The Sleepover

There is something about other people's kids that makes me want to smack them... LOL .. no seriously!

Miss 8 had a sleepover last night. with a lovely little princess from school. She's very nice, but the eldest of two, and I get the feeling that money is not an object in their house. Parents are also uber-cool, positive parenting, calmly ignoring their child's tantrum while they sip their Skinny Soy Chai Latte. By comparison my kids have been raised on the set of My Name Is Earl.

When kids come to play at my house, I'm old fashioned in that I expect them play, at our house, with the toys that we have, with each other. 
In the past 18 hours I have been asked if we can "go to the pool, have some chips, go to the lolly shop, have some money to spend at K-mart, have some chocolate,use the paints to make a mural, have some fizzy drink, go to the movies, have some chocolate...." This kid has already seen every movie on the planet, poo-pooed our barbie doll collection, has 'way betterer' pencils and textas and doesn't like playing in cubby houses.

In the end I took them to the local YMCA heated pools so they could swim and get rid of some energy. Even there S-O kid was unimpressed that they couldn't have the whole large lap pool to themselves (how inconvenient of the Aqua-aerobics class and swim squad to take up half the pool). She asked me to buy her new goggles as her own pair were too stretchy (??). She didn't like the temperature of the therapy pool, the toddler pool is for babies only, and ..... arrggghhhhhh

The evening was long, the night was longer.. they stayed awake until  1 am, until I was making death threats and giving them the evil eyeball stare from the doorway. Miss 8 knew I meant business. The S-O Kid just giggled and ignored me. Eventually with me sitting at the end of the mattresses with my hands in the small of their backs so they couldn't move, they went to sleep.

They were awake at 6.30am giggling and at my doorway asking for breakfast. WTH?? Miss 8 usually has to be forced to eat breakfast somewhere around 10am during the holidays. I do not make anything before I have had at least one cup of coffee.

They have played this morning ... after I banned the TV.. so far my favourite comments have been "Sarah.. don't you even have an I-pod ?"
"I don't eat cereal for breakfast, unless Mum is feeling lazy"
"Can we have some chocolate, can we have some fizzy drink, can we have some chips????"

Here's what I've discovered - other people's kids don't know the "Counting to 3" rule. In our house I count to 3 and you'd better be running in the opposite direction on '3' or all backsides are mine!
In  S-O Kid's house they count to 10. TEN!! What is that about? So I'm counting to 3 and my kids have scrambled, but S-O Kid is still jumping on the couch and trying to body slam the cat. 
"Why Aren't You Running?" I ask.. "I usually wait til '8'...." 
Arrrgggghhhhh!

How do you handle sleepovers from hell? 

the weight of the world

I am not a small girl.

I was when I was a teenager but time, life and lifestyle have crept up and I am no longer what you might call slim. Or trim. Or Svelte,
or even average.

I have a sizable arse and I am curvy.

I know I have weight to lose, but I am also not obsessed by it. I will make it a priority when it is time to be a priority. I am not obese, or in danger, just comfortably plump.
Which is fine and dandy until....

Until I see ........x
Then my weight is very important ( but of course not in a bad way)
Then my weight is an issue (but only mentioned in nice sentences such as "gosh what have you been doing because you've lost weight...")
Except I haven't. I'm the same weight as I was last time we saw each other...

In my life time I have eaten and drunk to excess. I have also starved myself, binged, regretted, used stupid pharmacueticals, denied myself nutrition,  weighed myself, weighed myself weighed myself.....

I fully realise I am a good 20 kilos heavier than I was when I got married. I have also carried and delivered 4 babies and escorted them through childhood, done several rounds of IVF and wreaked havoc on my hormone balance.

I realise my clothes don't fit as well as they did, that I am not trim and terrific. I am aware that I am not a trophy wife.
But I am a good wife, a loyal and giving wife.

It has that many years for me to accept that at 5 ft, I am never going to look like a supermodel. It's taken many therapy sessions to accept that it's ok to be on the curvy side, and making myself crazy over kilojoule counting makes me a very unpleasant wife and mother.

It has taken even longer for me to realise that other peoples issues with my body weight is actually, their problem. That I am great, and people would be happy to be my friend. That my husband (also not svelte) has never ever measured my worth by my waist measurement.
 
My kids love me regardless
My husband loves me regardless

I'm not saying that I have an excuse for not taking care of myself, but there is a fine line between taking care and obsessing, and I don't walk that line well. I currently about walk an hour a day. We eat moderate meals but I don't measure kilojoules. I don't want my girls to buy into the "your weight is everything" bullshit mantra. I want them to appreciate good food, recognise and accept the difference between replete and FULL and to understand that food and weight are not the enemy. I want them to get to know themselves and like themselves without a focus on their waist line measurement. I want them to know that the number on the scales IN NO WAY defines your worth as a human being.

I am the same person on the inside at 70 kgs as at 50 kgs. I am just as worthy, special and interesting.
But right now I like myself.
And that is a huge achievement.

Atre you battling outside voices or are the voices in your head? How do you step away from others expectations and just 'be okay with yourself'?

Not Wordless Wednesday - blossoming

I tried for Wordless Wednesday, I really did, but I am not a "keep your mouth shut" kinda girl.

I took a photo of my bowl of Coco-pops. Not very exciting. I photographed the dog, the cat, the sink, the chair.. nothing exciting. Nothing.

Then I peeked out the window to the beautiful little blossom tree out the front. It's very first spring in our garden, so pretty with perfect white angel blossoms dancing on it's tender branches.

It is generally accepted in our home that I am not allowed to talk to it. 

So I photographed it silently .. wordlessly.....

It's so lovely, and a real, actual, proper plant.

There is a reason I can't talk to it ..... 

 from the Button Bliss files -

I swear I can kill a cactus, a daisy, a geranium.

In the back of my garden there is one tall bushy plant. It sprung from nowhere and I gave it a wide berth, not wanting it to know I knew it was there. It is green and has lots of leaves, and has picked centre stage along the back wall, amongst tragic looking wilting violets.

I started to talk to the plant. Just a little comment here and there. 

"Hello, are you sure you're in the right place??" 

I have watered gently when I didn't think it was looking. I have shooed away the cat, who has lots of other places to dig!!

Imagine my excitement when a couple of weeks ago, a lovely head of flowers emerged at the top of the bush. There were five buds, tightly closed. What colour would they be? 

Sarah and I inspected our new pride and joy for bugs, grubs and other critters who might endanger it. The next morning, after the kids went to school, I wandered out to say hello. There were five beautiful purple flowers, open and happy on my plant. How green are my thumbs right now !! 

                    _____________________

A friend came for a visit, her small children eager to play with Sarah. There we sat, in the early evening, my friend Jo and I, with a glass of wine. I positioned my friend so she had the best view of my gorgeous gardening phenomenon, and I enjoyed the silence that came as she observed and admired it's magnificence.

Then she said- "When are you going to pull that out?"
WWHHAATTT ??? Why would I pull out the only dear plant that has stuck by me?


"Ummm, Lisa, You do know it's a weed - don't you ??"

( INSERT PITYING LOOK FROM JO ! )

"Oh yeah, sure, well, yes I thought, well no actually, but, but, but it's pretty."

The conversation ended abruptly and we moved on to other topics, but I confess my gaze returned again and again to my poor little weed flowers.

I still thought they looked pretty and they certainly were the most loved weeds in Wangaratta.
I let the plant stay til the flowers finished (I didn't let them seed). I thought anything that has managed to live and flower in my backyard deserves to wave it's flowers proudly.

Hope all the flowers in your garden are happy and waving, even the dandelions!