Treadmills are Dangerous

Awhile back I bought myself a treadmill. 2 days before it arrived I sprained my ankle falling down a flight of stairs. This is one example of my superior talent.

I've used the treadmill sporadically, is that a word?, well from time to time. When I'm not using it, it collects dust, or washing, sometimes both.

In order to use the treadmill I need to attach an extension cord, plug it all in, get the safety magnet thingy from the cupboard (you attach it to the treadmill and clip it to yourself in case you fall off then the treadmill automatically stops - or when you are running and your hand accidently hits the cord and the safety clip comes off the treadmill and you slam to a halt face-planting style into the treadmill controls - yes, just another talent).

We had a new lounge delivered the other week and so I thought it was an ideal time to change the position of the treadmill so it was closer to the power point and therefore easier to use. I folded up the base so it clicked into place and pushed it into a new position. As I turned the treadmill the clip undid itself and the base slammed down and into the wall. Well, through the wall. Another talent discovered - even I didn't think I was this good.

As it fell I gasped, swore, remembered Rowdy was in the room, and looked at the damage - one gaping big hole.

Now that I'd gone to all this trouble and caused all this destruction I figured I'd better actually use it. Mr Chic saw where I'd moved the treadmill to after I'd admitted making the hole and he said 'no running on it, if you fall off the back you'll go straight through that window and it's a long way down from 2 stories up'. Oh good, I hadn't thought of that.

Maybe I'm safer just putting washing on it.

The Mirror of Parenting

Crash upset Rowdy last night. Something about a purple matchbox car and their inability to share. Rowdy then started crying. Crash got the cranks and stood up from where he was playing on the floor and yelled at Rowdy 'STOP CRYING!!!'. Rowdy proceeded to cry even more. Crash then jumped up and down, threw his car on the floor and screamed in frustration 'HOW MANY TIMES DO I HAVE TO TELL YOU?!'.

I know exactly where Crash got that from. Not pleasant seeing a mirror of your own parenting reflected back at you by your kids.

Scales

Rowdy can't pronounce L's. Possibly because he learnt to speak with a dummy in his mouth. Bad mother. Bad. So now I'm working with him to say his L's properly. We've been doing different words and last night I did some 'la' singing with him. We sang the scales, you know, la la la la la, do re mi re do (or whatever it is, hey I'm not a music teacher, it's just up the scale and then down).

So here's how it went (and you'll have to use your imagination about the tone of the notes):

Me: Sing la la la la la
Rowdy: la la la la la
Me: Sing le le le le le
Rowdy: le le le le le
Me: Sing lu lu lu lu lu
Rowdy: lu lu lu lu lu
Me: Sing lo lo lo lo lo
Rowdy: yoghurt yoghurt yoghurt

at which point we both collapsed in fits of giggles.

Product Testing

Last Friday night I picked up some ice cream on the way to a girlfriend's for dinner. Sara Lee Rocky Road Overload. It. Was. Divine.

'Rocky Road Overload; luscious chocolate ice cream overloaded with marshmallows, chocolate coated peanuts and delicious raspberry swirls.'

Crash loved it too (not that I wanted to share). I finished off the tub the other night, on the lounge, tub in one hand, spoon in the other, and a devil's glint in my eye. Crash then informed me the next day that 'Mum, we need to buy more rock and roll ice cream'. Yes, yes we do.

Now I discover there are two other 'Indulgence' flavours.

Chocolate Ecstasy; chunky white and dark chocolate pieces packed in the richest, creamiest chocolate ice cream.

KAHLUA ® Mudslide; coffee liqueur blended through lusciously creamy ice cream and swirled with a mudslide of thick chocolate fudge.

Me thinks I shall get cracking to the supermarket and test these out. Mr Chic only likes vanilla ice cream, which is a shame, because I'll be forced to eat them all myself. Except this time I will hide them in the freezer behind the peas or something so that Crash doesn't spy it!!

Weird Bedroom Obsessions

See, now here you were, all excited, anticipating something amazing and/or bizarre thing I like to do in the bedroom. Sorry to disappoint. That's a whole other series of posts but this is not about me. Oh no. Not at all. This is Rowdy tonight. He insisted. Who was I to rain on his parade and suggest that gardening gloves really aren't for the bedroom (well unless you're into Cute Gardeners and/or a bit of role playing). I digress. Check out the little man.

Cold Climate Superman

Rowdy has recently developed an obsession for a woolly winter jacket he got for his birthday from his Nanny and Grandpa. He has worn it non-stop for getting on a week now. I did manage to talk him out of wearing it to school in case one of the other kids pinched it (amazingly that worked). He even wears this thing to bed.

Last night he wanted to put on his jacket again after his bath and he was riding around the house on his bike telling us all he was Superman. He would also only answer to the name 'Superman'. We wondered why Superman would need such a woolly jacket. Obviously Superman is from a cold climate.

Crash was wearing his Spiderman outfit which he then wore to bed, and to the shops today.

This is how I found Rowdy when I went to tuck him in last night. I had to take a picture. He was fine, seriously.

I didn't leave him that way of course....

and then there's Crash in his Spiderman outfit. I caught him sucking his thumb and said to him "Spiderman doesn't suck his thumb!". He replied "oh Mum, I'm just pretending to be Spiderman".

Smell

Crash says to me this morning as I put him in the car "Mum, you smell".

I had put on a bit of perfume so asked him "Is it a good smell or a bad smell?".

He replied "A bad smell".

Yay.

Santa Claus

Me: "Crash, what are you going to ask Santa for Christmas this year?"
Crash: "A real dog of my own".
Mr Chic: "What kind of dog?"
Crash: "A staffy"
Mr Chic: "A boy dog or a girl dog?"
Crash: "A girl dog"
Me: "What are you going to call her?"
Crash: "Ummmmmmm Puppy Dog"
Me: "Well it's a girl dog, so she needs a girls name"
Mr Chic: "What about Princess?"
Crash: "No, I'll call her Julie".

Great. Thanks Crash.

Me: "Rowdy, what are you going to ask Santa for?"
Rowdy: "Ummmmm a thingameejig toy"
Me after looking at Mr Chic blankly: "Right. You might have to show us what you mean there. What else?"
Rowdy: "Ummmmm some ice-cream!!"

Fabulous.

Secret Stash

Last week I asked the boys what would they like for dinner, as it was my turn to cook. Their options were: baked beans on toast, eggs on toast or cheese on toast (as if you needed proof that I wasn't Julie from Masterchef). Crash selected baked beans on toast so I got out 2 tins from the cupboard. He looked at the tins. "OH! I've got one of those!". Ummmmmm ok, right. He then disappears for a while, returning with a tin of baked beans. "Ummmmmm where did you get that from?" "From the 3rd cupboard in the loungeroom". Oh great, the buffet cupboard with all my delicate breakable serving platters and the like.

Right. "Crash, please can you bring me anything else you've got stashed away in that cupboard?". He returns with his arms full of stuff. Curry powder, tooth picks, cocoa, honey, a tin of baby corn. Yup. Go on Ready Steady Cook - make a meal out of that why don't you!

I'm presuming he was playing 'shops' with Rowdy and this was just his 'closing stock' as such. Or perhaps he was just putting away a few key things to feed him and his brother for when his mother loses the plot in the near future.

Aussie Pride

This is the newly tidied up workspace of mine in our study - which is now less of a tackle shop and more of an office. It looks particularly that we are very much into our "aussie pride" but in truth the flags ended up there so the boys didn't hit each other or the cat with them.

What you can't see is the 'storage corner', which I wasn't going to photograph. Or 'bookshelf' which is also overflowing. Or the 2nd wall of fishing rods. Mr Chic still occupies 2 of the walls in the study with fishing rods and that's after he moved half of them to the garage.

I do like having a little corner that is mine and partially toy-free finally.

A Good Weekend

Saturday was my 25th birthday. Ok, so perhaps 25 may not be quite accurate, how about '25 and some months'? That will do.

I woke super early as it was still pre-daylight savings and the sun was up at some ridiculous hour. I also woke up without much of a voice. Goody, a cold. Hours later the boys woke up and wandered in for cuddles and brought me presents. Thankfully, no kangaroo. I did get a metallic pink ipod shuffle, The Gossip's latest CD and some ice-cube trays (for when I buy my bottle of Baileys I've been talking about for ages).

Time for breakfast and we all had cupcakes from Cupcakes on Pitt. Yummmmmm. A few cups of coffee and phone calls from family and before I could say "more cake" Mr Chic's parents had arrived for morning tea, with, you guessed it, more cake.

My parents came for afternoon tea and then my girlfriend came over for dinner. After yet more cake and a few drinks I went to bed with a cracking headache. And a worsening cold damnit.

Sunday, Mr Chic & I decided to move the computer desk closer to the printer in the study. All that was involved was swapping two desks around. What eventuated was the entire contents of the study being removed, all the furniture being rearranged and then the contents re-packed, all before the grand-final and my birthday dinner at my sister's. More bubbly was consumed at dinner and yet more cake was had. Actually loads more bubbly all whilst trying not to cough up a lung.

Thankfully Monday was a public holiday and we all slept in until well after 9am before we dragged ourselves to the loungeroom and watched the end of Fred Claus, which then started the whole discussion between the boys and us of "how many sleeps to Christmas?" and "can we put the Christmas tree up?". Ummmm 81 sleeps and no you can't.

HotMummaNeighbour came over in the afternoon to assist me with yet another bottle of bubbly and while she was escaping her kids there was a massive thunderstorm and a blackout so she had to stay for more drinks while waiting for the weather to ease - shame about that.

Unfortunately the 'alcohol kills germs' theory hasn't quite worked and I'd ideally like to be in bed getting over this bug. BUT my weekend was good and it was a very relaxing way to end a very stressful week.

Having Cake

Tomorrow is my day. MINE. Although I know that being home will involve "No Dad, I want MUM to do it" and I will end up doing everything the boys want. Poor Mr Chic gets rejected when I'm around.

I've tried asking the boys "what has Dad got me for my birthday?" and Crash a few days ago said "You'll have to wait for 3 days Mum, it's a surprise!". Last night I thought I'd attempt to ask Rowdy but Crash interfered "No Rowdy!! It's a surprise!!". Rowdy just giggled and came out with "a kangaroo". Not entirely sure what I'll do with a kangaroo............

I know Crash is excited about my birthday soley because his birthday will then be next, he's been hanging out all year for it.

What have I planned for my special day? Well I'll tell daylight savings that it really needs to start so I don't wake up so early, that would be a good present. Then I'll have dinner with the boys and my girlfriend on Saturday and my dinner with my family on Sunday. There will much consumption of cakes and alcohol and I may even dust off the treadmill. Hey, I didn't say I'd use it, just dust it, so don't jump to conclusions.

Now if you'll excuse me I must go and put some fencing up in the back paddock so that the kangaroo can't escape.

The Mum Test

Loved this forwarded email:

I was out walking with my 4-year-old daughter. She picked up something
off of the ground and started to put it in her mouth.
I took the item away from her and I asked her not to do that.
'Why?' my daughter asked.
'Because it's been on the ground; you don't know where it's been, it's
dirty, And probably has germs,' I replied.
At this point, my daughter looked at me with total admiration and asked,
'Mum, how do you know all this stuff? You are so smart.'
I was thinking quickly and replied, 'All mums know this stuff. It's on
the Mum Test. You have to know it, or they don't let you be a Mum.'
We walked along in silence for 2 or 3 minutes, but she was evidently
pondering this new information.
'Oh.....I get it!' she beamed, 'So if you don't pass the test you have
to be the dad.'
'Exactly,' I replied with a big smile on my face.

Red Wheelie Bins

Saturday we ventured to the "big shops" (as Crash calls them) - the local Westfield. The intention was to get a 1st birthday present for our neighbours beautiful little girl - which the boys would pick, then grab some milk and bread rolls and then head home. Easy.

You'd think.

In Target and the boys selected 2 cute little t-shirts for the 1 year old. Tres Cuteness. Were the boys ever that tiny??

I digress.

As we walked through the homewares section (as I always do, in case there is a 50c wine glass that I MUST have - happened before), Crash spies a kid-sized wheelie bin. Not just one, but a WHOLE WALL of kid sized wheelie bins. "Mum!! Please, can I get a bin? Look, I can put my toys in it" and he points to the picture on the front. Hmmmmmmm. More plastic junk in the house, but it may mean a way to get them to tidy up. "Yep, ok. Just one". "YES! A red one!" and he gets a red one of the shelf and then says "But what about Rowdy? He wants one too". "Nope, just one, ok?" (There weren't exactly cheap). At which point Rowdy bursts into tears. Screaming, raging torrents of tears. It worked. "Ok, fine, one each, which colour Rowdy". "Red!" he says, instantly calm. Of course the only other red one was on the top shelf. Super-Mum could reach it and then we headed to the checkout. Me being followed by my parade of children-pushing-red-wheelie-bins.

I lost count of the number of people who stopped and spoke to us and commented on the bins. We didn't last in the shops long after that. I needed a border collie or something to round them up - "no, this way, watch the lady with the trolley, ok, now around here, careful, Crash where are you?" I truly felt like I was herding sheep all whilst "yes, they're cute aren't they, from Target, yes I hope they put their toys in them".

Of course once home the boys just thought they were great to shove stuff in and then chase each other around the house with, occasionally crashing into furniture AND each other.

At least they are tidying their toys away into them. For the moment.

Enough Already

Congratulations Laucke Flour Mills for taking a stand against the adding of folic acid in flour. For their letter click here http://www.madge.org.au/Docs/Mandatory-Folic-Acid-Fortification.pdf

Enough is enough. Why can't bread just be bread? And milk just be milk - plain and simple milk. Perhaps a low fat version and a full fat version but that's it! I don't want added fish oil. I don't want added iron. I just want milk. I certainly don't want folic acid in my bread.

You know perhaps what's wrong with the world and the reason why so many people get cancer and other diseases is because of the way we've been mucking about with our food. Why can't we just all go back to basics? Good wholesome natural food. Nothing added, nothing processed.

Critter Poo

Every morning Rowdy wakes up, sneezes a few times whilst watching the cartoons, clears out all his snot (hanging shoelace style) and gets on with the day. This is just Rowdy. Or so we thought. Hayfever or a cold, he always seemed to be snotty for one reason or another.

Not so. After his allergy tests yesterday we've discovered he has a dust mite allergy. Dust mites. Little buggers they are. It's not actually the dust mite that causes the allergy but their fecal matter. That's right. Poo. Dust mite poo.

These little critters live in your clothing, in your mattress, in your pillow, in your doona, living off shed skin. They love the stuff. In fact they have the ability to completely dehydrate and then rehydrate themselves in a warm environment, like you sleeping of a night and making the bed all warm.

Here's a dust mite. One of the millions living in your house. Feeding off your shed skin. With some fava beans and a nice chianti.

It's a comforting thought isn't it.

Patrick

57 is too young. Far too young.

I will not remember you like this.

To me you will be forever in my memory as Johnny and Bodhi.

May you now find rest. My sincerest sympathies to your loved ones.

Mission Accomplished

I didn't know exactly what I wanted, but I had an idea, I just knew that it was time to move forward and discard the past. Crash knew I was on a mission, he even helped me on the weekend with my meagre attempts with this task I had assigned myself.

I looked and looked and yet I was never convinced. There was no conviction. I persisted with the search. I trawled through location after location with no result. How can this be so difficult I thought? Will I ever succeed?

And then. I saw it. I knew. It was 'the one'. I held it in my arms. I was happy. The search was done.

As I got home from work last night I told Crash "I found it!". He watched as I pulled 'the one' from it's special housing and said "Hmmmmm, not bad Mum!".

The boys watched in amazement as I pulled the fake insides out of it. "Wow! There's so much!" they said. "Now, lets put all your stuff from your old handbag into this new one Mum!".

Terror on the Roads

One morning, whilst driving to work, I saw something move out of the corner of my eye. I glanced sideways and had a small heart attack as I saw a huntsman crawling down beside my head on my window. I glanced again, it was on the outside of the window. Ok, ok, breathe breathe, he's outside AND huntsman spiders can't kill you. I don't freakin' care though. Driving along whilst looking out the back windscreen of the car and out the side windows.... where is the bastard? I can't see him anywhere.

As I drive down the street towards my work, it dawns on me that I will have to wind down my window to use my security pass to get into the carpark. What if he jumps on me, commando style from above the window?! I'm hyperventilating as I wind the window down at the speed of light and swipe my pass and wind it back up again at an equally impressive speed of light. Down the driveway and park in my spot. The spot next to me was empty so I grabbed my bags, threw the door open, leapt out and quickly shut the door. I walked carefully around the car, having decided that he must be destroyed (sorry spider lovers). There was no way I was going upstairs to sit in my office all day knowing that this beast was inhabiting my car somewhere.

I walked around the car twice. Nothing. WTF? Then I have an idea. I open the boot lid and there he is. Sitting there. Looking at me. Guns drawn. Without taking my eyes off him I reach into the boot and grab a shoe (you just never know what I've got in my car boot). I whack him with the shoe and he scurries through the boot opening and into the back seat. GARH! Not on my watch! The door on the side where he scurried could not be opened unless I wanted the imprint of a yellow pole in it, which I did not. So ever so elegantly I'm leaning into the car and pulling everything out of the backseat - shoes, matchbox cars, booster seats and then I found him. And then I smashed his head into oblivion and opened the door ever so slightly and flicked him out.

It was at this point that an old colleague pulled into the carpark and walked up to me (me with the contents of the car on the floor, wearing stillettos and with a sandshoe in my hand, hyperventilating). "Hi! How are you doing? I haven't seen you in ages!" "Well yes, I'm going really well, isn't that obvious".

Did I mention I don't like spiders?

Farewell Baby

And so it occured that the Chic household left the world of babyhood behind. A brand new packet of nappies sit unopened and rejected, forelorn amongst a sea of toys surrounding the changetable which is now merely a cupboard. Rowdy has declared that he is a big boy now and he will only wear undies.

"Crash, Rowdy appears to be toilet trained." I say

Crash replies "Oh Rowdy, you're toilet trained! I'm so proud of you!".

"Well what shall we do with these nappies now Rowdy" I ask.

"Give them to Johnny across the road!" says Rowdy. (Johnny is older than Rowdy).

Then Rowdy walks through the house saying "Johnny is a baby!, Johnny is a baby!"

Sunny Sun

The weekend is almost here. Can you tell? I can almost taste it, it's so close. It's supposed to be a hot and sunny weekend in Sydney. I will actually be able to do some washing and hang it on the clothesline (folded in half and wound all the way up so Dog can't reach it and destroy it all).

"What do you want to do this weekend boys? I ask. "I want to make pancakes!!" says Crash. He's been banging on about it for over a week. So we'll make pancakes for breakfast before I wander around the shops. The boys both need new summer shoes so we'll do that, grabbing coffee and donuts along the way. It doesn't sound relaxing, but it is - the boys are good shoppers.

I think a new clam-shell pool might be bought for the boys and they can splash about in that in the afternoon while I kick back with a glass of wine and read my book.

Then Mr Chic has planned a quiet family bbq on Saturday night followed by a movie on foxtel.

Bring on this weekend I say!! Let's start now!

To Market To Market to Make Some Moolah

In 2006 when I was pregnant with Rowdy I participated in a market research group on potential advertisements for Karicare Toddler Gold. It was quite exciting to see the ad later on one evening on tv, knowing that I had been part of the process. Especially as one of the comments I had made had changed the ad. "It's not realistic, the child-bear is too good, he should throw a toy across the room or something" and in the ad that is exactly what he does, now.

So tonight I've been asked to participate in another market research group - this time on body cleansers. If it wasn't a paying job I'd happily go home as I have a whole heap of paying work to do there. Although there is a lovely pub around the corner from where I am going and the idea of curling up on their comfy lounges with a vodka/lime/soda and my Mama Mia book instead is highly appealing.....

Official List of Tools

• Kyle Sandilands - I don't need to explain why


• BLT's and other morons who comment on Mamamia (if you comment on MM and you're reading this, then chances are you do not fit into that category, so don't be offended)


• Julie at Westpac who continually stuffs up my pay


• Checkout Chicks that can't manage a smile


• The Transit Officer on the train on the way to Mamameetup who gave a 15 year old boy a humiliating hard time because he didn't have a ticket. Just give him a ticket and move on Woman.


• National Parks who can't be arsed sending out a reminder for a yearly pass but will happily give you a ticket when your pass expired one day prior
• Kanye West http://www.smh.com.au/news/entertainment/kanye/2009/09/14/1252780261217.html

Don't think for a minute that I've finished this list...... I've only just begun!

Why

Why are printer ink cartridges so expensive that I could throw the printer away and buy a new printer for less everytime ALL the different colours run out?

Why does 5 minutes in a park without a toilet create an instant reaction in Crash that he needs to do a poo?

Why do parents rooms in shopping centres only have one child toilet?

Why do boys miss the toilet when they wee?

Why has nobody invented calorie-free alcohol?

Why does PMS create an insatiable craving for chocolate?

Why does the working week have to be 5 days?


What's your why?

Auction Fail

I buy things now and then on ebay - actually I've been buying things on ebay since the year 2000. Recently I've also joined oztion, which is the poor Australian cousin of ebay and has a lot less people bidding. Sometimes you can pick up some bargains. As with all online auctions you can also get stung. Recently I bought some shoes. I seriously don't know why I bother, everytime I attempt a shoe auction I am disappointed. Ok, not everytime, but I've had more fails than I care to mention. But yet I persist. I'm always searching for the perfect work shoe - something black, not too high heel, something I can wear with pants or skirts, something with a closed toe, something that doesn't remind me of my grandmother. I search and search. Even shops fail me.

On oztion recently I found these pair of black work shoes in "good used condition" - the pictures looked fine, the price was cheap enough so I bought them. Last night they arrived. I opened the package and discovered the heels of the shoes were so worn on the edge that the white part of the shoe was showing. It wasn't just the bottom part of the heel which could be replaced. If I owned these shoes I would have thrown them away rather than flog them off on ebay. I was pretty annoyed.

Today, because I'm just in such a super-dooper mood, I emailed the seller and complained. She very politely asked for my bank account details and has refunded me the $7.50 I paid for them. And so she should do too. Now I just feel mean and guilty. But I had every right to say something. There was no mention of "soles of shoes are scuffed" (and that is mild to how they actually are) - nothing.

I could possibly repair these shoes but I'm not going to spend a cent on them. Another pair to throw away. The search continues....

and I have another pair of shoes arriving this week. I'll never learn.

A Very Expensive Biscuit

As I was stuck for gift ideas for Mr Chic's Dad, I thought it would be nice to get the boys to make some bikkies. As FIL is diabetic I thought nuts on the top would be better than chocolate freckles or choc-chips. The boys were good helpers and were enthusiastically making the cookie dough with me and rolling the dough into balls and squashing them down on the oven trays. Then they put a pecan into the top of every biscuit - they looked great. Both boys had a couple of pecans along the way. Rowdy held his neck and was a bit distressed and said "Mum, the nut made me sick". I got him a drink of water, figuring the outside of the pecan probably got caught in his throat, as they do.

He went off and played with Crash for a while as the bikkies were baking but kept complaining about his throat. We opened a packet of cheezels, which he had fun sticking on his fingers and he probably ate half the packet. As he was eating, I noticed his eyelid going red and a bit bumpy. Within 10 minutes both eyelids were red and swollen and had raised bumps. Around his lips were going that way too. I gave him a dose of Aerius - thinking he may have an allergy and it could be hives. He was still pretty miserable and pointing to his throat so after Mr Chic phoned a nurse who lives in our street, we decided to take him to hospital.

The hospital were great and they took us straight in and kept him under observation while we waited for a doctor. By the time we saw a doctor (which didn't take long), I could tell that he was already recovering as the swelling was coming down and he was giggling and being cheeky again. Shortly after seeing the doctor we were allowed to go home.

The bizarre thing is Rowdy eats peanuts, he has peanut butter sandwiches and has never had a problem. But quite obviously he's allergic to pecans. Bizarre. If that is all he's allergic to then that will be very easy to control. But it changes everything. I've never ever worried before about what my kids eat "nah, they're right, they can eat anything". Now all that's changed and the thought of him trying something new is enough to put me in a panic attack. Thankfully he's old enough now that he can tell us when something is wrong.

waiting to see the doctor

Just after we'd seen the doctor - yeah I think he's going to be fine

Fun Size

I bought the boys each a chocolate on the way home last night. When I arrived home they were in the bath and then cleaned their teeth AND it was also way too late for chocolates. I told Crash once he was in his pyjamas that I had something for each of them in my bag BUT because they'd cleaned their teeth and it was close to bedtime that he could see what it was and then save it for tomorrow.

Was I kidding? Would they wait? Would they hassle until I gave in? Why the heck didn't I just say nothing and eat them with Mr Chic later? errrrr I mean, give them to the boys at a time when they COULD actually eat them. Ah I don't know, mean mother I guess. I just wanted them to know that I had brought them home something special and teach them patience (ok so that idea is crazy but anyhoo).

Crash went to my bag, found the 2 chocolates and said "Oh Mum, that was so nice of you to get these for us, look Rowdy there's one for you, let's put them in the fridge for tomorrow".

And they did.

And this morning they ate them for breakfast, but that was our idea not theirs.

Farewell Mr Percival

According to ninemsn news Mr Percival, which was one of the starring pelicans from the 1976 movie Storm Boy has died of old age at the age of 33.

"Adelaide Zoo senior keeper of birds, Brett Backhouse said Mr Percival had been a favourite with zoo staff since arriving from the former Marineland in 1988.

"He was our number one breeder, leaving behind the seven offspring he sired with partner Alto," Mr Backhouse said in a statement released on Thursday."

I remember the movie and I had the book for many years too. I am fond of pelicans although they do scare the beejeezus out of me with their size. Mr Chic has had fish stolen from him by pelicans at the cleaning tables at the boat ramp as he's been cleaning fish from the day's catch.

33 years is pretty old for a bird though isn't it?

Pelicans whose beak can hold more than his belly can.

Farewell Mr Percival.

A month to go

So it's my birthday in a month and to give you time to shop here is my birthday list.

(disclaimer: it's my blog, I can do what I like, it's all about me remember)

Red Wallet - I currently have a red Jag wallet which I've had for many years and it's starting to disintegrate. I need a suitable replacement. It must be red.





MP3 player - I gave Mr Chic my last one so he could use it at the gym (see I can be nice sometimes) and he filled it with "his" music. I need a replacement. I do like this lego one - very cute.



Body Shop Coconut Body Butter: I love the smell of coconut and I'm yet to find something that actually does smell like coconut when it claims to. I haven't tried this one yet. Add it to your list.

Red Tony Bianco's: This is Amanda's fault for having such gorgeous shoes at the MamaMeetUp. I want them.

Please no chocolates or alcohol - they're just full of calories. Also no flowers as they just die. Vouchers to day spas and nail salons will be gratefully accepted.

The Seven Sins of Numberchic

~ Lust ~

I recently admitted that if I had a harem it would include the following: IronJay, Jeremy Lindsay Taylor, Rodger Corser, The Rock and Simon Baker.

(There are probably others that I can't think of off-hand at the moment)

~ Gluttony ~

I once ate so much food at a Sizzlers "restaurant" that I could barely breathe. In fact my car refused to start out of protest at the added weight. I can't open a block of chocolate and just have one piece. I MUST finish the entire block. There are so many examples I could put here.

~ Greed ~

Money may not buy happiness but if you don't have to worry about money then it sure makes it a lot easier to focus on being happy. I'd love a bigger house, nicer car, expensive bling, designer clothes, stacks of handbags, lots more boots........ the list is endless really.

~ Sloth ~

That would be the treadmill gathering dust, and the handweights being used as a doorstop, and me driving to and from work everyday. That would also be me not doing a job if I can get the kids to do it.

~ Wrath ~

Oh man, don't get me cranky............. hell has no fury like a woman scorned - that quote rings so true for me! I won't give a list of all the people who have enraged me over the years and who I now no longer speak to... although I'd love to name and shame.

~ Envy ~

Yes of course I'm envious of people who can have a full time job, be a mother (and not get cranky), still hold it all together AND look fabulous. They are possibly aliens but I am envious.

~ Pride ~

Proud? Me? HA HA - well yes any little achievement I have gets blasted from the rooftops - that's the great thing about facebook and twitter - it can be all about me!

The Ghost of Michael Jackson

I can't believe I'm doing a Michael Jackson post! My mum sent me this (thanks a bundle mum), unbelievable footage - watch carefully and make sure your volume is turned up!

Smoke and Dishwashers

As I got out of my car on Friday night I was greeted on the front verandah by Mr Chic, Crash and Rowdy. Crash blurts out "Mum, the dishwasher died". I walk in the house and it STINKS of an electrical burning smell. It turns out that Mr Chic heard a noise and ignored it figuring it may be the new neighbours moving in, then he smelt something and discovered gigantic plumes of smoke coming from the dishwasher. He ushered the boys into the loungeroom and returned to unplug it and ensure that it wasn't on fire. Thankfully it wasn't, but probably wasn't far from it. Smoke filled the house. So yes, the dishwasher really did die. But a kitchen fire was prevented.

Can we afford a new dishwasher? When my tax refund comes back in 2 weeks we should be fine. 2 WEEKS! Yes, surely we can wash things by hand until then right? Mr Chic wasn't all that keen on the idea and after half an hour of standing in the kitchen doing dishes I was cursing and of a similar opinion.

Mr Chic went to one shop, found one that he liked and bought it. It got delivered yesterday afternoon and is now installed.

Crash and Rowdy thought it was quite a novelty to wash up dishes by hand - they had never heard of such a thing and were keen to help, well for one set of dishes only.

By the end of Saturday we were exhausted and as the dishwasher was only partially installed (one pipe wasn't long enough), Mr Chic & I opted for an easy dinner of dips, cheeses, bikkies and smoked oysters - yumm (not to mention a few drinks).

Aaaaaah yes feet up and totally chillaxed!

Cougars

I loved this skit on Saturday Night Live awhile back - sending up "cougars". It cracked me up.

The Urban Dictionary has numerous definitions of "cougars":

"An older woman who frequents clubs in order to score with a much younger man. The cougar can be anyone from an overly surgically altered wind tunnel victim, to an absolute sad and bloated old horn-meister, to a real hottie or milf. Cougars are gaining in popularity -- particularly the true hotties -- as young men find not only a sexual high, but many times a chick with her shit together. "

"A 35+ year old female who is on the "hunt" for a much younger, energetic, willing-to-do-anything male. The cougar can frequently be seen in a padded bra, cleavage exposed, propped up against a swanky bar in San Francisco (or other cities) waiting, watching, calculating; gearing up to sink her claws into an innocent young and strapping buck who happens to cross her path. "Man is cougar's number one prey" "

"An attractive woman in her 30's or 40's who is on the hunt once again. She may be found in the usual hunting grounds: nightclubs, bars, beaches, etc. She will not play the usual B.S. games that women in their early twenties participate in. End state, she will be going for the kill, just like you."

Nova 96.9 have a cruise on tonight called "The Cougar Cruise" and I've been listening to the radio each day as they interview prospective "cougars" for this cruise. The main point being to ask the women "how low would they go", ie, what's the youngest age that the guy will be that they'd sleep with? (well there's no sleep happening I'm certain, but you know what I mean!).

Part of the qualification criteria for being a "cougar" is being over the age of 35. THIRTY FIVE. I turn 35 in October. If I was single does that mean I'd qualify as a "cougar" (presuming I'd be wanting to sink my claws into an innocent young and strapping buck who happens to cross my path, which being single, why wouldn't I).

BUT if I'm now out with my girlfriends having a few drinks will "young bucks" think we are cougars on the prowl? Or perhaps the wedding rings, bags under our eyes and stray bits of vomit and snot from the kids on our clothing give us away?

Incidently - the red-headed cougar in the above picture is a celebrity we all know. Can you guess who?

The Addiction

Crash has a problem and we don't really know what to do. He's a thumb sucker. Here he is with one of his "blankies" - this was taken awhile back now and the blankies have gone to the Dummy Fairy who took Rowdy's dummies one night. Crash liked to hold the corner of a blankie whilst sucking his thumb. We were hoping that the removal of the blankies would solve the problem. Not so. He now holds the corner of a tea towel, or a cushion, or the blanket on his bed, or his shirt. It's not all the time, mostly when he's bored or tired.

We've tried sending him to the naughty chair every time we catch him. Mr Chic has threatened amputation of his thumb. I've painted on that stuff on his finger nail that is supposed to taste gross, but he didn't care.

We asked him last night "are you a baby?". "No I'm a big boy" "well why are you sucking your thumb? do big boys suck their thumb?" "No" he replied "But I can't stop!".

We don't want him teased when he goes to school next year and we also don't want a gigantic orthodontist bill when he's older!

Help!

A Luverly Smell

I love freesias. I do. I know there are those that think they really are an out of control weed but I love them. I love how the smell of them just reminds me of spring. I never get sick of smelling them. My Grandma has them growing in her garden and all through her grass. Her lawnmower man gets frustrated at her insistence that the grass cannot be mowed at certain times of the year because of the freesias.

Grandma likes to send me home with bunches of freesias however I've discovered that both Mr Chic and Rowdy suffer from hayfever so freesias aren't allowed in the house. So this time I've taken them with me to work and they sit on my desk in the corner. The fragrance is amazing. The ants living in the freesias and playing hide and seek with me are not so amazing.

Giving Up Wine

I was walking down the street when I was accosted by a particularly dirty and shabby-looking homeless woman who asked me for a couple of dollars for dinner.

I took out my wallet, got out ten dollars and asked, 'If I give you this money, will you buy wine with it instead of dinner?'

'No, I had to stop drinking years ago', the homeless woman told me.

'Will you use it to go shopping instead of buying food?' I asked.

'No, I don't waste time shopping,' the homeless woman said. 'I need to spend all my time trying to stay alive.'

'Will you spend this on a beauty salon instead of food?' I asked. 'Are you nuts!' replied the homeless woman. I haven't had my hair done in 20 years!'

'Well, I said, 'I'm not going to give you the money. Instead, I'm going to take you out for dinner with my husband and me tonight.'

The homeless Woman was shocked. 'Won't your husband be furious with you for doing that? I know I'm dirty, and I probably smell pretty disgusting.'

I said, 'That's okay. It's important for him to see what a woman looks like after she has given up shopping, hair appointments, and wine.'

September Approaches

September is always a busy month and in a week it will be here along with Spring although it feels like it's here already the weather has been so balmy in the last week or so.

So September. Events in September are:

Birthday dinner for our dear friend (must organise babysitters)

Fathers Day

Lunch at a friend and client's

My girlfriend's 40th - although she lives near Coffs so we can't actually go

2 Nephew's birthdays

My Mum's birthday and Mr Chic's Mum's birthday

Fishing Club Presentation Night (must organise babysitters)

Day trip to Mittagong

And this does not include a stack of client work I have on at the moment and all the meetings that needs to go with that (and all after hours too).

Crazy I tell you.

I suppose I'll have to think about organising something for my birthday too as that's 3 days into October. Assuming that is, that I survive September.