The A to Z of Lisa

A is for Awesome, my word of the year. 

It's also for Asshats who I'm always near. 
B is for Baby, asleep like a log.

For me, time for wine and a good chance to blog.

C is for Childcare. Hooray for Monday!
The twins will play there for a part of the day.
D  is for Daddy. Can you please come home soon?
The darlings are feral. Must be that damn moon.
E  is for Energy, something I've not.
Need more time in the day to clean after my lot.
F is for fighting. That's all the kids do.
Five feral children - we'd planned for just two.
G  is for Good Grief, God Lord and Good God.
Words that escape me as I lose my wad.
H  is for Happy. For the most part it is.
It's a hectic and hellish and heavenly shiz.
I is for Ignore. Pick my battles I try.
That's crap and you know it. I rant and I cry.
J  is for Jam - man, that shit is sticky.
It's stuck in Lil's hair, now it's matted and icky.
K  is for Kalm, if you spell it with K.
But you don't and that sucks so move on I say.
L  is for Love. Despite what you think,
My kids - I do love them - they don't always stink.
M  is for Mummy, Mum, Muuuuuum, Mama, Mother.
They shout it from one end of the house to the other.
N  is for Nappies. I'm sick of this shit. 
So for two out of three kids the toilet they'll sit.
O  is for Organised - something I need.
My mind is all busy, it needs to be freed.
P is for Paint - what I have on my wall.
Along with the scribble, the boogers and all. 
Q  is for Quiet and the sleep that I crave.
No questions, no quarrels, the kids will behave.
R  is for Rhyme. I'm not a good poet.
I'm not a good writer. And this doesn't rhyme.
S  is for Swearing. I do it too much.
My kids speak like wharfies - they copy me such.
T  is for Tea. Never know what to cook
To make everyone happy and to not fucking sook. 
 U  is for Uni. I'll finish one day.
A change in career is headed my way.
V  is for Vego. My son's one of those.
If I serve him meat, he'll just turn up his nose.
W  is for Weight. It's a struggle for me.
I'm losing a bit, not enough yet to see.
X  is for X Rays. A lot we've had lately.
Not just our bodies, our wallets hurt greatly.
Y  is for Yawn. It's sleep that I need.
I'm constantly buggered from rearing my breed.
Z   is for Zoo. It's the place I call home.
I love it. I hate it. But I'll never roam.

The A to Z of Lisa, linking up with Deb and all the other amazing bloggettes at Home Life Simplified's Listmania extravaganza. Go have a look!

Leave me a message, please!!! It's so lonely here by myself.

Ripe for the picking

Oh.My.God. I don't feel so good. I'm as round and as red as a strawberry and if you poke me I will explode.

Little sis and I took advantage of the last few days of warmth before autumn really arrives, and hauled the Wondertwins and Baby Scarlett off to a strawberry farm for something other than the usual nose picking in the town of Main Ridge about 40 minutes from where I live. 

Some of our bounty

We have never been strawberry picking, so I wasn't sure what to expect, and stepping into the unknown with Lily and Grace can be terrifying to say the least. It crossed my mind that they might pull out entire strawberry plants, eat more than they pack into their plastic containers (try telling a 3 year old she can't eat her favourite fruit in the whole world as she picks it), be bitten by a snake or a rabbit more feral than they are, vomit all the strawberries they have gorged on during the picking frenzy all over the cafe floor, or just have one of their loud, spontaneous, unpredictable meltdowns over who the fuck knows what this time.

The drive to Main Ridge should have been simple enough. I looked at the map at home. Map? Who needs a map? Apparently we did. I was guided there by the little British man who lives in the GPS on my phone. 

"Turn right at the third exit at the roundabout. Continue for three kilometres." 

It is easy to lose yourself in his melted chocolate voice. All was going well until he announced in his suave British accent, "GPS signal lost." Very polite and strangely calming, however at this point we had no idea whether we were close to the strawberry farm or heading towards Sydney. Either way, because of his relaxing voice we merrily continue down the lonely country road in a false sense of contentment.

If it were an Aussie GPS, we'd know exactly where we stood.

"Hang a lefty at the next roundabout comin' up. Keep cruisin' for about three k's."

"Ya missed the turnoff. Now you're fucked."

"Go back ya dickhead. You're heading up Shit Creek."

"Did I say 40 minutes? I meant 60...maybe 70 minutes, tops."

"For fuck's sake. The GPS has shit itself again. Lost the bastard."

"Here y'are. Stop ya whingin'. Got ya here didn't I? Fuck."

Yes. We got there eventually. Thank you efficient satellite signal.    

Picking strawberries is a brilliant activity for three year olds. It would take them about 15 to 20 minutes to fill their tubs with deliciously ripe strawberries, the perfect amount of time to cater to their short attention spans. No time for ripping up plants, snake bites, feral bunnies or big strawberry vomit. Not yet.

 

Back to the cafe for some indulgence. So glad I'm watching what I eat. But my sister assures me that eating healthy strawberries dipped in chocolate equals negative calories. So I had a vanilla bean panna cotta with fresh strawberries and raspberries with chocolate dipping sauce and cream. And, she said, the same rule applies for calories as cheating on your partner - it's ok if you're in another postcode. She is my sister and she is smart, so I have to take her word for that.

Mini Knickerbocker Sundaes & Strawberry
and Marshmellow Kebabs with chocolate sauce.
Amazeballs!!

Scarlett looks as though she was dipped
in spaghetti & choc coated strawberries.
Strawberries dipped in chocolate sauce is baby crack. 

Love to read your comments!

Or come to where the ferals play on Facebook

Home

I am only just coming to terms with living in this dog's breakfast of a house, that I have started calling it a home. My home.

My home has been my home from the age of 1 when my parents had it built with the help of the Department of Veteran's Affairs. That's as good a handshake you'd get for serving in Vietnam back in the early 70s. My parents built it with gold glass sliding doors, wood panelling, mission brown paint work and khaki carpet, and Tim and I have only changed it in the last five years and it's still a work in progress.

It is the house I grew up in, the house we lived in as a family and then as a broken family, and the house my mum spent her last few days in.

I've come full circle and I'm raising my family in it now. But moving here with my family couldn't make it my home. It wasn't mine and it didn't feel like mine. It had gone back to being a house.

And now, after years of changing it from the house I grew up in to the home I will make for my family, I have favourite places and spaces I love. 

My computer. Oh, I lurve my computer.
Sorry Timbo, but the computer sees more of me than you do.
I also love my wine bottles I have in various places around the house.
I really do look like a drunkard.

My bed. Especially without Scarlett, but I secretly don't mind her being there.
It's the place that Mumma watches her stories and is not to be disturbed.
It is also iPad zone. And the bedroom is multifunctional -
it's a bedroom/spare room/laundry in one! Jealous?

The Wondertwins cell. It's certainly the prettiest room in the house. This is an old photo of their room as I couldn't get in there through the disaster zone to take a photo. Not that you'd be able to see their beds or floor anyway...
I like this room because it is at the far end of the house. Need I say more?

How good is it that the shine from the window hides the thick layer of dust?
And the sticky mess on the floor to the right of Scarlett's little chubby legs - can barely see it!
I love my TV and my TV loves me.
It not only has my programmes on the Foxtel storage, but it gives me respite from the Wondertwins. And, as you may have read in past posts, I really really need it. 

My kitchen. The heart of my house. Despite having desks in their bedrooms, this is where the homework gets done at the last minute, masterpieces of art are created, meals are rejected, friends gather, and mummy drinks her tequila. 

Did I say 'masterpieces'? I meant 'mess'.

My new garden in the making down the side of the house.
Grace looks like a boy taking a wizz and Lily is the shy one.

This is my new favourite place. I love having a BBQ
and sipping on a wine or four under twinkling stars.

And here ends our tour of my abode. I managed to avoid showing you the bloody battles and filth that normally makes up my home. Yay for me! 

Have a peek at other blogger's homes and favourite things at Home Life Simplified's Listmania link up. And then back to me, me, me at Cut My Milk Facebook page. I have now posted some photos of what my house looks like on a regular day, room to room. Trust me - this is therapeutic for both of us!


And please leave me a comment - good or bad - I'd love to hear from you!

Chin hairs & prune juice

I'm 41. I told a friend I was 42. I couldn't believe I got that wrong. How did I get that wrong? I had to work it out - ok Tim is 2 years younger, so that makes him...how old is Tim? No. Hang on. I had Campbell when I was 28...so it's 2013 now, so that makes...wait...Ella was born just before I turned 30 and now she's 11...30 plus 11 equals 41. Yep. 41. We got there...

It made me remember when I was a fresh-faced youngster. Yes kids, I was a child once, too. I didn't escape the womb as a cranky old tired 41 year old, nor was a created out of spite by some pissed off mad scientist from the waste products of all things evil and bitchy. Nooo. But I can see why you may have thought that.

When you're a kid, you know your age. My twins spontaneously announce it in supermarkets to checkout chicks or to strange men with man boobs.

I'm 3. 

I've noticed a difference in the way four of my ferals announce their age. Lily and Grace hold up three fingers and say proudly, "I'm 3." Ella will tell people that she is 11 and three quarters. Campbell adds on a year: "I'm 14." They'll go through the rite of passage of calling themselves 18 so as to be served alcohol and to be let into nightclubs. Then they'll say they're younger to get cheaper entry fees to amusement parks and movies. But once you reach 40, well, you can write off even being admitted into a swingers club. Just too damn old for that kind of funky lovin'. Obviously, they don't cater for walking frames and incontinence.

I'm not really phased about being in my 40s. I don't feel 41, whatever that's supposed to feel like. Physically, I'm feeling a little slower, but is it my age or the excess of excessive weight I'm lugging? Mentally, I'm a sharp as a tack - sharper even - I'm finding it easier to learn new things. My brain is ready for biology and physics, whereas 25 years ago I couldn't tell my arse from my head with anything scientific.

Let's hope that by pulling these feckers
out I haven't encouraged more to grow.
And, yes - they ARE from my head.

After having pulled out two enormously thick pube-like grey hairs from the top of my head and examining myself miserably in the bathroom mirror-that-tells-lies, I thought about my mum and how she never gave me all the facts of growing up. Oh, she told me briefly about (whispers) periods and growing boobs (the rest I learned from Dolly magazine in the 80's) but she never got around to telling me about the other important stuff - like what happens after our babies grow into teens and we start to get all like, totes embarrassing and old all of a sudden.

We all know that growing older is inevitable, but this is my list of things I wished my mum had told me about it. I have entitled it:

Things I Wished My Mum Told Me 

About Growing Older

We all know about the possibility of our eyesight and hearing getting weaker, our bodies slowing down and the sudden desire to eat prunes and sing along to the golden oldies of the 1980s & 90s, but I wish Mum had've mentioned some of these seriously awesome perks of ageing (un)gracefully:

• Your body will start to hurt in places that never hurt before. And what doesn't hurt will probably stop working.

• Your mind will become delusional and will think your body can handle the alcohol and exercise you were used to when you were in your 20s.

• Your eyebrows will begin to fall out and reappear on your chin. Thicker.

• Your feet will become rough and your toenails harder to cut.

• Course grey hairs will not just grow on your head. They will appear on your chin, your arms, your cheek, and with a surprising amount of speed. You will look in the mirror and suddenly they're there in all their grey pube-iness.

• You might grow skin tags anywhere the skin tags decide to grow. Don't think of ripping those bastards off. You will bleed out. Accept them. 

• You will wake up feeling hungover without actually being hungover.

• You will sneeze, cough, laugh and wee at the same time.

• Your perky little boobs may be perky now, but wait until you're older and have had kids.

• You'll sweat more than you ever imagined humanly possible. Even in winter.

• You'll Google everything, from 'my knee clicks when I bend' to 'should my wee be that colour' and other ailments that lead you to believe you are dying.

• You will think that the perfect evening is an early night in bed. Alone. With a book.

• The music you liked will be called boring and old by your kids.

• You will be called boring and old by your kids.

• You won't understand today's music but if you sing any of today's music you will be told to stop.

• You will begin to say "When I was your age..." "In my day..." and "If I spoke that way to my mother..."

• You will gain great pleasure in listening to and telling stories of recent surgeries and illnesses.

• You will understand why a hot windy Australian day is the perfect day for sweating it out washing shitloads of clothes to hang out to dry.

• You will have riveting conversations with friends about mortgages, the lack of respect from the younger generation, the price of petrol, stretch marks, bargain shopping and recipes. 

I would have laughed and laughed if my mum took me on this ageing joyride, rolled my eyes and called her old and boring, and would have thought, nah, not me. I'm so cool and awesome that I will always be this cool and awesome. And how dare you tell me C&C Music Factory and Smashing Pumpkins wouldn't be cool either. 

Not by the grey hairs on my chinny chin chin.

A day in the life...

In this weeks episode of Listmania, see what I saw on Thursday 14th February 2013. This is a day in my life...

7:15am (I feel like it needs a dramatic Law and Order introduction for each time)

Scarlett wakes me up by trying to force her dummy into my mouth. I haven't got a photo of this, so I drew it for you.

7:30am 

Time to get up Campbell. Grunt. 

Time to get up Ella. Grunt.

7:45am

Campbell, get up. Grunt.

How pretty is Campbell's pink wall? We will get  around to painting
it one day. Until then, Cam's friends will think it's adorable.

7:55am

Campbell! Get the hell up! What? Wha..? Why didn't you wake me? Now I'll be late.

8:00am

Morning chaos begins. Same 'ol same 'ol.

The photo looks so innocent. If only still photography had
volume. The fight between the older 2 behind me & the 
squeals from a baby just don't do this picture justice

8:30am

Can you drive me? I'm late coz you didn't wake me.

Ella strapping the ferals down

The drop off 

9:00am

Dora the Explorer for the Wondertwins, fridge magnets for Baby Scarlett, last night's dishes for me. Yay.

9:40am

The first of three loads of washing. The fun never ends.

10:10am

The first pooey nappy for the day. The first of many. That'll teach me to have three kids in nappies. Down you go for a nap Essie.

11:10am

Pancakes for an early lunch. Nutella sandwiches are not good enough today apparently.

11:45am

After a frantic last minute search for bathers, goggles and swim caps, we head off to Grace and Lily's swimming lessons. Forgot the towels. Bugger. And the change of clothes. Fffffff...

Grace & Lily

1:15pm

Home from swimming, dried, changed. Now to make new playdough. The other batch was mashed and dried on the rug and other miscellaneous objects.

This brilliant literally 5 minute play dough
recipe is the closest I get to actual 'baking'.

2:50pm

I'm desperate for Double Trouble to have a nap. They won't. They grizzle. They fight. Soon it will be too late for a nap if I want them to go to bed before 11pm tonight.

4:30pm

Load the Grand Carnival up with twins, toys for twins, snacks for twins, a 9 month old and an 11 year old, to go pick up 11 year old's 11 year old BFF and drive them to said 11 year olds' dance class at 5.

5:35pm

Damn it.

It took me ages to find Grace. This toy box is in her wardrobe

 Damn it.

I said I not tired

6:00pm
Better start thinking about what to feed the little bastar... darlings. What crap can I serve up and call a meal tonight?

7:20pm

Dad's home. Finally. Dinner. Finally.

7:55pm

A relaxing bath to calm the savage beasts before bed. God I'm funny.

8:15pm

I have to lie with Scarlett until she finally drops off, usually in an hour.

9:15pm

Tim's asleep on the couch. As usual. I'll pick this crap up & fold the washing while he snores. Who am I kidding? It'll still be there tomorrow.

Does this photo of my lounge room make you feel good?
You're welcome.

10:35pm

The last kid takes their final curtain call.

11:00pm

I get my blog on and stalk people on Facebook.

Unfortunately, I was not able to photograph the many tantrums and stupid arguments the kids had during the day, as I was busy ignoring them. I want to make this visual diary every week and turn it into a coffee table book called Ask Me Again What I Do All Day. I Dare You.

See more of the daily crap I put up with on my Facebook page.

Listmania 1

Ok, so I'm a bit slow on the uptake. I'm the first to admit it. I have just decided to join in with Home Life Simplified 'Listmania' which started a couple of weeks ago. But, hey, better late than never. Listmania is a weekly list-making exercise to let you know the real 'me'. I thought this might be a good way for me to actually learn a bit about myself and trip down amnesia lane. Here goes...

Currently I am:

Reading

I don't often get time to read. When I do, it's typically a Dr Suess book to the Wondertwins. At the moment, it's P.D Eastman's "Go Dog, Go". And when I say 'at the moment', I mean for the last 23 months. One can never get enough of brown dogs driving around and around in cars.

Surprisingly, you've caught me reading a book that has more than 200 words in it. I'm reading John Marsden's 'Tomorrow, When The War Began', not so much for my pleasure but to be one step ahead of my 13 year old son who will be studying it this term. 


Listening to
Hi5. And when the tiny tots aren't in the car, Foo Fighters 'Wasting Light' and Adele's '21'. Unfortunately, I'm not often in the car without the Hi5 fanclub. It used to be the Wiggles, but since Sam Wiggle was given the boot I will not allow them to be played. Not on my watch.


Laughing at
My kids. Hysterically. Actually, they are the funniest, most entertainingly frustrating creatures I know. They are better than anything on tv. I often have to stifle my laughter at 3 and a half year old Lily, who regularly tells me to sit on the naughty step and calls her Dad 'a idiot'. 


Swooning over

Mmm. Thank you flickr.com

I've had a look-see at other people's lists and found that many Listmaniacs are swooning over their husbands or partners. I would never have thought of that! But, um, of course, I swoon over my husband Tim. But there are many other people and things that I consider swoonworthy. Taylor Kinney from Chicago Fire & Vampire Diaries is one. Passionfruit gelati is another. Mmmm.


Planning
I plan to do a lot of things, I just don't know how to do them. I plan to finish my Masters Degree in Deaf Education. I'm half way through. I plan to study audiology. I plan to lose a lot of weight. 


Eating lots of
This is where I go horribly wrong. I eat lots of everything. I'm a foodaholic. But from today, and with the help of a supportive doctor, I have started to walk the path of a healthier lifestyle. I plan to eat lots of green things, and things that grow on trees and are not deep fried or wrapped in bacon. Fingers crossed.


Feeling
I've been on such a rollercoaster. In the spirit of listing I would say

• anxious
• self conscious
• tired
• out of control
• weak
• appreciative
• loved

Discovering
I'm discovering a joy of watching my children's milestones and firsts. I can't remember much of Campbell (13) and Ella (11) as babies. I struggled with PND and psychosis and was full to the brim with a sleepy cocktail of medication back then. But I am loving watching 9 month old Baby Scarlett discover the world and my 3 and a half year old twins discover their boundaries.


Looking at
I'm forever looking at the complete chaos that is my house. It disturbs me. It bothers me. And yet, it stays. I turn and I'm looking at another masterpiece of wall art drawn by my twins. I love looking at their angelic faces as they sleep.


Wearing
At the moment, I'm ready for bed in my ever so glamorous t shirt and pyjama pants. I have a towel around my head, a stud in my tragus and a cat in my lap. I sound so feral in writing.

Banoffee Pie on Pinterest

Cooking
I'm not a good cook. But I do have plans (aahh, plans, should have adding this to my list) of making a 'Banoffee Pie'. I'm a bit addicted to Jamie Oliver at the moment and I'm determined to prepare one of his 30 minute meals in under 90 minutes.


Wondering
I'm wondering where we could go on a holiday with 5 kids. I'd love to go to Canada or the UK, but I'm seriously wondering if I've got the guts to take them all on a plane for that long.


Trying out
I'm trying out a new 'diet' pill/appetite suppressant under the watchful eyes of my doctor and a psychologist. It's not new new, but it's new to me. We'll see how that goes.

Well, there you have it. My Listmania list. Stay tuned. There will be more to come.

Sleeping Beauty

As you walk up my stairs, using the snot streaked wall as a guide, you will find my sanctuary (which also doubles as the laundry). Despite having wall to wall clothes baskets of yet-to-be-folded washing, I love my room. My room represents solace, reflection, meditation. I watch all the best movies and tv shows in my room, and play the most awesome of addictive iPad games til the wee hours of the morning.

I share my room with Baby Scarlett who, in her eight short months, has slept all but three full nights in my bed. To be honest, I don't mind. I'm now so used to having her there I think it would be weird not to have her lying across the middle of the bed, up on her knees with her nappied bum snuggled under my armpit. She has slept all through the night, about ten hours, in my bed since she was eight weeks old. If I move, she will reposition herself to grab a fistful of my hair or lie her hand across my cheek. I know I'm her bedtime bitch.

Honestly, could you say no to this sleeping beauty?

But that 10 hours of sleep makes an enormous difference in her, and my, moods. That is, if I'm not up all hours getting my blog on or engaged in the daily soapie that is Facebook. 

If you're wondering where my Superman is, he's wrapped up in his Ikea blanket snoring on the couch downstairs. If it weren't for his snoring he would be hidden much like ET was in Gertie's closest, camouflaged between Beanie Bears, Barbies and other teddies. Poor Tim had been banished from the bedroom a few years ago because of his incessant snoring and now in my old age I think it would be too hard to share a bed with him again. I think we'd need two beds Leave It To Beaver style.

I would like to reclaim my bed from Scarlett. She is the first child out of all five to sleep in my bed. Her cot is at the end of my bed, so it's not a huge transition for either of us, and yet I still can't bring myself to do it. Supernanny would have a fit.

I know what I have to do - put her in her cot, settle, resettle, resettle, resettle, until she begins to understand that this cot is her bed and this mum means business. I know it may take several nights to establish this, but my big question is, "Can I be arsed?"

It wouldn't really hurt if she stays a little longer, would it? 


Vote for me on Top 25 Funny Moms 2013

Done & Dusted

Woo hoo! Only 362 days, 9 hours and 18 minutes until Christmas!

And it will be here in no time at all. Did anyone else feel as though Christmas came around quickly this time around? It sure as hell did for me. It doesn't feel like it has been 7 months since having Baby Scarlett, either. But here she is, old enough now to gum to death a wedge of turkey, sitting with us at our Christmas feast. She only gagged 4 times. 

Seriously - look at this
crap. We need a toy cull
or a bigger house. With
a cleaner. And a nanny.
And a wine cellar.

Tim and I successfully completed a massive clean up of all the crap from downstairs. It wasn't going well in the beginning. But by 1:30am I had given up my find-the-proper-home-for-this-toy/bag/playdough/sock efforts and ended up filling the room upstairs with everything and giving the toilet a quick wipe. I hate the downstairs toilet and refuse to use it. It is the kids' toilet and the guest's toilet and I often forget how funky it can get until the dreaded pop-in happens and I'm left wondering if the last poo was a flusher or a floater, and if my soon to be teenager has aimed accurately during the night. Usually not.

By 2:15am, the presents were finally wrapped, sacks were filled, reindeer were fed and Santa was well and truly soused.

By 2:50am, Baby Scarlett was politely requesting a bottle of milk, something she hasn't done since she was about a month old, but must have known I was going to be up again in an hour or two when the over-excited Wondertwins would wake with squeals of Christmassy delight. Bless her little cotton socks.

Scarlett cuddling her Great-Grandpa.
93 year age gap!

Christmas Day here has recently been a... well...umm... a challenging day here. Both Tim and I have very small families. Tim's Mum, Dad and sister come, as well as my gorgeous grandpa 'Great', my Dad and his girlfriend of 22 years (Mum died 10 years ago - you can do the math), and sometimes my brother, his wife and my sister. So not too big. However, some don't talk to others, some won't come because of others, some are deaf now and can't hear others. I try to stay in the kitchen as often and as long as possible.

This year, I decided not to drink too much wine. Fortunately, I was given a bottle of Peach Schnapps, so I could slowly get marinated in that instead. I broke 3 wine glasses in under 12 hours in separate incidents - a good effort even for me.

We ate outside to enjoy the not-too-hot-not-too-cold day. Unfortunately, it was too hot for some and too cold for another. But we stayed out there, dammit. Our first Australian Christmas outside.

But the day went quickly and no blood was spilled - metaphorically and literally. In the spirit of good-will and family togetherness we ate, drank and were merry.

And after all that, no one could even tell that we had madly cleaned for them. It was hidden under the mountains of wrapping paper, boxes and plastic.

I can't wait until next Christmas, so I can do it all again.

Merry Christmas and Happy New Year to you and yours...

Lis

Big Ted sleeping off the Margarita mix

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