Or he is reading my fucking blog.

Cause the bastard turned the night time shenanigans up a notch. He is now the official time keeper.

I knew that bragging last night about him staying in his room was a mistake.  I knew it would come and bite me in the arse.

I knew that Murphy hated me, that God and Allah and the Goddess were fucking with me.

But I just had to say that Boo was staying in his room.

And I was getting me some shut eye.

Last night Moo had her end of year break up.  Yeah, a Sunday night.

Fabulous idea.  IF you didn’t have to pick your kid (and a couple of ring ins) and work the next day.

So Mario-porn-star was going to pick them up.  And I was going to go to bed.  But I couldn’t sleep, cause I was terrified that he would fall asleep or forget to pick them up.

At 1am Boo woke up.  Full of freaking jumping beans.

At 1.15am he wanders out…

‘Mum!  It’s 1.15am’

‘Go back to bed Boo’

I lay in bed.  I have been up since six.

My eyes flutter…

‘Mummy!!!  It’s 1.30am!’

He is standing beside my bed.  I walk him back to his room…

Lay down.  The sound of a truck changing gears Mario-porn-star asleep beside me.  Of course he doesn’t hear a thing.

‘Hey Mummy!!!!  It’s 2.04am!’

‘Boo, it is time for sleep.  You need to stay in your room’

Boo in room, me passed out on top of the bedsheets.

‘Muuuuuuum! It’s 2.28 am!’

He is standing inches from my face.  I hold back the urge to smack him fair across the fucking room.

‘Boo back to bed.’

He has wet it.  And the bedding.  And himself.  Shit.

Strip the bed, change the doona (we have many cause he uses them as toilet paper) change his clothes, wack another nappy on him and beg him to go to sleep.

Boo room. Me somewhere in the vicinity of the bed.

‘Oooh Mummy it’s 2.45am!’

‘Boo if you don’t go to sleep right now I will hurt you and make it look like a bloody accident’

‘Can I watch Cat in the Hat?’

Yeah, I had that coming…..

I feel a hand on my face.  I am curled up at the end of the bed.

‘Hey Mummy!  It is 3am exactly!’

‘Boo are you psychic?  Are we going to win lotto?’

‘No’

‘Am I going to get any sleep tonight’

‘No’

So this continues until 6am.  When the alarm goes off.

Mario-porn-star finally gets up after much poking and punching cajoling and complains of being so tired.

I resist the urge to grab his balls in a vice grip and say ‘Yeah me too.’

Get everyone where they need to go.  3 trips freaky neighbours…. all before 9am.  And go to work.

S sees me and starts complaining he is tired.

He looks at my eyes.

I tell him to fuck off.

****************

as you can tell, I am really really tired. I have been awake since 6am yesterday morning. I haven’t come to visit you all today, cause in all honesty I have nothing in my head.  I tried a couple of times and all I could come up with was ‘thanks’, good post or something equally banal.  I am going to bed NOW cause the devil spawn is asleep and who knows how long that will last…. 

❤ my lovelies.  Your comments today have made me smile. 

Who is this asshole, and why does he get to write the laws.

Tell me where he lives and I will drive my spiked heel through his temple. Or spinal column.  He can choose cause I am nice like that.  Not like him.  Bastard.

Two days ago I was complaining about Summer (complaining?  Yes.  Surprising isn’t it that I would complain about something being the breezy happy chick that I am…) and I said:

“How about I fucking despise Summer, more than pregnancy hormone induced hemorrhoid’s and even more than when my coffee machine expired.”

(any English teachers out there?  Do I have to do quotations when I am quoting myself?)

Well guess what happened today?  Oh yes my lovely internets, the new just-an-interim-cheap-jobbie-cause-I-am-a-cheap-bastard coffee machine my husband bought in September, during that horribly expensive week of take out coffee 3 times a day, fucking blew up!

Well not literally.  It wouldn’t work.  It exploded into pieces when I hurled the heap of shit across the room.

Well not literally.  But I did give it a good smack.  Mums these days have to smack appliances to get out their frustrations.  Not like in my Mums day when kids were regularly belted around the head for the indiscretions of white goods.

My head is pounding.  My hands are shaking.  The washing is piling up (cause that is the coffee machine’s fault) and the kids are talking at me but I can’t hear anything.

Cause BLOOD is coursing through my veins.  Not caffeine. And my body can’t handle that shit.

I haven’t said anything to the kids.  They are still traumatised from the last time.  But they know something is up.  Mummy is not happy and I just announced that we are having take away for dinner.  On. A. Thursday.

‘Oooh what are we having?  Can we have Chinese or Subway?’ asked Too excitedly

‘I. Don’t. Care.’ I muttered through gritted teeth, my head pounding from the withdrawl and every word pulsing in my head.  The headache has started.  The shakes will happen soon, and they will have to lock me in the bathroom to prevent me stuffing coffee beans up my arse.

Cause that is the fastest way to get something in your system, idiot.  I am not that kinky.

I have eaten the coffee flavoured icecream in the freezer.  It was just flavoured, no freaking buzz from that.

I toyed with the idea of making an instant *shudder* cause I keep that shit for guests cause some freakshows don’t like the real stuff. Like those heathens that I gave birth to that prefer  easter egg chocolate and that plastic shit that they call chocolate in Advent calendars to real (caffeine filled) chocolate……..

HANG ON!!!!!!!!!!  OMG!!!!!!!!!!!!!! HANG ON!

*sob* looks like the biatches will eat the good stuff if the crap is not available.

Oh Gaggia Gods!  Why have you forsaken me?

So is a broken coffee machine rendering me caffeine-less or Summer worse?

Ask me tomorrow.  Or maybe don’t.  Cause I will be even worse in the morning.

Today it is cool. I am sitting here in long pants. Had to close the windows cause I was getting chilly. The last 3 days are a hazy blur of sweaty breasticles, whinging and cold showers.

Now I am happy.

The kids had the day off today due to the teachers strike and spent the day complaining and asking for food and wanting attention and shit…….

But I was wearing jeans and was coooooool.

I had a support group meeting that I had to go to because 12 new families were coming and not one fucker turned up………

But my breasts were dry.

3 new adults with Aspergers turned up and got all shitty cause I couldn’t help them. I explained that I am just a mum of a 9 year old so have no experience with adult issues. But they went on and on and on…

But because it was cool I ordered a hot sticky date pudding and a bucket of latte. Yum

Boo was downloading a bazillion things on Youtube and sucking up all the bandwidth so I couldn’t get on the rat-fuck-son-of-a-bitch internet……..

So I went and put on some socks cause my feet were COLD!

Too is going to Spam-a-lot on the weekend and has been dancing around the house teasing me incessantly.  Apparently the little biatch will be in the second row centre. And I get to spend the weekend with my rellies. The ones that think that Boo is Artistic and like fucking Rainman. ‘Drop the matches cause I know he can count them!’ Asshats.

But it is going to be in the low 20’s and I can wear fab shoes and just stare at them all day.

I was finally the good daughter today and went to see my parents new McMansion. Yeah it is nice and so is the fucking central airconditioning that they got installed today.

But I was gracious and gushing cause my body wasn’t screaming for a shower.

Got the freaking huge list of things I need to do in preparation for my fathers 60th on Saturday and my brother, the golden child, will just swan in with the new girlfriend, suck up all the attention from the fawning parental with no fucking gift while I do all the prep and clean up……

But my lovely internets were here helping and advising me on all things bloggy. And made me feel loved, not like the woman that gave birth to me and didn’t care when I got hit by a fucking CAR!     yes I am still going on and on and on about that. Sorry.

Yesterday I was standing with my skirt over the airconditioner vent, tonight the central heating has turned itself on. It was set to only turn on when the temp drops under 10 degrees C! (50F)

So tonight I am sitting here begging the boy to sleep in a nice cool room. With socks on. I will go to bed and wrap myself up in the doona and snuggle to sleep.

But not with this man.

mo21nov.jpg

Oh no, the man now known as Mario-porn-star is still a nookie free zone. Been a long dry month for a porn star wanna be (well except for this one time…. at band camp when we both had the day off and the kids were at school….. cause when does THAT ever happen?) and he thought thinning the smudge out a bit a la Dick Dastardly would bring a bit of the action.

dick-dastardly.jpg

Nup.

*singing* I am strong. STRONG.

I am invincible. INVINCIBLE!

I am STUBBORN!!!!!!!

9 more days…………

Hate is probably a strong word. How about I fucking despise Summer, more than pregnancy hormone induced hemorrhoid’s and even more than when my coffee machine expired.

I hate the Romans already, ahem, Summer. I hate Summer already.  Channeling ‘Life of Brian’ again.

And it is still spring.

Today it was hot.  Freaking melt-the-bitumen-under-your-fabulous-shoes stinking hot.

I don’t take the heat well.  My body is designed for temperatures under 28C (82F) not this ridiculous 37C (98F) for 2 days straight.  AND expecting the same tomorrow.

Let me share some of the things I abhor about Summer.

Flies:  The sticky little bastards that get into everything and join their little friends the

Mosquitos, to make my life a living hell both day and night.

Dickheads that say ‘So how’s the heat?’  Moron.  What do you think?  We are sweating buckets and fighting over the last bag of ice at the supermarket.  So I am thinking it is bad.  Fuckwit.

Stupid people that say:  ‘It’s not so much the heat, but the humidity’  Do you think that makes you sound smart?  History tells us that TV weather people are not the brightest characters. Just spewing what they read from the autocue without any comprehension. Hence you are an idiot, making me more superior than you, so piss of and stop talking to me.

All the humongous fat women that feel it necessary to assault my peepers wearing skin tight spaghetti straped moo-moo’s sundresses.  Get a freaking clue, just because it comes in extra-whoa-mumma-huge doesn’t mean you should wear it. And for all that is good in the world SHAVE those furry armpits!

Oh and invest in some deodorant.  Please.  I will spot you the 5 bucks for the extra super strength.

Boob sweat.  Oh how I hate boob sweat.  The trickling sensation between the breasticles that reminds me of a creeping spider (oh yes, I think EVERYTHING is a spider) that makes me run screaming to the nearest loo to mop up the ‘glow’.

The smell of the school halls when I go to pick up Boo.  The smell of the 12-13 year olds that haven’t quite discovered deodorant (Impulse spray is not a deodorant girls!) mixed in with old textbooks and orange peel.  Bletch.

The endless night.  Oh holy-mother-of-GOD I hate the hot sticky nights.  I am a wrap yourself up in a heavy doona girl, not so much when the mercury is sitting in the mid 30’s (celcius, I am too hot and bothered to convert it for you guys) at 1am.  And I can’t sleep naked.  Not with the nocturnal visitor with the stealth ninja moves, who I am only aware of when I feel the poke on my breast and the exclaimation ‘Why do they bounce Mummy?’

Oh and us insane Australians that swelter in the kitchen on Christmas day cooking a traditional Christmas dinner.  Turkey and roast vegies and all the trimmings and then freaking HOT PUDDING!  WTF?  Are we insane?  Or are we just so totally brainwashed by the American way of life that we have to eat a hot meal when we can fry an egg on the road? (yeah, we are, I admit to hot turkey and freaking-pudding)  And then poor Grandpa gets suited up in the Santa suit, hands out the presents and spends the rest of the day in hospital with heat stroke.

But there is one thing that I like about Summer.  Watermelon and coffee flavoured icecream for dinner. yum.

Oh and shoes.  Yeah, pretties.  Here are today’s.

pink-shoes.jpg

The photo doesn’t do them justice, they are such a pretty shade of pink.  And I have a handbag that matches perfectly!

Ok, as you know I have had a rather, ahem, freaking horrible week.  I haven’t even bored you all with half of it.

Don’t go!  I won’t whinge anymore I promise!  Well at least for tonight.  And what I have to say doesn’t constitute as whinging per se…..

On Friday nights we have sleepover in the loungeroom.  His highness (aka tiny terrorist, little turd, shit-and-toothpaste-mural-artist-extrodinaire, or my loving son Boo) has decreed that Friday night is the night that Mummy bunks down on the loungeroom floor while he does cartwheels around the room, pausing momentarily to fall, nappy clad arse first, onto said bed fellows face.  Until, at the very least, 3am.

Well tonight DH is working and in my bruised and battered and broken state I cannot possibly lug the queen sized mattress from our broom closet sized bedroom down the hall to the lounge.  So we are doing the sleepover in my room.

I had plans for tonight.  I was going to make the wands for his party.  I was going to get a head start on the washing for the weekend.  I was going to do some more of my looooong overdue advocacy work and reply to some emails.  But I am in bed.

Since 7.30pm.

Every other night it takes at least an hour to get him into bed, let alone asleep, but tonight?  He is quietly lying next to me staring at the ceiling while I type (thank God for laptops!) occasionally turning to ask me a question.

‘Hey mum, what is blood for?’

‘Where do moth’s mummies live?’  There was a moth in the room earlier

‘ What are we going to play tomorrow?’

I have so much to do.  I am going to be running around like a madwoman for the next week.  I really should get out of bed and get something done.

But right now I don’t think there is anywhere else I would rather be than hanging out with my Boo, laying side by side in my bed that is so warm and cozy.  His chubby little body snuggled close to mine, humming a tune that I can’t quite catch, his hand reaching out for mine.

The soft whisper,

‘I love you Mummy’

Yes, I have heaps to do. The washing, oh so much washing. But nothing in this world is more important than cuddling with my Boo.

I am sure everyone will understand.

Undies can be worn twice can’t they?

Now that I have sent everyone on a guilt trip, vowing never to complain again (did you read the disclaimer at the start of the post?????) I thought you would like to hear about someone who could sleep through armageddon, wake up and go ‘Hey, so what’s to eat?’

DH can sleep ANYWHERE. I mean it. Any-freaking-where.

Floors of hospitals

tiled or carpeted while on ‘watch’ when one of our kids was in there for ‘insert ailment here’ Doctors and nurses stepping over him. Floor buffers just rolling him out of the way.

Nightclubs

stairwell – took me 2 hours to find him, thankfully the bouncers knew us and one was watching out for him
the making out couches – with people mauling each other next to him

out the front – waiting for me to come out….

Christmas Day

in front of the tree while the kids were opening their presents

at the freaking table while eating!

On the floor while talking to the relies

sneaking off to the bedroom

Parties

as before, sneaking off to the bedroom – no matter that he doesn’t even know the hosts

in the backyard under a tree

in the corner, next to the stereo

At work

during a especially long song

in a meeting

at the office Christmas party

But the one that I never let him forget, that I bring up constantly, that he will pay for for the rest of his natural life……

IN THE HOSPITAL, ON THE BED WHILE I WAS IN LABOUR FORCING ME TO WRITHE IN PAIN ON THE FUCKING FLOOR!

and here is a picture!

dadsleeping.png

The nurses thought it was funny. Adorable even. Me? Not-so-much.

Minutes later his testicles were in a vice grip. Coincidence?

So needless to say he is not helpful during Boo’s midnight soirées. He is just bloody lucky he makes a mean latte in the mornings.

* as an aside, some fabulous news. Boo slept through the night last night, methinks he has been reading my blog and deigned to give me a good nights sleep.

 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.