I would, truly I would.

I can’t lie though. Today was not entirely brownie free. I had just one brownie although I am planning that tonight will not be entirely custard free if Beefcake drags himself away from his most demanding mistress (his laptop) and gets his bum into the kitchen to make it for me.

I have reasons, I have reasons.

Poor little Grub develped a fever yesterday evening. My children are very good at spiking bizarre and unexplained temparatures that appear while you have your back turned and then disappear with as much mystery.  Unfortunately poor Grub still has a fever. She has no other obvious symptoms, she is perhaps slightly snotty, her eyes are a bit swollen but there is really nothing  obviously wrong with her apart from a fever and the fact that she will not allow me to put her down. At all. Even to go to the toilet. She has suffered a cuddle from Beefcake a couple of times throughout the day but only for a few minutes. She is not a happy little possum.

In addition to poor Grub’s clinginess and constant breastfeeding (which incidentally meant that I had an eleven month old sleeping ON me all night) Pudding made a late night visit to our bed and insisted on staying. I won’t pretend this is unusual, particularly at the moment, ever since we told him that we were moving he has been making regular trips to our bed and staying. Last night was particularly nice though because he had a little accident in our bed. He hasn’t wet the bed in some time but naturally the perfect time would be in our bed when we already have a sick baby situation.

Now, if you will, imagine that there had been a leaky nappy incident the previous night and you had been too lazy rushed off your feet to wash the resulting dirty linen and what you have is a sheet load (ba doom boom) of uriney washing. The laundry was hip deep with pissy linen and p.j’s. And the nappies were already in the washing machine. Then, for good measure, just throw in the fact that Pudding did not go back to sleep immediately after the peeing incident this morning but instead lay awake in our bed muttering and singing softly to himself while I held Grub and listened to the dulcet tones of the garbage truck trawling down our street and you will see.

You will see that I have been in a shitful mood all day and have had to plaster a grin on my face and pretend to thrill in preparing lunch and caring for the preschooler with a very grumpy and sooky baby welded to my hip because Beefcake has lots of very important and urgent work to do and cannot be interrupted.

This is the downside of having him here all of the time, I fear. I feel like he should be at my beck and call and similarly, his employers feel that he should complete some of the tasks they have allotted to him. Quite the dillemna. Given that we have just bought a new mortgage it seems that the worky things will have to win for the time being. Nevermind, he goes on leave for more than a week as of next Wednesday so I will be sure to get my money’s worth during that period.

Where was I?

Oh yes, brownies and custard. I am deserving, yes?

The morning after I told the internets that we had bought a house our mortgage broker told us that he could not find us a loan. We were crestfallen.

Not to be defeated, Beefcake called around himself and (surprise!) was able to find a very normal and mainstream lender who will give us our crippling long-term debt. It took him an hour. We no longer have the greatest confidence in the mortgage broker.

It was wonderful to be able to re-sign contracts at that final price. We spent most of yesterday numb, we had been through so many moments where we were certain we could not buy this house that our brains just refused to accept the reality of finally having it.

Today we went for a long walk around our neighbourhood. We have bought only a few minutes away from where we have been renting. It is a dream come true to be able to buy in this area. Even though we have been living here for more than a year I don’t think we have allowed ourselves to feel that it was our home and our community – we weren’t here legitimately, we didn’t belong.

Today we walked the streets and whispered to each other – “look at where we get to live!”. I kept nudging Beefcake and saying “We bought a house – here!”. We have felt almost homeless all of this time. Our rental is fine but there is something to be said for having a house we can claim as our own again. I didn’t realise just how much the lack of that had been getting me down. I really didn’t.

We have so many plans for this house, I have so much planning to entertain me. Beefcake says he has never seen me so excited about a house before and this is the third house we have purchased together. It is true, I can see us staying in this new house for a long, long time.

The children are so excited but can’t understand why we must wait to move in.

The school holidays are in full swing now. The novelty of being at home with all this free time has worn off and they are starting to become agitated. When I told Rhubarb tonight that we were not moving until the end of May he moaned and rolled his eyes. I predict that I will have this conversation with one of the children at least 432 times before we actually move. They will ask me each day “how many more days is it now?” and you know what?

I am that overjoyed that I might just answer cheerfully. Every. Single. Time (actually, I guarantee that I will not but I like to imagine that I am the nice calm mother instead of the shrieking banshee woman- sometimes).

P.S. Long walks of suburban admiration are not good for dodgy pelvises (should that be pelvii or something, it feels as though it should have a snazzier plural but I don’t suppose people need to use a plural form of the word pelvis all that often). I still hadn’t recovered from the sugar rush the other day and now I am walking as though I am heavily pregnant again (think limping and leaning on every available surface but as though your ankles are tied together because if you move your feet apart it feels as though you have been kicked in the vagina). I never learn.

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I use a little thing known as an epilator. I have used it for some time. It is excellent.

My underarms and legs remain pretty much hair-free with a minimum of pain and fuss if I am nice and reg-a-lar about it.

However.

I am a bit squeamish when it comes to attending to my bikini line with my epilator. I do it, but if I have left it to grow back at all it is all together too painful for me to manage in one session. I have remembered this and have been keeping it well under control lately. Consequently, this morning it was time to have a quick tidy up after my shower.

Now, your skin needs to be completely dry in order to perform the whole epilation thing. It told me so in the manual when I first bought it and my brain has managed to fire that information at me every time I have used my epilator since. My brain did fire the information this morning. I did not take heed.

Just in case you are not familiar with the way an epilator works, it pulls the hair out by the roots with little rotating tweezer disc thingys- painful if you’re not used to it, some potential for maiming around sensitive areas.

I was in a hurry this morning.

I just have one phrase for you “labia mangling”.

The end.

I digress.

We went to the toy shop to buy a present for Puddings friend. Gift was purchased, all was well. Just as we were about to leave though we spotted these by the window – in a glass case because they are THAT special:

Now, I understand that these are supposed to bring to mind a bit of Cabaret. I can see that, but what I also see is Super Skanky Stripper Barbie, now with bendy limbs.

Perhaps Mattel feel that they have neglected a market share by not catering to all of the little girls who aspire to one day mount chairs wearing fishnets? And, in an extra-specially well thought out move, this is the Barbie they have used to launch “The Pivotal Body”, which, from what I gather, just means she can be bent and posed in real pron star positions. You can bend her every which way. She will teach your daughter the art of keeping one’s limbs flexible. Also, if you fancy a bit of light S&M she comes equipped with chains.

What more could a little girl dream of, really?

Photos from here.

It is the tired of having been to the library and stocked up on book. Books for Pudding and books for me.

It is the tired of having been to the Adelaide Central Market for lunch. We went to our favourite food area in Chinatown, which is adjacent to the market. I had Hainanese style chicken and rice, which sounds very boring but is actually divine. It consists of fried chicken in soy sauce, chopped up (bones and all) served with steamed rice. What makes it so delicious is the fragrant broth, which you pour all over the rice, to make a kind of porridgey, soupy plate of goodness. It is served with a green sauce,  of which I haven’t figured out the contents and a garlic-chilli sauce. I first had it in Malaysia a couple of years ago and have been craving it, pretty much constantly ever since. Beefcake favours the frighteningly hot sizzling plates of stir-fried meat. It is so cheap to eat there and it is one of our favourite treats.

After our lunch we browsed the asian supermarket and picked up some of the special chilli sauce mentioned above,  some yummy tea and canned jackfruit, as well as some pretty paper for Poss to use for craft. We also found time to grab a bunch of Chinese coconut buns, a few different types but basically all sweet with coconut and/or custard. I have eaten enough bun-related goodness to keep me on a sugar high for a month. We also went to my favourite asian grocer to get fresh Thai basil and coriander to add to our salad at dinner – because of course, when one has overindulged in buns, salad evens it all out.

I am knackered. I carried grub in the Ergo and my pelvis hurts. I am going to greab a bppk*, a cup of tea and come jackfruit. I will try and post something interesting tomorrow.

The end.

*It took a little while for me to relaise I had typed “greab a bppk” I would correct it but I think it too beautifully reflects my current state.

1. Do not discuss with sister-in-law the fact that i-phone would make perfect replacement for husband (if only vibration capabilities were improved) in front of teenage son. He will ask you what you were talking about later.
2. Do not flaunt i-phone at husband too much. He will begin feverish coveting of said. Tantruming may result.
3. Do not shut labrador in back part of house when you go out for several hours. She will feel cheated. She will headbutt door and wall. In  rickety old house, this means you will come home to broken bathroom mirror – dislodged from wall and smashed all over bathroom floor*.
4. When vaccuming in bathroom, do not come too close to toilet roll. A roll of toilet paper has never unrolled so fast (Beefcake’s mistake, not mine.).
5. When sending daughter to sleepover birthday party, check her bag. She will forget pyjamas and hairbrush. Other mother now knows your failings as a mother.
6. Do not allow husband in to the supermarket alone. He will run in to sleepover mother. She will bring up the topic of daughter’s nightime coughing. He will make us appear negligent parents. Also, he will not buy milk or dog food.
7. Do not allow teenage son to sms his father. Prick will not bother to respond. Son will be let down. Will take it out on you.
8. Do not post bitchy things on twitter and then admit to sister-in-law that you are on twitter. That is living on the edge.
9. Do not attempt enthusiastic high kick whilst “dancing” with 3-year-old son. You don’t have the pelvis for it.
10. When sending husband out for milk, dog food and chocolate, tattoo the words ‘buy milk’ on his forehead. Not only will he return without milk but he will persist with charade that he did, in fact, purchase milk. He will go out to the car, you will hear the car start, you will hear it pull out of the driveway. When he returns ten minutes later, he will hold up milk and say “found it, it was under Grub’s seat”. You will want to throttle him.
11. Buy more than one can of dog food at a time. Remembering at dinner time EVERY NIGHT  for weeks that you have no dog food will grow tedious over time.

*Note: We have no proof that this is how the mirror became dislodged but, judging by previous headbutting attempts, this seems likely.

5.45pm (just before dinner time for us): Power goes off. Power company website says it will remain this way until at least 8pm.

6.10 pm: Dinner will now be chicken and chips from the chicken shop around the corner.

6.30pm: Beefcake arrives home with dinner, narrowly avoiding mad run on chicken shop as all residents of surrounding neighbourhoods rush to feed themselves in absence of electricity.

6.45pm: We finish eating. Power comes back on. We feel foolish.

7.00pm: Grub loudly protesting getting out of bath as she is cutting four teeth at once and in desperate need of comfort any way she can get it. She hates us. Frustrating blur of child wrangling and noise. Breastfeed.

7.45pm: Pudding in bed. Poss decides she must print out 11 pages of ‘art’ she has made for school on the computer. I say ‘no’. I am evil.

8.45pm: Poss in bed, Grub asleep in my arms. I start to drift off on the couch.

9.00pm: I tell Beefcake I might just have a wee lie down in bed with Grub. Breastfeed, breastfeed, breastfeed again.

12.30am: Grub wakes up, I need to wee. Stagger in to lounge room. Beefcake still working. Grub will not return to sleep once I have relieved myself. I browse the internet while she plays.

1.30am: Pudding up. Needs to sleep in our bed. Scared. Needs torch. Put him back to bed with torch.

1.45am: Pudding cold, needs jumper. Threaten removal of bed curtains if he doesn’t stay in bed. Grub still awake.

2.20am: Annoying rant from Beefcake about my inability to sleep and/or stay in bed. Bicker for a short while. Make sarcastic response about acquiring his permission next time I wish to be up at odd hours. Breastfeed. Grub drifts off.

3.00am: Head to bed with Beefcake. Chat briefly. He falls asleep. Lie awake and stare at wall.

3.35am: Breastfeed.

4.15am: Lie awake and stare at wall planning witty and clever blog post now long forgotten.

4.30am: Worry that some food was not put away in kitchen. Get up to check. Food had been put away.

5.00am: Drift off to sleep. Breastfeed.

5.45am: Awoken by garbage truck emptying our bins.

6.00am: Breastfeed.

7.00am: Alarm goes off. Tell Beefcake to stay in bed. Breastfeed. Get up to make breakfasts/lunches/drive people to school.

Despite it all, I felt quite chipper this morning then, during Pudding’s swimming lesson, Grub killed my phone. You see, last time she killed it, Beefcake was able to take it apart and fix it so that I didn’t get to have to buy a new one (bastard). Thanks to my quick thinking, I was able to avoid a repeat performance of Beefcake as Mr Fixit this morning and score myself one of these (seeing as we were walking right past the phone shop and everything).

I am thrilled. It is shiny and I can do fun things with it.

I am in lurve.

Beefcake is jealous. He won’t admit it but I can tell.

So, on to pictures – taken using my new toy. Which is actually quite hard to hold still and take photos with. I do not have a steady hand.

Badness, who incidentally is clever and artistic and creative, has asked to see what I did, as has Magic Marker Mom, so you can blame them. Anyway, this is Grub’s blankie. I have shaped it so that she can hold each of the pointy bits for her to grip in her chubby little fist……..

And here is the other side, with the strokable satin side, which she already loves to touch and hold to her face….

I haven’t shown it but I have sewn around the edges of some of the birds so that it holds together, instead of having the two layers pull apart.

Finally, the bed curtains, these are definetely not a sewing masterpiece. We picked up some cheap fabric from Ikea. Pudding’s bed sits partly underneath Poss’ loft bed, which makes it easy for us to create a “bed tent” for him.

So, there you have it, really. Photographic proof that I have put needle to fabric.

Aren’t you glad I showed you?

I sewed some bed curtains for Pudding, so that he can pretend his bed is a tent. He is thrilled but it still didn’t stop him from coming into our bed at 2am. Then I sewed a new attachment blankie for Grub. Now, I had bought this gorgeous Alexander Henry fabric to make a blanket for her weeks ago (by which I mean prior to Christmas). I have been meaning to do something with it and lately she has taken to pulling out my hair as she drifts off to sleep. I couldn’t cope anymore. I am quite pleased with it actually. I paired with some purdy limey green satin for strokeability and she seems to like it enough to consider relinquishing her fistfuls of hair.

I have decided that, although the sewing was reasonably successful, it is actually a force for disharmony in my body. I has quite a sore pelvis last night and today I have been quite bad. I can see no other cause. It has to be the sewing, I have to make some small adjustments to her blankie and then I am burying the sewing machine in the linen cupboard and never getting it out again. I should be grateful I suppose, I am currently floating on a sea of pain free happy thoughts. I have taken the good painkillers. My doctor assures me that they are safe for breastfeeding and having consulted the Great Google, I can see that they are. However, I have irrational paranoias that I will cause Grub to grow a second head or that her brain will leak out of her ears so I never do. It all go too much for me this afternoon – a trip to playgroup and the supermarket left me barely able to walk – and I have allowed Beefcake to dose me with drugs. It is wonderful to be pain-free for a short while. I can move my hips in ways that are appropriate to a woman in her early thirties, not an arthritic octogenarian.

The only problem is, I am not that used to strange things in my system and it sends me a bit funny in the head.

I should not be allowed near my laptop, to interact with the outside world. I know this and yet, here I am.

Right, I;ve just read through that and I can see that it is about as coherent as a Neighbours plotline but I can not fathom how I would fix it. See?

I might go for a nice lie down.

I tend to have regular cleansing sessions and therefore have lost much of the real fashion tragedies that have adorned my gorgeous bod over the years. I have had many a sad encounter with man made fibres and more fashion victim moments than I can count but I have been ruthless and they have all ended up with one charity or another. All of them except a choice bag of vintage clothes which, while mostly hideous and tragic, have some special importance to me.  So, in admiration of MMM’s tragically full wardobe, I give you my version of a fashion tragedy:

I do not remember where I bought this little number. I do remember being enchanted with the Lurex and believing that it was the most stunning 70’s number I had ever seen. I loved it and wore it many times, although in recent years it has only been trotted out as a fancy dress costume. Here it is as worn by a mystery model who did not wish to appear on my blog in heels and a dress if people could identify facial features:

God, can’t you just hear him telling a therapist all about this at some future date. Goodness he looks chic though!

I’m just looking at the label now and it was apparently made by an outfit called Kenneth Pirrie, who was obviously some really glam and fabulous designer of the sixties and seventies. It lists the make-up of the fabric as being a composition of Lurex and Orlon, which everyone knows are the kings of the synthetic fibre world.

It is truly hideous, I know, but after this, it will be folded and returned to the bag underneath my bed where all such treasures reside because I simply can’t get rid of it.

Drugs, which I cannot have.

Arsehole.

Anyhow, it turned out well because he decided to stop working after a few hours today and we spent the rest of the day making comfort food. Comfort food involving pasta and cake, which I should not have. Beefcake makes a gorgeous ginger cake, which is baked in a large baking dish. This is lucky because we tend to need to eat that much of it. Today, being terribly ill, he had put it in the oven when I noted it was rather less thick than usual and lacking in volume. On questioning, it turns out that he had added the ingredients in a rather haphazard order and had somehow forgotten to add one of the cups of flour. We managed to rescue the cake but he has been banned from baking. Still, I have indulged heartily in the carbohydrates and will now need to spend the next couple of days whispering nasty things to myself as punishment.

I stupidly went to bed at about 8pm with Grub and will now be awake until a million o’clock but at the time it seemed I had no choice as I was about to pass out from tired. Since I got up again, Poss has been up  to get a drink and has begun laying the groundwork towards spending the day at home tomorrow. Think lots of moaning about blocked noses etc. We just heard her moaning in her sleep though so I think she may genuinely be sick.

Poor Rhubarb, he who brought the pestilence to our house, has been punished severely by enduring his first Monday fitness training for rowing squad. Poor baby had sport just before school finished and then went on to do 90 minutes of situps and rowing practice and the like. He seemed to enjoy it but I notice that his light was out early this evening, which can only mean he was knackered.

Right then, I might try and lay about and moan a bit before trying to head to bed again…… Or perhaps some more cake? Mmmmmm.