Monthly Archives: May 2016
Random Ramblings of a SAHM: Steamy Windows
Random Ramblings of a SAHM: Falling Into Place
Random Ramblings of a SAHM: Falling Into Place
Blah Blah Blah. – RRSAHM
Blah Blah Blah.
Boredom begets procrastination, begets irritation.
I despise my own tendency toward chronic procrastination. Being bored and itchy–footed seems to have an ironic, inverse effect on me. Rather than rushing through tasks, crossing things from my to–do list in an attempt to prune old wood and allow refreshing, vibrant green growth to peek through; I find myself stuck in a psychological catch 22 situation, a trap of my own’s mind’s making.
The more I have to do, the more I flail and wail against it, and the longer the list of things I’m putting off becomes. Time fades and floats and rolls in on itself and before I know it I’ve spent the last four hours in a loop of procrastination, smoking cigarette after cigarette as I wander my garden or aimlessly surf the net or doze on the lounge watching movies with my kids.
Not that there’s anything particularly wrong with that (except perhaps the smoking of the cigarettes, of course). It’s just that the more I put things off, the more I beat myself up, and the more anxious I get. And I hate that burning, pushing, guilt–driven anxiety with a desperate passion. It’s that constantly bitching, nagging thought that I have not done enough– I have a ‘whole list of things that must be done’ that eats at the back of my mind, but, ironically, feeds and fuels that procrastination the longer it becomes.
I know how ridiculous it sounds, and it frustrates me to be stuck in such a useless cycle as much as I’m sure it frustrates some of you to read it. I know the simple answer…. just suck it up and do it, princess.
I don’t know why it’s not that simple.
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I Can't F*cking Shut Up Wednesday. – RRSAHM
I Can’t F*cking Shut Up Wednesday.
Mushi mushi,
It’s been pointed out that some people- namely Cate from I’ll Think of a Title Later, but I’m sure there are plenty more people out there- who really dislike Wordless Wednesday posts where the blogger prattles on incessantly about the photo and still calls it “Wordless”.Or “Almost Wordless.” Or “Nearly Wordless”.
Fair call, that. Let’s not say a spade’s a chicken, and all that jazz. But, let’s face it, my photos are fairly crap-tastic. And this is a blog. If I wanted wordless, I’d have a Tumblr or a Flickr or something.
Whatever. In honor of a happy medium, I’m just going to call my post’s ‘I Can’t F*cking Shut Up Wednesday’. And link them up at BabbleOn anyway.
*ahem* *cough*
My new clown shoes. A very early birthday present from my lovely mate Auntie Mickey, who knows how much I’ve always wanted a real, live, girly pair of ultra-huge shoes to do the vacuuming in clown in. Not that I’m doing a lot of clowning these days, but that doesn’t matter. Awesome shoes are awesome shoes. And these shoes are total awesomeness.
Why, yes, those are my white, knobbly knees, thanks for asking…
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{ 25 comments… read them below or add one }
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October 10, 2010 at 10:31 am -
I have shoe envy! They are awesome fabulous shoes.
- October 9, 2010 at 12:16 pm
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Bwa ha ha ha! Start a meme. I'd start writing again just to join this one!
- October 7, 2010 at 6:24 am
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Those shoes are amazing!
- October 7, 2010 at 2:17 am
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Those ARE awesome!
- October 6, 2010 at 9:33 pm
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Awwwwwwwww…so awesome and so cute!!
- October 6, 2010 at 9:25 pm
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Seriously good shoes – think you should wear them to school when the kids get there! As for your knees …. at least you can see kneecaps rather than flubber!
- October 6, 2010 at 9:24 pm
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I just adore the shoes. They are soo adorable. The socks just comlete the look. Where on earth did you get them?
So when in yer birthday?
- October 6, 2010 at 9:08 pm
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They are the most awesomest clown shoes ever!
- October 6, 2010 at 8:57 pm
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They are some serious shoes, and I LOVE I Cant Fucking Shut Up Wednesday. MUCH better than Wordless.
- October 6, 2010 at 6:26 pm
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Noice shooz.
- October 6, 2010 at 6:02 pm
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I felt very guilty writing some words with my photos today, now you made me feel much better – except I probably shouldn't have still titled mine "wordless." I agree with Jaqui – no words to describe those shoes!
- October 6, 2010 at 3:45 pm
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No Lori – not awesome. Creepy. I'm all spooked out again now!
- October 6, 2010 at 1:23 pm
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There are really no words to describe those shoes! See, it is a wordless Wednesday!
- October 6, 2010 at 12:26 pm
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CUTEST shoes ever!
- October 6, 2010 at 11:34 am
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The socks make the ensemble pure perfection.
- October 6, 2010 at 9:53 am
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Lori, I f*cken love you and your crazy shoes. Do you also wear those to WalMart…just wondering
- October 6, 2010 at 9:42 am
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Happy to have a good ramble, I try very hard, but you will note I still have to have words too.
- October 6, 2010 at 8:59 am
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So is your label "Bitchin'" as in, "these are some bitchin' shoes"?
I am one of those who gets an eye tic seeing 'wordless Wednesdays' being weighed down with lots of explanatory words… Sorry! Anal, I know.
- October 6, 2010 at 7:33 pm
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They certainly are awesome! I just look at thepictures on Weds!
- October 6, 2010 at 7:51 am
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They are as funky as. Back in the day I used to sport a pair of bright red plastic shoes which got renamed "Lucy's clown shoes" but they were nowhere near as funky as these!
- October 6, 2010 at 6:44 pm
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Holy smokes. Those are some serious clown shoes alright! How cool!
- October 6, 2010 at 7:22 am
- October 6, 2010 at 12:19 pm
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I want some those shoes!
Then I could alternate between roller skates and clown shoes! - October 6, 2010 at 11:19 am
- October 6, 2010 at 8:35 am
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Those are really something…what, I'm not quite sure! lol
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Random Ramblings of a SAHM: The Crappest GiveAway Ever (really, this time)
Putting Googly Eyes On Things. – RRSAHM
Putting Googly Eyes On Things.
If history has taught us nothing else, it’s that things with googly eyes stuck on them are just plain hysterical.
It’s a happy, googly-eyed kinda day.
Enjoy.
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{ 1 comment… read it below or add one }
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September 30, 2013 at 3:49 pm -
… and now here I am at 2AM with a craving to google-eye the neighborhood!
Love it! You saw some excellent faces in things and you are right, google eyes do make them funny!
Previous post: Spoiled Rotten.
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Random Ramblings of a SAHM: Fuck You Too.
Happy, Dumb Optimism – RRSAHM
Happy, Dumb Optimism
How am I doing this?
I know you all watch it happen here, the same way it does in my head… a pendulum, swinging from not OK, to OK again, and back.
I lie to myself, tell myself, all the way… that I am doing OK, that I am just fine.
Because what else can I say? What else can I do, when I responsible for myself and two little people as well? There aren’t many other options here, valid ones, other than ‘being OK’.
In truth of it… and keep this quiet, because it feels like a secret, one that will lose it’s magic if too many people know, one that only keeps itself tight through pretending.
Inside my mind, inside my head, is a little girl who has been driven insane. She screams and sobs and weeps, cuts herself and burns her skin. She writhes on a tiny couch in an ugly room, hand knotted through her hair, pulling at chunks of it to try and rive images form her mind. She is so distraught… every thing she believed in is dead, burnt. She will never feel safe again. She will never trust anyone again.
Some days, the wall between her and the outside word is so thick I can barely hear her. I get closer and closer to hope, to sunshine… and she grows smaller and smaller.
And then there are other days, days like today… when the wall between her and the real world is paper thin, like eggshell, a membrane. And people can see her, screaming. They see her through my eyes. I know, because some days I see her reflection in theirs, overladen with pity or fear.
I think that’s why I sleep so much, why sleep brings with it relief… when I sleep, she must too. But some nights I’m sure shes up before I am…. doesn’t that explain why I wake myself up screaming some nights?
Sometimes I worry she will escape. What a pointless thing to worry about. Even I do crack, split, and all that pain and screaming trauma comes running out… what happens then?
Nothing changes. If anything, I will terrify more people, and the handful that I have left that can handle me will turn away too.
And life will still go on.
***
I’m such a fucking optimist.
It’s just my nature… to look forward to things. To feel grateful for things. To see the silver lining, real or imagined. To find happiness in waiting.
If I wasn’t, I would not have survived this far, I don’t think. It’s only that dumb, happy optimism that keeps me afloat.
I convince myself that things will get better, will be better. When the weather is warmer. When I find someone, someone I love, someone who loves me again.
I expect life to be a fairytale, for things to work out OK, for some love and happiness to come and sweep me off my feet and complete me, find me at some kind of peace…
What if that doesn’t happen? Reality, experience, it tells me that humans are imperfect, and so am I. That life is ordinary, not a fairytale.
But I have to hope for something… I have to hope it gets better than this.
That dumb, happy optimist… maybe she’s a room mate to that screaming, tiny girl…. she just won’t have it any other way.
***
I look back, to see what progress I’ve made.
The first three months after Tony died…. I don’t even remember it… how did I survive that?
Those six months is Paradise, chilled with sea air and grief…. how on earth did I survive that?
It just makes me wonder, will I look back on these first few months in the TinyTrainTown… and wonder how, in heaven’s name, I survived this too?
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{ 20 comments… read them below or add one }
- November 5, 2011 at 10:02 am
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sending massive hugs
- November 5, 2011 at 12:55 am
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Fuuck. I feel like you you wrote this post straight from my head. The two of us are a right pair, hey?! At least we have eachother, you know I ain't going nowhere.
- November 4, 2011 at 12:26 pm
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My pendulum swings too. Sometimes I feel almost manic depressive or bi-polar… *sigh* like I go from fine screeching into a downward spiral in 3.5 seconds. I knew I was "getting a little better" when I started napping on the couch again – not in the dark bedroom.
Love – from us to you… Kristen
- November 4, 2011 at 4:52 am
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"Hope" is my middle name (it's not, it's Eve but I don't care, for all intents and purposes it's HOPE!) If I didn't have hope to light my way, I'd have offed myself a long time ago…. Hope drives us on, wanting, perhaps out of curiosity, to see what the tomorrow will bring.
As I typed this comment, I was just listening to "Dreamer" by Tiny Vipers (listen to it, it's quite the song and a genre I don't listen to normally!)
Hugs xx
- November 4, 2011 at 2:28 am
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You are stronger than you will ever believe. So am I. Even though I doubt my strength every single day. Our minds make us CRAZY!
My prediction? You will be engaged to an amazing man who loves every inch of you and your children by this time next year. Maybe even married. Someone who will not do what Tony did. I HAVE to believe that the horror he dumped on you and your children is a once in a life time experience. It just cant happen to you again, NO WAY!!
So look to the future- I truly believe that you have a bright one. And I do too, if my crazy mind will let me….. Lisa - November 3, 2011 at 11:35 pm
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You feel so much like me in your optimism…and absolutely ground shattering lows….you're right.
It is the only way you survive.
I guess in the end it doesn't really matter if nothing better does come along, or things don't change…because the hope is enough to sustain most of the time. And just maybe…if the good things happen…well, you'll find less to be optimistic about and more to be content with.That's what I try to remember anyway.
xoxoxoxo bunny.
- November 3, 2011 at 7:49 pm
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These two extreme characters are not "real" and "pretend" they are both part of you. They both make you who you are. They allow you to feel and to survive. They are your balance and sanity.
I do believe that Lori. Allow them both to come out when they need to.
M2M
- November 3, 2011 at 4:31 pm
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I think it's a lot like when you approach someone who has a life completely different to yours and you remark "I don't know how you do it?" and they smile and say "I do it because I have to, because there is no other option."
You can do this. Different waves of pain, you ride them out and don't forget to celebrate what you've gone through already, that you made it to the other side.
I promise you, if you split open and some ring like girl comes creeping out, I will beat that bitch down and sew you back up with my sewing machine. - November 3, 2011 at 4:11 pm
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My heart goes out to you; I send strength for when all is low.
- November 3, 2011 at 1:47 pm
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Your kids are lucky to have such a good, strong mom. When my little brother died it seemed like he took all the colors in the world with him. Eventually we got better but still after 5 yrs I miss him so much and I get mad when I think he was only 19. It's tough to know what to do some days. The insane girl in you will quiet down after a while I imagine. Drowned out by the joyful noise of your kids and family and sunshine and things that make us happy. You're a strong lady
I'm glad I found your blog
Karlene - November 3, 2011 at 1:24 pm
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Big hugs…what else can i say? xoxox
- November 3, 2011 at 12:44 pm
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Dear MadWoman : Welcome to the club. Don't worry, it's a big club. You're SO not alone….
It's not easy to be intensely feeling, super sensitive and have an active, creative mind – I know, and I wouldn't wish it on anybody. It seems a real 'art' to manage and gain some mastery of it without going into 'control' or closing off.
So… I've seen the pendulum too and understand. Pendulums are normal. Yours is just a bigger than the average schmuck version, that's all. Like I said, above. It's up to you to learn how to temper or tune it to work for you.
If you start to see and take more rsponsibility for where you are, what you feel etc, you will start to feel more empowered and less of a victim to circumstance. This can be confronting sometimes, by the way. This one's important though.
And, in a room on a floor below your little screaming girl's, there is a wise old soul who is there to help you. Ask the universe to take you there, in your dreams, in your waking life, in 'signs' – and it will happen. Make use of that. It knows you best.
It's about quietening your mind, listening, and listening without judgement. Learn skills and methods to do this. ( And do them, for god's sake !! )
It's no accident where you are ( or where we all are ).
The universe is literally screaming at us everyday.
This has worked for me. I need to do more, myself, really.
PS Our minds can be our worst enemy at times. Do regular physical, enjoyable things that take you out of your head, – yoga, running, tai chi, dancing, swimming, mountain climbing, zumba…even gardening. And also be creative – music, theatre, clowning, painting, sowing etc.
- November 3, 2011 at 12:23 pm
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As an avid optimist, I try to see the good in people until I am proven wrong.
And I believe that EVERYTHING happens for a reason.Its what keeps me going.
most days…
- November 3, 2011 at 10:14 am
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The pendulum swings here too.
And the little girl screams and cries and struggles.
And then she goes outside and plays in the sunshine.
Thinking of you often. You are amazing x
- November 3, 2011 at 10:04 am
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i'm with you I am the dumb optimist as well, when it's in the shit (which is most days) I always get to a point where I just say Fuck It and move on… Your a mini inspiration to me
- November 3, 2011 at 9:37 am
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Yes you will look back at these first months in TinyTrainTown and think How did I survive that?
I continuously look back, and marvel, at how on earth did I do all of that?? How did I survive that??
I have a little girl inside of me too, who screams and cries and yells… I didn't listen to her for a very long time, until one day she just pushed right on through. and I had to listen. She is still there – not so angry anymore, occasionally she has a tantrum and makes herself heard but for the most part she is quieter then she used to be.
I read something yesterday that resonated with me so much –
When the Japanese mend broken objects, they fill the cracks with gold. They believe that when something's suffered damage and has a history it becomes more beautiful.– Barbara Bloom
sending you love and light to wrap around you. x
- November 3, 2011 at 9:26 am
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When it gets all too hard, just remember there are some who will never ever turn away.
As for the optimism… I don't think you would've managed without it.
- November 3, 2011 at 9:23 am
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I do observe the pendulum in your posts. I imagine that is how it is. Ups and downs.
Your optimism is definitely a strength, as is your sense of humour and strong Mother's instinct. You will continue to grow through this life changing experience Lori and you will always wonder how you did it.
The way I see it, the day you wrote that plea for prayers and commenced the documentation of this journey was the day you knew you would survive.
Wallow today if you must. Smile tomorrow. A big hug from me whenever you need it x
- November 3, 2011 at 9:11 am
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I am glad you have that optimism in you and think you are right that it has helped you get through all this. I wish I had something helpful to say about the bad days.
- November 3, 2011 at 8:47 am
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Thinking of you – hope you have a good day !
Take care.
Me
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SuperMum Returns. – RRSAHM
SuperMum Returns.
I had one of those awesome days last Friday where I connected with my kids– the three of us spent the day together, pleasantly. There was minimal arguing, I sung along with the music in the car as I drove, rather than sobbed with it; and I was actually there and present and real, all day.
And I did it all by myself, without that elusive spare pair of willing hands that doesn’t resent helping me wrangle two small children all over the countryside.
We left the TinyTrainHouse at eight am, and–thanks to some miraculous god of good mothering– managed to get to the Disney Junior event on time. Those of you know me will indeed agree, miracle.
I drunk coffee and chatted in geek while the kidlets did their thing. For the the Chop, that included mostly chilling out on a beanbag watching Handy Manny (totally would be a spunk in real life, remember?), hanging out in the music corner, and charming the shoes off the PR ladies whilst eating copious amounts of fairy bread.
Lady Bump was absolutely in her element once she was given a princess dress. She spent her time swishing her skirt, smiling for the photographer and administering to her subjects.
In an act of defiant bravery, or perhaps parental stupidity, we went from two hours of Disneyness straight on to the Sydney Family Show. Two hours and eight rides later– aqua boats, jumping castle, teacups (regular and turbo), dodgems, two different carousels and one massive ferris wheel– and I was damn proud of my little angels, who had been patient and cheerful and helpful and, may god have mercy on us all, even rational all day.
They both crashed out on the drive home– aren’t all children easier to love when they’re sleeping– and we got there just on dark anyway, two Happy Meals passing as dinner, warm bath and then, as I’m tucking my children into soft, comfortable beds, I realize two things, two polar opposites that smack me at the same time.
My God, I miss my husband. I haven’t felt that pang for him all day… its been one of the first times I haven’t felt his ghost follow us around am event, a shadow of a couple talking just milliseconds behind me, immersed still in their Purple Life while I carry on alone. And I miss him, right that second as I putting our children to bed, with a physical ache that’s like a rock on my chest… I look back in amazement sometimes, and wonder how I went for all those months with that rock sitting there all the time.
I want him here. I want the comfortable companionship we had. It’s the reminiscent, nostalgic feeling of satisfied exhaustion that’s bought it on, I think– it occurs to me then that Tony and I used to do this a lot, in the Before; pack ourselves and our kids in the car first thing on a Sunday morning and go adventuring– the beach, the markets, wherever– returning home only when the day and our oldest child’s energy was spent.
It’s been a long time since I’ve felt this muscle weary happiness… I want someone to share it with. I want to laugh with someone who understands my kids as well as I do. I want to discuss with someone who proud of them I am, what a little grown up the Chop is, how the Bump is a timid daredevil, an adrenaline junkie in disguise.
In the end, I call my mum and have those discussions with her instead. It’s not the same… but it’s enough to take the sting off that bitter loneliness. For the night being, at least.
I miss my best mate.
But there’s something to be had here, something to be taken from this, same way there always is, if you look hard to spot it. It wasn’t until tonight that I felt that sting of loneliness… It hadn’t been present all day, trailing us like a detached shadow.
That’s got to be something.
And besides that… I’m proud of myself. I’m proud that I have two happy, confident little munchkins to call mine. And dammit, I’m proud that I managed to do the whole day, just the Chop and the Bump and I.
I know… again, it’s one of those things that are no big deal, little things most parents do every day. But inn this strange After life, little things huge– it was another day I managed to take the kids all by myself, no spare pair of hands to help… and we felt like a family, just the three of us.
And, hey, if we’re really going start bragging– I think I passed that point a few paragraphs back, but whatever– I delegated and triumphed over the needs and wants of two children under five years old, both as high as clouds on sugar and cartoons, for a whole afternoon. At a freaking carnival.
I must be getting better at this. Sole parenting– kicking arse.
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{ 11 comments… read them below or add one }
- April 25, 2012 at 5:43 am
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Sounds like you have turned a little (BIG) corner.God bess you and your children, hugs, Sherry
- April 25, 2012 at 1:58 am
- April 24, 2012 at 9:29 pm
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WOW!! You are incredible! Amazing! I'm too chicken to take my 2 children just about anywhere. You deserve to brag, you deserve a pat on the back – this really was an awesome triumph in so many ways. I know not every day will go like this one, but there will be more and more good days, I just know it. Go girl! Supermama is right!
- April 24, 2012 at 5:51 pm
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As I said in yesterday's blog comment, you're gorgeous children truly are a credit to you and your super mum skills. You really ought to be so proud! If I didnt already admire you so much, I do so doubly now after seeing it all with my own eyes on Friday
xx - April 24, 2012 at 2:54 pm
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Lori, I have followed your blog for quite a while and don't comment, but this one for some reason prompted me to, because you sound so suprised with yourself. You shouldn't be, you are a fantastic Mama bear. Well done Lori, you deserve to pat yourself on the back. pippa
- April 24, 2012 at 2:03 pm
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Go You, that's an epic effort, Glad to hear you had just as much fun as what the kids did. Hears to many more adventures like this for you and your kidlets xxxx
- April 24, 2012 at 1:29 pm
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What a nice day was had by you three; incredible how time passes and they grow into small humans with all that personality in there…
Be proud of all of you.
- April 24, 2012 at 12:00 pm
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Your post nearly had me crying in happiness for you. It's great that you are at the point where you are experiencing positives again. Obviously there will always be a Tony-sized hole in your heart and life, but you are creating happy memories for yourself and your kids and that is a good thing for all of you. Take care.
- April 24, 2012 at 11:48 am
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Sounds like a pretty big deal to me! Confronting AND hopeful all at the same time, I'd imagine.
I'm glad you had such a wonderful day. xxxx
- April 24, 2012 at 11:00 am
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You can still miss Tony and be a fantastic mother.
- April 24, 2012 at 9:35 am
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Yay!!!! Sounds like it was a perfect day. Go Lori, you're a rockstar
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August 2014 – RRSAHM
August 2014
One post at a time.
***
I go through periods of mourning my own parenthood. I didn’t expect that, to reminisce and yearn for years as they pass. I thought- for the longest time- that parenting involved ticking off boxes, being excessively grateful every time a new milestone was reached. My daughter is toilet trained? Mega bonus. My son can finally pour his own cereal in the morning? Total win.
And it is like that, to a certain degree. The older my kidlets get, the more independant they are, the easier things become. The more time I have to myself.
It is like that, and it’s not. Because even while I am grateful for every day older they grow, every task they can successfully complete themselves; I’m also sad. Sad in a place I only vaguely knew existed before.
I miss them being little. Tiny little. I miss having two sweet, grubby toddlers. I miss days at home with them. I miss cooking cupcakes and watching Play School. I miss cuddle toys and midday naps, dummies and playgroup.
I miss having the knowledge that these little people are mine to shape and grow. I mourn for the reassurance that if I’m fucking this up- and I alays feel like I am- I have time to rectify it. That I have years to turn things around, should they inevitably go awry.
I don’t have that leeway anymore. My children are growing like… children. The Chop is almost seven years old, the Bump just shy of five. She’s at school next year. And while I’m looking forward to that– to days of freedom, to slightly more independant little people– I’m sad, too.
My rose–colored nostalgia glasses insist on it. I wear them often, and they cloud most things with their sickly sweet pink tinge. It’s easy to mourn for things past. The future’s so unpredictable. It’s easier on the soul to hurt just slightly for things that have already happened, rather than think about what may come.
{ 4 comments }
Well… hi. It’s been a while.
I’ve been afraid to write on my own blog, and I’m still not sure why. It’s bizarre how something that was my salvation now causes me a strange kind of anxiety.
I’ve been afraid of a lot of things over the last year or so. I kind of lost the ability to function in any meaningful way for a while there. Blogging is just part of it.
It felt like six months of falling deeper and deeper into a hole I didn’t even know was ahead of me. And it’s been six months of rebuilding myself. Step by step. Bit by tiny bit. You know how it can be- one step forward, two steps back.
I’ve been afraid of myself, and everything that resides within me. It’s taking a while, to get to know myself again.
I am angry at myself for thinking I knew everything. For not realising what an effect such a huge geographical move would have on me. I try not to think about it too much.
I have missed writing, and I feel the hole that it’s left. But I think about blogging. And that leads to thinking about the avalanche of unanswered emails in my inbox; the Facebook messages I haven’t responded to. Which ties in to the phone calls I haven’t made, the to–do list of things I haven’t done….
And it’s all downhill from there.
So I’m not going to worry about that, right now. I’m just going to write. It’s just fingers tapping on my iPad screen. It’s just writing. A few hundred words and nothing more.
***
Life is good. Life is laughter and school lunches and Sunday trips into the city, and late nights curled up watching TV in bed.
Life is normal. I feel normal. We- the Most Amazing Man, the Chop, the Bump and I- are a happy, relatively well–functioning little family of four.
Some days I’m still… not great. Some days I jump at little things. Sometimes the sound of sirens make my heart beat fast and a lump of dread sits like sour dough in my stomach. Some days I spiral into things I shouldn’t think about.
But that’s just life, and everything has something that haunts them. Everyone has bad days. These things just manifest themselves in different ways.
***
The Most Amazing Man is still pretty damn amazing. My children are gorgeous, beautiful, magnificent little creatures. It continually amazes me, how much I can love two people who drive me so absolutely fucking insane with their cheeky naughtiness.
There’s so much i want to tell you about them. About me. And I will, I’m sure I will…
Baby steps. This is one post. One post at a time.
{ 17 comments }
Engelbert Does The #PBEvent – RRSAHM
Engelbert Does The #PBEvent
My son has the most eclectic, awesome taste in music for an almost-four-year old.
It is h his dad‘s fault, of course- there is only so much bogan Aussie pub rock a two year old can listen to before it begins to absorb.
Maybe it’s partly me, too. I remember working through the first six months of my first pregnancy as a children’s entertainer. I remember wondering if maybe there would be some osmosis, if this growing baby could hear the applause from within, could hear the pumping music and laughter, feel the sparking endorphin’s they set off in his mother’s brain structure. And whether those hormones were strong enough to transfer umbilically.
I think, perhaps, they were. The Chop, he loves to dance. He loves to sing and he adores music. He is transixed by performers, bands and singers.
“When I grow up I’m not going to work in a shop or drive a tractor,” he tells me. “I’m going to be a rock star and dance on stage. Because I’ve got music in my hands.”
Bias not aside in any way- I’m sure he’s correct. My little boy moves to music, he can’t help it. A funky track makes him groove. He can keep a beat, tapping his feet or hands unconsciously. And he not only sings along with the Wiggles, he also knows every word and nuance they use to introduce themselves and their songs onstage.
Not that we stick to the Wiggles- as mentioned, the child has bizarrely diverse tastes. And I can’t say that’s a bad thing, not at all. How can I complain when the kid listens to classics like The Doors, The Beatles, Rancid’s Ruby Soho and Six Months In a Leaky Boat?
Can’t complain, not at all. Or, more correctly, couldn’t complain until about a week ago when the kidlets went to stay with their much-loved Nonna and Poppy. Apparently, the Chop and his Pop dug out some very old cassette tapes to listen to. You know the ones I mean- coversleeves in various shades of brown and beige featuring women in shoulder pads and blokes wearing mustaches and bad pants.
It just so happened that one of the songs on one of the aging cassette tapes got stuck in my son’s head, the melody running round and round until it left a perfect trail in the grass of his musical mind. And, being the incredibly generous caring mum that I am (or, to be more honest, after I got really sick of him nagging me), I decided to purchase a digital verison of the Chop’s new favorite song.
Which has been on constant f*cking repeat for the last four days.
So.. if you happen to run into me the ProBlogger Training Event this weekend- or at any point in the near future, really- and I’m singing Engelbert Humperdinck’s “Lonely Is A Man Without Love” (“Every day I WAKE up, then I start to BREAK up, lonely is man without loooove….”)… well… I’m really sorry about that.
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| I stole this image from here… I don’t think they’ll be too worried about that. |
Thanks (or maybe not, the call is yours after you’ve heard me sing) again to Chan’s Yum Cha At Home for funding my trip away from home for the weekend while I’m in Melbourne ProBlogging it.
After 96 hours of Humperdinck, I really need to get out of here.
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{ 7 comments… read them below or add one }
- October 11, 2012 at 10:36 pm
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That is awesome! Love that Chop
Have a great trip! - October 11, 2012 at 9:00 pm
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my youngest is constantly moving. Always dancing, singing, making up little songs on her own. I put it down to her being anointed in the womb by bernard fanning (he put my hands on my pregnant belly at 32 weeks when I flew up to see them) She also went to a powderfinger gig at 5 weeks old. Dont worry, she was well protected in the pouch and her ears were covered. It was an outdoor gig and she was well away from the speakers.
but she loves music… it has to be that.
- October 11, 2012 at 1:15 pm
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Ah, the memories. My Dad had one of those tapes in the car. It went round and round and round. My favourite song on it was this one http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1sFy5_kmEi4 – Cara Mia. You totally have to listen to it and belt it out like a power ballad. If the intro is too slow for you, jump to the high note at 1:38 *grins*
- October 11, 2012 at 12:56 pm
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I totally keep reading his name as hump-er-dick. Lol.
But yeah, we have had similar problems. Bluey was getting into trouble in class for being "disruptive" because he will sing softly to himself or hum some tune and when I asked him why he said "Because the music is just bursting inside my head and needs to come out." How can you get mad at that? - October 11, 2012 at 10:28 am
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Please post a recording of the Chop singing this song.
And dear god, you are a saint. We banned "children's music" in our house, so when my second was 4, his favorite band was the Darkness. (Which he pronounced "the Dopeness.) - October 11, 2012 at 9:31 am
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Ooo tough one Lori. That is one of the oldest ear worms of the generation. I have some fond memories pelting that one out with my brother in the back seat of Dads car…
Have fun at the conference.
- October 11, 2012 at 9:06 am
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Ha, Englebert Humperdinck! Funny chop! When I was a kid I loved listening to my mum's Susanne Vega and Van Morrison tapes (Moondance! I haven't thought about that song in years!)
I had my 18 month old neice dancing to The Dresden Dolls the other weekend. It was a good time. She's too young to get music, but she loves to dance.
Hopefully Chop's taste continues to be awesome and eclectic through the years!
(Oh and have an awesome time at the pro-blogger event!)
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Random Ramblings of a SAHM: Falling Into Place
Me and My Humungous Yogic Ego – RRSAHM
Me and My Humungous Yogic Ego
Ohhhhm,
I mentioned last week that I love yoga. I also mentioned that I find it akin to a nice deep eight hours sleep (pre-children, of course, I don’t even know what that feels like these days), but that it makes my body hurt for the next two days. Amy from the New Adventures in DreamWorld went into her self-confessed yoga Nazi mode to remind me that if yoga hurts, I’m obviously doing it wrong.
Undeniably true. I can only imagine my yoga teacher would agree. In fact, I know she would. She has told me so before.
Apparently, the problem is all in my humongous ego.
Before I go on, allow me a elaborate a little on my yoga teacher. She is one truly astounding women. Astounding not being a word I use very often, being fussy about words in context, but it’s the best word for her. Astounding.
She is short, with unstyled hair, thick glasses, and no make up. She looks like your typical tired run down 40-ish mum. And to look at her, you may even make the mistake of calling her flabby.
Only once, but. Until you see her quite effortlessly do this.
The women’s physical appearance totally belies her strength and flexibility. As does the fact that she is completely socially awkward, and whilst a very proficient teacher, her classes can be the social equivalent of fingernails down a chalkboard if she actually decides to deviate from the script and get conversational. Thankfully, that doesn’t happen very often.
Despite the occasional social ‘drowning not waving’, she is a brilliant teacher. She teaches us mostly Vinyassa, with an occasional Ashtanga session thrown in for good measure. It was after the Ashtange session that I complained about how excruciatingly sore every muscle in my body was. Even muscles I didn’t even know I had were aching and thrumming every time I foolishly turned my neck or blinked my eyes.
Why? What had I done? Wasn’t yoga supposed to be gentle?!?
Apparently, yes. The problem here, you see, is with me. And my massive ego.
This is what my ego likes to whisper to me, mid-yogic stretch….
Go on, you can do it!! It doesn’t matter that you haven’t taken a yoga class in three years, you used to be able to do this. Go oooon. That chick over there is doing it. You can do the other poses!! Push it, push it, push it!! No pain, no gain!!
As you can probably tell, my ego bounces around in a fluoro pink g-string leotard with a ‘Choose Life’ t-shirt and a sweatband. Product of the ‘Push it till it burns” Eighties that I am.
And it’s my poodle-haired, Hypercolor-wearing fitness instructor ego that gets in my ear and makes me do things like this. The Tunnel.
Silly, silly Lori.
Ah, well. Them’s the breaks. Can’t have your zen and eat it too. My astounding yoga teacher and guarana-ed-up ego will be locked in battle for some time, it seems, until they come up with some kind of Reebok Step Xtreme Yoga for People Who Want Their Chakras With Attitude.
And let’s face it. It could be worse. Rather than Astounding Yet Awkward Yoga Women, I could actually have this guy for a teacher.
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{ 8 comments… read them below or add one }
- May 30, 2010 at 4:40 am
- March 30, 2010 at 12:32 am
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Hey, has anyone else noticed were this man's hands are? No wonder he likes his job!!! Good thing he is not my yogi – as he would be a squashed yogi by now.
Oh and Lori, good luck with the yoga – even looking at it makes my muscles sore!!
- March 29, 2010 at 3:22 pm
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Very funny post! It took me a while to get over my Yoga ego too, stretching, pushing, trying to keep with the ace students….time has passed and now I'm one of them! well, I am passably good at any rate, and no it mostly doesn't hurt me later.
And okay, so maybe the ego hasn't completely gone….!!
- March 29, 2010 at 3:13 pm
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Lori, I am so loving this side to you that I havent heard before. You are saying what all of us SAHM's are thinking.
- March 29, 2010 at 2:43 pm
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I joined a pre-natal yoga class when I was pregnant. It mainly consisted of some due date/obstetrician discussion, deep breathing, and flopping about on a heap of pillows. It was awesome. In my pre-kid life I did regular yoga, and loved it, but this lounging about yoga was better by far.
- March 29, 2010 at 1:50 pm
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I don't know Lori. I've tried yoga a handful of times, never attempting anything remotely tunnelish, just your basic tree and downdog-type stuff, and nevertheless it has kicked my ass from one end of the gym to the next.
Personally, I don't believe it. I think yoga is *supposed* to hurt.
P.S. I've got mountain down. I'm all over mountain.
- March 29, 2010 at 1:13 pm
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Ha ha… you would not believe it, but i am literally in the middle of writing my own post about Yoga for the latest Blog This! challenge…. and your inner Yogi sounds just like mine did when i first started ( ok, still sometime does… )
- March 29, 2010 at 12:51 pm
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Ahh, you make me laugh. You and your poodle-haired, Hypercolor-wearing fitness instructor ego need to get together with my personal trainer. She'd LOVE your ego…
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Random Ramblings of a SAHM: RUOK?
Random Ramblings of a SAHM: Hanging… On…In….There.
Do I dare confess I don't drink vodka? – RRSAHM
Do I dare confess I don’t drink vodka?
Is it possible that i have missed some kind of revolution here…? Am I the only blogging mum who doesn’t understand the importance of vodka? Because it seems references to it are everywhere. I’m beginning to think that maybe you ladies are onto something- the qualities of vodka in direct relation to coping with small children (or teenagers. or tweens. any offspring, really) are sorely underrated.
Not that I don’t have my addictions, believe me, I do. I come from a very, very long line of people with addictive personalities. One side of my family is particularly twisted and depressing, and includes gambling problems, alcohol addictions, compulsive shopping and serious nose picking problems… oh, sorry, it’s you. My apologies, for a moment there I thought I was talking to my shrink.
So, where was i? Ah yes.. with that kind of history, I’m actually quite lucky that the worst I came out with was a serious nicotine addiction. Now, don’t get me wrong, I’m not a slummy mummy who has a fag hanging out of her mouth while she pushes her kid on the swing at the playground. I reserve my cigarette smoking for when the kids are asleep. But when they do sleep, well, just call me a chimney **insert filthy smokers cough here**.
It’s got to stop, really. But honestly, I don’t drink, so the vodka is out for me, my husband refuses to give me gratuitous cunnilingus or back massages, and the last time I had a joint was years ago. What else is a women supposed to do for stress relief?
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{ 4 comments… read them below or add one }
- February 6, 2010 at 3:27 pm
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Chocolate! Oh wait that's me
- February 3, 2010 at 8:13 am
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Meh, no vodka for me, I hate feeling out of control. I'm quite happy with my gallons of coffee…not really a stress reliever, but it makes me happy.
Fun blog btw!
- February 3, 2010 at 4:42 am
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I always say I'd be an alcoholic if A. I could afford it; and B. If I didn't have to pick my kids up from school at 2 different times of the day.
I did do the smoking thing for the last 4 years or so, but quite when the kids realized the health implications. It wasn't worth the looks on their faces every time I lit up. Like: I know you're going to sprout a gigantic pustule of cancer right this second, which means you won't be around for me to terrorize you tomorrow.
Anyway, now I just stick with my food addiction. That one is a little harder to kick.
And if you ever do put your babes up for auction on ebay, call me. We might be able to work out a package deal. Buy 1 Get 1.
- February 3, 2010 at 3:58 am
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It's more like whiskey for me – except when I overindulge – that's always vodka it seems. Love your blog and your pretty template!
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Random Ramblings of a SAHM: Jeans and Stuff.
The Evolution of a Birthmark. – RRSAHM
The Evolution of a Birthmark.
Once upon a time, my daughter had a hematoma birthmark on her forehead.
The birthmark first appeared when the Bump was about three weeks old. It grew bigger and darker until she was about five months old. Being just above her eyebrow, and a deep raspberry colour, it became the source of much discussion among family, friends, and strangers. Every few days I found myself defending her, reiterating over and over that it wasn’t permanent. That it would disappear by the time the Bump went to school. That even if it didn’t, no one would notice or care. That I wasn’t going to have it removed.
It got to the point where I started telling people that the Bump’s birthmark was an in-utero scar from where I’d burnt myself with a hair straightener, right on my forehead, in the last few months of my pregnancy. That was a strange enough response to make most well-meaning but condescending people stop talking.
I remember being so frustrated by it all. So alarmed at the world I was bringing children into, where a three month old baby’s physical appearance was already treated like a commodity. I wondered if the reactions and suggestions would have been different, had she been a boy.
It’s all kind of irrelevant now, anyway. At almost four years old, the Bump’s birthmark has faded to the point where I forget, often, that it used to be there at all. It’s still slightly raised. You can spot it if you’re really looking for it and you brush her wispy, messy hair of her face first. But the vivid colouring has faded almost completely, just like the specialist said it would. (But what would he know, really? Ha.)
I still don’t understand why it was such a big deal in the first place. My fairy girl is beautiful. With or without her birthmark. Just the way she is.
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{ 14 comments… read them below or add one }
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February 26, 2014 at 11:10 am -
My two year old has a strawberry mark on her shoulder. It appeared when she was a couple of weeks old (I remember thinking it was a blood blister from the car-seat) and has grown in size in relation to her size. It’s hot and red and raised, yet we hardly notice it. Charlie calls it get strawberry (dawbeddy actually) and knows to be gentle with it but otherwise isn’t phased. Her cousin born a couple of months later had one on her head similar to Bump. By two hers is practically invisible, though her mum had to deal with loads of questions and pity from people too. Apparently they’re really common, I guess that by the time most of us are old enough to care about such physical differences, they’ve largely vanished.
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August 1, 2013 at 11:10 pm -
She’s beautiful! My brother used to have a huge birthmark on his neck when he was a kid, which has also completely faded. My parents didn’t care at all (seriously, we’ve all got birthmarks of some description, why are people so fussed?), but my grandmother… Oh man. The amount of things she used to fling around Chris’s neck was astounding.
It’s good that your gorgeous girl has an awesome mother – I laughed out loud at the in-utero scar! Xx
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July 27, 2013 at 9:23 pm -
I love this. She is, she is just gorgeous and so what about the birthmark? Are freckles a deformity? What about those babies who are bald?
Thing is, even if she had it when she went to school, so what? Kids might tease her, yeah, but they’re going to find something to tease her over anyway. Let people ask questions I say.
You are such a wonderful mother. And I totally laughed that you were telling people it was from when you burnt yourself with a hair straightener when she was in utero. Lol. -
July 26, 2013 at 2:20 pm -
My son had a large raised hematoma birthmark on the back of his head, about the size of a small plum. He was such a gorgeous blonde, blue eyed thing, and people would be all “Oooohh, such a cutie!” until they saw the mark, then they would recoil in horror and gasp “What’s that???!” I was over this very quickly, so just took to replying ‘Oh, that? He is a matrix baby.’ and not elaborating. It confused people, and shut them up, so bonus.
xx
Mrs BC recently posted…Take me out to the ball game
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July 26, 2013 at 11:30 am
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She is perfectly beautiful. I get so annoyed with strangers who comment on any aspect of a child’s appearance, behaviour, name, anything…It does my head in…
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July 26, 2013 at 11:22 am -
My daughter is 4 months old and has a very large deep hemangioma. Looks like a huge gold ball sized bruise on her and to be honest I don’t like it and wish it wasn’t there.
Yes my baby girl is beautiful but I know it’s going to attract unwanted negative attention, remarks and questions.
A tiny mark on her forehead I can handle but something that takes up her entire back shoulder is not so easy to just ignore and I’m sure I’m not the only parent who feels this way.
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July 26, 2013 at 11:10 am -
Completely agree. Moni is 5 now but her birthmark appeared when she was one. My hubby thought I had pinched her because it appeared out of nowhere. Rude. She had it on her upper arm for about 3 years before it disappeared. I kind of miss it.
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July 26, 2013 at 11:09 am -
July 25, 2013 at 8:39 pm -
Great Post! She-Who-Worships-Pink had a tiny one of those just below her hairline on her forehead. We were all sad to see it go, I told her it was a lipstick mark from the fairy who kissed her when she was sleeping.
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July 25, 2013 at 4:26 pm -
People say the damnedest things. When my oldest son was a baby he was kind of chunky. People would come up to him and coo “Ohh…he’s so fat! Isn’t he cute!” And I wondered why it was considered okay to say that to a baby yet would have been totally inappropriate if I had looked at the person saying and replied, “And aren’t we a little chubby ourselves?”
She is beautiful with or without the mark.
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August 5, 2013 at 4:05 pm -
Rebecca, that reply literally made me laugh out loud. What a beautiful response- don’t you wish you had the confidence to say the inappropriate things out loud?
xx
Lori Dwyer recently posted…Backyard Graffiti.
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July 25, 2013 at 3:52 pm -
My son had a similar birth mark and like you I was amazed at how people felt the need to comment. Like the bump it was gone by the time he was 4. Apparently the sees makes no difference – the emphasis is obviously on having a picture perfect baby!
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July 25, 2013 at 2:46 pm -
She is beautiful – like her mama!
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July 25, 2013 at 1:04 pm -
Gorgeous either way. People often feel the need to make unnecessary comments, I have a beautiful 4 month old daughter who is nice and chubby and the comments we get. “She’s huge” , “what do you feed her?” Ummm…..a block of chocolate a day, what do you think! I also have a 6 year old daughter who can’t understand why people are making comment about her sisters weight at such a young age, she keeps saying “she is only a baby, she can’t exercise and she only drinks milk from you”. It’s a sad world where we just can’t appreciate simple beauty of a child.
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{ 9 comments… read them below or add one }
Oh no, love, it does not sound rediculous! Count me as another who feels this post puts into words the exact description of my modus operandi.
Glad to know I am not alone. As a matter of fact that is what continues to keep me glued to your blog. Though I have not experienced the depth of pain you have, your thoughts, coping mechanisms, insecurtites, etc. shared in this space resonate strongly with me.
Cheers to one day breaking the cycle of chronic procrastinating!
~ Jill
I get stuck in that cycle all the time. I'm in it right now. I've kind of learnt to just go with the flow and run with mojo when it comes. Some days my house is a welcoming space of declutter and other days it's a giant pile of mess. The less I worry about it, the more I get done ironically.
I think in those moments it helps to have a good mate beside you who doesn't mind doing the brunt of the work to get you caught up and help you out. Once you're back on top of it it will be easier to maintain.
I'm totally in the loop right now. So much to do, the only one doing anything about it, and even that isn't much because there is so much to farking do!
Pass the iced vovos love. Wanna know what undid today? I changed the beneficiaries of my super – it had not been done in ten years. How's that for procrastination. We all do it. It will pass and the small victories and things crossed off will give way to more things as it gains momentum. You just have to wait
"… It's all there…. It's the vibe…" or words to that effect…
Sometimes, I can trick myself into doing something if I convince myself it's the LEAST important thing I'm meant to be doing. Like I'll post instead of clean because cleaning is important but posting to my blog isn't really… kindof.
I'm also really good at starting things (like cleaning, posting, researching, gardening) and then reaching this point where I'm JUST about to see some progress… then I stop and never go back.
I get that cycle and it is a terrible one to be in. It's also a very easy one to beat yourself over the head with and feed a depressive episode. Personally, I found the Pomodoro technique where you set a timer for 25 minutes and just focus on one task at a time to be a great help. Provided, of course, that you can get round to starting it of course.
I feel your pain.
It's never that simple. When you're stuck in that place, it is what it is. This too shall pass. Cliche but true. I get like this when I am unorganised. So much anxiety thinking about all the things I want/need to do. The guilt. The 'I have not done enough'. It's all about managing expectations. I sometimes fall into the trap that I need to manage the expectations of those around me but really, it's usually my own expectations of myself that I need to work on.
Oh, I hear you! It's like the more important the thing is, the more I am unable to do it. We shall together be the reining queens of procrastination. Bleh!
Hey! We are in exactly the same rut! Let's be besties and sit on the couch together stressing about all the things we should be doing while not doing any of them!
I'm too anxious about the to do list to talk to you about it, so we'd have to sit there in silence gnawing our teeth into little molar stubs.