I love it. It is pretty, it comes in a range of lovely colours but this is my fave. It is limey green, green makes me happy and peaceful and serene. The thing about it is, it’s not got the most powerful motor. It’s a bit of a baby motor, if truth be told. Although I love it and would love someone to be willing to spend that amount of money on buying one for me (by that amount I mean lots of dollars by the by), I wondered if there were not something better out there.

It turns out that in Australia we get a bit of a raw deal actually. There are a shit ton of fabulous stand mixers made by Kitchenaid that have tougher motors and better features. The artisan (above) has plastic dough hook and paddle, it is a tilt arm mixer and the motor is a touch pathetic (for the price). I’m a little bit torn. The artisan comes in an array of pretty colours that make me go “oooooooh shiny!” but I just feel they lack substance.

This, does not lack substance:

This is the Professional 600 series. It has a much bigger motor and is a bowl lift mixer, which I have read would be better for my arthritis (grasping at straws much?). It has a stainless steel dough hook and paddle.  It does not come in the same array of pretty enamels but I like the one pictured here or there is a super glossy black or slightly matte black that are both very appealing.

Now, here’s where it gets tricky. You cannot buy this in Australia. You cannot buy it in the UK. You can only buy this baby in the US, with their 110v power. Cue long and very confusing discussions and research of stepdown voltage converters (which cost eleventy seven billion dollars) and may or may not address the issue of frequency as well, which may or may not burn out the motor if it is not addressed correctly.

The problem is that now I have want. Very much want.

I also have such a thing as a dangerously irresponsible and sweetly indulgent husband. It is not often that I get true want. Just occasionally I become so obsessed with an object that I think about it night and day and want, want, want! Truthfully I usually worry about buying myself a new mascara or replacements for my holey undies.

Beefcake has told me to buy it when we get paid. I have told him no, we should save and maybe he could get it for my birthday.

The thing is, it’s a big investment for something that may ultimately not work properly ever or may end up needing a new motor to make it work here but………want?

Obviously there are no photos, well actually, Beefy did take some on his phone for me but I have not gotten around to uploading them and quite frankly they are much the same as last year’s.

It was almost unbearably hot. We were very lucky really. We began by hovering at the back of the crowd right at the parade kick-off point. We made it just in time to witness the blowing of the whistle and there must be something a little wrong with me as I was overcome with nostalgic emotion, I still remember taking the big kids to Pageant when they were quite small and they are so big now it seems almost unbelievable. Anyway, we sweltered in the full glare of the headingto39degrees sun for a few minutes by which time we all needed to take a break. We retreated to the shade provided by the portico of a large office building and … There we stayed.

Once we were there we realised that it afforded us a pretty good view and there was no risk of sun stroke. A no-brainer really. We lifted the kids up when the Big Guy came past and Pudding was so thrilled when Father Christmas waved in our direction. I felt crushingly guilty that we were filling his little mind full of Father Christmas propganda, something I am ideologically opposed to. In practice I get caught up in the “magic” of it all and can’t resist spinning the tale for them. Terrible.

All in all Pageant was worth it, despite the heat. The walk wasn’t too bad and I feel like it’s such a special thing to give to my kids. I spent most of my childhood in Melbourne, although my extended family were all in SA. I always felt not quite Victorian and not quite South Australian and I guess I feel that sharing these intrinsically South Australian things with our kids will provide them with a more solid sense of identity. Maybe, or something.

It was not worth losing my iphone though. The camera has recovered from it’s dunking, probably because it was in it’s nice padded case and my poor wee phone was nude.

*Sob*

There is hope, however. Apparently Apple will replace a water damaged iphone under warranty for about $260 including postage and all. So, we can’t quite do that for a couple of weeks due to the state of our finances but fingers crossed in a couple of weeks I will be able to hold the that gorgeous piece of electronics in my hand once again. Seriously, I feel like I have lost a limb!

Which is ridiculous because that is all I can think about all of the time.

So.

They turned down our offer. They have decided to be as uncooperative as possible and simply counter-signed the contract at their original asking price, some $25k over our offer. We do not have that money.The house is not worth that even if we did.

We have made a second offer of a few thousand more. They are now taking the long weekend to consider it. I am not sure why they need to keep dragging this out. They have no other offers on the table. We know this now. They can either take our offer or keep their house basically. I think that they must believe we have a stack of cash up our sleeves and if they keep us waiting we will become desperate.

We have pretty much decided to walk away if they continue to be so unbending following this offer. If they attempt to negotiate properly we have a small amount of room to negotiate with them but we are pretty much at our limit now anyway.

The thing is, as soon as we saw this house, I knew it was ours. We both did. We went to the inspection knowing how much we were willing to offer. We already knew we loved it. IT IS OURS.

I will still be devastated if we do not get it but I am having to face the reality that these people do not seem to want to sell their house at any sort of reasonable price. In the end, we may be thwarted by their unrealistic expectations.

It also may not be the right time for us to buy.There seems to be obstacles erected at every turn. Now the mortgage people are saying their may be some problems securing a loan against Beefcake’s income as he earns in a foreign currency.

So, so stressful.The strain has caused me to be an emotional idiot. I do not cry well at the best of times. Give me an emotional movie or book plot and I’m away but my own real life crises do not lead me to shed tears easily. I am irritable and nasty. I had a good sob over something I read on the internet last night though. Sometimes a good cathartic weep is what’s needed.

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The big kids are with their father and stepmother for a couple of days. We get them back tomorrow morning before we head to the in-laws for an Easter gathering. I have had two distressed phonecalls from Rhubarb because his quite highly strung stepmother had a fit and locked herself in her room. The reason? Her thirteen-year-old stepson wasn’t making polite enough conversation and she was angered, feeling that he didn’t like her. They were on their way somewhere and they turned the car around and went home for her to have her fit. Rhubarb hid behind the garden shed and called me. He told me she had also yelled at Poss.

It is quite comical really. Their father overheard Rhubarb talking to me and was concerned that he was talking to himself. He called Beefcake to ask if R had been in touch with us. They have interpreted Rhubarb’s monosyllabic grunting as depression and I think they felt he may be having some sort of episode. This is how in touch with Rhubarb they are.

They know him, not at all. He is a happy NORMAL teenager. He has heaps of friends and got a good report from school the other day. His stepmum had a big talk to Beefcake and we learned she has all sorts of bizarre ideas about the kids. It is such a strain for me not to march right around there and bring the kids home. Rhubarb insisted that he would like to stay but also said he doesn’t think he’ll be going back in a hurry.

We go round and round like this. He sees them. They are awful to him. He takes a break from seeing them and then gradually eases himself back into it and we are back where we started. They have no idea how to parent him and are not in touch with who he is AT ALL.

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It is not all gloom and doom. We were gifted with zoo membership for Christmas last year and had not had a chance to use it. Today we decided to take the small ones so we packed a spur of the moment picnic and headed off for a few hours. It was thoroughly enjoyable. The four of us had a lovely time and because it was free we didn’t have to try to fit in seeing everything, squeezing every last cent out of the exorbitant entry fee. I think we will try and use it a lot from now on, we had a ball.

I will post some photos tomorrow, or not, you know how it is.

I am a bundle of nervous energy.

I went and spent the day with Patchouli! and Spawn #1 and #2 today. Spawn #2 is now three months old and he is chubbalicious and sweet and smiley and delightful. Spawn #1 is suffering badly from the green eyed monsters and displays his distaste for the state of affairs by quite weird and erratic behaviour. It’s a hard gig this Auntie business. I adore my nephews and feel very close to them but that leads to the temptation to tell Spawn #1 off when he is being aggressive and bizarre and that would not help at the moment. Poor little guy. He is giving Patchouli! a run for her money. She is finding it all a bit much and feels a failure as a mother. She is, of course, a wonderful mother and Spawn #1 is a gorgeous boy who is just finding life a bit hard to deal with at the moment. New babies suck the way they take all of Mummy and Daddy’s attention. You can see his little mind is crying out “Usurper!” but he is very sweet with his brother, poor little man.

Where was I?

Oh, the house, yes. We have not heard from the agent. Well, actually, she accidentally called tonight (meant to dial someone else) and told Beefcake to hang in there as the vendors are still “mulling it over”. This is good as it means, at least, that they have not said no to our offer. They are considering it. There is hope.

I think about it constantly. I have planned the kitchen (it needs a new one as soon as we move in because the current one consists of a stove and two cupboards) and priced the appliances I would like to buy. I have planned where all of the furniture will go and priced some built-in storage we would need in part of the house. I have chosen paint colours for some of the things I would like to change. It is not good. My poor little mind is struggling with the concept that they may refuse our offer. Beefcake is this close (about a milimetre) to telling me to be quiet. I am making him nervous. He is doing a remarkable job of going about his business and not worrying about it. I am reminding him every five seconds by messaging him links to an oven I like or a kitchen I think is shiny and pretty. He has told me I need to calm down.

I am trying but it is sooooooo exciting.

I shall fall apart if we don’t get it.

I can not be mature about it.

I shall simply collapse in a heap.

Somebody tell me something mature. Make me be a grown-up. I’m embarrassing myself.

It is true, I have not been in the best of moods of late. I have been suffering a lot with my pelvis. Chronic pain is very hard. It makes me grumpy. It makes me grumpy that the children think that I am lazy and that they roll their eyes when they are asked to lift or carry something for me. That they moan when they are asked to help out. Then I feel guilty because they are children. They have a right to expect a normal functional mother. I don’t expect them to see that every step that I take hurts, that to stand and cook their meals and to bend to lift a basket full of their washing causes me to wince with the pain. They are just children, egocentric and grouchy little pixies, they are.

So Beefcake knows that I am buying myself a little bit of pain relief, a little bit of happy indulgence. He knows I will treasure it. I don’t feel that guilty about the bag but I do feel guilty about making him feel he has to keep me happy. I don’t want to be the sadsack that he is trying to keep on an even keel. He said to me today that he remembers this time from when Pudding was small. He tells me it was very bad, I was in lots of pain then too but I did get  better over time. I don’t remember being pain-free. My brain is not cooperative all of the time. He tells me I will get there again and in the meantime we can all manage. I wonder why he is so nice to me. It must be a bit of a bore to have a foul-tempered invalid for a wife.

I suppose he must love me a bit.

It caused two things two happen:

1. I forgot my friends birthday yesterday because, without my computer to anchor me to reality, I was floating about the world with nary a sense of date or time. That is crap because I never forget my friends birthdays. I groveled but I’m not sure that it worked.

2. I realised that I have not read a book since Grub was born. I have read a magazine, I have read *ahem* a few blog posts, I have managed to read the blurbs of several books, whilst shopping for the Christmas presents of others but no whole books.

Now, problem one was a once off. It’s regrettable but she’ll get over it because who could stay mad at me? Problem number 2, however, requires serious remedial action to be taken.

Ordinarily I read a lot. I guess lately I have just taken my new found internet obsession a little bit too far.

This was never more apparent than today, when, during a quick visit to Borders so that Rhubarb could spend a voucher he got for Christmas, I lost the plot.

I started picking up books in the SciFi/Fantasy section and fondling them wistfully. Beefcake thought my behaviour was quite bizarre. The heady aroma of new book was too much for me and I was nearly completely overcome. I found myself holding things up for Beefcake and exclaiming over the beautiful binding or cover.  I usually enjoy a good visit to Borders as much as the next person but today’s visit took it to a whole new level. I had to remove myself  as I knew that any selection I made today may have been based purely on a pretty title font as opposed to any real desire to read the book’s contents. I also have four or five unread novels at home that are on my ‘to read’ list, so in an act of incredible restraint on my part, I left empty handed.

So, in light of my little “episode” I have decided to allow myself some designated reading time each day. Having days without even opening my computer doesn’t work for me either so I am going to try to strike a balance between my current level of internet time and none at all. I am determined to win back some time from my internet obsession. To win back some time for words written on paper, words that smell of new book and can be held in my hands.

Wish me luck.

I have a very scary deep dark secret, I love Hungry Jack’s (Burger King everywhere else). I love it in an “I know it’s wrong to love you and I feel cheap and dirty after we have had an encounter (not to mention unwell) but I can’t seem to get over you” way. That is why I was quite wrongly excited to hear that Burger King in the US is releasing* a fragrance that apparently smells like a flame-grilled whopper. I tried to buy some but it would not let me as I am not in the US. This just sounds so disgusting, I can’t believe it’s real. I hope so because, OMFG, how awesome, or disgusting, I don’t know .

*I would like to add that I am not entirely sure if this is real or not so if it’s not, don’t laugh and call me an idiot. My radar for such things is temporarily out of action**.

**That’s my story and I’m sticking to it.

Okay, also, the person who uses those annoying “Baby on Board” signs in their car. That person, I mean, of course I’m driving along thinking, “who to ram with my car, who to ram with my car” but seeing that sign stops me at the last second and I rethink my way of life. NO. Moron. Those signs are stupid. So, um, that person annoys me.

Lets see, what else, no, really, I can’t think of anything else. Oh yes, hang on, there is one little thing. You see, in Australia (and in England actually), it is popular to refer to the eighth letter of the alphabet [h] as “haitch”. Now, this one, this one really does bother me. In fact, it drives me round the bend. I’ve considered having t-shirts made that read “h not h” or “aitch not haitch” when I’m feeling more generous and like I should really spell it out for people (hehe, I’m hilarious, I know). I have to fight the urge to correct people all the time. I know it shouldn’t, I know it’s a little thing. I’m sure that the people making this mistake believe that this is the way it is said. I mean, I know I don’t know everything, I’m sure I say clueless stupid things all the time and go on with my life, never knowing I’ve been an arse. I just can’t help myself though, it drives me bonkers.

I have considered buying a dictionary so that I can shove the entry for “aitch” in their faces. Or directing people to look it up, research it for themselves, when I correct them. However, I don’t want to appear as though I am a know-it-all wanker pants, so I don’t correct. I have been doing a good job of stifling my rage up until recently. What changed recently??

Poss.

Poss has come home recently (actually I think it started back in London) saying “haitch”. Beefcake also finds it very annoying. We’ve both made it clear to her that no such letter exists. She has called me “obsessed”. She has said “It dosen’t matter Muuuuuuuuuuuum!”. But it does matter. It matters and now it is war.

I declare war on all haitch sayers. I will reclaim my daughter from your filthy ranks. She will no more be corrupted by your unwholesome influence.

Aitch will prevail.