Taking care of spiders - I must confess

Fear is a strange thing.

It can take perfectly normal, sensible people and turn them into shrieking toddlers.
There are degrees of fear.
A general feeling of disquiet over a thought or possible event.
Anxiety and worry about our loved ones. 

A raised heart rate, dry mouth, wide eyes....
Then there is the 'fight or flight' adrenaline pumping full blown : Holy sh*t I'm about to lose it, jumping around like a ninja kind of fear.

I feel it when I think about snakes. When I get surprised by a picture of one, the idea of one.

I wrote about my INTENSE fear of snakes in Snakes Alive. 

I understand the feeling, the fear, the irrationality of the reaction. I understand the superpowers a person can instantly develop in their need to escape. I want to vomit at the notion that one might be in the backyard, near my kids or my animals (or me!). I will argue loudly that snakes should all be rounded up and sent to the Galapagos Islands. Far away from me. 

And yet, weirdly when someone else is experiencing that same level of fear, over something  that doesn't really bother me, it's hard not to find their reaction hilarious.

On Thursday night my friend came to visit for a while, we chatted, made some plans...
Then she got ready to go home. I walked her out to her car in the cold winter darkness. She climbed into the drivers seat, flicked her hair and  promptly LOST HER MIND !

I have never seen anyone climb out of a car so quickly, she leapt over the centre console, levitated across the passenger seat and threw herself out the door on the other side of the car all while shrieking like a fire alarm. A spider which, according to her ,was "as big as a walrus" had dropped past her hand.

source

This is the point when you would think that as a caring friend  I would have be gentle and caring, soothing and full of compassion. And I would have been, had I not been laughing so hard I nearly peed my pants. There she is begging "Lisa, Lisa, you have to find it. Now, You have to !" And I'm snorting, doubled over in the middle of the road. 

Eventually I found some composure. The spider had of course taken itself into a small dark corner and I couldn't find it. We sprayed an entire can of fly spray in the car, closed the doors and she took my car home.  The next morning I checked again and returned her car to her, twitching from the nerve gas lingering in the car. I had checked under the seats, flipped down all the sun visors, searched in the glove box and found no spidery evilness. No doubt the poor little thing jumped out of the car as quickly as she did and went to find more welcoming accommodations. 

That's why we are friends. I will take over when walrus spiders attack her, and she will protect me when nasty evil snakes cross my path. 
Because that's what friends are for.

What is your irrational fear? Have you ever had to face it?

-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-

Linking up this week with Raychael from Ms Mystery Case for I Must Confess

Please visit Raychael for more bloggy confessions, and the prompt for next weeks exposé.

Sticky Tape

This morning as I was getting myself and our household on track for the day, Miss 10 went to the stationery drawer and found the clear sticky tape. 

As her room is already overflowing with crafty bits and pieces pilfered from that drawer, I stopped her and told her whatever she needed to tape up, she should bring it out to the table & do it there. 

I kept going with morning tasks in the kitchen. I could hear the sound of sticky tape being pulled off. Gosh she was using a lot of it. I turned around to find her happily sticky taping her tragically broken sneakers together for sport! 

I died ! 

Firstly, how completely and innocently unpretentious is she, that she didn't even think to ask for new sneakers? 

Secondly, obviously I've been parenting with blinkers on for a few months, cos I had no idea the state they were in ! 

We raced to the local department store before school started and bought new sneakers, and sticky tape. 

Just another Mother Of The Year moment ! 

Would you like some chocolate with that?

One thing the USA is famous for is doing everything to the extreme.
They do Extreme Fishing, Extreme Mining, Extreme Cars, Extreme Abseiling..Extreme Cake Decorating,  Extreme Weddings, Extreme Piercings, Extreme Tattoos, Extreme Makeovers, Extreme Birth Stories... you name it, the USA has it covered.

So in my Pinterest Frenzy this week I started on a bit of an Easter binge.

Because there are so many awesome pins from people waaaaaaay more dedicated than me to:

Easter decorating

Easter making

And Easter Baking

\

Seriously ????

But time and time again I came across USA links to Easter Bunny Bark.


What Is That?

First of all, the bunny in my house doesn't eat bark - He prefers some short cut alfalfa sprouts, green tips only, a quarter of a freshly harvested carrot and the Spanish dried, late harvested, $35 a pound gooseberries from the island of Rabbit-Nirvana .

Secondly, the Easter Bunny at my house does not qualify for a stop over snack
(I thought that was Santa . Milk and cookies or in our case Beer and some peanuts please)

Thirdly.. .... ... ... umm ...  seriously, you make this stuff for imaginary characters???

But as it happens, and it happens often, I got converted, sucked in and won over...

so tonight before ballet....

Miss 9 and me made Easter Bunny Bark.

Basically you chop up some toppings (read : what ever Mum could find leftover on the back of the "saving it for Christmas" cupboard):

You melt some white chocolate into liquid form:

You sprinkle the goodies over the good stuff:

And smash it all down.

Cool in the fridge til firm and chop into manageable pieces:

Happy Days!!!

We are so freakin' ready for the Easter Bunny, It's not even funny right now,

( **  Also I might have Type 2 diabetes from all the sugar I have consumed today. Seriously. ** )

What have you made that makes your head and blood sugar level spin?

Cocktail Dresses for Cruising

If I tell a mum at school that I write a blog, usually the reaction is a polite but blank smile.

Trying to explain to non-bloggers (or non-blog readers) what the point of a blog is, is nearly impossible.
Mostly because in my case there is no actual point. I don't review products, I don't have a sponsor, I don't make any money and usually I don't have anything profound to share.
I just like to write.
And over-share.
And off-load.

I can't explain why I like it, why this has become my hobby. It is no more significant than if I spent my time knitting or perfecting the art of cake pop making (NOT gonna happen). Yes, its probably a bit of time wasting nonsense and yet, so is just about anything we do outside the confines of our working hours.

In 2 weeks I'm heading off to a blogging conference, this year aboard the awesome Carnival Spirit Cruise Ship. I've been to the last two Digital Parents Conferences and loved meeting other bloggers. They get me, (or if they didn't, they did a great job pretending to understand me!)

I have a room-mate matched up, I have my plane tickets booked. Hubby and kids are well warned and prepared. In the wee small hours I briefly considered booking in for spray tan and some botox but I decided that a weekend cruise probably didn't warrant that degree of vanity.

So yesterday I tweeted one of the organisers to get an idea of the plans for the first evening - how we would all find each other aboard this enormous ship.
She wrote back with details and asked if I had my Cocktail dress ready.

I chuckled, then realised she was serious. A cocktail dress! Not an item that is essential in the wardrobe of a night shift nurse with 4 kids in hometown Wangarattta. I can't say there are a great number of Cocktail dress worthy events on my calendar.

I'm not even sure I know what makes a dress a 'Cocktail dress'. Are there Cocktail dress rules?
I am worried now that I will commit a Cocktail Dress faux pas, and of course be completely unaware.

Fortunately, I turned to the endless wisdom of google, which gave me not only the definition of a cocktail dress ( including the variations of hemline length and acceptable standard of dress by accompanying males) , but google also offered examples.

Now I know what I'm looking for, I'm off to shop... where do you think I will find one of these ?

Linking Up With Jess For I Blog On Tuesdays

Bad Mother

This morning as I dropped my sweet 9 year old daughter at school, I got a lecture about healthy eating habits for children.

Hahahhhaaa.

Today Miss 9's class is making smoothies, with yogurt, berries and milk, and of course all ingredients had to be brought from home. As I helped my child with bags etc another Mum, a very efficient, focused and authorative Mum bailed me up near the classroom. She was there to help the class make smoothies, a noble act because , frankly, I'd rather staple my head to the carpet. 

She was watching all the children as they milled around. Frowned at any child who didn't have fresh fruit to put on their snack table, and down right outraged by any poor sod who didn't even have a box of sultanas.

One little boy's lunchbox fell open as he hung his bag up and basically the entire cookie aisle of Safeways tumbled out. That kid had everything going on, from Chocolate Oreos to Tiny Teddies. His sandwich, snuggled in the corner of the box (fighting for room) was a squished up Jam & White Bread mess.

After the kids had disappeared to play, she came to me and rolled her eyes.

"Can you believe Johnny's lunchbox?? I mean... OMG all that sugar. How hard is it for a mother to pack healthy options for their child? I pack salad rolls every single day for my Timmy. Salad and fruit. There is no excuse for such lazy parenting, Did you see how big that kid is, he doesn't need any extra carbs I can tell you ......."

....
....

( I listened as I watched as her little Timmy, her eldest child,  took a swing at one kid, a kick at another, then launched himself over the railing like a kamikaze ninja on speed... looks like little Timmy is a handful.)
.....
"Sugar is evil, my child is a saint, I'm perfect, I know it all" ... or words to that effect.

.... 

"Only LAZY mothers just pack jam or Nutella sandwiches. Sugar has no place in a child's diet Blaggggggg Blaaahhhhgggg Blaaaggghhh......... cookies are food of the devil.........................harp harp harp ............. something something............ blah"

I smiled sweetly, nodded thoughtfully, and moved off toward my car.

My 9 year old blessing has fairy bread in her lunch box today.

BAD MOTHER 

LAZY MOTHER

In the car, I chuckled. I can't wait for her to hit the teenage years and discover that no matter how tightly you lock Little Timmy down, he is going to toss her salad roll and carrot sticks in the bin and buy himself a big bottle of coke and a hotdog.

I look forward to the day when she realises that if you lined up every child in the school, you actually can't tell which ones eat home made bircher muesli at the carefully set dinner table for breakfast and which one snacked on Fruit Loops in front of the TV.

I didn't tell her that once or twice I have actually served Apple Pie and Ice Cream for dinner to my children - (fruit, carbs, dairy protein = winning!)

And just like that, there is a spring in my step, because I know, for certain, that I am a bad, lazy mother. And my kids are thriving on it.

The Bath - IBOT

Steam warms the room as hot water pours into the spa bath. A few drops of beautiful oil adds a delicate scent to the air. Large fluffy towels lie folded at the step, flickering candles give a soft glow. I have my favourite music playing softly in the background. A lovely fat book, freshly selected from the library waits for me, a glass of wine on the ledge beside me as I dip my toes into heaven. I sink in slowly, savouring the delicious pinpricks that spread across my skin, adjusting to the new soothing warmth.

'Just what I needed. An hour or two to just be calm and serene'

photo credit

Total relaxation. I sigh, closing my eyes and resting my head back to float in this cocoon.

Knock Knock

A whisper through the door .. "Mummy I forgot to give you a note from school."
I smile gently and softly say "That's okay chicken, you can show me in the morning. Go back to bed" .. I drift my fingers across the surface of the water, watching tiny bubbles form and disappear.
A louder whisper " Mummy I love you. Are you going to kiss me goodnight?"
I reply "I love you too sweetie, and I already kissed you when I put you to bed, remember? Hop back in bed now okay ?"
Little feet patter away.
I force my shoulders down, stretch my neck out and let the heat work its magic on the bunched muscles.

photo credit

"Calm and serene...."


Knock Knock

"Babe, do we have eggs?" asks The Man I Married.
I open one eye and reply "Yes. Third shelf on the fridge."
He leaves.  He returns. "I can't find them. Are you sure we've got some?"
I sigh.: " Well they were there this morning.. do you need them right this second?"
TMIM replies " No, don't worry, just relax and enjoy your bath."
I turn on the spa pump and jets of water start to knead my back. I can't hear my music anymore, over the noise of the pump. I stare at the flame of the candle, imagining it is alive. 

 'Shhh, relax. Calm and serene, calm and serene'

photo credit 

Knock Knock

"Mum, did you wash my skirt for school today? I can't find it." she yells through the door.
I sit up, water sloshing against the bath edge. 
"I washed everything that was in the hamper. If you put it in there I washed it. If it wasn't in the hamper it was not washed. I am trying to have a bath."
There is no reply but I can sense she is still there waiting for more.
"I do not have it in here with me."
"Fine " she says, in that way that tells me everything is far from fine. A few seconds and a door slams.
I sit there, water cooling on my back as I try to gather myself and find my happy place again.

photo credit 

 'Relax. Be calm and serene, please be calm and serene'

Knock Knock

ARE YOU KIDDING ME?

"What?"  (hissed between clenched teeth.)
J-man says through the door " Do you know I have an army cadet camp this weekend?"
I roll my eyes. "Yep. I know that."
"It's just that I need to get my snacks. We have to take our own snacks. When do you think we can do that?"
I count to ten. "How about tomorrow hmm? Because right now, I'm naked in the bath. "
J-man thinks it over "Yep, good plan". He walks away.

 'Focus! You are Calm and serene !'

The spa pump is giving me a headache. I can't get comfortable.

photo credit 

Knock Knock

The Man I Married opens the door and switches on the heat lamps. I am blinded. .
 "Wow, it's too hot in here." He flips on the fan and any exposed, damp skin on my body immediately puckers into goosebumps.
"Is your bath nice? The dogs wanted to say hello."
Two fluffy dogs come jumping onto the bath ledge, knocking over my glass of wine. They both enjoy the spilled contents as I watch.

 'Calm and serene have left the building'

I gaze at TMIM. I can't find words, or at least any words that will not leave him and I at loggerheads.

"Actually, I think I'll just get out."

He looks at the bath and then back at me. " So soon? That's a bit of a waste of all that water don't you think?"

He walks out, leaving the fluffy ones behind, trying to jump in the water with me. Damp puppy paws have reduced my towels to a dirty mess.

"Bonkers" I mutter. "My life is completely bonkers".

Linking with Jess for  I Blog On Tuesdays xxx




 

Weed Whacking - I Must Confess

I Must Confess... I am not ready for Spring.

There is nothing as pretty or as uplifting as the first few days of spring. Warm air, blue skies and freshly burst blossoms.
Ahh .. the serenity.

At this time of year I am overwhelmed by the urge to kiss the baby blossoms,  race to the chemist for Zyrtec and then the supermarket for extra strength wax .

It's time for the annual spring clean.

Not of the house mind you. Nope, the house has been just fine all winter. Floors mopped, bathrooms cleaned, kitchen sorted.
No, the spring clean I'm talking about is the Annual Weed-whacking, fake tanning, Get-ready-to-bare-your-skin event that takes place in the first week of September across our fine nation.

It's all very well, while snuggled in the Blue Jeans, woollen jackets and Ugg boots of Winter, to imagine that your lily-white shoulders and bikini line will never see the light of day.
But ,with the first warm days of Spring comes the realisation that there is maintenance to be done. In fact,  maintenance should have been done over winter and now we are looking at a total rebuild. A PAINFUL rebuild.

I prefer the  D.I.Y. approach to the great Winter Weed Whacking, because, lets face it, getting your girlie bits out in a beauty salon and hearing shocked gasps is not pleasant. Nor is it fun when your freshly graduated beauty therapist tells you she is going to have to ask for a Senior Consultation on this tricky job. Why show one stranger your Lady Garden when you can have a room full of strangers discussing the best plan of attack?

The D.I.Y. version is a private undertaking, usually aided with a couple glasses of whatever is available in the alcohol cabinet. Because ripping pubes out hurts. Those ads showing some tanned beauty smiling serenely as she Epilady's her hairs away are a crock of Sh*t. The ads where a pretty young thing whisks her (non-existent)  underarm hair away as she laughs into the camera are telling great big whopping lies.

Trust me when I tell you NO-ONE laughs as 500 hairs are simultaneously ripped out of their armpit. That is just not a funny thing. Watching someone else have it done- Hil-ar-ious!! Experiencing it yourself... not so hilarious.

DIY waxing comes with it's own special dilemmas. Sure, no-one is there to judge or gasp, but this also means no-one is there to reach the tricky bits. It takes some fortitude and brashness to apply a wax strip to an area of VERY delicate and sensitive skin and then willingly rip it away. The fact that the puppy dog is lying on the other side of the bathroom door, howling in unison with you, is a very good indication that THIS was not a good idea.

Grand ideas of a full Brazillian get rapidly down-scaled to being a minimal tidy up of any area outside the bikini zone.

And then once finished, you discover that instead of a silky smooth "Lets go to Bondi" Bikini Bod, you now have a spotty, red, angry plucked chicken effect going on.

 Very alluring !

Luckily, given the fickle weather in my part of Australia, the sunny Spring skies will give way to more rain and there will be time for the redness and plucked-chickenness to go away, before I am really expected to bare all in a bathing suit.

Are you ready for Spring?

Linking with Kirsty for I Must Confess On Mondays at My Home Truths

The Baby Stuff - FlashBack Friday

Babies are a marketers dream come true.

 

As soon as someone says the word 'Baby', manufacturers and Sales teams start rubbing their little hands together and brainstorming new and wonderful ways to guilt the new parents into buying stuff they don't need.
 

One of my closest friends is having a fourth baby after a really big gap (** read: surprise baby **), and during that gap she gave away all her baby paraphernalia .

The cot, the high chair, bouncer, her sanity...
 

So we've been looking at what she will need and what is available.
 

My, oh my, how things have changed in a few years.

 

The first and most obvious requirement is a pram.

Back in the early 90's when J-man was born, a steelcraft pram was the way to go.

 

 

If this looks like you take the baby's bed and whack it on a tray, like a flat bed truck you are 100% correct.

Look at those wheels, perfect for going over, well, not much really. The tiniest pebble could lock one of these up and have you teaching your toddler some very new words.

 

These had some pretty impressive features like a lap belt (none of this high brow five point safety harness stuff malarkey) and a reversible handle in case you got sick of looking at your little wonder. It required a degree in engineering to collapse, and a car boot almost as big as a swimming pool to fit it in.

 

These days you can purchase some really cool space shuttles prams with aerodynamic everything.

When I buy my next car I'm just going to buy one of these and install a motor.

 

 

Next on the shopping list is a high chair.

Originally we had a timber one, with little metal catches under the tray to detach it for 'easy cleaning'.

Then we upgraded to a schmicko plastic and coated metal chair with padded seat and a flip-over tray. Once again safety was not an issue with a single grey strip of webbing to stop your child sub-marining out the bottom. It was always loose, always covered in 3 days worth of weetbix and had no safety mechanism whatsoever but hey - it was there.

Covered in cutesy pastel kid vinyl which cracked and split within 3 months of purchase, it blended into absolutely No-One's home ever!

 

 

The flip-over tray meant that when small child had had enough and was getting cross they could lift and drop the tray repeatedly, sending food and drink all over the floor. Nice.

 

High Chairs have come a long way. In fact I wouldn't mind a set of six to replace my dining chairs.

 

Car travel with a new born in the early 90's meant you have one of these wedged into your backseat.

 

 

You plonked your baby into the capsule (often still wrapped in blankets) and secured them with a wide strip of Velcro across the belly effectively creating a small torpedo.
When it was time to leave the car you could remove the capsule and take it inside. The noise the Velcro made when undoing it was like a nuclear explosion, and they weighed a tonne .

 

 

 

 

Car seats now follow a similar principle except they have extras like seat belts! Very pretty.

 

Even the things to cover their little butts have changed - Nappies in Australia and the UK, Diapers in the US .

 

When we used cloth nappies they were white squares of towelling. For baby No.1 these were thick and fluffy and absorbent. By baby No. 3 and about 3000 hot washes they were almost see-through and were usually odd-shaped quasi-rectangles.

 

 

What's that you see? Nappy pins. Yes! actual sharp edges allowed to go near our precious wee-ones wee.

 

On freezing cold days in a town not too far from the snowfields of Mt Buller I would hang my little squares of white on the line and watch as they snap-froze like cardboard. I do not miss those days.

 

 

The lady at the Baby Boutique in town told me that Modern Cloth Nappies have "revolutionised the eco-aware mothers ability to choose earth friendly options."

Errr , okay.
They still just catch the poo right? I mean the Modern Cloth Nappy doesn't take time out each day to attend Earth Summits or petition the local member of parliament for better green waste disposal options?

 

 

 

 

Still just poo catchers ! Pretty ones !

 

 

And so to sleep - cribs and cots haven't changed much, although the baby hammocks are pretty cool and if I could afford an adult sized one, I would be sleeping in it right now.

 

However the how-to-sleep-your-baby rules have reversed. When I had my little people the rule was "Always and only on their side". We were told to not sleep our babies on their backs due to risk of choking. In the hospital they were swaddled to within an inch of their life and placed on their sides.

 

 

Now it's on the back and minimal blankets.

 

  

 

There were a few miscellaneous items I have found that have, quite frankly left me a little concerned.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Like I said, a Baby is a marketers dream.

 

Brooke,  if I catch you with a butt fan or bacon flavoured formula I will organise an intervention !

 

Linking up with the fabulous Cathy from The Camera Chronicles for another Flash Back Friday . Share your memories xxx