My stick family stickers

I saw the dumbest, most loserly thing on the back of a car today. It was a stick family sticker of a woman - a perky little number with curly hair, her little stick arms loaded with little stick shopping bags. Next to her was a little stick cat. The owner of this cute little advertisement of singledom drove a compact new model car in modern black. I learned a lot about this person. My acute skills as a local stalker weren't even needed for this moron. She had laid it all out in front of me.

Here's her profile:

Female 

(or an interesting young man)

Single 

(or keeping her options open)

Has cat 

(no man-eating dog at premises)

Is young 

(the P Plates on the back of the car)

It was her car 

(the pretty 'Hello Kitty' seat covers says she didn't borrow the car from Daddy)

I know that doesn't definitively rule out a man living at home with his parents. True. But what this person put out there publicly, to me, smells of stupid. This girl must have missed the school chat about stranger dangers.

I don't know if the phenomenon of stick figure families have taken over your world, but it has here.

My car. Peek-a-boo Scarlett.

Mine aren't there to show off my family. Mine are there to serve as a warning to other drivers not to piss me off. 

Back off dickhead. I have 5 kids and a husband with a tennis racquet. You think I'm crazy and my driving's fucked? You may be half right on the crazy part, but this psycho bitch is gonna fuck you up if you mess with me. Think I care if I've moved in front of you? I've been stuck in this God-damn car for 40 minutes with two kids with shit in their nappies, one kicking the back of my seat, one who smells much more than teen spirit, two complaining of starvation, a baby who hasn't stopped crying since we left home and two kids having a slapfest while listening to the Wiggles at deafening levels. You want to take me on? Huh? And you see that 'We crossed the Nullabor' sticker? Well that's my fucking badge of crazy. That's right, I took four of these bastards over 7500kms across the country and back. Yeah. Now say you're sorry for honking your horn. And tell me I'm pretty. 

I like my stickers. 

No one in their right mind will be following me home.

Blogtag

Okey doke, I've been asked to join in a game of Blogtag, by a fellow blogger, Tamara at tzookeeperswife.blogspot.com. The idea is simple - answer the following questions for my peeps to learn more about me, then I tag ten other bloggers to do the same. Unfortunately, I'm such a noob in the bloggy world that I only know a handful of bloggers. I've popped their links below. Have a perve into their world, I'm sure they won't mind new stalkers.

1.  Where were you born?  I was born in a small hospital in bayside Mordialloc - a southern suburb of Melbourne, Australia. I haven't gone far. I live in the next suburb. Boring! 

2.  Were you named after someone? My parents would never admit it, but you've got to see the coincidental link of the thousands of little Lisa Marie's born from 1968 to the early 1970's. Sure, they liked Elvis Presley, but not enough to spell it the same way. I'm Lisa Maree, distinctively different, ok? You ask your friends named 'Lisa' who were born back then and I'll betcha their middle name is Marie. I'll stake my kids lives on that.

3.  If you have children, how many do you have?  God help me, I have 5. I have a 13 year old boy, an 11 year old girl, 3 year old twin girls and a 9 month old pink surprise.

Jasper the Wonderdog.

4.  How many pets do you have?  Currently, we have 3 cats and a dog. I say currently because if that bloody dog keeps digging up my garden he can keep digging the hole for himself. Not long ago we had guinea pigs but they met with a very unfortunate (and unintentional) demise. I felt bad for ages. I didn't mean it. 

5.  What was your worst injury? Which one should I pick? I'm naturally accident and illness prone. I guess the worst one was when I was being a suckhole in my high school trampolining class trying to get an A++. I had a great routine - bounce, pike, tuck, twist, front, back, backflip onto neck. I had landed too close to the not-so-bouncy edge and couldn't get enough lift to finish the flip and ended up sandwiching my legs to my torso splintering my L4 and L5 vertebra. I remember the other girls' laughter being overshadowed by a panicky teacher who saw my lips turn blue on my limp body. Ambulances must not have been invented then, because in her wisdom my teacher carried me off the trampoline, lay me in the back of her station wagon and drove me to the hospital. I was immobilised for a week, started walking gingerly the next and was sent home with only a month off school. Not bad considering my mum was told to prepare for the worst. 

6.  Do you have a special talent?  Uuummmm. No.

7.  What's your favourite thing to bake?  You mean other than rip open a frozen packet of something or empty a jar and throw it in the microwave? Occasionally, I get to make a lasagne. Baking this reminds me of my mum. And it's something that all my kids will eat without complaining. I also make a mean raspberry and white chocolate muffin. Del-lish.

8.  What is your favourite fast food?  Nothing's faster than a Duramine tablet. But when I've actually eaten, I love pizza. That's been my problem. I love pizza. And McDonald's. And KFC Zingers and chips. And a Whopper with cheese. And a souvlaki. See what I'm sayin'?

9.  Would you bungee jump?  Nope. I've seen the When Crazy Shit Goes Wrong TV shows. And besides, when I fall to the end of the rope, my boobs would keep going down and it would get ugly. Then I'd end up on Tosh.0. No thanks. I have my dignity to hold onto, no matter how small it is.

10.  What is the first thing you notice about people? Eyes and smiles. I think you can read a lot about people by looking in their eyes. Sincerity, sadness, secrets...

11.  When was the last time you cried?  I just wrote a blog post about my history with depression and this brought up many things I'd not thought about in a long time. Beautiful responses made me cry with a feeling that I am loved.

12.  Any current worries?  I worry about stupid little things. I worry about my kids at school - the amount of homework they get, problems with peers, etc. I worry that one of my twins may be turning into a psychopath at age 3. I worry that I need to nip that in the bud quick smart. I worry about my family in general. I worry about what people think of me. Stupid little things.

13.  Name three drinks that you drink regularly.  You've caught me in a transitional phase. Two weeks ago, I would have said Pepsi, Moscato and Margaritas. I'm trying to be really good and now I would say mineral water, water and Margaritas.

14.  What is your favourite book?  I don't get much time to read - other than children's books and the serial sagas that are on Facebook. I really like 'Little Children' by Tom Perrotta and 'The Lovely Bones' by Alice Sebold.

15.  Would you like to be a pirate? I don't know...I think they'd all smell like Russell Brand looks.

16.  What are you favourite smells?  A baby fresh from a bath, newborn baby breath (it's like jelly beans), mandarins and passionfruit, Christmas - everything about it, from the roast pork cooking to the plastic trees.

17.  Why do you blog?  I use my blog Cut My Milk as a form of therapy. A friend had told me my kids do too much funny shit to not write about it. I thought they they were just annoying. Writing down what the kids have done and how I'm feeling actually makes the event not as stressful.

18.  What song do you want played at your funeral?  U2's 'One'. That or Taylor Swift's 'We Are Never Ever Getting Back Together.'

19.  What is your least favourite thing about yourself?  I have a mean temper. I need a label that warns people: 'Keep away from naked flame, unreasonable children, garden digging dogs and bitches.' I'm also very self critical. Combined, I usually have tantrums about something stupid I have done.

20.  What is your favourite hobby?  I like making sock monkeys. Can Facebook be considered a hobby? God I'm boring.

21.  What do you look for in a friend? They must be uglier and stupider than I am. Actually, my friends are my friends because of their sincerity, humour, honesty, generosity and their inner and outer beauty. And they know how to drink. That's what I would look for.

22.  Name something you've done that you never thought you'd do? I had five kids. I was told I wouldn't have any, and now I have five. I never thought I'd become obese.

23.  What are your favourite things to do?  I love to sleep. I love getting lost in a great movie.

24.  Any pet peeves?  I hate hearing people crunch food with an open mouth - it's like fingernails down a chalkboard. Cupboard doors not being shut. Toothpaste in the bathroom sink. Glasses not being stacked the 'correct' (my) way in the cupboard. I'm not only boring - I'm anal.

Gus & Scarlett, just before she went
all Alice Cooper on him.

25.  What's the last thing that made you laugh?  My baby Scarlett trying to fit the cat's head in her mouth but coming away with a mouthful of black fur. It was more the cat's reaction that made me laugh. He just lay there and let her, but had his eyes on me the entire time. I don't have smart pets.

Maybe you know too much about me now. Maybe you're questioning whether you want to come play in my sandpit after all. I hope you do. Toodle pip.

tzookeeperswife.blogspot.com.au

sewensow.blogspot.com

vegetarianmamma.com

losingmylemons.com

marmaladestationery.blogspot.com

Pressure

The pressures and stresses of this time of year can be extraordinarily hard to cope with. I'm not talking about Christmas this time, but the nerve-racking period Year 12 students from around Australia experience each year waiting for their results to appear in the mail. I don't actually remember the intense pressure of sitting my final exams, knowing that these results could mean my future. I've probably blocked it out. I didn't really know what I wanted to do beyond High School. I knew it would be some kind of teaching. Back in the late 1980's, anyone could be accepted into a teaching degree. You didn't need exceptional grades and in some cases it was a second or third choice for many students who didn't get their first or second university preference in Law or Accounting. 

But in recent years, it seems that so much emphasis is placed on excellent results. Don't get me wrong - I think it's a wonderful thing that to be accepted into a university degree in education you need to be able to demonstrate a very high level of skill - but there are still some students, and families, that place so much anxiety and importance on producing the perfect result. 

Dr Michael Carr-Gregg, a passionate child and adolescent psychologist, writes about surviving end of year results. I've always told my students - this is not the be-all end-all. There are options. There are other pathways to get where you want.

Recently, I've been stunned by the pressure my little 11 year old, Ella, has been under as Year 5 comes to a close. The school had encouraged the 5ers to apply for senior school leadership positions. Ella does not need encouragement for these sort of things. As soon as she heard of the positions, she set about writing drafts, rewriting, editing, recording, rewriting again, her formal application and speeches for School Captain and House Captain. I wish she could show this kind of tenacity in helping out around the house. She's a driven, ambitious girl and I admire her determination and courage. 

Her application submitted, her speech delivered, her wait began. Every day we had to hear of how exciting it would be to get a captain role and how her friends say she'll get one for sure. The girls threw these comments to each other daily - Oh my God, you'll soooo get captain for sure. Oh my God, no! You're so there! There were 5 positions for girls up for grabs and practically every Year 5 girl going for them. Someone - no, most of them - will miss out. Some will be disappointed and will have a very sudden lesson in resilience. To help the kids who missed out, roles have been created so that every Year 6 will have a special responsibility. No one will lose. So much like real life.  

My Ella-Bella

Sleepless nights and tummy aches past, the school announced the leadership positions yesterday. I had a nervous day wondering what kind of child will return home from school. I had worded her up in the morning before she left, trying desperately not to get her hopes up and to also be confident in herself. To accept defeat with maturity and integrity. To accept success with modesty and humility. To take deep breathes. This is Year 5. I'm hoping by the time she reaches the end of her secondary school years she has developed the resilience and skills to cope with these anxieties. I know I still haven't.

Well done, Ella. I'm very proud of you.


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Sweating the Small Stuff

I am in the middle of re-rereading "Don't Sweat the Small Stuff" by Richard Carlson and trying oh so very hard to not let things get the better of me at the moment. I've been feeling a bit overwhelmed by the fast-paced period of long queues, end of the school year, perfect present buying, socialising, extra expenses and cooking for break-up and Christmas parties. I know I'm not alone. Of course I'm not. But somedays Zoloft can only do so much.

Today was one of those days when you wish your kids could live at the North Pole - the furthest place I can think of that has a guaranteed return date of December 25. I don't wish them away for ever. Just long enough to let my heart beat return to it's normal rate, and allow me to think without the constant stereo of screaming twins, the demands and bickering of the older two who should know better and the ever-present velcro koala attached to my left hip.

Today, I ditched the idea of a shopping centre and battling it out with the masses, and headed to a nearby suburban shopping strip. I'd like to say that with all my education I'm a pretty smart person, but today proved that I am far from it. A simple exercise of pushing a pram with a 3 year old twin on each side was not as simple as I would have thought. And Lily was not in a good mood from the time she woke up. I should have taken that as a big warning sign that the day was not going to get any better than it was at half past 7. Still, I had things that I needed to achieve today to avoid a snowball effect of Christmas catastrophes. 

Don't be fooled by her cute exterior.

The greatest warning sign that it wasn't going to be an easy shopping trip was Lily crying in the car that her right knee was cold. Turning the air vent to face the window, her hair was now too cold and her knee was now too hot. 

"Don't look at me!" she growled at me. "Every day I tell you you not look at me!" 

5, 4, 3, 2, 1, exhale. "Ok, Lil."

"You not talk a me, too."

At the carpark, I turned to the girls and gave them the run-down. "Will we run around and scream in the shop?"

"No."

"Will we play hide and seek under the fruit and vegie tables in the supermarket?"

"No."

"Will you smack each other on the head and say rude words?"

"No."

Lily sighed. "Then what can we do?"

"We can walk nicely and safely and use our lovely manners and listen to Mummy."

"Yes," says Gracie.

"Lily?"

"I told you not you look and not you talk a me. Dickhead."

And, breathe...

This is where I should have known better than to take them out of the car. But I did.

Crossing the road at a very difficult intersection, Lily refused to hold the pram. Finally, an opportunity to safely cross arose and I headed out, Lily next to us. I looked at her and praised her. "Good girl! Keep going."

Down she dropped, in the middle of the road, her pink princess dress fluffing out around her. "You look at me! Don't look at me!" and lay with her head in her hands on the asphalt. Pulling at her arm to get up, she lashed out kicking and flinging her arms around wildly, as I tried desperately to drag her possessed body from the centre of what was now a very crowded street.

This isn't the first time this sort of thing has happened to me with one of my errant children. When Ella was the same age, she refused to hold my hand as we crossed a busy road, and as I held on tightly to her little wrist Ella dropped - her body a dead weight under my grip, and I felt it click (or was it crack?) from somewhere in that tiny 3 year old arm. Several hours later in the hospital, after xrays and extensive questioning from the triage nurses ("Mummy hurt my arm coz I was naughty on the road") it was deemed to be an unfortunate dislocation of the elbow due to chronic naughtiness.

And here I am. I survived to blog another day. I'm hanging onto a thread of tranquillity though. But I will try very very hard to remind myself not to sweat the small stuff, because it is all small stuff, no matter how obnoxious my small stuff can be.

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