Before I hit publish, I need to preface this with I am tired.  Bone achingly, hold-a-pillow-over-my-face-and-scream, shitty at the world, tired. I don’t want sympathy, but if I make you smile, let me know, cause that will make me happy.  Truly it will.  I live to make you smile.

Any offense taken at this post is your sole responsibility.  I really don’t care.  Cause, I don’t know if you know, I am freaking tired.

The internet seems to be having issues with sleep. Every blog I visit seems to have some whinger banging on about ‘oh woe is me, I can’t sleep’ or ‘little precious didn’t sleep last night and now I am totally exhausted’. OK, I admit some of the whining is legitamite, sick kids and insomnia and all that, but for the most part these people are pissing me off.

I haven’t had a decent nights sleep in, lets see,

3265 days

or

78360 hours

or since the birth of Boo.

When Boo was born he stopped breathing. So for the first 18 months he had a breathing monitor strapped to his belly. Affectionately called his ‘ticker’. Little bastard slept all through the night. I spent the time listening for the alarm to go off.

Then the little shit decided that day sleeps were not needed. At 8 months old. The kid did not sleep during daylight hours (save being sick) from before he could crawl.

I used to be a sleeper. 9 or 10 hours a night was common. DH used to say that in winter I went into hibernation. It wasn’t unusual for me to crawl into bed with a hot chocolate (sometimes laced with Baileys or somesuch) when the girls went to bed at 7pm. Kids in bed at 7pm. Sigh. I am lucky if I am in bed before the next day…..

And I was a heavy sleeper. Nothing could wake me. I mean NOTHING *snigger*. Now the slightest change in breathing pattern of the child across the hall and my eyes fly open begging God, Allah, The Goddess, anyone who will listen, that Boo will stay. in. bed.

And then there are the nights when Boo turns on the stealth ninja moves and wakes without me hearing. They are the nights where I wake with a start, the intermingled aroma of shit and toothpaste vaguely registering and notice that my bedroom door is shut. Wrestle with the options. Get up now and clean up or try and ignore it for a few more precious minutes of sleep. Then I wake up fully and my heart leaps to my mouth.

Elvis could have left the building.

He could be playing in the backyard or making dirt angels in the next door neighbours driveway. Wearing nothing but a tshirt and a smile. (Ask me how I know. No don’t, just read back posts of my blog. I couldn’t be bothered. Cause I am TIRED!)

Or calling a number he saw on the television. I sprug him a while back calling to inquire about a home loan. Apparently he ordered the house beforehand.

I fly out of bed to survey the destruction. On, at best, 4 hours sleep.

So suck it up people. Have a Nanna nap. I will crochet you a rug while I am up.

My Boo is too cute.

This morning he asked if I was hungry.

He has decided to make me breakfast.

First of all the sandwich.

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Cheese, butter (yes those lumps are butter!) mayonaise and salt. I stopped him just before he poured BBQ sauce and paprika on it.

Lovely presentation with water, 3 cheese and bacon rolls, sultanas, extra salt and a toy. The sandwich is under the bowl. Real professional like. Presented on a tray covered with playdoh.

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A Boo Happy Meal

Mmmm mmm mmm it’s stomach pump time!

And yes, I did eat the sandwich. I deserve the Mother of the Year award.

Little Johnny made an announcement yesterday. His doppleganger Kevin bobbed his head in agreement.

Autism is baaaaad. Govt is gooooood. Lets chuck some money at early intervention.

A4 worked hard for this. Our convenor Bob was there. Johnny quoted Bob’s research, and made it sound like his own. Typical.

None of the money chucking will benefit us. It is not going to get our house back. It’s not going to be retrospective and bring back our lifestyle and sanity after spending more time and money than any parent should have to spend. And any sibling should have to sacrifice.

But believe it or not, that is not my whinge for the day.

Today’s bitterness is still directed at the Govt, but it has to do with caring for Boo.

The Australian Govt has a program where if your youngest child is at school and you get govt benefits you need to study or get a job. Fair ’nuff I say. But perhaps they need to have someone take a little look at the rules.

I am officially a carer for both my son and husband. I don’t get a payment or anything for DH but since his breakdown I am recognised as his carer as well. And I work. I have scaled back my career aspirations and now work part time while Boo is at school. I had plans and was being groomed for something ‘more’ in my dept. That all disappeared when Boo was diagnosed. I am not bitter about that, I have a more important job now. My Boo is my life, right now he is asleep (finally!) at my feet on a mattress on the loungeroom floor. Snoring lightly, his hair all tousled and beautiful face poking out from his doona cocoon. My forever 2 year old.

But I get pissed off when I get hauled into Centrelink to justify my existence and forced to go to ‘back to work’ training. I am freaking working you morons! Someone please press a fucking button and leave me alone!

Then the pollies get their mugs on TV and say ‘oh the poor carers they have it so hard, they are saving the govt millions of dollars every year and we need to support them yada yada yada’ – dont piss in my pocket buddy, I have enough to do washing shit and toothpaste off the walls without you giving me extra laundry to do. And I am sure your urine don’t smell like flowers.

Now that DH is easing back into work we are in trouble.

You see, I can get respite (a qualified carer coming into our home) to go to the hairdressers or have a massage or go to the movies, but I can’t get it if I am working. If I am working I need to find alternate support. Boo cannot go into child care because of his disability, they don’t have the ‘facilities’ or ‘support’ or fucking ‘clue’ here. There is no where to go.

So I have to ask my parents. My parents that are getting older. My father who is legally blind and has many other difficulties due to the pituitary cancer which caused his blindness, the hip that he is waiting to be replaced and the fact that he is in remission from Lymphoma, my mother who is not only his carer but has health issues of her own including lyphodema after surviving breast cancer. (Yeah, remember yesterday saying I didn’t need someone else wishing me bad luck, that is not the half of my parents dramas) One of them needs to come and care for my child that either my father can’t see or my mother is shorter than so I can go and pay my way in society.

Apparently I should ask my 15 year old to care for her brother. Apparently I should ask her to take responsibility for Boo and give up her life for him. It is bad enough that the girls know that they will have to take over the care of their brother once I have gone for the long nap, I am not asking them to take sole responsibility for him while their parents go and try and earn a wage.

So WTF am I supposed to do Johnny? While you are paying lip service to our plight, I am raising revenue for you in your govt office and caring for 4 of your citizens (my parents need a lot of help too), raising 2 potential tax payers to pay for your retirement while my brother is off fighting your war so you can save face with your mate George.

I have been keeping up with my side of the bargain.

You want me to work, I want to work because it makes me feel like I am something other than a carer.

So how about a little support instead of a pat on the head. It messes up my hair.

I just got in the door (well technically I got in the door about 1/2 an hour ago…..) and this is what greeted me.

Peals of laughter coming from the family room.

You know that contagious, deep belly kid gaffaws that make you smile the second you hear them?

Boo is in there. The PS2, as usual, is on full volume, Taz Wanted blaring, Taz bouncing on a trampoline making a weird banging noise. The out of nowhere the sound of an elephant trumpeting (? Is that even a word?)

And Boo. Bent over laughing so hard that I am sure there are tears in his eyes.

Hitting a Teletubbie repeatedly over the head with a hammer.

This seems to be a continual theme in my life, so I created a whole new catergory for it! See? Over there in the sidebar? Oh, how I wish it wasn’t necessary….

First of all I need to explain the layout of our home. It is a relatively large place, but the majority of its largeness is centered in the living areas and the bathroom (yeah, what’s the deal with that! The previous owners in their wisdom thought, hey lets make the bathroom HUGE with a 3 person spa that is a pain in the arse to clean, with enough room around it to swing an elephant but the master bedroom so small that you can barely open the door when you chuck a queen sized bed in there) and the bedrooms are all squished down one end.

Our room is at the end, Boo’s room across the hall and then Too’s and then, finally Moo’s. Then down the hallway to the largeness of the living areas. Our bedroom window faces the neighbours lounge. So not much privacy, ifyouknowwhatImean, nudge nudge wink wink.

Anyway, after last nights conversation with the FIA girls about House starting back on Wednesday (Corr!!! Oh Hugh Laurie as House…..) Anthony the Blue Wiggle and Harrison Ford, and the prospect of DH starting back at work on Monday, I was feeling rather, ahem, amorous…..

With Boo sleeping (YEESSSS!!!) and Too away for the weekend, we took the opportunity to perform our marital duties. Now this could possibly be toooooo much information, but it is an important part of my sorry tale. I am not the quietest of people in these situations. What can I say? It’s a gift. A gift that DH is thankful for, especially to the guy that I keep talking to throughout……

So after a lovely nights sleep, I wander out of bed and sit down with a cuppa to read my bloglines.

Moo wanders out and looks at DH.

‘What time did you go to bed last night?’

‘Oh, about 3, I couldn’t sleep so I came out to watch TV for a while so I didn’t disturb your mother’ NOTHING would have disturbed me, I was sleeping the sleep of the dead exhausted *snigger* and snoring like a truck changing gears….. apparently.

‘I couldn’t sleep either’ dark look at DH ‘ I went to sleep around 2’

*choke*

I stare at my keyboard, not seeing the words swimming before me. I compose myself.

‘Why couldn’t you sleep, babe?’ I cooly ask. Well I hope it was cooly…..

‘Oh cause I slept in yesterday, so I stayed up reading.’ She is not looking me in the eye.

Trying desperately to save face. ‘You really shouldn’t spend that long with your Ipod in you know, it will hurt your ears’ Please, please GOD! Please tell me you had your Ipod on!!!

‘Nah, I wasn’t listening to my Ipod’.

Shit.

She leaves the room.

I turn to DH in absolute horror. ‘Do you think she heard us?’ I whisper

DH (the negative form) snickers. ‘You were pretty loud. I expect the neighbours will bring us a fruit basket as thanks for the night time entertainment’

Shit.

Excuse me while I go back and hide in that cupboard.

But while I am there, please PLEASE someone share their equally embarrassing tale of getting caught out by children, especially teens, to make me feel a little bit better? Gunna have to wear those red heels all week to compliment the shade of my face.

Sheesh! With all this time on my hands to just sit, cause my family are waiting on me and letting me rest so I can get better *gaffaw*, and blog surf, I have come across many a ‘Mommy Blog’.

While I rapidly watch my house go from showhome relatively tidy, to rack and ruin, I am reading about all these perfect women that manage to run a business from home, raise 4,000 toddlers all in cloth nappies/diapers, growing their own organic produce and baking everything from scratch, homeschooling teenagers *shudder* while being a top blogger with 8 million adoring fans.

These women manage menu plan, coupon clip (how I wish we had them here! Apparently if you do it right and go to 8 different stores making sure that you go through 6 different tellers at each store, you can get stuff for FREE!) and can their own produce while making their own designer clothes and selling them through their massively popular blog.

They are perfect soccer mums/moms with their SUV, running little precious from soccer to piano to extra lessons (cause precious is a GENIUS!) and while they wait for the practice to finish they knit blankets for the needy.

In their spare time they volunteer at church, go to bible study and completely remodel their bathrooms. When their equally perfect hubs *shudder* gets home from his high paying but deeply satisfying job she is an animal in the bedroom. With details the next day on the blog.

I am feeling deeply inadequate. I would link to these blogs but I don’t want to risk these perfect women reading my blog and pitying me. Or worse giving me advice.

I need some reality. I need to read about someone who doubts herself. Who believes that maybe, just maybe she made the wrong decision and is beating herself up about it. Someone who can’t be bothered cooking tonight so everyone had hotdogs….. or Macca’s. Some one who just wants to punch her husband in the head right now cause he is being an arsehole. And then blogs about it so we can laugh about it tomorrow.

Are there really that many perfect women in the world or are they all confined to the blogosphere? Are these women just trying to outdo each other in the perfection stakes and telling some porky pies on their blogs?

Well I might not be the perfect housewife, my house is often strewn with stuff, sometimes I even go to bed with my makeup still on, but,

I know what each of my kids favourite colours are – and Boo’s can change daily,

Who their friends are and their phone numbers,

Their friends seek me out to chat and so do my kids (no mean feat with teenagers),

I can count on a hug or even a kiss from any family member whenever and wherever I want,

My children know that they are truly loved even though I can’t give them everything they want,

My house is clean, it may not be tidy all the time but it is clean,

I have true friends that are just like me,

And I have fabulous taste in shoes.


And that is much better than being the perfect housewife.

This week I have learnt a lot of things.

I have learnt (from Erin!) that the more water you drink the more your stuffed up nose will run…… down the back of your throat causing spazzaming choking coughing attacks at 3am. Causing you to vomit in the hallway.

I have learnt that said spazzaming choking coughing attacks at 3am do not wake my snoring husband. Even when I purposely do it 2 inches away from his ear.

I have learnt that said SCCA@3am causing vomit covered hallways need to be cleaned up by said vomiter. BUT only if your names starts with K and you are the mother.

I have learnt that KFC takes longer than 8 hours to digest. Ew!

I have learnt that toilet paper really is better for blowing your nose. No peeling nose for me! Thankyou near poverty for being able to afford toilet paper or tissues. Not both.

I have learnt I am easily pleased. Ecstatic actually. When DH brought home the new coffee maker yesterday by whole body shuddered with pleasure.

I have learnt that I am a much nicer person with coffee. LOTS of coffee.

I have learnt that if you stuff the Eye Toy camera in your mouth you can actually see your tonsils on the screen! Source: Watching Boo through the family room window.

I have learnt that I hate the Teletubbies. Well I have always hated the Teletubbies, but I especially hate them when 1. they are lined up on my kitchen bench while I am trying to cook, mocking me and 2. when they join their partner in crime, Boo, in scaring the bejesus out of me in the middle of the night, sneaking up on me to yell ‘Kill Kill Kill’ while I am in a SCCA.

I have learnt that I NEED coffee. Really. Oh sweet nectar of the Gods….

I have learnt that I have some wonderful caring friends both in real life and on the internet. Thankyou. You are my life line.

I have learnt that the very idea of DH going back to work gets me rather, ahem, um, excited. He starts MONDAY!!!!!!

I have learnt coffee soothes the savage mummy. (See a theme here?)

I have learnt that my workmate A is truly mad. Certifiable. And that is why I love her. She is currently putting in a tender to get a used Army tank. For her front yard. And she has a dead cat in her freezer. Apparently for DNA evidence if the police ever take her complaint seriously. Yes, mad as a cut snake, but wonderful. She took pity on me yesterday and went out and bought me a coffee.

I have learnt that my kids are wonderful. I have always known that, but I need to put something in here about ’em!

I have learnt that waking up in the morning and finding comments on my blog makes my day that little bit brighter, even if I have to go to work.

And lastly, I have learnt that shoes really do make me happy. Especially my sexy knee high red ones 🙂

Something magical happened earlier….
Boo and I were swinging on the swing outside – as you do – and having a lovely time singing and cuddling. Then Boo did the most wonderful, amazing thing. He dug his feet into the cold wet grass and got them DIRTY!!!!! Look, aren’t they the most beautiful things you have ever seen?

See him digging his toe into the hole he made? ‘Yeah, so what?’ you are wondering. ‘My kid does that all the time and then I have to wash the little bugger.’ Yeah well, this kid used to be so terrified of getting dirty, or God forbit WET, he would go into full blown meltdown at the tiniest speck!

Then my bubble was burst by Boo deciding to ‘shave’. I was sitting on the couch, wallowing, when I heard:

Moo: Oh Mum is going to be so angry!

Boo comes running out ‘I didn’t do aneeeeee thiiiiiiing’

He is covered in toothpaste and clutching a razor. Thankfully the safety cover was still on. DH had just shaved and left it out. Boo ‘shaves’ whenever he gets the chance, covering his face in toothpaste.

So I showed him my cross face, he said ‘Sorry Mummy’ and I chucked him ran the shower for him to wash all the toothpaste off.

He filled the bath and had a wonderful time splashing and singing and melting my heart.

Out he wandered an hour later all pink and wrinkly and holding a towel under his chin.

‘Put some clothes on you rudie nudie’ I chuckled

‘Oh! Could you just excuse me for a moment? ‘ he replied *boggle* WHERE did that come from?

‘Hey Daddy! Get me some clothes!’

Daddy complied and Boo dressed himself. A newly acquired skill.

And he looks fabulous with his shirt and pants on backwards 🙂

We are Mac people. I have a shiny new MacBook (I love you baby), Boo has an iBook, the girls have souped up ‘old school’ coloured Imacs and DH has a mis-match of salvaged Mac’s into a scary looking menagarie of computers that take up a whole wall.

And we all remember the new ipod drama of a couple of weeks ago….

We are so ingrained in our Mac habit that Apple sends us thank you notes. I am thinking of inviting Steve over for Christmas or Hanukkah or whatever he celebrates. Perhaps ‘International Lisa Day’ – first prize to the person that understands that reference! The geeks of Silicon Valley will understand.

So it was no surprise when Too’s school announced the social was to be Heroes and Villians, that Too and her friend J would choose to go as the Ultimate Foes.

Mac v Windows Blue Screen of death.

And did I mention there is rollerblading involved?

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J was a little concerned that his ahem, manhood, was a little exposed. Oh and that Too’s looked bigger than his and considering she was a GIRL that wasn’t desirable.

So his mother suggested socks. Lots and lots of socks. Some for Too too.

Here is the back of their capes. They painted them last night while eating J’s 14th birthday cake. Doesn’t J have pretty hair??? For a boy……

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Notice the Mac is the Super Hero (well Teh Super Hero – I really don’t get that one!) and Windows is the Super Villian? All is right with the world when we know that the wee Jobbie can save us! (oooh double toilet joke! I am uber juvenile tonight, I blame the cold and flu drugs)

J’s sister was in on the super hero act too. A character from the comic Ctrl+Alt+Delete.

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They were all really excited and raring to go until it was time to leave J’s house. Then some of the bravado wore off (not for Too though, my purple haired super freaky daughter couldn’t wait) considering the new revelation that NONE of their other friends were dressing up.

As I was backing out the driveway I could hear J begging his mum to let him take some pants with him – considering he was wearing his sisters tights – and his mum saying:

‘I didn’t spend all that time making your costumes for you to wear jeans…’

You could hear my evil cackle all the way across the town as I drove down the road at the thought of these two rollerblading in their underwear……

Would you care for a side order of humiliation to go with your social suicide?

Thankyou to Moo for photoshopping the ultimate battle for me and the piss weak faces on our hero and villian. Yes she is back from camp, I can’t wait to show you what she bought me!!!

My baby girl.

This time 14 years ago I was being prepped by the anesthetist ready to bring you into the world. No makeup, no nailpolish but at least my paper hat matched my gown. Daddy was nervously strutting around waiting to take his position next to me behind the curtain for when, like a magician, the doctor would pull a baby out of his wife.

Throughout my pregnancy I quietly wished that you would be a girl. When people would ask me if I was hoping for a boy, I would wrap my arms around my belly so you couldn’t hear and mouth to them ‘I want another girl’. When the doctor popped you over the curtain, I cried. My baby girl.

I wouldn’t see you till the next day. I was sick, so Daddy had to take care of you. He took so good care of you the Nazi nurse wrote on my file ‘Father overhandling baby. Father not to handle baby’ the other nurses ignored her and saw it for what it was. A proud Daddy.

When we formally met I couldn’t believe the size of your enormous blue eyes. You were mesmerizing. Strangers would stop me in the street to just stare at you. Moo was not impressed. She was, and always will be, the show pony of the family. You would just sit and quietly survey the scenery. Your huge blue eyes and natural Shirely Temple blonde ringlets (Google the name and you will see what I mean)

You slept through the night from 6 weeks old. You were the dream baby that people speak of. Happy and content. Your biggest source of amusement was watching your sister splash in the bath. Oh how I wish I got that almost dirty cackle on video.

But I have the video of when we were madly moving into our newly bought house and you had chicken pox. Dosed up on drugs after a marathon 11 hour drive back from Grandma’s funeral. We were frantically chucking boxes anywhere when I saw you sitting on the pack porch singing Row Row Row your Boat. Daddy grabbed the camera and even though it was 4,ooo degrees in the shade I stopped and smothered you in cuddles. That is my best memory of that frantic, stressful time.

I remember when Carl came over one day when you were on the swings. He hadn’t met you before and commented on how beautiful you were and then you opened your mouth to call ‘Daddy get over here and swing me’ in your surprisingly deep voice, LOL. He nearly fell over and I nearly wet my pants laughing.

You went through an uber tomboy stage. Took the whole thing a little far with your 2 inch long hair and ultra baggy clothes. People told me to dress you properly but I knew it was a stage that you needed to go through and the photos will be great for your 21st…… Sk8r grl.

Now you are 14. In that twilight zone between little girl and woman. As I drove you to the train station this morning clutching your present from Moo and Boo that perfectly reflects the stage you are at now, a soft cuddly toy that you plug your Ipod into, I told you how much I love you. You are my ‘easy’ child and in that respect you tend to get forgotten with all the drama that your siblings and father create. Such an easy going kid, never complaining and just happy to be here. You befriend the friendless, stick up for anyone and are a kind and loving friend and daughter. You adore your brother for who he is and will do anything for him, even if that means turning off your Emo music to go and jump on the trampoline with him or do endless chin ups on the swing set, just because it makes him giggle to see you do it.

You are the sort of person that others aspire to be. I am proud of you. And I hope that I had something to do with moulding you to be the wonderful person that you are, and the amazing woman you will soon become.

Happy Birthday my baby girl.

Love Mummy.