Recently, Pudding has become obsessed with weapons of all kinds…

and fighting…..

and killing.

All of this has been quite a pain in my arse. I have never allowed him to have toy weapons etc in the past. This was also the policy with the older kids. I hate that he likes all this violence stuff. I mean, he really knows how to pick the behaviour, which will elicit the most judgement laden responses from all that we encounter.

The thing is, it doesn’t matter if we fail to provide appropriate weaponry for our 3-year-old. He is happy to create “guns” from a rolled up place mat (one of his fave’s) or a sword from any object, which is remotely similar in shape (rolling pins, toy golf clubs, sticks). He also enjoys fashioning jousting sticks from whatever is handy (think rakes and brooms) and charging at people.

Lately we have been just allowing him to have the odd weapony toy, with the understanding that he can only fight “monsters” (apparently many of these live in our back yard) and robots (little did I know the sheer numbers of “grumpy” robots, which abide in our home).

We suspect that some raucous play with Rhubarb (12) is partly the source of inspiration for his battle obsession but it also seems to come from a special place inside of him called “boy”. He just loves to jump about pretending to “pow pow” or “ching ching” people – yes, sometimes it’s hard not to laugh when he makes those sound effects. I just don’t have the energy to use the banging my head against a brick wall approach of trying to talk him out of it every time he wants to go on a guns/sword rampage. I just reckon he’ll get over it and we just have to ride it out.

So, we were particularly pleased the other day to capture Pudding passing on the legacy, as it were, to Grub. She may be young, but she sure can wield a blade.

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

In other news, our couches arrived and we love, love, love them. Very pleased. Even though it didn’t all go down as planned, I was being a bit of a whinger. We love them and don’t feel ripped off. Also, our measuring skills appear to be just a touch spazzy. I think it may just be that we were only visualising in two dimensions because OMG. They’re huge. Plans for armchairs have been put on hold. Cue offer of new laptop for me!!! Score!! We went and picked one up today. I love it, but not so much as Beefcake, who, apart from just loving any new gadgets, was very pleased to be allowed to whack a more nerd-friendly operating system on it for me. Sometimes being married to a computer nerd has it’s advantages.

Hey. So, I’m obviously very new to this blogging thing and, in order to get into the swing of it a bit more, I’ve decided to try to do NaBloPoMo this month.

I feel a little bit anxious. Until now I’ve had these few regular people come and read and comment every couple of days or whatever. It’s been lovely. I’m soooooooooooo grateful. I know I’m only new but one tends to feel quite the loser when nobody drops by. Hehe.

So, I’m a little bit torn. I mean, I write this stuff (which is essentially just compulsive brain vomit) really just to spare my family a bit from all my annoying ramblings. I also write, I s’pose, so that I have a record of stuff and cos it’s fun and cos in a bit of a vain sort of way, I’m interested to see what will come out in all the brain vomit. The thing is, I hadn’t really factored in other people reading it until after I started it. So now, that I’m doing this NaBloPoMo thingy, I have to face the reality that others may come by and read.

I know, I know, that’s a good thing. It is a good thing, but it gives me anxiety nontheless. So, as I embark on this anxiety-ridden endeavour, I’d like to ask for some assistance from those few who comment here.

I feel I can trust you in an odd way. You are the safe, familiar territory.

So, anyone who is out there, please hit me with some bloggy tips, etiquette, stuff that I almost definetely will not know. You’ll have a lot to choose from because I really know almost nothing. I’ve been reading the blogs of many others for a while but I really just set this up one day and started.

I am on my ‘L’ plates (Australian driver’s lisence reference, hehe).

Help!!!!

Today was just a whole pile of arse. Allow me to explain.

This month, my ever so nerdy and heroically hard-working Beefcake, earned a little bit of extra cash doing overtime. This was fortuitous as our two couches had both died in the last week or two. I don’t mean they were getting a bit old and scuzzy. Seams had come apart left, right and centre. The zips that held the cushion covers on had all broken, and, to top it off, Pudding had a little accident when he fell asleep one afternoon on the couch. As hard as I tried, I COULD NOT GET THE SMELL OUT!!!

So, on Sunday, we did the rounds of the furniture stores and found some seriously good options. We decided on leather for wipeability because, apart from the accidents, the children seem to make frequent small deposits of crapulence and scuzz. We were trying to decide between two options that were reasonably priced but thought we would check one last store……

…and there it was.

I spotted it as soon as I walked in. Angels sang. It was the perfect couch. Not just the perfect couch but two ONE OF A KIND couches and a beautiful oversized armchair, which would be mine. The perfect couches (and armchair) also happened to be less than half price, way better than everything else we had looked at and available to be delivered to us NOW!! I have to say, it was quite the exciting time.

We organised for the ONE OF A KIND suite to be delivered Wednesday as that was what suited us. We paid. We went home and measured. We planned, we giggled with glee and expectation.

This morning they called to say that our purchase would be with us between 10 an 12 . We cleared out the room, vaccumed, mopped, dusted, tidied the whole house and waited anxiously.

At 12:05 we got the call. They are very sorry, the perfect ONE OF A KIND couches (and armchair) were accidentally DOUBLE SOLD. They were delivered to someone else already. They are gone.

Needless to say, we went through a range of emotions. Most notably feeling regally pissed off.

They were prepared to offer us:

1. A refund.
2. A replacement from their store, which they would discount to a similar level.
3. The same couches, at the same price, ordered from fucking Timbuktu or something because if we chose this option, we would recieve them in March. March people.

So obviously we didn’t choose option 3. At first we just asked for our money back, but you know what, if we get our money refunded to our account (cos we paid with card) it will take time for our bank to process that. Our bank has been known to take up to a week in some cases. If we don’t order something soon, we’ll never have it before christmas. We had already seen some things that were sold out until after christmas.

We called back. The long and the short is we went to their store and, while everything there made me gag, turns out they had another ONE OF A KIND perfect couch. Two in fact. In a different leather and a different colour. That we liked. Both of us.

They also gave it to us for far less than we had originally paid and presented us with a refund cheque.

Here’s the truly awful part though. NO ARMCHAIR. I’m gutted. I’ve been dreaming of my armchair for days now. We got an ottoman instead but it’s not the same.

Beefcake says I can buy another armchair with all the money we got back from them. I’ll be trying to pull the mismatched couches and armchair look. I’m not sure about that. What if I fail to pull it off??

I’m kind of excited. We got to take the ottoman home with us. The rest will be delivered tomorrow.

I’m checking out armchairs.

The thing is, all this crap has really taken the gloss of the purchase for me. I mean, Beefcake and I went and found furniture we BOTH liked and we bought it. I got to spend money. Money we don’t normally have to spend.

It was meant to be an extra-special foray into consumerism. A chance to indulge my materialistic side.

Those arsehats ruined it. Now I’ll always have the almost perfect extra specially cheap couch, instead of the ONE OF A KIND perfect couch which was a super-indulgent once in a lifetime (ok realistically maybe decade??) purchase.

Arsehats.

To top it off, Pudding became ill this afternoon and we spent so much time stuffing around with furniture today that Beefcake will be working all night.

(I know, this is a really self-indulgent, shallow post, oh well)

Edited to add: Beefcake just entered the room and said “Hmmm, I wonder what this feels like on a naked arse”, pulled his pants down at the back and bounced playfully on the ottoman a coupla times. I just stared in jaw-dropped, open mouthed horror. Eewwww.

The Australian government is planning to strip me (and all other Australians) of my right to view what I wish on the internet.

They are planning to force all ISP’s to apply filter’s, which will restrict what can be viewed over the internet.

The idea is to protect children from viewing objectionable material over the internet.

The filter will be compulsory, everywhere.

We will have no say in what we choose to view or not view in our homes.

Now, there’s a lot of stuff on the internet that I wouldn’t want my kids viewing. Hell, there’s A LOT of stuff on the internet that I wouldn’t want to view. The things is, at the moment, it’s my choice. I choose what information I accept or ignore or reject.

As for my children, well, my job as a parent is to protect them. That’s why they get supervised when they use the internet. IT’S MY JOB to take care of my kids’ emotional wellbeing. To make sure that they are protected. It’s not my government’s job to use my taxes to babysit them. I CAN HANDLE IT!!!

I can not believe that our government is really trying to pull this puritanical nanny-state crap.

If this goes ahead, you have to wonder how they will define inappropriate material. How will I know what information the government has decided that I should not see?

I’m very angry about this. I think all Australians should be.

It’s a slippery slope people, a slippery slope.

Go check this out:
http://nocleanfeed.com/index.html

A rap by Pudding at bedtime.

I love my Mummy
I love my Daddy
I love my Grub
I love our house
I don’t like poo
I don’t like vomit
I don’t like guns
I poo on the toilet
Ya better watch out

Word.

Note: This was written last week, actually as more of an exercise in catharsis than anything else. Beefcake, however, has encouraged me that I should post it, I guess to send it out there and free myself from it. I don’t know if I’ll feel comfortable leaving it up. We’ll see how we go.

Ugh. My house is a pit. A filthy, filthy pit. I’ve had mastitis, I’ve now got a cold so I’ve really been running on half speed all week and it just doesn’t cut it. It’s annoying and I’m quite the anal retentive domestic freak at times so it probably bugs me more than it would a lot of people. So, I had placed grub on the floor for a play, so I could quickly race around and try and make the house habitable, when she called. To be fair, this is the fourth time in as many days she has called to check on me. The first three times either Beefcake or Poss fielded the call and told her I was napping or in the shower or whatever.

Today I answered the phone.

I really have no reason not to talk to her. Except…. I find myself feeling resentful. It’s not a nice emotion. It feels like something uncomfortable under my skin. It sits there and I feel it, but it doesn’t diminish. In fact, I feel it grow and maybe it’s growing into anger. Real fiery anger. Anger I could never, would never, express to her. She hasn’t done anything wrong really. She just stays with him. She stays and she puts up with the crap. I have opted out but she stays. I have put my health and my sanity and my sense of peace ahead of my “obligation”. She only sees her obligation. She only sees his needs. She doesn’t care to remember what we’ve all had to put up with. What we’ve all had to go through. She doesn’t see the hand that she has in it all. She could have spared us. She should have spared us.

So now, now that I finally have the strength to stand apart and say “no, I won’t do this any more” I feel angry. I feel angry that she doesn’t acknowledge all that we’ve had to endure. I feel angry that she has the nerve to try to whine about having to bear the burden. I resent that after it all, after she had left and promised not to go back, she is there and I know now that she will stay no matter what he does. She has no limit. I want to exclude her from my life too but I can’t for fear that it would break her. But she knows. She must know that my monosyllabic, barely civil conversation is strained almost to breaking. She must know that it breaks my heart.

So I will slowly drift away from my mother. She chooses my father. He is a drunk, he is abusive, he is mentally ill. Our lives have been dominated by his needs for decades. I have opted out. She has opted in. And so we go our separate ways, but we don’t speak openly of it. We go our separate ways.

I feel I have no mother, but she will continue to call and come and sit in my house and we will chat and it will all remain unsaid.

Because I have nothing to give any more.

Today we were heading to a friends house and we needed to pick a few things up at the supermarket and bring them home before we headed out. We got the car windows tinted yesterday and so the kids car seats were out of the car. Beefcake was crawling in the back to attach Grub’s car seat to the roof when I hear “AAARRRGGGHHH”. He’d banged his head on something (we still haven’t figured out exactly what). His head was bleeding profusely. As scalp wounds do. It was a bit yucky but we fixed him up and did our shopping. I thought he was fine.

We headed over to our friends’ house and had a lovely afternoon eating the triple cream brie that we bought and watching the kids splash about in the paddling pool. It was very, very hot here today. At one point Beefcake and our friend, I’ll call him M, had gone off to do something a bit sus but us wives (S and I) thought nothing of it. I actually assumed they were going off to have a cigarette. Something they both do from tme to time.

Anyway, as we leave, M says something to S and she pisses herself laughing and apologises to me. Ummmm, fine, I assume they are having some sort of in-joke. Whatever. I didn’t think too much of it. Then we arrived home.

I looked in the back of our car. Guess what I saw?

Turns out the boys had decided that Beefcake’s lack of surround sound system (to match his recently purchased tv) was a tragedy. Turns out M had a spare (who has a spare surround sound system, I ask you) that wasn’t really worth putting up for sale.

In the back of my car were two waist-high (ugly as FUCK) speakers, a massive and equally ugly amp and assorted other crap. Clearly Beefcake has sustained some serious brain-damage.

Our lounge-room is not large. They are ugly and ridiculous. He claims he didn’t think I would react badly. Pig’s arse. He knew I would hate them or he wouldn’t have felt the need to hide them from me. Moron. I texted M to tell him what I thought of him. He said he was happy to be able to help out old friends. Arse.

I’m thinking he regrets it now. I was NOT quiet about how I feel about the speakers in my lounge room. The annoying thing is, now that they are here, I look like I’m being unreasonable if I insist he disposes of them. M will not take them back. Does that mean I have to let him win?? God, he’s got some sucking up to do.