australia, this is you''. I nearly stuffed boiling hot baby food into my ears just to make the pain stop! Usually, I would bark at my husband to change the channel. It is a very rare occasion to find the remote in his control, (he calls me the remote Nazi) and I wasn't talking to him, due to a hormonal mood swing of sorts. Anyway, I just can't understand how we are expected to digest the same slop week after week of men impaling themselves on a telegraph pole or stupid teenagers falling off the trampoline. True, I, just like the next person can piss myself stupid at someone hurting themselves, but how many times can it still be deemed funny??? And the parents taping their kids. They can see that their baby is going to really hurt themselves, but they wouldn't dream about putting the camera down to stop their child lose an eye, they might just win a new TV or even DVD player. No joke, this one episode, the idiotic excuse for a mother was taping her toddler eating dog shit.. and laughing about it!
While I'm ranting, I just remembered two commercials I absolutely hate. The Panadol ad, when that ugly, hairy fat guy has a headache and still needs to ``go on stage'' - I seriously want to kick him in the mouth - and the new sunscreen ad when the girls spray sunscreen on the dorky guy ``psst psst'' and then start kissing his back. I don't get it?!?
This time tomorrow night I will be sitting down - with my mobile phone so I can sms my sister during the ad breaks - to watch the last episode of Sex and the City. I just know I will be crying, and I just know many, many women will be taking Prozac the next day to get over the depression of the show ending. Is this how my mother felt when Dynasty's last episode aired? I can honestly say I love this show, I'm, addicted to it, and no other show in history will ever take it's place in my heart. Am I being touch over dramatic? I don't think so, so many women I know feel exactly the same way. Why oh why does it have to end???????
Maybe I need to get a hobby.
By the way, still craving Krispy Kremes.
Anyway,I was making mashed chicken and zucchini for her and I hear that annoying ``Australia, Australia, this is you''. I nearly stuffed boiling hot baby food into my ears just to make the pain stop! Usually, I would bark at my husband to change the channel. It is a very rare occasion to find the remote in his control, (he calls me the remote Nazi) and I wasn't talking to him, due to a hormonal mood swing of sorts. Anyway, I just can't understand how we are expected to digest the same slop week after week of men impaling themselves on a telegraph pole or stupid teenagers falling off the trampoline. True, I, just like the next person can piss myself stupid at someone hurting themselves, but how many times can it still be deemed funny??? And the parents taping their kids. They can see that their baby is going to really hurt themselves, but they wouldn't dream about putting the camera down to stop their child lose an eye, they might just win a new TV or even DVD player. No joke, this one episode, the idiotic excuse for a mother was taping her toddler eating dog shit.. and laughing about it!
While I'm ranting, I just remembered two commercials I absolutely hate. The Panadol ad, when that ugly, hairy fat guy has a headache and still needs to ``go on stage'' - I seriously want to kick him in the mouth - and the new sunscreen ad when the girls spray sunscreen on the dorky guy ``psst psst'' and then start kissing his back. I don't get it?!?
This time tomorrow night I will be sitting down - with my mobile phone so I can sms my sister during the ad breaks - to watch the last episode of Sex and the City. I just know I will be crying, and I just know many, many women will be taking Prozac the next day to get over the depression of the show ending. Is this how my mother felt when Dynasty's last episode aired? I can honestly say I love this show, I'm, addicted to it, and no other show in history will ever take it's place in my heart. Am I being touch over dramatic? I don't think so, so many women I know feel exactly the same way. Why oh why does it have to end???????
Maybe I need to get a hobby.
By the way, still craving Krispy Kremes.
Friday 12 November 2004
Goodbye Abu Ammar
With a short statement by a French doctor, the death of one of the most recognisable faces of patriotic struggle in the 20th Century, was announced.
While I'm not going to launch into a long-winded obituary, I was not going to let this historical moment pass without a few personal words on the man, Yasser Arafat.
I suppose it was easy for the world to see him as a caricature, as he was often portrayed. An evil-minded, terrorist, black and white cut-out, pigeon holed and labeled as a killer, an ineloquent orator (due to his poor English), an anti-semite. However, I think the man's achievements have been all but overlooked, marred by suicide bombers, skewed by Israeli propaganda and demonised by the ill-informed, narrow minded West.
While he lived fighting for the right of his fellow countrymen and women, the Palestinians themselves were first and foremost his most outspoken critics. Regardless of this, he was able to bring together the varied factions - religious and political - and find an arena to converse, to listen. One of the biggest faults of the Palestinian people, in my opinion, is their divisiveness. I am often angry and frustrated by this. Maybe one lesson we can learn from the Jewish people is their ability to stick together.
I remember as a young child asking my dad who Arafat was and what the PLO stood for. I remember I was only about 6 or 7 and some little anglo called me a terrorist at school. I know that child didn't know what they said, but it hurt. I knew it was a bad word, a dirty word. I turned to my dad. I still can hear my father's words, ``Yasser Arafat is a freedom fighter and if anyone asks you what the PLO means, tell them that they are fighting for your grandfather's land and our homeland.'' I didn't fully understand that my parents had been refugees, had been living in the Diaspora ever since they were children, but just being able to say, Palestinian Liberation Organisation, gave me a sense of identity and belonging.
I suppose this is why I'm sad. He had many failings, but I believe he acted in the best way he knew how, within the limits he had. No-one will ever encapsulate the face of the Palestinians as he has. Labels will eventually fade. Often, the truth will be revealed, but most definitely a myth will be created, one that is larger than life. But he was but a man.
As he said, in his own words, ``No one can escape his destiny. I am a Palestinian''.
Just as an aside, I am sickened by the comments of the Israelis and our own PM, John Howard. It seems the Israelis - and I shouldn't be surprised - are the first to spew disgusting, degrading and misleading comments about Yasser Arafat. As one of the Israeli ministers said ``he was the Godfather of al-qaeda and Bin Laden'' clearly portrays how even in death, Israel continues to demonise and skew the worlds perception so as to remove any feelings of sympathy, de-humanising all Palestinians. It makes me sick. As for our own puppet Howard, his comments, along the lines of ``he should have done more to curb terrorist activities'' just proves how ignorant and stupid he looks. I'm not surprised by his comments, but just pissed that this Kirribilli dwelling, never got-his-hands dirty, living in the land of luxury WASP has the audacity to give such a sound-bite. Howard wouldn't have lasted a minute in Arafat's shoes.
While I'm not going to launch into a long-winded obituary, I was not going to let this historical moment pass without a few personal words on the man, Yasser Arafat.
I suppose it was easy for the world to see him as a caricature, as he was often portrayed. An evil-minded, terrorist, black and white cut-out, pigeon holed and labeled as a killer, an ineloquent orator (due to his poor English), an anti-semite. However, I think the man's achievements have been all but overlooked, marred by suicide bombers, skewed by Israeli propaganda and demonised by the ill-informed, narrow minded West.
While he lived fighting for the right of his fellow countrymen and women, the Palestinians themselves were first and foremost his most outspoken critics. Regardless of this, he was able to bring together the varied factions - religious and political - and find an arena to converse, to listen. One of the biggest faults of the Palestinian people, in my opinion, is their divisiveness. I am often angry and frustrated by this. Maybe one lesson we can learn from the Jewish people is their ability to stick together.
I remember as a young child asking my dad who Arafat was and what the PLO stood for. I remember I was only about 6 or 7 and some little anglo called me a terrorist at school. I know that child didn't know what they said, but it hurt. I knew it was a bad word, a dirty word. I turned to my dad. I still can hear my father's words, ``Yasser Arafat is a freedom fighter and if anyone asks you what the PLO means, tell them that they are fighting for your grandfather's land and our homeland.'' I didn't fully understand that my parents had been refugees, had been living in the Diaspora ever since they were children, but just being able to say, Palestinian Liberation Organisation, gave me a sense of identity and belonging.
I suppose this is why I'm sad. He had many failings, but I believe he acted in the best way he knew how, within the limits he had. No-one will ever encapsulate the face of the Palestinians as he has. Labels will eventually fade. Often, the truth will be revealed, but most definitely a myth will be created, one that is larger than life. But he was but a man.
As he said, in his own words, ``No one can escape his destiny. I am a Palestinian''.
Just as an aside, I am sickened by the comments of the Israelis and our own PM, John Howard. It seems the Israelis - and I shouldn't be surprised - are the first to spew disgusting, degrading and misleading comments about Yasser Arafat. As one of the Israeli ministers said ``he was the Godfather of al-qaeda and Bin Laden'' clearly portrays how even in death, Israel continues to demonise and skew the worlds perception so as to remove any feelings of sympathy, de-humanising all Palestinians. It makes me sick. As for our own puppet Howard, his comments, along the lines of ``he should have done more to curb terrorist activities'' just proves how ignorant and stupid he looks. I'm not surprised by his comments, but just pissed that this Kirribilli dwelling, never got-his-hands dirty, living in the land of luxury WASP has the audacity to give such a sound-bite. Howard wouldn't have lasted a minute in Arafat's shoes.
Thursday 11 November 2004
He chucked a sickie for me!
My husband never chucks sickies. He has this amazing work ethic, and even when he is sick, goes in to work or works from home. This morning, however, he chucked a sickie for me! There comes a time in every person's life when they are reminded of how much their other half loves them, and today was mine.
My little fidgeting baby was up all night. She's teething, wants a cuddle and loves to snuggle up close to her dad and I. The poor bub was up most of the night. Even when I put her in her cradle, she would turn on 180 degree and stick her legs out of the bars just so she could kick me. This is nothing new. She has been kicking me ever since she was in my womb. So violently in fact, one day I was in court covering a story for the paper and the guy next to me thought I was going to die. He had this look of horror on his face as he could see my abdomen protruding and jerking at weird angles. Baby legs and arms clearly visible through my top. The first time I felt her kick, I was 16 weeks pregnant. Every night after that until she was born, she would kick and punch from 11pm till 3am. Hence, I didn't get much sleep. I used to joke that she'd be a kickboxer like her mum. Now, I don't think it's a joke.
Anyway, I had this headache all day yesterday. It progressively got worse until 10pm when it became a full fledged migraine. I know what it's from. My bloody wisdom tooth. I had three removed 2 months before my wedding. It was worse than childbirth, MUCH worse. As I was too scared to go under a general anesthetic, I had them pulled out by a surgeon in a dentists' chair. 10 needles, the last in the roof of my mouth (it was the most excruciating 10 seconds of my life). All three wisdom teeth were growing at weird angles, all impacted, none had broken through the gum. Each had 4 roots and each tooth had to be broken before being removed. It was agony. Anyway, the dumb dentist thought I had enough room for the top right wisdom tooth to come out as he had taken out the molar next to it. Two and a half fucken years later and it still hasn't come through. Every 6 weeks or so I get this stupid migraine. But I'm too scared to go back and have it removed. Does this mean I have too much wisdom? In arabic, wisdom teeth are called, brain teeth = the teeth that make you smart. I don't know how smart I am, I'm too stupid to get this last one removed.
So, my dear husband, who gets angry at me for getting worried because he never takes a lunch break and often works 15 hours straight, must have seen how pathetic I looked this morning and called work to take the day off so he can take care of munchkin today. He didn't say he was sick though, he told work I was sick. Bless, he's so honest. They are great like that, very understanding.
I love him! He even brought me vegemite toast in bed!
I was looking forward to seeing my old editor Benny today, but I had to cancel. Maybe I'll see him next week.
My migraine has nearly dissipated. I've taken 6 Panadols today (can't take Nurofen when breastfeeding)and just stayed in bed all day. Except for now when I felt like writing. My two babes have gone out to Coles and I'm about to go back to bed. I'm still feeling really nauseas. I have been for a couple of weeks. It may be time to go to the doctor....hmmm.......
For anyone who's interested, there's an anti-war rally in town today, 5pm, Town Hall steps. I wish I could go, but I don't think I'm going to get out of my pyjamas today. Ohh, and if anyone goes past Wynard, pick up a sampler box of Krispy Kremes for me, I have this amazing craving. Don't forget to also get a dozen original glazed. hmmmmm dougnuts!!
Back to bed I go.
My little fidgeting baby was up all night. She's teething, wants a cuddle and loves to snuggle up close to her dad and I. The poor bub was up most of the night. Even when I put her in her cradle, she would turn on 180 degree and stick her legs out of the bars just so she could kick me. This is nothing new. She has been kicking me ever since she was in my womb. So violently in fact, one day I was in court covering a story for the paper and the guy next to me thought I was going to die. He had this look of horror on his face as he could see my abdomen protruding and jerking at weird angles. Baby legs and arms clearly visible through my top. The first time I felt her kick, I was 16 weeks pregnant. Every night after that until she was born, she would kick and punch from 11pm till 3am. Hence, I didn't get much sleep. I used to joke that she'd be a kickboxer like her mum. Now, I don't think it's a joke.
Anyway, I had this headache all day yesterday. It progressively got worse until 10pm when it became a full fledged migraine. I know what it's from. My bloody wisdom tooth. I had three removed 2 months before my wedding. It was worse than childbirth, MUCH worse. As I was too scared to go under a general anesthetic, I had them pulled out by a surgeon in a dentists' chair. 10 needles, the last in the roof of my mouth (it was the most excruciating 10 seconds of my life). All three wisdom teeth were growing at weird angles, all impacted, none had broken through the gum. Each had 4 roots and each tooth had to be broken before being removed. It was agony. Anyway, the dumb dentist thought I had enough room for the top right wisdom tooth to come out as he had taken out the molar next to it. Two and a half fucken years later and it still hasn't come through. Every 6 weeks or so I get this stupid migraine. But I'm too scared to go back and have it removed. Does this mean I have too much wisdom? In arabic, wisdom teeth are called, brain teeth = the teeth that make you smart. I don't know how smart I am, I'm too stupid to get this last one removed.
So, my dear husband, who gets angry at me for getting worried because he never takes a lunch break and often works 15 hours straight, must have seen how pathetic I looked this morning and called work to take the day off so he can take care of munchkin today. He didn't say he was sick though, he told work I was sick. Bless, he's so honest. They are great like that, very understanding.
I love him! He even brought me vegemite toast in bed!
I was looking forward to seeing my old editor Benny today, but I had to cancel. Maybe I'll see him next week.
My migraine has nearly dissipated. I've taken 6 Panadols today (can't take Nurofen when breastfeeding)and just stayed in bed all day. Except for now when I felt like writing. My two babes have gone out to Coles and I'm about to go back to bed. I'm still feeling really nauseas. I have been for a couple of weeks. It may be time to go to the doctor....hmmm.......
For anyone who's interested, there's an anti-war rally in town today, 5pm, Town Hall steps. I wish I could go, but I don't think I'm going to get out of my pyjamas today. Ohh, and if anyone goes past Wynard, pick up a sampler box of Krispy Kremes for me, I have this amazing craving. Don't forget to also get a dozen original glazed. hmmmmm dougnuts!!
Back to bed I go.
Wednesday 10 November 2004
Silvio Rivier
Silvio's smiling face
Apologies to readers who are sick of reading about politics. I'm especially sorry to Marija, I promise to write about something a little more light hearted :)
While I'm an avid Simpsons fan (isn't everyone), I've seen every episode at least a dozen times, so at 6pm every evening, while I'm preparing the evening meal, I turn to SBS and watch the smiling face of Mr Silvio Rivier present Global Village. I thoroughly enjoy watching this show as you get a brief snapshot of different cultures. A few weeks ago there was an episode shot in a very remote part of Peru. It was really hard to watch as the young girls, who as a rite of passage, had all their hair plucked out of their heads by the narly old fingers of the elders. shudder!
Anyhow, the real reason I watch it is to hear Mr Rivier pronounce foreign words. It's so funny! He tries really hard, and probably pronounces them correctly, but it's just hilarious. And, the funniest part is right at the end when he says, ``This is ssssylviooo rivierrrrrrrr''. Honestly, I cack myself.
While I'm on TV, I have to tell you all of my obsession with Deal or No Deal. I'm actually really pissed off that it's shot in Melbourne. I'll probably never have the chance to get on this fab show. I'm forever shouting at the pussies who deal on $2000 or whatever. If I was there, I'd go the whole way. I love the host Andrew as well, but not as much as the hottie Geoff Jansz. I really want to get on Wheel Of Fortune. It musn't be too hard to get on, have you seen some of the nobs that get on???
Why can't I win $50,000? That's all I really want. I'm not being too selfish! I buy scratchies, $2 jackpot (my husband has banned me from the pokies) and I never win. Maybe one day...
The sun, the moon and stars, don't seem as far as they did yesterday!
Tuesday 9 November 2004
Arafat's on life support
Has he got only hours left?
Apparently, the PNA has said there will be a controlled hand-over of power to an interim government until elections are held. I find this hard to believe as we are talking about Arabs. The old adage, ``Too many chiefs, not enough indians'' fits the Palestinians like a glove. I know I'm repeating myself but this is going to be such a turning point in the history of the Palestinian issue. As much as I's like to be optimistic, I just can't be.
Apparently, the PNA has said there will be a controlled hand-over of power to an interim government until elections are held. I find this hard to believe as we are talking about Arabs. The old adage, ``Too many chiefs, not enough indians'' fits the Palestinians like a glove. I know I'm repeating myself but this is going to be such a turning point in the history of the Palestinian issue. As much as I's like to be optimistic, I just can't be.
Friday 5 November 2004
Will he be buried in Jerusalem?
I am afraid, very afraid.
Typically, there are conflicting reports on whether Arafat is dead or not. One thing is for certain, there is no doubt that even if he is still clinically alive at the moment, it won't be for long. This rapid deterioration has left me afraid. How many deaths will transpire as the result of the passing of this old man? Bloodshed and turmoil have been predicted. Without a doubt, Israeli troops will soon be mobilised in ''hot spots'', rallies will break out and mourning will envelope a nation.
And how about his burial? Will the butcher Sharon stay true to his word and refuse entry to Arafat, even in death, to the Holy City?
Personally, I feel disgusted at the thought of this. I believe there will be bloodshed. Israel will use this as an excuse to commit more atrocities. It will be a disaster for the Palestinian people.
I really am afraid.
Typically, there are conflicting reports on whether Arafat is dead or not. One thing is for certain, there is no doubt that even if he is still clinically alive at the moment, it won't be for long. This rapid deterioration has left me afraid. How many deaths will transpire as the result of the passing of this old man? Bloodshed and turmoil have been predicted. Without a doubt, Israeli troops will soon be mobilised in ''hot spots'', rallies will break out and mourning will envelope a nation.
And how about his burial? Will the butcher Sharon stay true to his word and refuse entry to Arafat, even in death, to the Holy City?
Personally, I feel disgusted at the thought of this. I believe there will be bloodshed. Israel will use this as an excuse to commit more atrocities. It will be a disaster for the Palestinian people.
I really am afraid.
Thursday 4 November 2004
Pretty Boy and Drag Queen
GUESS WHAT? My little bubby has a tooth! Finally!! Now, if only she'll start to crawl.....So far, she hasn't bitten me, but it's just broken through the gum so we'll see just how long it will be until she graduates to a bottle. My clever little munchkin has also added a few words to her ever increasing repetoire. KA KA = yuck. She says this SO emphatically when she doesn't like what I'm feeding her or when my mother-in-law is around (ONLY JOKING! That was just a snide little remark I couldn't resist). It's really very cute!
Anyway, back to the subject of this blog. I have two gorgeous rainbow lorikeets that visit me every morning. I've nick named them Pretty Boy and Drag Queen obviously due to their gorgeously coloured plumage. It all started about two weeks ago. One landed on my kitchen window sill. My little bub was so excited and tried to jump out of my arms. Anyway, my other half wouldn't let me give them chocolate (doesn't every body love chocolate?) and proceeded to soak some white bread in water for them. Now, I'm not the biggest animal lover (especially not cats! I will one day tell you the story that spurned my hatred of these vile creatures. Lets just say there are a lot of feral cats in Jordan), but these birdies are so cute. After that first feed, the next morning, I was snoozing in bed when I heard a rat-tat-tat on the kitchen window. And, lo and behold, they were waking me up, tapping the glass with their beaks for brekky. How intelligent. It appears as if each of these birds' brain capacity is larger than George W Bushs's!! However, on Monday, I thought I'd go one step further and bought them some bird seed from Coles. I think this was a big mistake as the second I put out the seed and water, this stupid ugly kamikaze bird (I don't actually know the name of this type of bird, but it has a yellow ring around it's beak and it dives, like a kamikaze bomber at everything that moves, even brush-tailed possums) landed on my sill. I sprayed this ugly feathered thing with the kitchen tap and, after I thoroughly doused its feathers, it flew away, albeit begrudgingly. My husband was unsympathetic to my plight (''I told you so'',he said typical male) but I haven't seen Pretty Boy or his gay-lover (does gay-ness exist in the animal world) for three days.
I think kamikaze has frightened them away. Stupid bird.
Anyway, am meeting a friend for a de-caf mocha in about an hour so I'd better get out of these PJ's. I would appreciate any tips on how to lure my winged-friends back to my sill. My little sunshine loves them, and I've become quite attached as well.
Oh Pretty boy and Drag Queen, where art thou???
Anyway, back to the subject of this blog. I have two gorgeous rainbow lorikeets that visit me every morning. I've nick named them Pretty Boy and Drag Queen obviously due to their gorgeously coloured plumage. It all started about two weeks ago. One landed on my kitchen window sill. My little bub was so excited and tried to jump out of my arms. Anyway, my other half wouldn't let me give them chocolate (doesn't every body love chocolate?) and proceeded to soak some white bread in water for them. Now, I'm not the biggest animal lover (especially not cats! I will one day tell you the story that spurned my hatred of these vile creatures. Lets just say there are a lot of feral cats in Jordan), but these birdies are so cute. After that first feed, the next morning, I was snoozing in bed when I heard a rat-tat-tat on the kitchen window. And, lo and behold, they were waking me up, tapping the glass with their beaks for brekky. How intelligent. It appears as if each of these birds' brain capacity is larger than George W Bushs's!! However, on Monday, I thought I'd go one step further and bought them some bird seed from Coles. I think this was a big mistake as the second I put out the seed and water, this stupid ugly kamikaze bird (I don't actually know the name of this type of bird, but it has a yellow ring around it's beak and it dives, like a kamikaze bomber at everything that moves, even brush-tailed possums) landed on my sill. I sprayed this ugly feathered thing with the kitchen tap and, after I thoroughly doused its feathers, it flew away, albeit begrudgingly. My husband was unsympathetic to my plight (''I told you so'',he said typical male) but I haven't seen Pretty Boy or his gay-lover (does gay-ness exist in the animal world) for three days.
I think kamikaze has frightened them away. Stupid bird.
Anyway, am meeting a friend for a de-caf mocha in about an hour so I'd better get out of these PJ's. I would appreciate any tips on how to lure my winged-friends back to my sill. My little sunshine loves them, and I've become quite attached as well.
Oh Pretty boy and Drag Queen, where art thou???
Wednesday 3 November 2004
Dubya's back!!!
What a sad, black day it is in the history of the world. An ignorant, bigoted, murderous, dim-witted Texan has once again seized the reigns as the ``Leader of the Free World.'' I use this term loosely as I neither have faith in him being a ``Leader'' as much as America epitomises the essence of a free, fair, democratic country in the world. His re-election speaks volumes of the attitude and morals of the American population in general and equally of the strength of the Jewish Lobby.
But let's not get into that. It's far too depressing and I'm sure every wog and his dog has an opinion and comment re: this terrible result.
Maybe in another four years' time the IQ of the American people (who vote) might rise a little and a competent president might be elected. A Black-female president may take the reigns? (AS long as it's not Condalezza Rice). In other words, when pigs fly!!!
Do I sound too cynical?
But let's not get into that. It's far too depressing and I'm sure every wog and his dog has an opinion and comment re: this terrible result.
Maybe in another four years' time the IQ of the American people (who vote) might rise a little and a competent president might be elected. A Black-female president may take the reigns? (AS long as it's not Condalezza Rice). In other words, when pigs fly!!!
Do I sound too cynical?
Friday 29 October 2004
What will happen to the PLO?
As I write this, rumours are rife on the health of the aged Palestinian who, for most of the world's population, embodies the essence - whether accurate or not - of Palestinians.
As is the norm of the PLO, nay of Arab leaders, sorry of ARABS full stop, bad news is NEVER given straight up but is always sugar coated. Even if someone is on their death bed - especially an esteemed person as Yasser Arafat - the world, even their closest relatives and friends, are not informed of the extent or seriousness of the illness. I'm not sure of the exact reason, but it may have something to do with superstition. It's as if the affliction or fear is said outloud, it WILL come true, or ever something worse may happen.
But this aside, Mr Arafat is an old man. He is 75 years-old (I believe) and I don't think his frail hands could wield another Kalishnakov or even give a firm hand shake.
Whether he dies in the next few hours, days or even months, it seems as if his days are numbered. Which leads us to the question, What will happen to the PLO?
My personal views are mixed. Both about the PLO and Yasser Arafat. I respect many qualities he posses and also abhor others. I respect his resilience and yet he has left me feeling embarrassed and cringing at some of his actions during his long career. For instance, the Oslo Accords. I respect his courage, his true love for his country. I don't envy his position nor the concessions he has had to make both personally and morally.
But, if he does die soon, I will mourn him. I will feel sorry for him, sorry that his life-long goals have not been achieved. Some may argue he has been ''bad'' for the Palestinian cause, others may see him as a champion. I sit somewhere in the middle.
While I cannot begin to assume I know the inner workings of his mind, he knew this day would come and has prepared for it. But, knowing his former dealings, he will not only have a Plan B, but probably a C, D X, Y and Z.
Who will replace him if he is indeed replaceable? Will the PLO disintegrate? Will it be overcome by the hardliners such as Hamas or the intellectuals such as Hanan Ashrawi? Ideally, I believe, the future lies in the hands of those who speak words easily digestible by the West rather than the fear-mongering of the so-called Terrorists.
Sometimes, I wish I was older and had the intellect to be a player in the shaping of this future. Had I been born in Palestine would I have been able to stir up the emotions of the people, have the wisdom to speak on their behalf? But, everyone has their destiny and this is not mine.
What does fate have in store for the Palestinian Question?
As is the norm of the PLO, nay of Arab leaders, sorry of ARABS full stop, bad news is NEVER given straight up but is always sugar coated. Even if someone is on their death bed - especially an esteemed person as Yasser Arafat - the world, even their closest relatives and friends, are not informed of the extent or seriousness of the illness. I'm not sure of the exact reason, but it may have something to do with superstition. It's as if the affliction or fear is said outloud, it WILL come true, or ever something worse may happen.
But this aside, Mr Arafat is an old man. He is 75 years-old (I believe) and I don't think his frail hands could wield another Kalishnakov or even give a firm hand shake.
Whether he dies in the next few hours, days or even months, it seems as if his days are numbered. Which leads us to the question, What will happen to the PLO?
My personal views are mixed. Both about the PLO and Yasser Arafat. I respect many qualities he posses and also abhor others. I respect his resilience and yet he has left me feeling embarrassed and cringing at some of his actions during his long career. For instance, the Oslo Accords. I respect his courage, his true love for his country. I don't envy his position nor the concessions he has had to make both personally and morally.
But, if he does die soon, I will mourn him. I will feel sorry for him, sorry that his life-long goals have not been achieved. Some may argue he has been ''bad'' for the Palestinian cause, others may see him as a champion. I sit somewhere in the middle.
While I cannot begin to assume I know the inner workings of his mind, he knew this day would come and has prepared for it. But, knowing his former dealings, he will not only have a Plan B, but probably a C, D X, Y and Z.
Who will replace him if he is indeed replaceable? Will the PLO disintegrate? Will it be overcome by the hardliners such as Hamas or the intellectuals such as Hanan Ashrawi? Ideally, I believe, the future lies in the hands of those who speak words easily digestible by the West rather than the fear-mongering of the so-called Terrorists.
Sometimes, I wish I was older and had the intellect to be a player in the shaping of this future. Had I been born in Palestine would I have been able to stir up the emotions of the people, have the wisdom to speak on their behalf? But, everyone has their destiny and this is not mine.
What does fate have in store for the Palestinian Question?
Thursday 28 October 2004
No longer employed
I did it, I resigned.
I had this whole speech prepared about not having my hard work acknowledged and finding something better, being worth more, but it just didn't come out that way. Call me a chicken, but this way I haven't burnt any bridges, you never know. The most important thing now is that I can concentrate on finding something on MY terms.
There is one person who I have to call and thank. To keep his anonymity we will call him Benny. You can say, that Benny has been my mentor. At 15, he gave me my first opportunity to see my words in print. We've had our screaming matches, and he's made me cry. But he's been there for me to share in my joy; at my wedding, when I found out I was pregnant, when I got my job at the newspaper (which he was instrumental in) etc etc. But, what he has done for me, and what I will always be eternally grateful for, is that he never lost faith in me. In my talent as a writer and the person I truly am.
I'm sad, but excited, nervous but calm. I knew this day would come, but it's just that it is all over with a short telephone conversation. hmmmm.
Anyway, I don't have anything insightful, funny or meaningful to write about, so I'll just leave it there for today.
I hope my husband cheers me up when he gets home from work. It's the wretched full moon at work again. I'm so damned emotional!!!
I had this whole speech prepared about not having my hard work acknowledged and finding something better, being worth more, but it just didn't come out that way. Call me a chicken, but this way I haven't burnt any bridges, you never know. The most important thing now is that I can concentrate on finding something on MY terms.
There is one person who I have to call and thank. To keep his anonymity we will call him Benny. You can say, that Benny has been my mentor. At 15, he gave me my first opportunity to see my words in print. We've had our screaming matches, and he's made me cry. But he's been there for me to share in my joy; at my wedding, when I found out I was pregnant, when I got my job at the newspaper (which he was instrumental in) etc etc. But, what he has done for me, and what I will always be eternally grateful for, is that he never lost faith in me. In my talent as a writer and the person I truly am.
I'm sad, but excited, nervous but calm. I knew this day would come, but it's just that it is all over with a short telephone conversation. hmmmm.
Anyway, I don't have anything insightful, funny or meaningful to write about, so I'll just leave it there for today.
I hope my husband cheers me up when he gets home from work. It's the wretched full moon at work again. I'm so damned emotional!!!
Wednesday 27 October 2004
Why am I still feeling sick?
I think I've picked up a bug from one of my little nephews. I'm still feeling nauseas from the weekend. Or could it have been some dodgy Civapi (mini- cro sausages) I ate on the weekend?
One of my pet hates are stupid TV commercials. Seriously, the quality of some of these are SO bad, I wonder how they got the approval of ANY market research group. Has anyone seen the latest Ingham Chicken ad? It is so pathetic. It features a ''wife'' throw away an untouched plate of food straight into the garbage bin because her husband was late coming home. What an utter wanton waste of food!!! The other ad I REALLY hate is that debt relief one with the fat Indian-Paki guy with the really small head. He shits me so much. The fake wave as he walks down the street just make me want to throw the remote at the TV.
How funny was it seeing miss no-talent Ashlee Simpson getting caught out lip-syncing on live TV. Stupid idiot! And she has the gaul to call herself an ''artist''. She's just a big nosed, 7th Heaven (really bad) actress.
My bundle of joy still hasn't got any teeth, isn't crawling nor is interested in having long naps. She did however do this MASSIVE poo last night. It needed to be flushed down the toilet. No joke, I guess it weighed about half a kilo.
Good ol' Weetbix.
One of my pet hates are stupid TV commercials. Seriously, the quality of some of these are SO bad, I wonder how they got the approval of ANY market research group. Has anyone seen the latest Ingham Chicken ad? It is so pathetic. It features a ''wife'' throw away an untouched plate of food straight into the garbage bin because her husband was late coming home. What an utter wanton waste of food!!! The other ad I REALLY hate is that debt relief one with the fat Indian-Paki guy with the really small head. He shits me so much. The fake wave as he walks down the street just make me want to throw the remote at the TV.
How funny was it seeing miss no-talent Ashlee Simpson getting caught out lip-syncing on live TV. Stupid idiot! And she has the gaul to call herself an ''artist''. She's just a big nosed, 7th Heaven (really bad) actress.
My bundle of joy still hasn't got any teeth, isn't crawling nor is interested in having long naps. She did however do this MASSIVE poo last night. It needed to be flushed down the toilet. No joke, I guess it weighed about half a kilo.
Good ol' Weetbix.
Tuesday 26 October 2004
Still no teeth
Another day, another toothless grin.
Today has been a bit of a shite day. (I'm writing this just befor midnight, so it's technically still Monday.) Monday, is supposed to be the best day of the week for Cancerians - being the Moon's Day and all - but it's been a bit of a bummer. The main reason for this is a rather unpleasant conversation with my ''work''. As I understand it, women make up about half of the working population in Australia (not sure of the stats, but if anyone has it, please feel free to enlighten me) and yet many employers make it so damned difficult for women to be a mum and actually have a career. It gets me so pissed off that women like myself are made to feel guilty for ``taking time off work'' to have a baby and then made to grovel for part-time work, only to be told that the only obligation they have is to give you back your old position. Like many women, it was drummed into me at a very early age by our feminist mothers, to get an education, have a career. I spent my late teens, early twenties getting that education and then working my ass of, (for minimum wage, mind you) to have that career. A career I excelled at, respected for. Only to find, that as soon as you pro-create, it somehow makes you less intelligent, less employable and easily replaceable by the very same people that made you feel privileged to work 15 hours straight for. Call me idealistic, but I thought our feminist mothers paved the way for us so that we could have a CHOICE. Why can't I have both? Why do I have to ''work my way from the bottom'' again as it was so eloquently put to me by none other than a WOMAN? I'm angry, I'm hurt. But, I'm not going to take this lying down. I'm not just a ''mother'' and perform ''home duties''. At the moment, I have made the choice to whole heartedly be a mother, I love it, I wouldn't want my life to be any different. I don't want it all at once, but I also don't want to feel inferior because I chose to put a little life before mine.
And they wonder why we have an ageing population.
Enough of this heavy stuff... Chanel Cole has been kicked of Australian Idol - Thank God! Sucked in (Do I sound 15?!?!).
Tomorrow's Tuesday, which means Mother's Group. Against my better judgment I started attending after bubby was born. I met some nice women. (Only one I actually make time to see though). But then the cracks started to show. The competitiveness, the showing off, the airs. I suppose it's inevitable, put a group of three or more women together and there's sure to be bitching. I tried to delude myself at first. We are all grown women, this isn't High School? How wrong I was. My sister warned me. Now, I don't waste my time. I'd rather watch the Midday Movie.
And God Created Woman.
Today has been a bit of a shite day. (I'm writing this just befor midnight, so it's technically still Monday.) Monday, is supposed to be the best day of the week for Cancerians - being the Moon's Day and all - but it's been a bit of a bummer. The main reason for this is a rather unpleasant conversation with my ''work''. As I understand it, women make up about half of the working population in Australia (not sure of the stats, but if anyone has it, please feel free to enlighten me) and yet many employers make it so damned difficult for women to be a mum and actually have a career. It gets me so pissed off that women like myself are made to feel guilty for ``taking time off work'' to have a baby and then made to grovel for part-time work, only to be told that the only obligation they have is to give you back your old position. Like many women, it was drummed into me at a very early age by our feminist mothers, to get an education, have a career. I spent my late teens, early twenties getting that education and then working my ass of, (for minimum wage, mind you) to have that career. A career I excelled at, respected for. Only to find, that as soon as you pro-create, it somehow makes you less intelligent, less employable and easily replaceable by the very same people that made you feel privileged to work 15 hours straight for. Call me idealistic, but I thought our feminist mothers paved the way for us so that we could have a CHOICE. Why can't I have both? Why do I have to ''work my way from the bottom'' again as it was so eloquently put to me by none other than a WOMAN? I'm angry, I'm hurt. But, I'm not going to take this lying down. I'm not just a ''mother'' and perform ''home duties''. At the moment, I have made the choice to whole heartedly be a mother, I love it, I wouldn't want my life to be any different. I don't want it all at once, but I also don't want to feel inferior because I chose to put a little life before mine.
And they wonder why we have an ageing population.
Enough of this heavy stuff... Chanel Cole has been kicked of Australian Idol - Thank God! Sucked in (Do I sound 15?!?!).
Tomorrow's Tuesday, which means Mother's Group. Against my better judgment I started attending after bubby was born. I met some nice women. (Only one I actually make time to see though). But then the cracks started to show. The competitiveness, the showing off, the airs. I suppose it's inevitable, put a group of three or more women together and there's sure to be bitching. I tried to delude myself at first. We are all grown women, this isn't High School? How wrong I was. My sister warned me. Now, I don't waste my time. I'd rather watch the Midday Movie.
And God Created Woman.
Monday 25 October 2004
60 Bloody Minutes
I really, really hate 60 Minutes.
Once again, this horrendous excuse for a hard-hitting current affairs program has left me lurching my Latina pasta dinner into the dunny. I was flipping between watching fat singers on Australian Idol and a wasp killing a spider on Channel 7, when I accidentally landed on Ch 9. Two, smiling, absolutely stunning Ethiopian children stared back. Oceans of sadness in their deep eyes were hidden by the supreme joy of being adopted by Canberrans Jeff and Jane (or whatever their names were). I cried with open abandon (and it wasn't the hormones, ok, maybe just a bit) as these innocent babies were yanked away and forced to say goodbye to their family - albeit for a better (?) life. Now, I don't want to get into a whole ethical/moral debate about adoption - I truly believe there are circumstances when this can be amazing for both the children and the parents. My problem was not with the story, Peter Overton was touching. But it was the following story that made me barf. Pampered pooches given the run of the "mansion'', being fed roast chicken and wearing Luis Vuitton while sipping (lapping) cafe lattes. How can 60 Minutes have the gaul, nay the complete lack of social conscience to show the slums of Adis Abbaba littered with orphans juxtposed with a Samoyed eating a gourmet meal out of a China bowl. I'm NEVER watching that pathetic, excuse of a show again. What made it worse was the journo (if that's what you can call him) Mike whatever asked the really scary dog owner - picture the overtanned old bag from There's Something About Mary, add a really bad black wig and then stick her head in a blender - something along the lines of how she could condone spending all this money on a dog. Her answer - ready for it - was ``I tell people, this is Australia and we take care of our mates''. Just writing this make me cringe and embarassed that this woman is a member of our fair country. What is wrong with these people!!!! I don't claim to be Mother Theresa, but seriously, this is abso-freakin-lutely PATHETIC. If this is what having too much money does I'd be happy to live my life from pay-check to pay-check. Phew.. I've go that off my chest.
AND while I'm on the subject of Sunday night viewing, Australian Idol is getting more painful to watch every single week. Chanel Cole, here's a word of advice. You are NOT cute, you CANNOT sing and you are REALLY, REALLY annoying. Your try-hard coquetish gestures are getting old. You have no talent. Courtney, nice voice, but you look like a giant Leprechaun. Try singing a Committments song. Casey, go on a diet - not for image sake but for your health, you're only bloody 16. Anthony, come out of the closet. Halley, I hope you win just to piss off Mark Holden.
I'm really a nice person. Ask Darp.
Still typing without a mouse.
May You Live To See The Dawn.
Once again, this horrendous excuse for a hard-hitting current affairs program has left me lurching my Latina pasta dinner into the dunny. I was flipping between watching fat singers on Australian Idol and a wasp killing a spider on Channel 7, when I accidentally landed on Ch 9. Two, smiling, absolutely stunning Ethiopian children stared back. Oceans of sadness in their deep eyes were hidden by the supreme joy of being adopted by Canberrans Jeff and Jane (or whatever their names were). I cried with open abandon (and it wasn't the hormones, ok, maybe just a bit) as these innocent babies were yanked away and forced to say goodbye to their family - albeit for a better (?) life. Now, I don't want to get into a whole ethical/moral debate about adoption - I truly believe there are circumstances when this can be amazing for both the children and the parents. My problem was not with the story, Peter Overton was touching. But it was the following story that made me barf. Pampered pooches given the run of the "mansion'', being fed roast chicken and wearing Luis Vuitton while sipping (lapping) cafe lattes. How can 60 Minutes have the gaul, nay the complete lack of social conscience to show the slums of Adis Abbaba littered with orphans juxtposed with a Samoyed eating a gourmet meal out of a China bowl. I'm NEVER watching that pathetic, excuse of a show again. What made it worse was the journo (if that's what you can call him) Mike whatever asked the really scary dog owner - picture the overtanned old bag from There's Something About Mary, add a really bad black wig and then stick her head in a blender - something along the lines of how she could condone spending all this money on a dog. Her answer - ready for it - was ``I tell people, this is Australia and we take care of our mates''. Just writing this make me cringe and embarassed that this woman is a member of our fair country. What is wrong with these people!!!! I don't claim to be Mother Theresa, but seriously, this is abso-freakin-lutely PATHETIC. If this is what having too much money does I'd be happy to live my life from pay-check to pay-check. Phew.. I've go that off my chest.
AND while I'm on the subject of Sunday night viewing, Australian Idol is getting more painful to watch every single week. Chanel Cole, here's a word of advice. You are NOT cute, you CANNOT sing and you are REALLY, REALLY annoying. Your try-hard coquetish gestures are getting old. You have no talent. Courtney, nice voice, but you look like a giant Leprechaun. Try singing a Committments song. Casey, go on a diet - not for image sake but for your health, you're only bloody 16. Anthony, come out of the closet. Halley, I hope you win just to piss off Mark Holden.
I'm really a nice person. Ask Darp.
Still typing without a mouse.
May You Live To See The Dawn.
Sunday 24 October 2004
I had a great sleep in this morning. My partner took care of getting the sunshine-of-my life fed and nappy changed and I had a leisurely sleep until 11.50am. I swear nothing beats sleeping in on an overcast Sunday. Ahhh. Anyway, the Christening was fun and, surprise, surprise, the waitresses weren't rude. They did however speak to me in Croatian, but that's ok, I just nod and smile and say Hvala (thankyou) a lot. As they say, when in Croatia do as the Croatians.
My baby has no teeth. Every morning I check. Every morning, nada. The reason I check so religiously is that I don't want to get a rude surprise one morning and get my nipple chomped off. I've heard it happens, no seriously! I met this woman in a Parent's Room a few months ago who actually showed me her disfigured boob. Not a pretty sight. The joys of motherhood.
I'm not sure what we're going to do today. There's always the standing invite at my parent's house to come over for lunch/dinner. Mum has already called twice, as has my sister. The menu doesn't sound too appealing though - stuffed spleen. Just thinking about eating an animal's innards makes me want to chuck. (Maybe it was the food last night? I feel a little queasy.) Mum assured me she will make me anything my little heart desires. She's such a sweet, wog-mum. I actually think she lives for Sunday's. Eventhough I see her like four-times (if not more) during the week, it's on Sunday's when she gets us all into her nest. The kids (minus the one living overseas), the grandkids and her unmarried brother. He sometimes tries to escape the Sunday feast. He takes his phone off the hook, locks his front door, but she's like the Liquid-Metal guy from Terminator 2 - she doesn't give up. I've even seen her scale his Terrace house fence to the second storey window. Just picture it, it's really funny. Eventhough he's in his 50's and is a superb cook (he opened the first vegetarian restaurant in Balmain in the 70s), she thinks he'll starve if he doesn't have at least 15 courses of her cooking once a week.
Baby is sleeping - or should I say having a power-nap. They say that babes that don't sleep a great deal have a higher IQ. If this is the case, than my little one will be the youngest Mensa graduate, EVER. She has three 30min naps during the day and that's all. No wonder my hubby sometimes comes home after work and finds I'm still in my PJ's, my hair is like a Fraggle and I haven't brushed my teeth. Honestly, she sleeps for exactly 30 mins. People don't believe me until they see it for themselves. But, I shouldn't whinge too much, I sometimes accidentally (on purpose) wake her up so we can play. Ohh, she's such a little munchkin. And a vocal one at that. She has actually learned to say two words together. NAM NAM MA MA - food mummy. Bless
My baby has no teeth. Every morning I check. Every morning, nada. The reason I check so religiously is that I don't want to get a rude surprise one morning and get my nipple chomped off. I've heard it happens, no seriously! I met this woman in a Parent's Room a few months ago who actually showed me her disfigured boob. Not a pretty sight. The joys of motherhood.
I'm not sure what we're going to do today. There's always the standing invite at my parent's house to come over for lunch/dinner. Mum has already called twice, as has my sister. The menu doesn't sound too appealing though - stuffed spleen. Just thinking about eating an animal's innards makes me want to chuck. (Maybe it was the food last night? I feel a little queasy.) Mum assured me she will make me anything my little heart desires. She's such a sweet, wog-mum. I actually think she lives for Sunday's. Eventhough I see her like four-times (if not more) during the week, it's on Sunday's when she gets us all into her nest. The kids (minus the one living overseas), the grandkids and her unmarried brother. He sometimes tries to escape the Sunday feast. He takes his phone off the hook, locks his front door, but she's like the Liquid-Metal guy from Terminator 2 - she doesn't give up. I've even seen her scale his Terrace house fence to the second storey window. Just picture it, it's really funny. Eventhough he's in his 50's and is a superb cook (he opened the first vegetarian restaurant in Balmain in the 70s), she thinks he'll starve if he doesn't have at least 15 courses of her cooking once a week.
Baby is sleeping - or should I say having a power-nap. They say that babes that don't sleep a great deal have a higher IQ. If this is the case, than my little one will be the youngest Mensa graduate, EVER. She has three 30min naps during the day and that's all. No wonder my hubby sometimes comes home after work and finds I'm still in my PJ's, my hair is like a Fraggle and I haven't brushed my teeth. Honestly, she sleeps for exactly 30 mins. People don't believe me until they see it for themselves. But, I shouldn't whinge too much, I sometimes accidentally (on purpose) wake her up so we can play. Ohh, she's such a little munchkin. And a vocal one at that. She has actually learned to say two words together. NAM NAM MA MA - food mummy. Bless
Saturday 23 October 2004
Another Christening
Guess what? Yesterday, I won an I-Pod! I can't believe it. Seriously, I'm one of those really unlucky people who NEVER win anything, not even on a chocolate wheel at a school fete. It was really funny actually. My sister, who's a serial radio-competition player, actually got through to 2DayFM and had to say what she would get plastic surgery for, then they called me and I had to answer the same thing. Pity, it wasn't the Bonus Hour... we would have won $1000 to spend at Just Jeans.
By the way Darp, don't knock my infatuation with Geoff Jansz. You can't talk. Seriously Johanna Griggs? She's a bloke, and an ugly one at that.
So today I have my third Christening to attend this month. This is what happens when you have a large extended Catholic family and you marry a Croatian with an even larger extended Catholic family. Don't get me wrong, I dearly love all these people, but one can only take so much. Oh yeah, and it's being held at the Sydney-Balkan community's favourite hot spot: Punchbowl. There are three things that are always guaranteed at this place. 1) the waitstaff is REALLY rude. Seriously. 2) The food is ALWAYS the same (barely edible and features big slabs of pork) 3) the airconditioning is never turned on so God help you if it's a hot day. I hope I haven't offended too many people! But, there is one thing on the menu I always look forward to, the Kolace. To all those non-Cro speaking people - the Cakes. It's a tradition that all the mum's make an assortment of really yummy cakes. Chocolate wafer biscuits, jam filled sugary things etc etc. I purposely eat the bare minimum main-course so that I can fill up on these sweet things. Do you blame me?
Last night, I was bored so I changed my hair colour. It was looking dry and ratty. It's a bit darker than usual, but that's ok. I love changing my hair colour. It's a cheap alternative to plastic surgery.
Uh-oh, Princess just woke from her 30 min power nap. More on that later.
Also, the stupid wireless mouse broke yesterday so I'm typing san-mouse. Excuse any typos. Bye
By the way Darp, don't knock my infatuation with Geoff Jansz. You can't talk. Seriously Johanna Griggs? She's a bloke, and an ugly one at that.
So today I have my third Christening to attend this month. This is what happens when you have a large extended Catholic family and you marry a Croatian with an even larger extended Catholic family. Don't get me wrong, I dearly love all these people, but one can only take so much. Oh yeah, and it's being held at the Sydney-Balkan community's favourite hot spot: Punchbowl. There are three things that are always guaranteed at this place. 1) the waitstaff is REALLY rude. Seriously. 2) The food is ALWAYS the same (barely edible and features big slabs of pork) 3) the airconditioning is never turned on so God help you if it's a hot day. I hope I haven't offended too many people! But, there is one thing on the menu I always look forward to, the Kolace. To all those non-Cro speaking people - the Cakes. It's a tradition that all the mum's make an assortment of really yummy cakes. Chocolate wafer biscuits, jam filled sugary things etc etc. I purposely eat the bare minimum main-course so that I can fill up on these sweet things. Do you blame me?
Last night, I was bored so I changed my hair colour. It was looking dry and ratty. It's a bit darker than usual, but that's ok. I love changing my hair colour. It's a cheap alternative to plastic surgery.
Uh-oh, Princess just woke from her 30 min power nap. More on that later.
Also, the stupid wireless mouse broke yesterday so I'm typing san-mouse. Excuse any typos. Bye
Friday 22 October 2004
First Post
So I have succumbed to the temptation of hundreds, no thousands (maybe millions?) of others, and have become a blogger. After reading countless entries by friends and strangers, I thought this would be a great way to add my possibly interesting, mainly inane comments about life, love, and the universe, to the countless words out there in the World Wide Web. Actually, if the truth be known, I'm mainly doing this because I miss writing so much since being a housebound full-time mum. But, I wouldn't want anyone to think that being a mum is the definitive essence of my being. Yes, ever since the birth of my beautiful babe, I have had to come to terms with being unselfish. Whereas previously I would have described myself as a woman, an Australian-Palestinian ethical journalist - then maybe as wife, sister, friend, human rights activist etc etc etc.. I now find myself introducing myself as a mum of a seven-and-a-half month old to complete strangers at the Coles checkout while discussing the smell, colour and texture of my bundle-of-joy's poo. But, being at home - sometimes for 4 days straight - has given birth to a plethora of thoughts. Game shows for instance: I've become addicted and get a real emotional and physical reaction. They have become my new nicotine. Also, a weird infatuation with TV cook/celebrity Geoff Jansz. I never miss his sexy green eyes at 11.30am. I even time my daughter's feed so I can watch him puree, dice and stir while shovelling rice cereal into her mouth. I've even gone to the extent of getting an answer machine to screen calls during these precious 24 minutes (minus add breaks) to act as my Do Not Disturb sign. But all these things aside, it has been a wonderful, sometime hair-pulling time. Sometimes you feel isolated, sometimes thrilled (especially when you know you can stay in bed and not fight traffic), but most of all privileged that I have a choice that I have a wonderfully supporting partner and don’t HAVE to go back to work and that I have this amazing little being that adores me and I can (hopefully) help shape into a valuable member of the human race.
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