Honest Scrap Award

Firstly, a huge thank you to Madmother for bestowing upon me the Honest Scrap Award.

I'll be back soon to post 10 Things You Never Knew About Me. I have to decide which 10 to post!!

I'm not the girliest of girls.

I don't wear skirts. Or dresses.

I don't look good in them. Being so tall I can never find 'pretty' shoes to go with them and they're just not me. I'm not comfortable in them. I am not the girliest of girls.

Post hyster though, I've been forced to wear girly clothing. It's strange that once they remove your uterus, your belly swells up so you look (and if you include the pain, fatigue and blerk feelings) and feel around 5 months pregnant. NONE of my pants would go on. Those that would, hurt. On the VERY odd times I've been out of the house I've worn one off two dresses that I own. It's in perfectly good condition - it's been previously worn once in 5 years!

For Christmas I had to go out and buy an emergency skirt. The one dress I owned was too short and too revealing and just too damn uncomfortable to spend the day in. So another skirt has joined the wardrobe. Fortunately I didn't spend a lot on it because . . .

Today I wore pants!!!

And drove!!!!

And took Mini-me shopping with gift vouchers we'd received for Christmas!!!

I'm completely wiped out this afternoon, and more than a little sore, but also a tad estatic. I'm one giant step closer to feeling like myself again. And I didn't even need 'pretty' shoes.

The Queen of Complications . . .

is so far complication free.



I know. Shocking.

It was touch and go for a long while on Monday to see if surgery was going ahead. I'd developed a cold the night before and felt . .well . . .damn awful. I had about 2 hours of broken, anxious sleep and rang the Dr straight away to check if it would be canceled. I was crying - panic, anxiety, fatigue and the thought that I wouldn't be able to do this after gearing up for it got to me. I couldn't even have coffee! I am NOT resilient without coffee.

At 9:45am we decided that even if we didn't have a final answer, we should head in. So the phone was diverted to the mobile and we started driving. Dr M finally rang - he was happy to go ahead but it depending on the anethetist. So I still wouldn't know until right before surgery if it was happening. Timing. I suck at it.

Dr Sleepy said he was ok to do the surgery so being fully dressed in surgical gear, IV'd and prepped, the decision was made to go ahead. I managed to catch up on some sleep during the GA and was oblivious to the fact that they had some difficulties with my lungs and debating cancelling.

Fortunately my body started behaving and it went ahead. There were some additional problems found and repaired but I was oblivious and feeling good. I'm happy. The thought that it would have to be postponed had stressed me. I would have had to take time off at the start of the school year, and would have had to cancel a trip Mini-me has been working towards all year. The thought of devistating her was unbearable so I'm glad.

Despite having a cold and experiencing the joy of coughing post stomach surgery, recovery has gone well. I'm in minimal pain. I'm not *touch wood* depressed but realise it could still be coming. I'm happy it was done and the idea of never having another period is mindblowingly awesome!!

I'm on the way back.

Quietly freaking out . ..

Mildly though. I've got it under control. Sort of.

Surgery is on Monday.

I've had my blood test done and the hospital will be holding blood for me in case I require a transfusion.

I've had my final pre-op surgeon appointment and ultrasound. The good news is the cyst on my left ovary couldn't be seen!! Yippee leftie!! The bad news is the one on the right has continued to grow and the uterus is still too big, too bulky and I guess feeling less than fresh lol. It's time to go . . . uterus!

Dr M kindly ran through the risks . . .again. Completely terrifying me. But I know he has to legally. I signed a heap of paperwork and paid out an amount that would feed several families in several African villages for several years. Pity I won't get cards and update letters from my soon to be ex internal organs.

I've bought myself some of the True Blood series books and I've familiarised myself with the new Foxtel channels.

I've freaked myself out with thoughts of complications and dying and then covered it up with some rocking, hands over ears, singing la la la la la type activity.

I think I'm ready.

Before there was Pink

. . .there was Alanis.

I used to play this song, at FULL volume* in the car on the motorway. It was some of the few times my dodgy Laser used to get to full speed because I usually floored it.

I love it




I'll be honest. I'm posting it mainly to mess with someone's head. But she is God. And a hot Goddess. With or without sound.

*this may or may not be the reason I now have hearing issues. I also used to dance on stages and speakers. With friends. Who read this blog. Remember R? hehe

Teaching . .

I was having a discussion with Coparent yesterday about my day at school. I have an interesting job. It is NEVER dull. I teach students who have Special Needs. Ranging from Intellectual Impairment, Speech Language Impairment, Mental Illness, students who are on the Autism Spectrum, students who are Hearing Impaired and students who have multiple impairments.

Yesterday was a typical day. It included:

A Year 11 student had ripped a hole in his hand and was bleeding and argued about getting First Aid. He proudly told me 'It's ok Miss. I don't have The Aids'. We've been learning about HIV and Aids in Sex Ed so at least he's been listening!

A Year 8 student had a meltdown. Swearing, slamming doors, punching walls, refusing medical treatment, unable to sit or even stand still or even inside a classroom and expressing suicidal thoughts. I'm really proud that I helped her to calm herself so that by the ends of the lesson, she was laughing, responding to jokes, discussing movies and was much happier for the rest of the day.

A Year 11 student arrived to class and told me his step father had 'beaten the living shit out of him' the night before. That had to be dealt with.

A meeting had to be done with the School Nurse regarding a Year 10 student who is pregnant.

A Year 10 student called me a bully because I was helping him finish an assignment. And that was the nicest name I'd been called all day!

This is in addition to my usual behaviour management, teaching, instruction, planning and playground duty. This was a quiet day!

I do love my job. Most of the time. Some days are great. Some are really, really awful. But I have a genuine care for the students in our Special Education Program and really want them to have the best lives they can.

I'm only a first year teacher. I still have a lot to learn, and I do learn. Every day.

Any Twilight Fans?

The latest break in blogging is a bit like some of the pages in the first quarter of New Moon.

Blank.

There are a few reasons for this . . .

My mood at the moment. Blerk. Blah. Grey. Meh.

My physical ability. I'm sick. Coughing and typing isn't so easy.



I've been busy. Honestly. At work I'm almost back to 'me'.



But mostly . . . .



I'll be back.

I found it

I'm a fan of the Sex in the City Movie. Four independent, fabulous women living life the way they want to and having sex the way they want to. Inspiring! I too love the SATC movie although for most of it, our main heroine is broken, sad, hollow. At one point, she wonders if she'll ever laugh again. And her dear friend Miranda explains that she will. When someone really funny happens.

Yesterday someone really UNfunny happened. But I laughed.

Coparent and I have come up against some really big, dramatic moments in our lives. Some of them good and some of them devastating. We've agreed that one positive these experiences have given us is that we rarely 'sweat the small stuff' any longer. We're really quick to recognise that there are some things we can't control, and there are some things that while frustrating, aren't worth losing our mental facilities over. Yesterday was such a day.

I was in training all day yesterday. Coparent txt me to say please call but my phone battery was running low and through txts he assured me it wasn't urgent. I left at 2:30pm (can I say, I LUUURVE training!). At 2:45pm my car broke down on the motorway. Yes, in the MIDDLE lane. I slowly limped to the side with a truck helping to block traffic. God bless truckies.

My mobile was low in battery. I tried but the car wouldn't move safely while more trucks were whizzing past at over the 110km/hr speed limit. So I walked, along the freeway to the emergency phone thinking 'Ok, the plan is to NOT DIE'. After finding the phone off the hook and trying to figure out how to work it, I got on to someone who assured me they knew where I was and would send help. I trudged back to the car, then dutifully stood behind the guard rail, waiting for help.

I thought (on the off chance that I was about to be squished to death) that I should let Coparent know. I sent him a text: "Car has died. On the motorway. RACQ on the way. Am ok. Fuck".

Being the lovely coparent he is, he rang me immediately. I explained that my mobile battery was flat and he let slip that he was at home. At around 3pm. Odd. When I asked, it turned out that he'd had a car accident that morning and our other car wasn't drivable. There I was, standing on the side of the motorway, phone to my ear, laughing. And swearing. And laughing. Because the chances of two cars dying on the same day? Who does that happen to? Oh us. Of course.

This was quickly followed by my phone dying mid sentence.
Being towed back to where I'd started my journey from.
Having to wait around 2 hours before help arrived.
Becomming frustrated because by that time I knew it was just a tyre which I know how to change myself but also knew if I lifted the damn thing I'd end up in hospital.
Driving home at around 70km/hr on the motorway because I no longer trusted the car and pissing off EVERY driver behind me!

And in the end? None of it mattered. It was still UNfunny. And I still laughed.

I'm sorry you were in an accident Coparent. I'm so glad you weren't hurt. I'm peeved we're going to have to spend money on a new car, particularly as the driver that hit you was driving an unregistered vehicle.

But I thank you for helping me find my laugh.

Pfft

Saying they're sorry for everything and that they're wanting to explain doesn't really cut it when they choose not to follow through.

What it does do is fuck me up for yet another night. Which I don't need. Not right now.

I'm barely making it to work every day. I'm lucky in that I have years of perfecting my 'game face'. I can go to work and teach and almost seem 'normal'. Almost. Only those who know me really well could tell that I don't feel I'm in the same reality at the moment.

If you're going to 'explain' then do it. Don't continue to fuck me over with more false promises and lies.

Schemas

Many moons ago when I was in the BCPND (aka Lovely Loony Bin / LLB) I had psychological testing done in an effort to help me understand myself and my thinking habits a little more. The theory being, that if you understand your negative thinking, you can change it. It's a theory.

One of these tests investigated what schemas or thought patterns I had lurking around in this slightly-off-centre brain of mine.

Anyway, I had two stays in the LLB and both times the same testing was done. The same results came back. Suggesting not only did I have these schemas, but that they were damn persistent little buggers as well.

My main schemas which attract problems are core beliefs that I hold to be true. They may not be. But in my brain they are. When I have experiences that support them, they are reinforced. When I have experiences that negate them . . .well I don't seem to see them often because I can't remember any!

My schemas?

That people are basically dishonest and will always lie.
That people will always leave.

This week someone very close to me, someone who knew exactly all about my warped thinking patterns (and of course, in a big fat lie said that he would prove me wrong because he would never lie or leave) decided to throw away 20+ years of friendship, partnership, love (and lust!) to be with someone he's known a few weeks.

So yet again, here's to you negative schemas. I'm right. People are basically dishonest and will always lie. People will always leave. You can support them, love them, be loyal to them, travel to different parts of the country to try to help them, show them tough love and show them loyal love, and they will still leave.

When they say they won't, they're lying. When they tell you over and over again how much they love you, how there will never be any one else, how they wake up each morning and firstly think of you, how you have always been number one and always will be, they are lying.

Because people are basically dishonest and will always lie.
And people will always leave.

A thousand tears

It feels as though my world fell apart yesterday. Fell apart is too happy a term though. Was destroyed? Demolished? I can't quite find the words.

Yet at the same time, life goes on. I just don't feel part of it anymore.

I'm sure I'll blog more on this. I have 20+ years of emotion invested in what has both crumbled slowly over time and suddenly disintegrated.

If you see me IRL, please don't be nice. Please don't talk about it or acknowledge that my smile may not be as wide. That my eyes don't have any sparkle. That maybe I look a little 'off'. I have a very thin facade that will crumble to show how hollow I am. Do not touch me or hug me. Because I'm raw and it feels as though I've been scrubbed inside and out with a wire brush and bathed in acid.

I am resilient.

Aren't I?

Nothing's changed.

Really.

It never does.

They bring me flowers

Lately the boys have been so very sweet.

They bring me their artwork in chubby, proud, little hands.

They bring me cuddles and smoochy kisses. Usually with food-covered faces but always with big smiles.

And this week, they've brought me flowers. A sprig of Lavender (kindy), a Daisy (kindy), a Clover flower and a Dandelion. They don't recognise at the moment what is 'technically' a weed and in a gift from them, neither do I.

I think it's a habit they've picked up from their father, who also brought me flowers this week. Gerberas. Beautiful!!!

So thank you Coparent. Thank you Mr Smoochy and thank you Mr Cheeky. I'll take those flowers anytime. Be it pretty ones delivered to work with chocolates, or half-crushed-limp-from-palm-sweat weeds, I love them.

Panic with the Turtles

*Warning: The following post contains some not-so-nice (ie FUCKING AWFUL) topics and imagery. Do not read if you're feeling that you may be triggered by something within.

The boys have finally started swimming lessons. I'm really happy about this because the idea of owning a home with a pool with children who can't swim terrifies me. Plus, I know they'll enjoy it and it's a good, healthy sport. We can take them as a family and it's a good replacement for Mini-me for Karate which as we all know, I hate. Because there are the two of them, plus Mini-me, we really had to wait for an age where we could expect Mini-me to be ok while both Coparent and I were in the pool with the boys. So we're starting a bit late.

We had our 'assessment' done last week which went really well. Mini-Me completed hers first and happily showed off her skills. She was put in the 'Seal' class. Coparent and I each took a son and hopped in with them. It went ok. The instructor got an idea of what they could do (ie nothing) and they had a good time. Mr Cheeky threw a tantrum over leaving so it mustn't have been too bad!

So today comes the first official lesson. Mini-Me had hers first and enjoyed herself. I like her instructor who took the time to have a quick chat with me. The boys lesson, I did not enjoy.

Their instructor didn't want us in the pool. I cant understand why - she wants them to learn to do things by themselves. Mr Cheeky initially didn't like the idea of Coparent and I not getting in the water. He took about two seconds to get used to it then happily showed off his 'swimming' and did everything the instructor asked. He loves the water and I hope he stays that way.

Mr Smoochy is another story. He does not love the water. I think he feels the water is the suck. He has inherited his mothers slight fear* of the water. At one stage Mr Smoochy refused to even look his teacher in the eyes when she tried to get his attention. He was listening though and each new thing he tried, he took to once he'd gotten used to it. I did see a couple of very weak smiles occasionally.

Very occasionally. Because I couldn't watch.

I have a slight fear* of water. Which I desperately hope I don't share with the boys. But seeing them in the water, standing on a metal stand and having to rely on themselves to hold on sent me over the edge. They don't know to hold on. Mr Cheeky is a daredevil who thinks it's ok to get go and jump around. Mr Smoochy was just all-around not happy. I was on edge.

And then I tipped over.

I don't know why. Slight fear* combined with a healthy monthly dose of PMDD, a recent bout of Strep Throat and Scarlett Fever and general fatigue got the better of me. All of a sudden, I wasn't sitting in a chair in front of my children having a swimming lesson. I had images in my head of them dead in the water. I *knew* that my children were going to die. I could see them, drowned. I started to get hot and had trouble breathing. I knew rationally I was having a panic attack, but it's been so long I didn't see it coming.

I started to cry. Which set me further over the edge because now I was sitting, gripping onto a stupid plastic chair, trying not to fall over, trying to breath, crying in front of a pool filled with strangers, trying not to let Mini-mi, Mr Cheeky or Mr Smoochy see me upset. I knew in my head I was being irrational. I knew they were safe. But at the same time, I knew they weren't. And I didn't feel so safe myself.

I couldn't speak. Coparent could see me struggling but I knew even if I said the word 'panic' I'd lose it further.

So I sat there. Trying to get those images and thoughts out of my head. Trying to look anywhere except the water. The signs, the piping, outside. Anywhere but right in front of me. After much too long, I calmed myself enough to fake smile and pop on the 'pretend mask'.

They are in the Turtle class. They will be ok. And so will I, eventually. Although I am wondering what my GP will say if I turn up asking for Xanax for swimming lessons!



* Slight fear = irrational-oh-my-God-I'm-absolutely-terrified-for-my-life-whenever-I-get-near-deep-water fear. This includes pools, oceans, and even driving on bridges over water. Yeah, it is the suck.

I'm an H!

I figured since everyone already knows all about my uterus and ovaries, knowing my cup size wouldn't really be a drama!

I went bra shopping today. Desperately overdue. One of those things I always mean to get to but procrastinate about. Because let's face it, getting your top off in front of old ladies who are so polite about it really doesn't do much for me. I guess I'm funny like that.

Now I have large kadongas*. My ta-tas cast their own shadow and have their own gravitational force. Mr Cheeky and Mr Smoochy take great delight in slapping my funbags whenever I get dressed and Mr Cheeky has taken to pushing my cleavage together to 'make it wink'. Knowing this, I don't bother going to your run-of-the-mill clothing shop and head straight for the Big Boob Bra Boutique**

The lady of the BBBB (of course she was lovely) took one look at me and announced I'd be at least G. Possibly higher. Pfft. I politely told her that my current bra was clearly not supportive enough for my hooters because there is no way I could be a G. I was a G when pregnant with Mini-mi and no way in heck did I look like I had those footballs back, thank you very much. No way. No way at all.

She was nodding and grabbing the tape measure. She was wrong.

I'd be snarkily pleased about this if I was right but not only are my jugs a G, they have in fact graduated to an H.

H for Hot Damn Those Bazongas are HUGE!
H for Holy Crap I'm the Big Titty Queen!

I remember when I was 14 and flat as the bottom of a frypan. I remember staring at my Mum and older sister and desperately wanting to be big. To have bigger tits than all of them! Put together! Fuck. Careful what you wish for, hey?!



* Yes, I am trying to see how many nicknames for breasts I can include in this post. Humour me. It's Friday.

**this may not be its correct name

I'mma let you finish

If you've been living under a rock lately, you might have missed the hissy fit thrown recently by Kanye West at the MTV Music Awards. Seriously, I would expect better behaviour from Mr Cheeky and Mr Smoochy. If you missed it, here's a recap . .



Within days of Kanye's tanty, a new craze has hit the interwebs. It's called I'mma let you finish. Go have a peek - they are hilarious if you need brightening up.

So anyway, I decided to do my own . . .



and



I'll spare Mini-me from the mortification of being Kanye'd

I was brave

The fact is I'm not usually very brave when it comes to taking all three of the Triple J's out and about when I'm by myself. It scares me. For one, they outnumber me - never a good point to get to! Plus, the little ones have the road sense of a speedbump - ie happy to lie on the road and get smooshed by cars all day.

So I was a bit (ok, yes, I'm understating) worried about taking all three of them to a park near the beach. I thought about the potential hazards - the ocean, the road, falling from play equipment, running away in general in two to three different directions at a time. It was enough to make me shudder. A lot. If I could have wrapped them in safe, bubble wrapped, hazmat suits and sent them to play in a fenced dog park all day, I'd have been thrilled!

Having said that, they were WONDERFUL.

We had huge talks before leaving about following the rules. They knew if they went anywhere near the road or water, we would leave. If they ran away from me or refused to hold hands, we would leave. And they really, really didn't want to leave.

We got to meet up with some lovely friends and their children and we all (yep, even socially-introverted-to-start-with me!) had a fantastic time.

However, if you see a post on eb about any of the following activities, then that's us . . .

The kids ate hot chips. Oh the horror!
They all had lemonade icypoles! (Thanks again to M's other half for those!)
They played in the dirt and sand and loved it!
Mini-me spent a heap of time keeping an eye on her brothers so I could socialise (and yes, it cost me at the toy shop on the way home!)

And the best part of all . . .

The boys refused to use the toilets there. And really, after catching a whiff of stale urine when we opened the door, I didn't blame them. I personally hung on for dear life but given our 3-year-olds are toilet training that wouldn't do. So they peed. On a tree. In the park.

Lucky boys.

How to freak out an old man . . .

aka as Grumblebum. Seriously, that's what I call him.

He's my maternal grandfather. As a child I idolised him. As a teen I dropped him as a family member and he's never been able to crawl his way back. Highlights of his behavior include calling my family 'a pack of thieving bastards'. Noice. This was then backed up with several abusive phone calls to my mother, including a particularly nasty one on her 40th birthday. I sat there and watched as her own father made her cry. She wouldn't hang up the phone because he was her father. So she just sat there, crying, taking the abuse.

When I turned 18, it was my turn. I sat there stunned as he accused me of drinking, taking drugs and being a hooker. Happy Birthday indeed.

So needless to say, we don't get along. I don't trust him. I don't like him. I don't really give a toss about him. I am cordial and polite because I love my grandmother. But the mean part of me loves to make him uncomfortable.

Today he decided to ask about my upcoming operation. Given he's a man I am not close to, the last thing I wanted to discuss was my hysterectomy! Easiest way to get him to change the subject, and make him uncomfortable? Start talking alllll about it.

When I mentioned ovaries, he started to squirm. This was fun! I threw in the word uterus for good measure. The subject was promptly changed.

I did consider hitting him with an errant vagina or two, but I thought he might have a heart attack!

Catch up

I haven't posted much lately about the Triple J's, so here's a few snippets of late . . .

Conversation with Mr Cheeky today:

Mr C: *finds my mobile phone and picks it up* I need to call my friends Mummy
Me: Really? Which friends?
Mr C: Two friends Mummy *holds up two fingers*
Me: Which two friends?
Mr C: No, four friends *holds up four fingers*. No five *squishes his hand towards me*
Me: Who are you calling? What are their names?
Mr C: I don't know Mummy. Maybe just Santa.

It's going to be a long wait for Mr C until December 25th.

Mini-Me is going really well at the moment. She's enjoyed the last term at school and between her teacher and the Chaplain, has come a long way. She's looking forward to the holidays, as am I! She spent today making cards for Coparent and I, telling us how much she loves us. She then requested chocolate. Sentimental and a born negotiator - she's got talent!

And last but not least, Mr Smoochy. Who is becoming less smoochy as he becomes more and more the demanding toddler. Whist not as stubborn as his brother, he can still chuck an impressive tantrum as demonstrated this afternoon. Complete with leg stamping, arm flapping and head shaking drama. He did make up for it tonight though with a few smoochy kisses and squishy cuddles as he drifted off to sleep. He tried to be brave today and said he wanted a haircut and 'wouldn't cry this time Mummy'. Until he had the cape on and the clippers set to go -then he hyped up and we gave it up as a bad joke. Maybe the girly, long back style is in at kindy these days?!

I am not your friend . . .

I am your teacher.

There are differences. Big ones.

I don't sit around with you discussing your personal life nor do I share very much of mine. I don't generally discuss who is dating who, nor do I swap mobile ringtones with you. I don't have lunch with you. I teach you.

I push you when you need it, and give you space when required. I boost your self esteem and try to patch it when it's damaged. I explain the confusing, even if it takes a lot of effort. I break down the impossible and show you that you CAN.

I celebrate your successes and make sure you do too. I hunt for the good in you. Even if I have to dig really deep to find it. Then I gently bring it out to show you the diamond buried below that is you.

But I'm not your friend. I have my own life outside of you - even if I have to remind myself occasionally of that.

These are the reasons I feel so uncomfortable tonight that one of you has messaged me via Facebook, and another has requested I add you as a friend. I am not your friend.

Green eyes

Are you a jealous person?

I am.

I don't particularly think it's an attractive quality to possess yet it's in me. I tell myself that I won't be jealous and I'm an adult and should act like it. But I still get jealous.

Why should she make that comment?
What gives her the right?
Who does she think she is?
She has no idea what she's talking about!

*sigh*

I'm 37 now. Maybe when I'm in my 40's I'll figure out how to destroy the Green Eyed Monster.

Awwww

Firstly a thank you to the lovely ladies who commented on my last blog. Thank you!

I'm feeling much better about it all. I really just needed to purge, get over it, go back to school and do what I've been doing well - teach! I think perhaps I need to start looking for recognition from myself, from my results, from the behaviour and learning accomplished by my students, by their successful accomplishment of IEP goals, and from getting through some days without being hit, spat on, sworn at or abused.

I might have also been helped by a teeny present that arrived unexpectedly this afternoon . . .

Thank you Coparent. You always know how to cheer me up and make me smile :). The choccies are still wrapped and waiting for when you get home and the kids are in bed!

I have to blow my own

Successfully completed prac in a particular school area - check.
First year teacher - check
Teacher in a school in the same area - check.
Passed probation - check
GPA over 5.5 - check.

Nominated by my school for meeting all of the requirements for Beginning Teacher of the Year award? Nope.

Requested by my school that I attend to watch a uni colleague accept the award, who got a lower GPA than I did, plus only did one prac in the school area, plus requested help from me while we were at uni - check.

Bitter and pissed off Beginning Teacher here? Yep.

I won't blow my own trumpet, but I think I have genuinely done a good job this year. I've been complimented by my peers and direct supervisor. I've passed probation - easily. I've dealt with some really tough situations and survived. I've built relationships where it was thought impossible. I've helped other beginning teachers when they were struggling. I've signed up for extra curricular groups and helped plan curriculum that I won't actually be teaching next year.

I suppose it's too much to ask that I get nominated for an award that I'm qualified for. I didn't dream of winning. But to be at least included would have made me happy and I would have felt recognised. At the moment I'm feeling rather forgotten and it doesn't feel nice.

Operation Rip Out Uterus is booked

Dec 7th.

I'll miss the last week of school which is annoying me. It's the easiest week and I have to miss it!! Grrr.

Regardless, after Dec 7th - and a largish recovery period - I should have a decent reduction in the amount of pain I'm in. At the moment I'm in pain of varying degrees for aroun 2-3 weeks a month so I am looking forward to that going.

The Dr M clarified that he'll be taking the uterus, my right ovary, and both fallopian tubes (who needs them now? lol). He will cut away any and all endo he finds and may remove my appendix if it happens to be covered in endo.

I'll have more scars. I know I'll be unhappy about it once the post GA depression kicks in. I just have to remember I'm more than my belly and my kids love me regardless.

He's not expecting complications. He hasn't operated on me yet though. I think he's spoke to Dr Damn Nice though because he's insisted the op gets done two weeks before he goes on leave to make sure I have a good amount of recovery time to watch for problems.

Please let this one go as smoothly as the last!!

I'm in love . . .

and its name is Gerni.

Ok, well that's not technically it's name. It's just what they were called when I was a kid. It's a high pressure water hose and it's the latest present Coparent and I have given ourselves.

We've Gernied the fences, the paths, the stepstones (which are actually a lovely terracotta shade - we thought they were beige!), the house, the pergola, the cafe blinds, the windows and occasionally by accident, ourselves. So far the children have been spared although we have considered it for next time Mr Cheeky decides that using the toilet is not for him and lets loose in his pants.

So it's been springcleaning time in the resilience household. We've cleaned, we've mowed, we've weeded, we've hedged, we've tidied, we've gernied. We've repaired, we've installed, we've replaced and we're now completely knackered.

Anyway, to show off my new love, here's a pic of Coparent attacking the birdbath in the front yard. Who knew it was white?!?!

Electrical Appliances are evil

Evil I tells ya!!

Now, I know some of you will be shocked but I have an admission to make. Some times, I can ever so slightly, be just a little, well, OCD.

Sadly my particular version of OCD had nothing to do with fastidiously cleaning. Or my bathroom wouldn't look the way it does and we wouldn't be currently running through the pros and cons of hiring a cleaning person!

I tend to be a little weird (hard to believe, I know!). A chronic insomniac, I can't sleep unless I am either holding the TV remote or know exactly where it is. It has to be on the bed - across the room just doesn't cut it for some reason. Plus, the TV has to be on.

Yes, yes I know. Oprah has gone on and on about the evils on TV's in the bedroom, but something has to go on in there and quite frankly, Oprah doesn't do it for me.

Oh and what's on the TV? It has to be good. Something I would want to watch. Otherwise I stay up shooting dagger looks at the TV for not entertaining me enough to sleep. Yes, as I said, weird.

So last week, I turned on the TV for it to shut itself off and give me the black screen of death. Mmmm. Not great.

Imagine my disgust when two days later, the TV (tiny, but still within my OCD guidelines) I replaced it with died in front of me. This one, which had lasted 20 years, turned itself off and refused to play again. Yes, two in a week. Don't tell anyone but I had to borrow Mini-me's for the night to get some sleep!

I have a brand spanking new one. 26 inch. Flatscreen. I'm in OCD heaven.

Although Coparent has strongly suggested I don't touch it and stay right away given my track record this week. Particularly after I simultaneously blew three energy saving light globes in the kitchen by flicking the switch.

Birthday

Happy Birthday to me for yesterday!

Amazingly I'm now 37. It seems almost incredible because I don't feel 37. Part of me thinks that I don't feel really different from 10ish years ago, apart from now having 3 children and a mortgage. I suppose a lot has happened in 10 years.

Children, mortgage, loss of family members and loved ones, serious illness in the family, jobs, study, job again. Just thinking about it is making me tired!

I've now known Coparent for 20 years, B and J for around 21 years. Where did all that time go?!?!?!!

I think I need another trip to Sydney to remind me of who I was/am again. We'll see.

I didn't write this . . .

but it's well worth publishing here. One of the few things I have read recently that made me literally laugh out loud. . . .

Old Testament Parenting

'Lamentations of the Father'
by Ian Frazier

Laws of Forbidden Places

Of the beasts of the field, and of the fishes of the sea, and of all foods that are acceptable in my sight you may eat, but not in the living room. Of the hoofed animals, broiled or ground into burgers, you may eat, but not in the living room. Of the cloven-hoofed animal, plain or with cheese, you may eat, but not in the living room. Of the cereal grains, of the corn and of the wheat and of the oats, and of all the cereals that are of bright color and unknown provenance you may eat, but not in the living room. Of quiescently frozen dessert and of all frozen after-meal treats you may eat, but absolutely not in the living room.

Of the juices and other beverages, yea, even of those in sippy-cups, you may drink, but not in the living room, neither may you carry such therein. Indeed, when you reach the place where the living room carpet begins, of any food or beverage there you may not eat, neither may you drink. But if you are sick, and are lying down and watching something, then may you eat in the living room.


Laws When at Table


And if you are seated in your high chair, or in a chair such as a greater person might use, keep your legs and feet below you as it were. Neither raise up your knees, nor place your feet upon the table, for that is an abomination unto me. Yea, even when you have an interesting bandage to show, your feet upon the table are an abomination, and worthy of rebuke.

Drink your milk as it is given you, neither use on it any utensils, nor fork, nor knife, nor spoon, for that is not what they are for; if you will dip your blocks in the milk, and lick it off, you shall be sent away.

When you have drunk, let the empty cup then remain upon the table, and do not bite it upon its edge and by your teeth hold it to your face in order to make noises in it sounding like a duck: for you shall be sent away.

When you chew your food, keep your mouth closed until you have swallowed, and do not open it to show your brother or your sister what is within; I say to you, do not so, even if your brother or your sister hath done the same to you.

Eat your food only; do not eat that which is not food; neither seize the table between your jaws, nor use the raiment of the table to wipe your lips. I say again to you, do not touch it, but leave it as it is.

And though your stick of carrot does indeed resemble a marker, draw not with it upon the table, even in pretend, for we do not do that, that is why. And though the pieces of broccoli are very like small trees, do not stand them upright to make a forest, because we do not do that,that is why.

Sit just as I have told you, and do not lean to one side or the other, nor slide down until you are nearly slid away. Heed me; for if you sit like that, your hair will go into the syrup. And now behold, even as I have said, it has come to pass.


Laws Pertaining to Dessert


For we judge between the plate that is unclean and the plate that is clean, saying first, if the plate is clean, then you shall have dessert.

But of the unclean plate, the laws are these: If you have eaten most of your meat, and two bites of your peas with each bite consisting of not less than three peas each, or in total six peas, eaten where I can see, and you have also eaten enough of your potatoes to fill two forks, both forkfuls eaten where I can see, then you shall have dessert.

But if you eat a lesser number of peas, and yet you eat the potatoes, still you shall not have dessert; and if you eat the peas, yet leave the potatoes uneaten, you shall not have dessert, no, not even a small portion thereof.

And if you try to deceive by moving the potatoes or peas around with a fork, that it may appear you have eaten what you have not, you will fall into iniquity. And I will know, and you shall have no dessert.


On Screaming


Do not scream; for it is as if you scream all the time. If you are given a plate on which two foods you do not wish to touch each other are touching each other, your voice rises up even to the ceiling, while you point to the offense with the finger of your right hand; but I say to you, scream not, only remonstrate gently with the server, that the server may correct the fault.

Likewise if you receive a portion of fish from which every piece of herbal seasoning has not been scraped off, and the herbal seasoning is loathsome to you and steeped in vileness, again I say, refrain from screaming. Though the vileness overwhelm you, and cause you a faint unto death, make not that sound from within your throat, neither cover your face, nor press your fingers to your nose. For even I have made the fish as it should be; behold, I eat it myself, yet shall not surely die.


Concerning Face and Hands


Cast your countenance upward to the light, and lift your eyes to the hills, that I may more easily wash you off. For the stains are upon you; even to the very back of your head, there is rice thereon.

And in the breast pocket of your garment, and upon the tie of your shoe, rice and other fragments are distributed in a manner wonderful to see.

Only hold yourself still; hold still, I say. Give each finger in its turn for my examination thereof, and also each thumb. Lo, how iniquitous they appear. What I do is as it must be; and you shall not go hence until I have done.


Various Other Laws, Statutes, and Ordinances


Bite not, lest you be also bitten again. Neither drink of your own bath water, nor of the bath water of any kind; nor rub your feet on bread, even if it be in the package; nor rub yourself against cars, not against any building; nor eat sand.

Leave the cat alone, for what has the cat done, that you should so afflict it with tape? And hum not the humming in your nose as I read, nor stand between the light and the book. Indeed, you shall drive me to madness. Nor forget what I said about the tape.

In the toilet

My self esteem that is.

For the past few days, I've pretty much just felt crappy.

Admittedly, I think I'm being too hard on myself. I had surgery last Thursday and I'm tired and sore so that probably isn't helping. Depression always seems to pop around after a general anesthetic so that is also probably contributing. My thinking always tends to get a little screwy when depression pops around so I'm probably not being the most rational person I could be at the moment.

I caught a look at my new scars a few days ago and quite frankly, just started to bawl. Between the scars from my heart operation, gall bladder operation, two umbilical hernia operations and this hernia op, I look like some weirdly put together jigsaw puzzle all over my stomach. Which of course, set of a whole new bout of irrational thinking (not that I actually believe it's irrational but I'm sure others will tell me it is). It's the 'I'll be alone forever now' and 'Noone will ever want me again' thinking. Which should be crazy because I've had scars since I was 4. I can't remember my body without one.

I know I'll bounce back. I usually do. So for the moment I think I'll indulge in feeling crappy then worry about being resilient tomorrow.

Medically required farts and more. . .

I'm home! It's been a while since I've been so glad to see my large, comfy bed with my own doonah and own ensuite and own pillows and it's almost bliss!!

The operation went well. As far as I know - I certainly don't remember details about during!

Recovery is going ok. I have bad pain in both shoulders - slightly worse on the left - which is driving me mental. It's actually worse than at the incision sites, of which there are 5. Yep, 5 more dashes on the stomach to add to the collection of jigsaw inspirited body modifications.

My stomach has definitely shrunk in size - I can only eat sloppy food and slooooowwwwly. If I eat too fast, I hurt. If I eat too much, I hurt. I can manage to get down about 10 spoons of whatever I'm eating and them I'm pretty much done.

I managed to get discharged after 2 days simply because I couldn't sleep in hospital. I am an Amazon woman in a bed sized for children. Really. Plus I was right next to the nurses' station and they never shut up! I really didn't need to know more details about 1028's bowel problem. The pillows were hard, the bed was lumpy and I was miserable. So Dr Damn Nice was damn nice and let me go early so I could get some sleep and well, go home and fart.

Yes, apparently it's now a medical necessity that I fart as often and as largely as I can. Gas that was pumped into my body during the op needs to come out and the shoulder pain apparently won't go for some time, especially if I don't start cutting the cheese on a regular basis.

Ahhh recovery. It's so glam!

Let the cutting begin . . .

It's on!

This time tomorrow I'll no doubt be sore and feeling sorry for myself. Oh wait, that's already happening tonight! lol

I have to be at the hospital at 6am. Without a coffee. How rude!!

Surgery begins around 8am.

Wish me luck that Dr Damn Nice does a lovely job and I don't become - yet again - the Queen of Complications.

Twilight and all things Vampiric

Ok, I have been a HUGE fan of vampire lore for many, many years. I'm not sure if it's the darkness, the romance, or the hot men who, let's face it, in being immortal aren't likely leave in a hurry. Noooo, no issues here ;).

I love the mystery, the beauty, the savagery, the duality and fight between good and evil. It's seductive in its decadence. So it's not a huge surprise then them I'm a fan of . . .

Buffy the Vampire Slayer.

Ok, I never expected to be. Buffy (lordy, who named this chick?!) seems more fluffy than the typical vampire genres I loved. But I grew to love the quirky humour, interesting storylines and of course, the romance.

Alas, Buffy is now done and dusted and Edward the Twilight vampire is all the rage. I didn't quite get it at first. A book designed for teens that's been made into a movie. Meh. Robert "I-look-like-Edward-Cullen" Patterson does nothing for me. BUT . . . students at my school are reading it. Voluntarily. There are waiting lists in the library for this series. I naturally had to check it out.

The book is honestly, pretty poorly written. Simple, basic vocabulary and has this woman never heard of a contraction? Seriously, the "I will / I did / I have" language was driving me mental. But it's escapism at it's finest and quite a cute, romantic, almost preteen storyline. Ok, the heroine Bella is for the most part a simpering fool who puts the feminist movement back about three generations but this book has students reading! And apparently their teacher.

I'm now hooked on Twilight. *Sigh*. Turns out it is addictive. They really should put warning labels on the cover. Warning: This book leads to severe housework neglect. I've buying the next three books tomorrow to take to hospital. Nothing like imposted bedrest to bring on a reading attack.

Anyway, in honour of my love of vampire lore, including both Twilight and Buffy, I bring you the following for your enjoyment...

P!nk!

I'm going! W00T!!

Coparent kindly got a friend (ex Ticketek staff) on the net and booked tickets. I'm going to see Pink LIVE in concert!!!

I can't actually remember my last concert which is a bit strange.

I started out concert hopping at the ripe old age of 14. My first one was seeing Ah-ha in Festival Hall. Neither exist these days ;). I do recall around the same time seeing Bon Jovi in concert and oh-my-god he pointed at me. Yes, me. Ok, there may have also been another 9000 or so concert goers but I'm still sure it was ME!

I've been lucky enough to see Madonna (front row standing, gold class area thank you very much!) and bored during Darryl Braithwaite. A heap of pub bands and John Farnham waaaay too many times to still be considered 'cool'. I saw Prince (sadly from the VERY back row - I will never fax an order for tickets ever again! The doves were apparently crying because it was too damn hard to fly from the stage to where we were sitting.) live in Brisbane.

However these days, I've slunk into being old. I'm a mother. A teacher. A friend. I'm in a rut and have been quite comfortable to stay here thank-you-very-much. I've accepted less than I deserve from people and haven't stood up for myself. I have not been my own champion. I have denied parts of myself because it was easier to do so.

I certainly do not go to rock concerts. How frivolous! And yet I'm going anyway. I'm going to be in the standing area and I'm going to dance my ass off!

Bring it on!

Now, just to find someone to go with . . .

In honour of Ms P!nk and recent developments . . .

Miss Lily

HAPPY BIRTHDAY MISS LILY!!

Lily is the three year old daughter of a lovely friend of mine.

I hope she had a great day R!!

The good, the bad and the motherf*cking ugly

Coparent and I haven't been on the LGBT 'scene' for many, many years but we always tried to make it to Pride Day. We missed last year due to illness so really wanted to go this year. I've always loved the idea of taking Mini-me to Pride. She's had the 'birds and bees' talk a few times and fully understands that sometimes girls fall in love with girls and boys fall in love with boys so I honestly didn't think it would be too confronting for her. I like the idea that she and her brothers will grow up to be open minded and accepting of others' sexualities. And her own - whatever that may be!

So off we went to Pride.

Firstly, the good. The boys had a great time! Lots of colour and puppies and fun! They both got bubble machines and icecream and spent a heap of time blowing bubbles at everyone around us (apologies to anyone who got unwillingly sprayed!). We and the kids also enjoyed watching the dog show, complete with a fully grown adult in a fox suit parading as a dog! Mini-Me had a go on the Clown game and won a small prize.

The Bad. Years ago everyone would wander around saying "Happy Pride Day". That seems to have left the building. I only heard myself say it! Secondly, it used to be free to be proud. Apparently pride comes at a cost now and that cost is $15 each per adult. Not that the $15 actually gets you anything - it just lets you in the gate so you can wander around and spend some more money!

The Motherf*cking ugly. We sat to eat icecream - and be covered in bubbles - for a while in the grassy area. Just after we sat down, a drag show came on. Not too much of a problem as we were up the back and the boys were oblivious. I don't think Mini-me cottoned on to the fact that the performer a) wasn't actually singing or b) was actually a dude. Until the second performer arrived. The conversation went like this . . .

Mini-Me: That girl looks like a man!
Me: She is a man. She's dressed up in women's clothes.
Mini-Me: Oh! ok.

Again, not really a problem. Until the third performer. This one had her own version of backing vocals that included language that would make a sailor blush. The F word, the S word and a heap of others I can't recall were broadcast for everyone's "enjoyment". Not long into the performance, the motherf*cker words were flying and we decided to leave. . .

Mini-Me: Mum, I don't think I want to hear those words.
Me: I agree. Let's go!

*sigh*. Perhaps I'm getting old (true). But when is it ok to use language like that at an event that you know may include children? I'm feeling almost guilty we took Mini-Me now and I'm honestly not sure I want to go again next year.

Pissed off

Not a very pretty title but it fits.

One thing I have always valued in myself and others is loyalty. Loyalty towards friends and loved ones. I would like to think I'm a loyal friend. Sadly, too many times I have been let down by others not showing me the same courtesy. Today is no different.

I have a friend. Actually for many years I have considered him more than a friend and thought that was the case in return. We have known each other for a very long time. We met at age 16. Due to shyness, interference, and an ongoing case of very bad timing, we've never had the opportunity to be together on a continual basis.

But I always considered us friends. I have always looked at this person as someone I want in my life, and someone who I thought, wanted me in there's. Always. End of story.

Looking back, for many, many years now, I've tried my best to support him. I've tried to show him that he's a wonderful man that is worthy of love. That he has good qualities that are appreciated by others and should be appreciated by him. I've tried to build him up when he's down. And occasionally I've tried to slap him around metaphorically when he needed it. I made the tough choice to stop enabling his destructive behaviour and called him on it. I ignored (deliberately and probably stupidly) that he never acknowledged difficulties going on in my life. I ignored that he didn't seem to remember silly things like my birthday or Valentine's Day. I ignored that everything always seemed to be on his terms, in his time, at his whim. Because I loved him. Through it all, I still thought we were friends. I made sure he knew that I was still there for him. That he'd have all the space and time he needed to sort himself out.

Recently, he started to come back into my life again, and I was thrilled. He sounded happier. Not completely, but certainly much, much better than he had been. He sounded healthier mentally and physically. He'd cut down on many destructive behaviours and was sounding more like his old self. The one who used to adore me and actually cared about what I thought and felt. Back to the person who cared about me above a bottle.

So why today, when I log onto Facebook do I find that yet again (twice now!) I'm not even considered his 'friend'? That I am yet again wiped from his circle of friends. Without a message, a text, an email about it. Just wiped. Gone. Apparently no longer wanted or needed.

I shouldn't be hurt. I know it's just a silly computer networking site. But it does hurt. Because I still consider him my friend. Because I still love him.

Why??

Why?

Mr Cheeky . . .

Why?
Why?
Why?
Why?
Why?
Why?
Why?
Why?
Why?
Why?
Why?
Why?
But why?

A trick I learnt with Mini-me was to turn it around and ask the toddler why. I do this with Mr Cheeky and I get . . .

I dun knoooooo
Why?
Why?
Why?

I think I'm losing my mind!

Karate

The word 'hate' is a very powerful word and I rarely use it. I can say however that I hate karate. Not so much the sport, but the experience for me.

Mini-me does karate twice a week. We signed her up for it as we thought it would be good for her and it has been. It's a sport that can increase her confidence and her social skills without being too confronting for her in that area. She can improve her coordination, which given that she's my daughter, certainly needs improving! She likes it.

I however hate it.

Twice a week (of course, on the days I have meetings and don't get to leave school early) we have the karate shuffle. I race out of school meetings and head over to kindy to collect the boys and Mini-me from after school care. It seems to take forever to bundle them all in the car while the child care worker is usually wanting to tell me stories about the boys not eating all of their food. Never mind that they have enough food to feed an entire karate squad. Those slices of ham that get played with seem to be a BIG DEAL for the girls at kindy. Given that they have just turned three and are well into size 4 clothing, I think they're fine.

Anyway, we finally get through the last minute toilet stops, the collection of shoes, jumpers, artwork and bags and spend at least five minutes trying to cajole the boys into sitting in their booster seats. Finally, we're on our way!

We race home and Mini-me races inside and gets changed into her karate suit. The boys stay with me in the car because quite frankly, after the effort it takes to get them in there once, there's no way I can repeat the process again! Mini-me usually dashes out quickly bringing with her some snacks I've left on the bench - anything not too messy in the car is fair game.

So we set off to karate. We drive about 10 minutes, usually with Mr Cheeky and Mr Smoochy screaming out to me the whole way. 'Mum, open dis.' 'Mum, what you doin?' 'Mum, I saw a truck!' 'Mum, that's my truck!' 'No Mum, it's my truck'. You get the idea. It's not a peaceful drive by any means.

Once we arrive, the fun really begins! All three of us trundle into the office to pay for Mini-me's lesson. During this time I try to keep my cool while both boys are madly running around screaming with glee at being out of the car. In fairness, Mini-me does try and help herd them back my way but it's not an easy task by any means!

After a lesson about 4 months ago, the boys are not welcome in the classroom any longer. One afternoon the trainer was extemely rude to me in front of all the students, parents and other instructors. She went off saying they had to leave as they were noisy and 'couldn't I control them?'. Two year old twins watching a group of older children run around apparently are expected to stay seated and silent. Apparently I am a crap parent as I couldn't manage them to do that during a warm up run. It was the proverbial straw that afternoon and poor coparent arrived to find me in tears sitting outside the room, trying desparately to keep both boys on my lap.

So Mini-me goes in by herself and I go back out to the car with the boys. In summer we used to go to the park and play I Spy or sing or play with balls but now it's dark and cold so we wait in the car. Coparent usually arrives about 10-15 minutes later and collects them from me. Damn it, but it's the most annoying 10-15 minutes of the day. They are crazy being cooped up. Last week was especially lovely when Mr Cheeky had an 'accident' of the poo kind and I had to try and change him in the passenger seat. Oh the joys!

Karate haven't helped the situation. When we signed her up, the lessons started at 6pm. Definitely doable. Then it got changed to 5:30pm which is when the fun begain. Plus the lessons were shortened to 45mins and the price went up. I sit there and seethe over how annoyed I am.

Every Tuesday and Thursday I end up feeling like I'm being a crap parent to all of them. I miss the first part of Mini-me's classes and the boys are shuffled along at every turn with no fun for them. Unless you count smearing food on their booster seats as fun. In which case, they're having a ball!!

But I do it. Because she loves it and I love her. But if you have any suggestions on how to do this better, by all means, let me know!

Because I really hate karate.

I have a date!

With a surgeon that is.

First surgery on the stomach is booked for 25th June which is about 4 weeks away. That way I should be ok to struggle on through, plus will have two weeks of the school holidays to loll around in bed trying to recover!

I should be in hospital for around 2-3 days and will be on what my Mum describes as 'old lady food'. Yes, it will be slops for me for quite some time apparently. Joy! I think I'll have to head out and have a damn big slab of steak just for the heck of it, before I go in.

Dr Damn Nice did an Endoscopy to check out the situation and I have some rather icky pictures of the inside of my stomach. Or stomachs because at the moment mine is sort of split in two. Any Wiggles fans? Sing along with me: I'm a cow, I'm a cow.

The Endoscopy went fine. I was really nervous about having a huge tube stuck down my throat and being awake for it, but the drugs!! Oh, the drugs!! Fabulous stuff! I was truly in la-la land. At one stage I felt the tube in my throat but didn't give a hoot. And I have this weird memory of Dr Damn Nice holding his arms wide saying 'It's this big'. Didn't actually happen but the thought did give me a giggle!

So the countdown is on!

A typo of the worst kind

This afternoon I was on Farmtown. If you haven't joined, it's on Facebook, and a lot of fun! Be warned though, it's addictive!!

So the kind person that I am invites my sister and my niece over to harvest my farm. All part of the game. I decide to have a break and get a drink and meant to type in . . .

Have fun. I'll be back in a sec.

Not so hard, right?

Wrong!

I ended up typing . . .

Have fun. I'll be back in a sex.

To my sister and my 13 year old niece. I think I have to head off now and explain to my sister why I sent a pornographic image to her daughter *sigh*

Blatant blog topic stealing

I have totally stolen this idea from my dear friend Damien. If you love a good blog read and don't mind your eyes feasting on the flesh of many naked men, head on over the Damien's blog 2 cents worth Down Under.

Anyway, my responses to the theft . . .

A - Age: I turn 37 in August. I seem to forget my age most of the time and only usually remember when I think of others around me aging! *no names!*

B - Bed size: Queen. And it's ALL mine!!

C - Chore you hate: Anything. Pretty hopeless these days - can't bend, can't lift.

D - Dog’s name: Misty. Awwwww.

E - Essential start to your day: Coffee. Sometimes several. I'm doing a unit of work with my students at the moment on drugs and alcohol and when covering addiction some of them proudly told me they can tell when I don't have one!

F - Favourite colour: Purple. But I tend to wear more blue.

G - Gold or Silver: Gold. Silver always looks cheap to me hehe.

H - Height: 193cm. True. And I've been this height since I was 13. I'm the woman you see sitting and think nothing unusual until I stand up. Then the jaws drop, the eyes go wide and I usually break the ice by telling a joke about being called Amazon Woman.

I - Instruments: Nothing. Nada. Although I have fallen over a guitar in class if that counts?

J- Job: Secondary School Teacher of kids with Special Needs. It's never dull.

K – Kids: Three. Planned for two. Tried for two. One son dragged another with him lol

L - Living arrangements: Suburban life. 3 kids, a dog, 2 fish and a coparent ;) *waves - Hi Coparent!*

M - Mum’s name: Mum, of course!

N - Nicknames: Amazon Woman. Wonder (high school reference to Wonder Woman), Bones.

O - Overnight hospital stay other than birth: Too many to list. Started with open heart surgery and went from there. Life is never dull. Apparently I'm in a medical journal somewhere as I was the first open heart surgery done in Australia that didn't involve cutting into the groin. Apparently it was cutting edge (hahahahaha, yeah, I meant that one) stuff.

P - Pet Peeve: People who lie.

Q - Quote from a movie: "Houstin, we have a problem". I also do an amusing rendition of Keanu Reeves with Mini-me. She says "Sweet" constantly and every time I follow it up with "Duuuude".

R – Robot or Human?: Human - the capacity to love is vital!

S - Siblings: Older sister. She is another amazing woman (blog post to follow about her!). She has always been a little second mum to me and continues to try to triumph over adversity.

T - Time you wake up: Usually around 6:30ish. Sometimes earlier if Mr Cheeky pays a visit to my bed. Thankfully his cuddles make up for the fact that he's a bigger bedhog than I am.

U- Underwear: What about it? Ok, Ok, I won't give a description but I love the new Tiger Print ones I bought!

V - Vegetable you dislike: Brussel Sprouts. Do they have any redeeming qualities??

W - Ways you run late: It's called having three children.

X - X-rays you’ve had: Chest, leg, arm, chest, chest, a few recently on my chest. lol

Y - Yummy food you make: Make? People make food? What a novel idea!

Z - Zoo favourite: The bear at Alma Park Zoo. Only because I then get to grin at Coparent yelling out 'Simply Brisbane's Best' with an odd lisp. It comes out as "Thimply Brithbunth Bethd'. One of those weird in-joke you develop with people you've known a looooong time.

Happy Birthday Mr Cheeky and Mr Smoochy!

Today my sons turned 3. What a day! This is the first year they had an idea of presents and a party and cake and they totally enjoyed themselves!

This day three years ago was intense, scary, exhilarating and wondrous all at once!

I was 37 weeks pregnant with the boys and had been over it for weeks! I was huge. Picture a humpback whale with the hump at the front and then double it. And that was me.

I remember waiting in the maternity ward and not looking forward to the csar. I'd had one before with Mini-me and it wasn't pleasant. Given a pre-existing heart condition, the fact that the boys were breech and transverse plus the sucky pregnancy I'd had, a csar was the only option.

The plan had been to have both Mum and Coparent in the room with me. Five minutes before cutting time the anesthetist decided she had a problem with Mum being there and I was told it was Coparent and I ONLY. I was not impressed. I had to break the news to Mum that she couldn't be there. It wasn't a great start.

The Dr rang back to say that he was waiting in theatre for me and I had to get down NOW if I didn't want to miss out on my spot. Needless to say I waddled down to the nurses station and told them I had to go. They sent me down with Coparent, unescorted by a nurse and my file which caused no end of trouble when we got there - apparently it's not the done thing to wander down for your own delivery!

Coparent was taken off to get dressed in some lovely scrubs, while I was prepped. Read - was transferred to a teeny table where I felt like I was going to puke and fall at the same time. Noice!
Finally the anesthetist arrived to start jabbing me. I wasn't her fan by now seeing as she'd stressed me so much right before delivery but we had to move on. She started to administer a spinal block (think big, nasty, mofo needle in the back) while a male nurse supported me in front. Suddenly he left. Given my stressed, anxious state I immediately wondered if I'd done something wrong? Was I too heavy? Too stressed? Too anything? In reality his leaving probably had nothing to do with me but I was clearly on edge.

Eventually the operation started. Mr Smoochy was first - blonde and upside-down. He was shown to me and taken quickly to be checked out. Next it was Mr Cheeky. I could hear him protesting even before he was fully out. His cries sounded strangely muffled and reassuring at the same time. He was shown to me - dark hair and looking so much like his sister! They were both cleaned, checked over, weighed, wrapped, then handed to Coparent who helped the nurse show them to me. Given I was lying flat I couldn't hold both of them but touched and kissed and welcomed.

They had to go to SCN as I had Gestational Diabetes. They needed monitoring for their breathing and blood sugar levels but I was happy and confident they were ok. They were big boys for twins and the pead was very happy and commented on how well a job I had done in managing my sugars. Apparently they can tell when examing the babies how stable the sugars were. Just don't tell him about the extra insulin injections I took to drink Maccas Frozen Cokes!

The boys did so well they were brought up to our room on the maternity ward at around 10 that night! We cuddled, loved, soothed, welcomed and celebrated their arrival. From the first minute they taught me that newborns have personality. They were immediately two different individuals who brought such joy to our family.

I consider raising twins to be a journey. A rollercoaster that I have been privileged to ride upon. My life changed dramatically the minute I became pregnant with them. I struggled daily during their pregnancy. In addition to all of the usual pregnancy complaints, during the 37 weeks I had . . . .(wait for it, it's quite alarming!) . . .

• Hyperemesis (I think the final count was 5 trips for a drip for fluids)

• Gestational Diabetes (insulin injections required)

• Graves Disease (usually gets better in pregnancy, but no, I developed it)

• SPD (OMG the PAIN!)

• Heart Palpitations (always fun while driving!)

After their birth I also experienced . . . .

• Bladder Shut Down (can't think of the fancy name but that's basically what happened)

• Bowel Shut Down (ditto to above. Really not pleasant)

• Hemorroids (so bad they recommended surgery)

• Post Natal Depression (who couldn't see that coming!?)

• Uterus Infection (she did a great job at the time but has apparently packed it in)

• Hemorrhage (caused by above)

• Broken Leg (apparently caused in part to decreased bone density. I just know I was a clutz when walking across a room and snapped the leg bone near my ankle. The boys were 11 weeks old - now that was fun!)

• Umbilical Hernias (recurring. Because why do anything just once!)

• Hiatus Hernia (a pain in the guts as we speak)

I'll stop now. It's just too long!

It took me around 6 weeks to be fully discharged from various hospitals after their birth. Three years later, I am still facing health complications and surgery that relates back to their pregnancy and birth.

And you know what? To get them in my life, I'd do it all over.



Happy Birthday Mr Cheeky!
Happy Birthday Mr Smoochy!

You are incredibly loved.

Amazing women in my life

I was thinking today about my Mother's Day celebrations. Around one lunch table, we were fortunate enough to have four mothers. My grandmother (Nanna), my mother, my sister and I. We're a very lucky family.

So this is part one looking at some of the amazing women in my life. I wanted to start with Nanna. Yesterday, my 13 year old niece got snippy and a bit rude to Nanna. You just have to love teens at that age because otherwise you'd ship them off to Siberia and enjoy the peace! I said to Miss Snippy 'Hey! That is one of the most amazing women you will every meet so you treat her with respect! She's in her 90's. You're 13. Get up off your butt and move!'. Miss Snippy wasn't impressed but it made me think. My Nanna really is an amazing woman.

Nanna has always been amazing to me and I've been fortunate that she has remained in my life for this long. As a child, some of my fondest memories are of Nanna playing with us and looking after my sister and I when we visited her every Christmas (Mum and Dad must have loved the peace! Nanna's place was like their Siberia!).

She used to walk us to the shops and buy us soft-serve icecream! She would buy the bottles of milk with the cream on top and the bread that was never presliced. She would often take my sister and I to see live theatre which I loved. She would make sure I had a bath and wore clean undies but let me get really messy in the yard without getting cranky. She would never force me to step into water in the driveway that the other kids used as a minipool (I hated water then-not much has changed!). She would take us on drives, and cook us breakfast. She would drive for hours to take us to different relatives and to her holiday house near the beach. Ultimately she would love us.

As we grew older we started to see what an amazing Nanna she is. Nanna has grandchildren-rose-coloured-glasses. She never sees any flaws or any mistakes we make. We can do no wrong in her eyes and I've never doubted that she is proud of me or loves me. She was born and raised in a totally different generation yet always seemed accepting of anything. She would give us money just because we needed 'to play' - even in our twenties!

Sadly, Nanna's health started to fade in her 80's. One of the worst days of my life was when she suffered a heart attack. Fortunately she felt no pain but just dropped. While waiting for the ambos I remember holding her hand. She looked so pale and tired. She knew I was there though and responded when I told her I was there and she would be ok. She said later she was frightened but was reasurred that I was there. That was nice of her to say and I hope it was true. Sadly, Nanna's heart has never been as strong since and she struggles with issues. Her cardiologist says there is nothing let to do. She is in her 90's and it's tired.

When pregnant with Mini-Me, Nanna said she just wanted to live long enough to see my baby. She did. I was very proud to show her off and introduce her to Mini-Me. I was even prouder to tell Nanna that Mini-Me has the middle name of Lydia - also Nanna's middle name. It was a wonderful way to pay tribute to my Nanna. She was just as excited when my boys arrived and is very proud of her 5 great-grandchildren.

Nanna is in her early 90's now. Her body is failing her but her mind is still very much her.
I know rationally there will come a day when she is no longer with us. And I hate the thought of it. It makes me feel sad and panicked and I know I'll have to try very hard to remind myself of everything she has taught me. One day if I am lucky enough to become a grandmother or greatgrandmother, I hope I do half as good a job as she has.

My Nanna is one of the most amazing women in my life.

Who are the amazing women in yours?

Happy Mother's Day!

To all mothers I know, including myself of course!

I hope you all had a fantastic Mother's Day, and enjoyed the benefits of breakast in bed, the fun of opening presents and the warmth of extra cuddles and kisses from the kids.

I get lucky again . . .

Firstly, if you are a boy or if you're not wanting to read waaay TMI about my girly bits, click away! Click away!

Ok girls and interested parties, here we go.

I met with the lovely Dr M today. He's very straight-forward and down to earth and introduced himself using his first name which is really only fitting given he was about to get intimate with me (and again, no dinner!).

We chatted, we laughed. Ok, he asked me a heap of personal questions and I tried not to squirm while answering them!

After he'd loosened me up with a bit of chitchat, it was down to business and he quickly had me half naked. *sigh* Again, more action these past months than I'd seen in a while! Up in the stirrups I go, trying not to make eye contact with the lovely Dr M who's head was level with my vajayjay. And yet again, what does my mature mind come up with? "Please don't fart!". I am like, sooo totally mature like!

So we had a date with the Metal-Duck-Bill-of-Lurve (aka Speculum) which hurt like a buggery. Dr M made some comments I won't repeat but let's just say you don't want to hear them from a date OR a doctor! A biopsy was done of my uterus which felt similar to being scrubbed on the inside with a steel brush while your body cramps down physically sending up pain signals that are screaming out 'GET THIS DAMN THING OUT OF HERE'. My uterus is already not a fan of Dr M.

After my pants were back on and decorum was re-established, we had a chat. It seems my right ovary has an endo growth. My left has a 5cm cyst (can I say, DAMMIT - that was supposed to be the GOOD ONE!). My uterus is too full, too bulky, and backwards and in the opinion of Dr M, needs to be removed. He's testing the biopsy and my blood for cancer and other lovelies, but says leaving it in there as it is will risk my health (read - may cause cancer in the future) and given it's current performance record, it pretty much sucks at its job anyway. He wants to remove the uterus, cervix and the right ovary. He wants to clean out all of the endo that's in there and try to save the left ovary so I don't hit menopause at the not-usually-referred-to-as-young-age of 36.

I walked out totally confused. Mainly because I was totally confused about what I felt. Confusing, huh? I'm not particularly attached to my uterus and right ovary (apart from the obvious!). A while ago I toyed with the idea of another child and discounted it. Not a great idea for our family or me, physically or psychologically. So I'm not upset for not being able to have anymore children. I think part of me is sad that the organ that grew and nourished my children needs to be ripped out.

Then I started thinking irrationally. Am I still counted as a woman if I'm missing half of my 'woman bits'? Will I ever have sex again? Will I ever enjoy it again? Will I ever be wanted again?

On the flip side . .

No periods!!
No pain!!
Less PMS!!
Reduced risk of Cancer!!!
Saving money on girlie products!

And back to Dr Racist . . .

Amazingly we got through the entire appointment without a single racist comment - woohoo! Kudos for Dr Racist!!

Apparently there are two types of ovarian cysts. Simple and complex. Mine is of course, complex, which as its name suggests is not the type you want to have.

My uterus is also not looking so shiny and new. It's too big and full - could be from being Amazon Woman and having three children, or could be a more serious problem.

Either way, I've been referred to a gyno who will at the least do a Have-a-look-and-see-surgery to possibly ripping everything out. Yippee. for. me.

Dr Damn Nice

He was, as usual damn nice.

He confirmed the hernia by looking at the scan and saying 'Holy Mackeral'. Apparently it is large and not only do I have a talent for creating hernias, but a top quality talent at that. Meh. It's a family trait - if you're going to do anything, try to excel!

He's booked me in for an Endoscopy so I'll have some lovely pictures of the inside of my upper GI system. Following that he's going to plan the surgery as apparently it's not straightforward. His opinion is that surgery is definitely required as the stomach is now behind my heart which isn't exactly optimal. I kind of agree with that!

Well, of course!! Do I ever do anything in a straightforward way?

Warning

Do not consult Dr Google. For anything. Dr Google is not your friend.

Rooted

Ultrasound results are in and after spending (way too much) some time on Dr Google, I'm still totally confused.

Based on my really sucky medical knowledge, apparently my whole reproductive system is rooted. Yes, that's my professional opinion.

To be more specific, my uterus is . . .umm . . .too big, too full, flipped backwards, and has an icky pattern of *something* (Radiologist couldn't find what). My right ovary is about 6 times the size of lefty and has a charming growth on her. Noice.

I head to Dr Damn Nice on Friday so will be chatting to him however as he's a GI Man (Jo's brother! lol) he'll no doubt have to send me on to a gyno.

And weirdly, I'm ovulating lmao. Does she not know she's in retirement?!?!

How to freak out Mini-Me

In a few easy steps.

1. Turn on the house alarm as you leave in the morning.
2. Finish the day and rush out from school to pick up kids.
3. Grab kids, rush home and send Mini-Me into the house to grab her karate uniform.
4. Wait in car with Smoochy and Cheeky for Mini-Me to come back out.
5. Listen in horror as the house alarm starts blaring while Mini-Me is inside the house.

What do you know? Our alarm does make you feel dizzy when it goes off.

I got lucky!

First ultrasound was today.

I drank (water - not vodka as the kids tried to tell me!) all through last session at school and tried desperately not to do the 'I-have-to-pee-happy-dance' during class. I ran for the door on finishing and figured if I get there early, I'd go in early and could pee sooner. Great idea, right? Wrong!

For some weird reason I sllipped into the Twilight Zone on the way there and a usual 10 minute trip took 20 minutes. I'm not sure where I was but if anyone mentions seeing me between 2:50pm and 3:10pm, do let me know! So I arrived just on time, about to burst, and yep, you guessed it. Got kept waiting another 20 minutes!!! EEK! *Insert quick reminder for all women to do their pelvic floors. Yes. You. Right now. No, that doesn't count, you were pretending. Go again!*

The scan started out ok except it turns out I have a tilted uterus. Yes, apparently not even my uterus is straight which made it hard to see Cysty (yeah, I named it. I figured it was in an intimate relationship with my innards so needed a name). So yes folks. She advised the best way to get this done; was the internal.

For those who haven't heard of this test, let's just refer to it as either Dildocam or Wand O Magic. Yes, it goes up there. Yes, it's apparently meant to be serious, anxiety producing, uncomfortable and all of the above.

Not for me though. Sadly being the mature woman I am, I couldn't stop giggling. I mean cmon. This was the first time I'd gotten lucky in . . .umm . . .well let's just say it's been awhile! Sadly though I didn't get dinner but I'm thinking seeing your cervix and ovaries on a big screen tv counts as a movie so I guess the lady doing the scan was IN!

The lady was very lovely, even if she did wield the Wand O Magic like she was driving a manual truck. She did ask me to . . . err . . . inject the Wand O Magic myself which was a little stressful. How far up are you supposed to put those things anyway? I mean, what if you're meant to put it just in? Does shoving it in so far she could see my tonsils mean I'm rude? Does putting it just in mean I secretly want to be revirginised? Just who does the ettiquete lessons for dildocams anyway?

Results not back yet. Expected tomorrow or Wednesday.

These are my children

First we have Mini-Me. She's 8 and very much like me when I was younger. She's not exactly your usual 8 year old girl and we love her for that. She's studying karate at the moment and loving it. She had her first major independent disappointment this week when she wasn't allowed to grade in karate - a tough lesson but she's bounced back really well and I'm proud of her.

Next we have my boys. Firstly, there's Mr Smoochy. He's almost 3. Big and beautiful and looks just like my Dad! He's madly running around copying Mini-Me doing her karate moves at the moment. *sigh* Hopefully he'll learn not to connect as often as he does!

Finally we have Mr Cheeky. He's also almost 3. Big in his own right but smaller than Mr Smoochy so he seems a lot more compact than he is. His speech is really developing at the moment! For example, this morning I snuggled up next to him in bed to watch tv:

Cheeky: You're big (the kid has a point!)
Me: Yes, I am. You're a big boy now too.
Cheeky: Yeah but you're big. You need ta move ova dere (points to other side of bed)
Me: Why?
Cheeky: Cause you're big. (hard to argue with that logic, but I thought I'd give it a go)
Me: No, you can move.
Cheeky: No, I caaaaan't. You can cause you're biiiiiig.

I won that one. He moved. But I'm amazed that I can actually (finally!) have a conversation with my youngest son!!