Fuck me dead.

(he he he, that’ll go down well with my new p0rn status, hey Mountainmama? 😉 )

The tiny terrorist was with me shopping today.

And they were putting out the Easter Eggs. On a stinking hot January day.

Easter-fucking-EGGS!

The kid was begging for one. Well, 1. you can’t eat dairy and those sad-excuse-for-chocolate eggs only have one ingredient derived from nature and that is dried cow lactation and B. Christmas was like a freaking week ago!

On New Years Eve, when I was stocking up on my shit-load-of-junk-cause-I-am-alone-on-my-anniversary-AND-New-Years and wine I saw these:

hot-cross-buns.jpeg Hot Cross Buns.

And the florist is flogging Valentines Day shit.

FMD.

This is insane.

Who in their right mind would buy Easter Eggs at this time of year? When the bastards would melt to a gooey mess before you even reached the car, let alone the river of freaking chocolate it would turn into before the car air conditioner kicks in.

And where would you keep them for Three. Freaking. Months. Dickhead?

And the true insanity? The thing that actually makes me want to scream because of the madness of it all?

The Christmas decorations are still up in the streets.

So while you are munching down on your overpriced, fake chocolate, you can look at all the purdy lights and Santa’s.

As I said before.

Fuck me dead. The world is going to hell in an Easter basket. Might go to the shops and see if I can find me a Halloween costume for the ride.

It’s done.

Despite the best efforts of the universe to prevent it’s erection (*snigger* I said erection…. shuddup, I am delirious) the cubby is finally up.

Apparently you don’t need instructions, or the right amount of materials, or pre warning that you will need specialist drill bits, a kick arse professional strength drill and a circular saw to complete it.

Apparently no one has sued them before for false advertising.

Apparently it takes 2 people 2 hours to erect it *snigger*.

In reality it took 4 adults, 15 hours to put up.  Well, actually 3 adults 6 hours to put the base up wrong, 1 hour to dismantle and then the remainder putting it up right.

one-wall-up.jpg

See that?  Only about 3 foot too tall.  Would they listen to me?  Noooooo.  They actually erected *snigger* the whole fucking base and then realised that they could actually stand under it and then went oops.

There were injuries:

blood.jpg

MPS got a splinter.  Awww, poor baby.

There was night time drilling and hammering.  With lots of beer.  And singing.  And gnashing of jaws and thumping of chests.  I went inside.  I don’t drink beer. Or like hearing my husband, brother and father singing to Pink.

night-time-building.jpg

And pizza at 10pm.

And more beer.

And then start all over again in the morning.  Well, after breakfast.  At 12pm.  Hmmm.

And more beer.

Apparently drills only work if my brother has beer.

And then at 7.30pm tonight they downed tools.

It was finished.

front-cubby-finished.jpg

There was a round of applause.  And gasps of ‘FUCK it’s HUGE!’

finished-cubby-side.jpg

Boo decreed it to be the best present ever.  Well I told him to say that.  Gotta use that freaking echolalia to your advantage.  I am ‘the best Mummy ever’ and ‘Gawd Daymn Gorgeous’ too.  It’s true!  Boo says so.

Tonight there has been a flurry of activity in our driveway.  Kids I have never seen before and the neighbours children all congregating and peering down our driveway.  Hoping for an invite I expect.

Should I charge admission?

Day 2 of the Great House Extension Cubby Building of 2007.

There has been much bitching and kvetching and gnashing of jaws.

Every now and then there is a call of ‘I need to urinate’

And that person is found playing on the Wii.

The Wii that has been named ‘Jesus’ in honour of the season. Born on Christmas Day.

My father has fallen in love. Absolute rapture. My legally blind father is finding every opportunity to play.

Will post tonight if when the cubby is finished, with all the drama, blood and empty beer sustenance bottles. While cradling the biggest wine glass I can find.

If you don’t hear from me, you will find me rocking in the corner repeating:

‘No fucking instructions. Two thousand dollars and No. Fucking. Instructions.’

edited to add:

Sorry. Just realised that some people don’t know what a cubby is. Seems to be an Australian term. See this post for a picture.

And he is a generous bastard.

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But her his mother can’t cook turkey for shit. Dry, fucking indigestible strings of wood chip goodness. She Santa needed the reminder of why she he cooked Christmas dinner every year since she he was 19.

And has no memory of Christmas dinner as a child. Was probably Apricot chicken…..

Santa has amazing powers. He managed to walk shit snow all over my carpet. From the North Pole. On the other side of the world. Fucking amazing.

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Pity he can’t make the plastic wrapping around the toys disappear….

But he is not so amazing that he can stop the plague of men everywhere. Male pattern baldness. Fucker left whiskers everywhere.

male-pattern-baldness.jpg

And apparently his teeth aren’t too good either, cause there is a half bitten homemade truffle left on the plate. Must be his teeth, cause he would have loved it. Cause I am they were awesome.

The kids were beside themselves with their Christmas gifts. The last thing Boo said last night was:

‘Will Santa bring Hyperdash?’

Me: ‘Well he will if you have been a good boy!’

Boo: ‘I am…. now.’

The first thing out of his mouth this morning:

‘Has Santa brought my Hyperdash?’, then ‘Is this my Hyperdash?’, ‘WHERE IS MY HYPERDASH!’

When he finally opened it, Santa breathed a huge sigh of relief. But now Santa wants to hide the fucking thing in the cupboard cause if she he hears ‘Are you ready to dash?’ one more freaking time tonight she he will staple the kid to the wall and shove it up his arse.

Santa didn’t forget Mummy this year. I got a dressing gown that I picked up the other day while replacing my panties that keep ‘disappearing’ that is just my size. And a bluetooth mouse for my computer. That would go missing in five minutes if it wasn’t for the fact that some arsehole keeps playing with something on HIS computer and causing my computer to no longer recognise the mouse… Oh and the fact that a bluetooth mouse was no-fucking-where on the laundry list of things that I gave him to choose from for me. A domain name? Nup. Shoes? Nup. A weekend away? Nup. Jewellery? Nup. A new phone? No sireee. Should I go on? Nup.

Santa spoiled the girls with a keyboard and punching bag for Too and a gawd daymn exxy graphics tablet for Moo. Other junky stuff and this each:

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Santa’s helper is a clever little vegemite. He was able to build 2 computers and turn them into Mac’s.

Got to Mum and Dad’s for Christmas jaw workout lunch and there were more gifts from the jolly fat guy!

The hall table that I specifically told Santa I didn’t want. I wanted the one next to it. The one that matched my furniture…. but I guess I can’t blame him, it was supposed to be my present last year.

My brother Santa left the most awesome present till last. A Wii. And Guitar Hero 3. And 2 more games. The girls nearly fainted. And have been attached to it ever since. Except when we dragged them away for 15mins to eat something other than chocolate. Too scored 250 in bowling. Apparently that is good. So good in fact she found it necessary to ring my father tonight to shatter his top score and crush his victory to inform him. Moo fancies herself as the next Eric Clapton or Jimmy Hendrix. If she actually knew who the fuck they were…

There is wrapping paper everywhere. Toys and shit strewn all over the furniture, floors, walls, light fittings. We ate leftovers, chocolate and the Christmas essential

images1.jpeg for dinner. I am about to drag Boo to bed while Moo and Too play the Wii with my brother. Need a good nights sleep cause we are putting up the fort/cubby/extension on the house tomorrow.

All in all it was a lovely Christmas day. Despite what I say. I got gifts, kisses and hugs from my kids, to see my brother revel in being able to give my kids the Most. Awesome. Present. Eva. eat copious amounts of chocolate, not cook at all all day and drink myself into a stupor with far too much wine.

Which spawned this post.

I will leave you now to hopefully sleep it off with a link to Kim’s blog. She took the most fantastic Santa photo ever. Pop over and check it out!

And pop over to WhyMommy’s blog, she has had the best Christmas news. Made me weep with joy.

❤ Whymommy.

Ho Ho Ho!

Take that as you will.

Well it is Christmas Eve.

The kids are playing on the playstation.  Little do they know that the poor ol’ PS2 will be relagated to the scrap heap tomorrow with the arrival of the Wii and shiny new computers.

The cubby is here.  After a concerted effort by MPS  and on the threat of bringing Boo to their homes on Christmas morning, the rest of the cubby arrived at 4pm.

With no instructions.  No diagrams.  No fucking clue what to do.  Oh, and we have to pre-drill our own holes and cut the wood to size.  A ‘kit’ my fucking arse.  Once we get our legal advice I will let you know the name of the company to never ever deal with.

When it arrived in a huge truck, Boo ran outside excitedly exclaiming ‘My Hyperdash is here!’.

The Hyperdash is indeed here, thanks to all my wonderful lovelies that went looking and Boneblower who got her inlaws to drop it off on their way through our town.  Smootches.

But the fat bloke will get the glory.  Bastard.

Boo is watching Shrek the halls.

MPS is playing on his computer.

Amy is screaming around her pen like a bunny possessed.  Probably excited knowing that Santa will fill her stocking with yummy treats.

Everything I ordered turned up today.  Including the awesome photo book I won from Click on print.

I got the most gorgeous gift in the mail from one of my fabulous internet buddies, covered in paper with <3’s all over it.  Shoe shaped chocolates and a shoe for everyday desk calendar that will take pride of place on my desk at work.  Thankyou C.  Smootches babe.

We are about to sit down and watch the Carols while drinking eggnog.  And then Santa will get down to business.

I want to take this opportunity to wish each and every one of you Merry Christmas, Happy Hannuka,  a wonderful Ramadan, fabulous Winter Solstice, a fantastic Kwanza and whatever else I have forgotten.

I am truly blessed to find the world of blogging and the amazing people that inhabit the blogosphere.  Every day I am entertained, informed, horrified, humbled and brought to tears, both happy and in commiseration.

Every morning I wake to comments on what I have posted, when I get home from work and other times of the day.  Comments that make me feel part of a wonderful global community.

❤ my lovelies.  I consider you all family.

Now where is my fucking present.

A Mummy Christmas:

Sometime in August….

Shit, Christmas is coming better start buying stuff and budgeting.

October:

OK, getting this and this and this for the kids. Start shopping.

November:

Take the items back to the store cause the kids have changed their minds.

December:

Write Christmas cards, organise who, what and when for Christmas Day.

Buy, wrap and sort presents for a bazillion people. Including teachers, distant relatives.

Get kids to write letters to Santa.

Unwrap and take toys back to the store.

Organise and drive kids to various Christmas functions.

Bake, bake, bake.

Decorate.

Confirm who is coming for Christmas dinner.

Organise and buy food for Christmas day, write THE PLAN.

Rewrite THE PLAN a million times and then give up and hope you can wing it.

Buy, organise, dig out clothes for various functions and Christmas.

Bake, bake, bake. Shop, shop, shop.

Start various heartfelt homemade gifts.

Week before Christmas:

Wake at 5am every morning to get everything ready for the big day.

Find handwritten Christmas Cards in a pile of junk that is accumulating on the kitchen bench. Vow to post them right away.

Write a large note to self and put on the fridge ‘Take turkey out of the freezer!’  cause microwaved half thawed turkey aint the same I’m telling ya!

Chuck heartfelt homemade half finished projects in a box and buy something less heartfelt and homemade and promise yourself you will write a kick arse card.

Reconfirm dinner guests and replan food choices for picky eaters.

Drive family members here, there and everywhere and inform children that no, we will NOT be spending $50 on each and every one of their friends. Here is a candy cane. Wrap that.

Peace and quiet while said children fume in their rooms muttering something about how heartless and cruel you are. Contemplate taking gifts back to the store and giving them potatoes/coal for Christmas.

Christmas Eve:

Mad dash to the store before they shut because you have forgotten something vitally important. And the batteries. And wine.  Lots and lots of wine.

Find Christmas Cards. Throw in a box and vow to send even better ones next year.

Find out that so and so is not coming tomorrow, but Mother of the Year has invited some strays. Work out how to stretch the meal without missing out completely (like I did one year!! By the time I got everyone organised there was no fucking turkey left!)

Wrap last minute gifts.

Bake, bake, bake.

Visit friends and go see Christmas lights.

Drink far too much spiked eggnog.

Kids in bed.

Fall into bed around 3am.

Christmas Day:

Up at 5am to put turkey in oven.

Sit with the kids and husband while they open their gifts.

A Daddy Christmas:

Christmas Day:

Cool! Look what I got! What did you get honey?

Mummy: Get me a fucking coffee and we will call it square.

Boo shouldn’t drink orange juice.  It makes him a little silly.
Today  I let him have some.

He swooned.

He drank it and said:

‘I love orange juice.  I will make a club for orange juice drinkers’

and then he made a powerpoint presentation about it.

Sigh.

Perspective.

Simple pleasures.

Beautiful Boo.

It will be OK.  You are right. All of you. He will be happy with whatever he gets on Christmas day even if the fucking cubby isn’t here.
…….and then he pissed all over the lounge.