My friend Sam

I've got a story.  Its only the beginning of a story and my part of this story is only 2 weeks old.
I'm in the Fucked Off stage of the story.  The Cry cause life feels a bit shit and unfair stage.  The fiercely protective stage and I'm only the bystander in this chapter.  Imagine being the main character.  My friend Sam is the main character.  This chapter started just over two weeks ago for me.  Two weeks???!! WTF it feels like two months.
So my friend Sam has a cunty brain tumor.  There I said it and I wrote it down, does that mean it will get the fuck out of her head space now.  Nope cause that's a perfect world and that's not how this chapter works apparently, so says her medical team.  Part of me gets why that arsey tumor picked Sam's brain, if you had to chose one hers would be a pretty epic spot to hang in.  It's full of smart shit and good memories, great advice and big plans.  It doesn't go for bullshit gossip or getting hung up on the small stuff.  Its laid back and easy going.  Its kind and funny and clever, but its hers and you weren't invited tumor and your not wanted.  So get the Fuck out.  If I wrote this chapter, that little beasty would be in a jar on her mantle piece for us to do voodoo on it.  Or we would have had a bon fire on her beach and chucked it in the surf.  Instead we will have to say nice things to it and surround it with all the positive juju vibes so it stays small and then my friend Sam can stay with us a lot longer.  We're not finished with her yet, not by a long shot.
I met Sam through Niels.  You must know Niels, he knows everybody.  They live in their little piece of actual paradise in Whangamata with their two Divine dogs.  It's the whole white picket fence story without the lame picket fence.  Instead its surf boards, cool music, citrus trees, beach walks and styley shit.  I don't think they even own winter clothes anymore.  It's the lifestyle that we all not so secretly want.  We live through them.  Bonus of their life is we get a wicked pad to hang in and drink in and relax in whenever we can get our arses up there.
When all this kicked off Sam started a private message group on FaceBook so she could keep us updated on the hospital stays and the surgery and then the waiting for the results.  While all that part was going on the fb group evolved into Sam's Army,  this amazing safe place full of sunsets and sunrises, funny memories and kick arse love and support.  It wasn't even for me but I felt all of it.  I felt this heart connection with people I hadn't even met.  She had this and We had her.  Then we were all supposed to get the good news and start phase two of supporting her while she did some chemo or radiation or both, the story would then continue into recovery and a Fucken massive party.  That was my plan.  I had that story all written.
But Friday night changed that story.  Terminal.  Grade 4 Glioblastoma.  Don't google it she said.
I googled it.
Its Sunday now.  Two days later.  Two. Two. ironic that, that is our favourite number.  Not important but noteworthy.  Yesterday I told myself that today, was the day to get off the sad train and get on the dance floor at the positive party.  I think like Sam said its going to be an Emotional Roller Coaster.  No rules.  Go with it.  Hands in the air.  I'm going to write when I need too.  She is too.  Everyone has a chapter in this story, this is just mine.

 

Both these photos involve warm water and copious amounts of booze xx

Sam's beautiful friend Sara has started a givealittle page.  Its a no pressure way to be apart of Sams story.  Heres the link xx

Donate via Givealittle

I turned 39 and died a little inside

I know I haven't blogged for ages, I'm just going to skip over that and pretend like I've been on here all year.  Lets not dwell on the past, onwards and upwards and all that shit.  Its cause I've just started a new proper adult full time job.  OK I only started that like a month ago so can't use that as an excuse...anyway I said I wasn't going to go on about it.

It was my birthday recently.  The big '3 9'.  and when you get to this age, presents aren't an expectation, more of a bonus when it happens.
But there are 2 people who always make sure I have actual presents wrapped to open.
One of those people is my lovely mother.  I say Lovely cause she is kind and sweet and all things Yellow.  I got the present out of the mail box a few days earlier than my actual special day and it said "Do not open til the 16th"... unfortunately while I was reading and heeding that warning message, the paper accidentally ripped, and before I could avert my eyes I noticed inside was a book.  Books are my crack.  Funnily enough I had just finished a book so what bloody good timing it was that the paper ripped that day and I had to start her book early.  Actually not my fault.
My mother has given me books in the past and they have generally been really different to what I normally would choose, but there's always some background behind the books she picks so I'm always really keen to check out what she sends me.  I have freaken loved all her past choices and have recommended them highly to every other book nerd in my circle.  Until now.......
I read the back, all pretty innocent.  Worked out it was going to be a thriller.  I'm down with that. Not my normal sedate genre but have dabbled in the past and liked where it took me.
Got half way through the story and all my insides curled up and died.  Pretty much just like the characters in this fucken SLASHER HORROR story I had in my hands!!! (Note to the author,: the graphic detail you used was highly inappropriate, disturbing and you hurt my brain.  You are obviously good at what you do and weren't hugged enough as a child?!)  Unfortunately I was far enough through that I had to keep going to make sure the psycho murdering freak show ended like I needed it too.  I literally didn't sleep for 2 nights.  Every time the dog barked, I fair shit myself and had to sleep with the light on.  I was exhausted.  As I was rocking in the fetal position I kept asking my self "Why Lynne Why?" I know I was a shit bag teenager but sweet jesus this is ridiculous payback.
I have now re-gifted it to my Father in Law so that it no longer haunts my beautiful book shelf.
If any one else wants to be scarred by this book you can search your kindles for 'Pretty girls' by Karen Slaughter (should've had half a clue after reading the authors name, I just thought that maybe she married one of the Slaughter boys?)
Anyway Thanks for the birthday surprise Mum, I'll send you my therapy bill xxx

Foil bags will be the death of me

Help Me...Tell me the secret...
How the fuck do you get a Burning Hot cooked chicken at the supermarket into the silver foil bags they supply without losing your fingerprints or coming away with 3rd degree burns on your palms???
I totally get why they supply them, I'm all for a hot chook.  I'm happy to keep the squirty, crampy food poison away from my stomach but seriously how do you actually get them in the bag?
Obviously I'm not the only one who struggles with this ridiculously planned vessel. 
There were 3 ripped up bags when i got there and I added 2 more to the pile.

Whats the point if you have to rip the bloody bag apart to get it in.  Its not really keeping anything hot anymore is it?  The St John Ambulance could use my left over bags to keep hypothermic patients warm.  More blanket than bag once I'm finished with it.

Do they just do it to give the girls in the deli a laugh.

I get the chicken about half way in and then it just stops and won't go in any further, more attempts at pushing it in just results in ripping the bag further. 
At this point I'm swearing under my breath, through clenched teeth and chucking a couple of toddler tantrum stomps with my feet as well. 
The problem is that you literally can't hold them for more than 3 seconds at a time before you have to drop them or loose layers of skin.
There's also an unwritten rule about how long you can stand there wrestling with that bag without looking dodgy or that your trying to shoplift the steaming poultry.  Although I say if someone is gangsta enough to try and shove one of those down there pants, then they deserve to keep it. 
I think they should provide a hot chook concierge like they do at the petrol pumps at the service station. They could stand by the metal rack of death and put the birds in the bags for you. 
I'm sure they could supply heat resistant gloves for the poor bastard.
Come on Countdown there has to be a better way.  This is Stupid.  And it really hurts.  And you feel like a dick when you can't do it.  I just walk away with half a chicken sticking out of a ripped foil bag taunting me the whole way round the supermarket.  I end up having to run so the chicken doesn't cool down before I get to the checkout.

Is there a secret to this?  What am i doing wrong? Anyone else hate those fucken foil bags?

Chicken and Vege Soup for the Soul

So its pretty common knowledge that me and kitchens aren't super cool mates but its really just because cooking bores me.  I also have the luxury of having a chef for a husband so really why would I? Unfortunately for my children, he travels a lot which forces me to take on the job of feeding our offspring.  No ones died yet so I can't be that bad.
Anyway the one thing I can probably rate myself on is his Chicken and Vege Soup.  I use the term soup loosely because my version is more like a thick chowder.  The husband often says "Can you make it more soupy?" He showed me how to make it and I have most definitely run with it.  There is NOTHING better in winter than having a massive pot of the stuff in my fridge. 
I would eat that shit for breakfast, lunch and dinner.  And I do.

How we do it:

So I always make a big pot after we've eaten a cooked chicken from the supermarket.  I put all the leftover carcass, bones and jelly fatty stuff into a pot half filled with water.  I add 1 tsp of pepper corns, 1 tsp salt, 5-6 grinds on the pepper grinder and 1 tsp of powdered chicken stock.  I also cut up a carrot into chunks and cut up and put in the top part of a leek.  I then put in whatever raw chicken I will be using at the end and let it cook in the pot.  I usually use 4 large Chicken Breasts or 6 Thigh cutlets.  Let that sucker simmer for a good couple of hours.

After the stock has been doing its thing for a while, I put another massive pot (8.5l) on the stove beside it, which I fill to just under half with water.  Chuck in some Salt and Pepper and half a tsp of powdered chicken stock.  Empty 1 bag of Kings Country Chicken Soup mix and 1 bag of Kings Hearty Vegetable Soup Mix in, plus 1 diced onion and leave it on a low bubble for a good 30 mins so that its all nice and cooked before the other veges go in.

Vege Time:
I use about 6 potatoes, 4 Carrots, 1 Kumara, half a pumpkin, 1 leek and sometimes a parsnip.  We use our Food processor to whizz up the veges.  So much easier and quicker than grating them.  It makes the veges a really perfect consistency to cook quickly and become a thick awesome end result.
Add all the veges into the big pot, stirring lots.  Throw some more Salt and Pepper at it.

At this point the raw chicken should be cooked so can be taken out of the stock pot and put to one side for later.  I then drain all the other stuff and am left with a gorgeous stock.  I add about half the stock to the Vege Pot, (add more if you want it to be more soupy and less veges) I add more salt and Pepper and stir, stir, stir.  After a couple of hours of cooking I shred up all the cooked chicken into little pieces and chuck it all in with the veges.

After that its really all about keeping an eye on it so it doesn't catch on the bottom of the pot and just let it simmer for a couple more hours.    The longer the better. 
Soup always seems to taste better the next day.

Serve it up with some crusty bread rolls slathered in homemade Garlic Butter. 
The husband makes a mean Garlic Butter too, maybe that will be my next foodie blog

Happy Days

Bloggity Blog Blog Blog

You can spell so just write.  A friend of mine said that to me a while back and its kinda stuck in my head.  If we weren't dressed in 70s costume at a 40th, in the car park, after a few shandies it would've been a real Maya Angelo/Oprah moment. Thanks Emma.

My parents came to stay with us for a week to be here for my sons 9th Birthday.  His birthday is in Winter so Christchurch can be pretty chilly.  Me being the wonderful daughter that I am, decided to go out and get an electric blanket for the bed they would be sleeping in.  This isn't strictly true, actually if I'm being honest I just happen to pass a display of them at the Warehouse with a $39 sign and threw one in my trolley on the way up to the check out.  But whatever.
When I got home I figured I'd put it on the bed straight away, how hard could it be? Ummm...
First off I thought I had a faulty one cause it only had one control.  It was definitely a queen size but I guess when you spend $39 at the Warehouse it doesn't stretch to 2 controllers.
I laid the blanket on the mattress and then noticed the 3 ties which needed to be tied around the mattress in 3 places.  I think at this point the instructions should have written in bold letters 'Two person job' cause I nearly killed myself trying to keep my balance on the bed base slats whilst squished between the wall and trying to lift the bloody heavy mattress, and then to somehow throw each length of cord to the other side.  I looked like 'crouching hippo hidden Rhino'.  The mattress seem to get heavier and heavier with each passing minute.  I had visions of my family finding me in a very un-lady like position 8 hours later when they couldn't find the TV remote or where they put their shoe.  It was also once the ties were finally bloody tied that I realised the controller was on the opposite side of the bed to the wall socket.  Shit.  Luckily the cord was just long enough to stretch to the socket but it basically took the controller half way under the bed to get there.  I could just imagine Dad having to hold Mums legs while she stretched under the bed to turn it on each night.  By then I was at the 'too fucken bad' stage and chucked a fitted sheet over it and was done.
I explained the drama I had when they arrived, and thought maybe I should've provided a head torch for when they needed to start the controller finding expedition each night, but not 5 minutes later Mum comes out and says "I flipped the blanket over and re-tied it so its all fine now"  WTF Woman??!!  I couldn't believe what I was hearing? she did in 5 minutes what I couldn't in 2 hours.  She wasn't even breaking a sweat.  The woman is a machine.  I can only pray that those 'Super Mother' genes I hope I have inherited will kick in at some point in the near future.
Maybe I need to start taking those bloody Garlic pills she goes on about?!

My Old Washing Machine was a dick

Nothing is more frustrating on a gorgeous sunny day than your washing machine deciding to be a complete dick.  One week and 10 mounting piles of dirty washing later, we made the decision to head to the shops, ten minutes before they closed cause that's how we roll, and get us a brand spanking new one.
In my head I figured it was going to be a pretty quick and easy purchase.  I just needed something to bung the clothes in, bit of powder, press a button and walk away.  Mistake number One was taking the husband.  Suddenly I was steered away from the cheap $500 machines with the sale stickers on them and found myself standing uncomfortably mesmerised in front of a salesman who really knew far too much about washing machines to be healthy.  At one point during his enthusiastic spiel, I interrupted him and told him how impressed I was with his knowledge of drum size and energy ratings.  He paused mid infomercial and gave me a weird little smile, like he gets compliments like that everyday, and carried on to explain the pros and cons of Front loader vs Top loaders proudly.  I don't mind admitting he was losing me at this point, I was starting to contemplate climbing into one, closing the lid and checking out what was new on face book.  As soon as I heard him mention Bosch and German engineering, I knew he had the husband right where he wanted him, and this guy was good, he never left us alone long enough for me to do that clenched teeth, side whisper about how bloody expensive these machines were and if we are going to spend that much I vote for a new lounge suite??   Next thing I knew I was at the counter with credit card in hand, husband had run out the door to drive the van round the back to pick it up.  He didn't want to pay the extra $50 to have it delivered and installed?! Oh no $50 is too expensive but $1500 for a new machine is a bargain apparently?!
I will say the new machine is earning its place in our laundry nicely.  The 8 yr old is constantly asking if he can put the powder in and turn it on.  If only he wanted to hang it out, bring it in and fold the bloody stuff too.  The clothes and towels seem to be pretty happy about the new appliance as well.  I swear they are lining up to get in.  They come out looking like they've been in a day spa.  If towels had limbs, they would all be climbing into the basket with jazz hands and tap shoes.

The Ghost Mower of Tuahiwi

The beauty of living on an acre in the country is that you can mow your lawns whenever you want.  Today was a stunning 30 Degree day in Christchurch which then continued into a hot awesome summer night.  Sitting outside having some ciders after dinner,  I was enjoying the tranquil distant sounds of all my neighbours begin the chorus of cutting their grass.  I soaked it in until 9pm and then the temptation got too much and I jumped up announcing I too would join the chorus and get my lawns done on such a stunning night.  It all started brilliantly until about 15 minutes into the cut when I realised it was getting dark.  Quickly.  I had not taken into account my neighbours were all on their ride-ons and since mine had been sitting unconscious in the garden shed for the past couple of months, I had been going old school and using the normal electric one.  I sped up to a brisk speedy walk as the grass became harder to see where I was going or where I had been.  I think I mowed the same strip 3 times and missed a substantial area over by the sandpit and along the hedge.  I won't actually know until tomorrow just how bad it is.  It's a bit like deciding to cut your mates hair when your drunk.  Its not til the next day that you realise what a fucken stupid idea that was.  I started panicking as the night set in and I still had half a lawn to go.  I was imagining my neighbours now sitting outside with a cold beer shaking their heads. Rookie Mistake.  I was becoming the Ghost Mower of Tuahiwi.  I had night bugs smashing into my face and at one point I went to pick up a Dog Bone which turned out to be a big squishy dog shit.  Luckily I had my trusty gardening gloves on so I just chucked it to one side and kept on mowing.  I wasn't giving up until the lawn was finished, even though I had now no idea when that was since I couldn't see a bloody thing.  I can't even sit back now and enjoy the satisfaction of a freshly mown law.  I'll probably just have to do the whole thing again tomorrow.  Stink One. What a Dick!

Its time to break the cycle

I think most people in their lives join a gym at least twice.  We've all done it, started off with high hopes and huge motivation for the first 2 weeks then any excuse becomes a good one.  Its cold outside.  I just ate.  I've got a headache.  My shoes give me blisters.  I've got no-one to go with.  and before you know it a month has gone by and your 'new' gym shoes are gathering dust in your wardrobe underneath your jandles and 2 rolls of wrapping paper.   I remember when I joined up for the local gym the first time. 17 yrs ago. just after I had my first baby.  I went in to get my program from a trainer and was expecting to be out of there within about half n hour.  Two hours later I'm a sweating, dry-retching mess.  When I went to leave, the perky, pony-tailed, Lycra-clad lady at the reception desk stopped me and asked me for my shoes. My brand spanking expensive new trainers.  I took them off and passed them over thinking maybe she wanted to check them out to go get herself a pair or something.  She whips out a Blue vivid and proceeds to write in large font my gym membership number all over them and then pops them in a cubby hole behind the desk.  Apparently these were my new Gym shoes just. for. at. the. gym! I didn't remember them telling me this piece of vital information when I signed my life and shoes away for the next two bloody years.  I had to walk home in my socks.  I never went back.  I kept paying and they got to keep my shoes.  I got to keep the baby weight.
So when our Teenager came and told us she had joined the Gym, we looked at each other and had a wee giggle behind her back.  A giggle that only old smug people with wise Gym life experience can utter.  Pretty sure we rolled our eyes as well.  Its been 2 weeks and her Gym shoes are still sitting outside her bedroom door in the exact position I threw them.  I asked her recently when she was going to the Gym again she replied in her best whiny voice "I've got no-one to go with?!"  *sigh its a slippery slope. 

I can eat Chocolate again

For the past week or so I have noticed a tender spot in one of my top back teeth, not a full on toothache or anything but sore enough to be a real downer when eating chocolate or those sour worm lollies late at night when the kids are in bed. 
Rung the dentist to make an appointment, before I permanently have to give up the late night sugar rush.  My dreams would be pretty boring without a hit last thing at night.  Resorting to licking Pineapple Lumps just doesn't do it for me.
Amazingly I managed to get an appointment that same day at 2:10.  Miracle.  Figured it would've been a week away at least.

Got off the phone and did a happy dance past the husband in the kitchen.
Him: What are you so happy about?
Me: I'm going to the dentist today
Him: Are you mental? Who does a happy dance for that?
Me: Me cause hes going to give me a filling so I can eat Chocolate again.  I might even get to eat it tonight once the injection wears off!!
Him: Maybe you shouldn't eat chocolate so much if it means you have to have a filling?
Me: *Sigh But that's what fillings are for? So I can eat Chocolate and they protect my teeth.  eye roll

I totally get that people are completely freaked out by having to go the Dentist.  It stems from our childhoods and "The Murder House" right?! But these days its way way better.  They don't let you feel any pain, one flinch by me and my dentist stops straight away and pumps another needle full of numbing goodness into my gum.  Then its just all noise.  Psychologically if you can get past the noise your all good.  I regularly go and see the good people at 'North Avon Dental Surgery' in Christchurch and they rule.  Don't keep me sitting or worrying in the waiting room.  Tell me exactly what they are going to do before and during.  No pissing around.  30 minutes later I walk out and have a nice wee chat with the receptionist, all with no feeling or muscle control on the Right side of my face.
Why do I always end up with an appointment and a double dose of anaesthetic right before I have to pick up the kids from school?
The 8 yr decides that his circus freak of a mother should be shown off to all his mates as I try to rush him out the school gate "Hey Guys watch my mum try to smile" "Hey Amelia talk to my Mum, she looks weird" "Hey Ms Fido my mums mouth is freaky"
I know the other major reason people put off going to their dentist is the cost.  Yip its up there.  $262 for an X-Ray and filling that day.  Could've been worse, if I left it longer it would've been a root canal! Root Canal are two words I never want to experience or pay for.  Two years ago the best thing I ever did was start seeing Lisa the hygienist every 6 months. I think the $100 she charges for an industrial 20 minutes of buffing and scraping and shining is completely worth it.   I totally reckon i have saved myself hundreds if not thousands of dollars by having a regular heavy duty clean.  She motivates me to floss everyday knowing that I'm going to have to see, either her smiley happy face or her disappointed frowny face.  Part of me wishes they still gave out those cool little buzzy bee cotton wool things.  I totally deserve one.
This actual dentist appointment was the first time I have had anything actually wrong with my teeth in the past 2 years.  Before all this I hadn't been to a Dentist in 10 years. 
What I'm trying to say in this Nerdy public service announcement is go get a WOF on your teeth my friends, even if there's nothing wrong at the moment.  Better to do it now, than wait til its going to cost you shit loads. Nothing worse in this life than Tooth Ache and Back Pain.  Except for Child Birth...don't get me started on Child Birth!

Hows your Dental situation these days? Have you paid for your Dentists Holiday Home in Fiji with all the work you've had done or are you insanely overdue for a tune up?

F You Period Hormones

 So had a bit of a fight with the Husband over the weekend.  You know the usual.  Hes wrong and I'm right but he doesn't agree.  Dick.  This, plus a busy weekend working together resulted in us not really talking.  Come Monday morning the air is still pretty frosty but the Husband gets to jump in a truck and drive off for a whole week away.  Yip SEEYA!  
10 minutes after the cloud of dust settles from his departure, I get the girly guilt's and figure I better send the inevitable 'make up' text and put the world all ok again.  So I send a nice text along the lines of "Sorry lets be friends, blah blah"...*crickets... Nothing, no reply.  OK I figure he's still mad.  Leave it.  An hour later I send another one.  Still Nothing.  God he's really mad, weird?  Sweetas, I can play that game too.  I've tried, now I'll leave it up to him.  2 hours later I start to get all stalker on it and send another one.  With each passing hour, I'm getting more manic and desperate.  Thoughts of "He hates me" "Hes bringing Divorce papers home with him" start to play out in my mental brain. Monday comes and goes with no communication.  I have the worst day.  I can't believe he's this mad.  The fight wasn't even that big? WTF? 
Tuesday I wake up with a headache from my crappy worry sleep.  I send another text and then resign myself to a life alone with 14 cats.  
Tuesday night the land line rings and its the Husband all chirpy "Hiii" he says.  "Ummmm Hi" I say back suspiciously.  He has rung to let me know he lost his phone getting in the car on Monday morning and a neighbour found it and could I go pick it up from them....ummmm OMFG the neighbour has probably seen the top two lines of each fucken text I have sent over the last 2 days!!! 
 I am mortified that a) I turned into such a mental teenager and that b) my neighbour has witnessed my manic break down!!  The husband didn't even realise we were still fighting?! I have just basically spent 2 days having a fight with myself?! 
I can't even bring myself to open my curtains in case I make eye contact with her.  I'm sending the kids over and digging myself a big hole in the back garden.  F@#k You Period Hormones!

I know I'm getting old....

I know I'm getting old for many reasons but a major one is because I have started to use those sucky-in-ey items of underwear.  I'm not quite at the big undie up to my boobs stage but my new staple secret item I came across at Farmers recently was a sucky-in-ey singlet and Praise the lord its amazing!  Just smooths out any bumps, lumps and frumps which I would usually blame on just having had a baby but considering the last one is 8, the reality of that statement is wearing thin.
Its genius because its long and stays down, no rolling up, even when having to bend over 2000 times a day to pick up my families crap.  It also squeezes the girls up for some much needed extra cleavage.  This shit is a miracle.
except.....
when I need to get dressed straight after a shower.  How many times have you tried to pull on a sports bra, knickers or anything sucky-in-ey when your skin is still warm and moist eww sorry I tried to think of another word. You get two arms in and your head sports bra not knickers for this example and then start desperately trying to roll the material down so you look like your giving yourself a double mammogram.  One boob in and still the back of your sports bra is rolled up around your neck.  You try desperately to bend your elbow high enough behind your back to reach the mother fucking material but not dislocate your shoulder, all the while you are getting hotter and sweatier in the process.  Its at about this point I start yelling out desperately for the nearest family member "COME IN HERE AND HELP ME BUT FOR GOD SAKE DO IT WITH YOUR EYES CLOSED!!!" its amazing how any other time I want 5 bloody minutes to myself in the bathroom to pee,  I've got kids coming out my ears talking to me through the door but when I really need them suddenly they're all sooooooo busy.
But when I finally get to the really unattractive, manic panic stage,  you know the stage like when your at a jewellery store and you try on a really expensive ring and it goes on sweet as but when you try to slide it off, your finger has suddenly turned into a sausage and it won't budge?! this is the stage when I start to consider walking out of the bathroom as is, to hell with the neighbours and causing retina damage to my family, to get the scissors from the kitchen and cutting this straight jacket off. Then just like that the back rolls down, god what a relief!  I end up having to lie down with my face on the cold floor just to get my breath back from the un-co zumba workout I just did.
That was the bra now the knickers....

YouTube is totes Cray Cray

We don't spend a huge amount of time watching TV at my house.  We don't have Sky or anything so the limited channels means there's lots of crap on, which makes it easier for me to just turn it off.
We do however spend a lot of time on gadgets or devices.  So laptops are always open, the ipad or our iPhones are usually in someones hands.
We do have Apple TV, which is a little black box that plugs into your TV, its a way of accessing the Internet using your TV as the main screen, you can order movies online, look at your photos or videos, music channels and I often find the kids watching YouTube on there.  Lets just begin by saying YouTube is totes cray cray.  You can start off watching someone like 'Ellen' on there and 3 hours later you are learning how to build your kid a bunk shaped like a giraffe???
I thought I would give you a couple of things I have found which make me laugh out loud and another couple which I found inspiring and moving.  To show you there's still good people out in the world.
They first 3 are a little strange.  Not in a bad way.  Just a little bit WT? like maybe someone needs to remove the magic mushys from their gardens.  My kids think they are hilarious.  That's all the warning your going to get about those.
But the last 2 are amazing!

My Girls

So I haven't really blogged since May and I was thinking about all the things that have happened since then.  Dam my future Altziemers (?) I can't think back that far.  But I do remember we got new Kune Kune Piglets in June.  This was after a long grieving period for our last wee ginger piglet, Ruby, who we lost at 4 months to a pretty shit house bacteria which gave her blood poisoning and died quite suddenly on our doorstep.
I was really missing the grunts and squeals of my little shadow and my Staffy was missing her mate too.  So I started trawling through Trade me to find our newest additions.  I decided to get 2 sisters this time so they would have company to cuddle up to in the cold winter nights.
These girls came from the West coast and were quite different straight away.  They lived inside for the first 2 months as the winter weather was pretty crap and it was a good excuse to have 2 very cute wee piglets sleeping inside in front of the fire, stealing the dogs beds.  I think my Staffy was a bit put out because they definitely stuck together and evicted her from any cosy spot she got to first.  These girls we have named 'Daisy Boo' (the black and white one) and 'Polly Wog' (the ginger one) but during the first few weeks I had moments of wanting to change their names to 'Kim' and 'Khloe' due to their very demanding and high maintenance behaviour.  It was like having puppies again.  I was up twice in the night letting them out to toilet train them, they would get into everything and were very loud when hungry or just wanted attention.  You would find me every morning round 5:30am in my dressing gown and gumboots with 2 tantruming, squealing piglets following me down to the back of the property to feed them their breakfast.  Then an hour later they would be back banging on the door and straight back asleep in front of the fire.  It was intense but very cool.
In the last couple of weeks the husband has made a fenced in area with an awesome cosy, straw bale castle inside their pig house, in which they now sleep every night.  Complete with single mattress.  They are able to wander and graze around our acre at their leisure and are still welcome inside during the day but at dinner time their gate is shut until its time for breakfast.  The husband has had to fence off his vege garden to keep them out and we are in the process of teaching them not to root up the soft ground.
They are growing really quickly, in two months they have easily doubled in size,  and always come running when they see us.  They can sit for treats and a scratch behind their ears makes them flop to the ground for a belly rub.  They are really good little lawn mowers and eat all our household scrapes and weeds.
I love seeing them asleep in the sunshine on my doorstep or in amongst the garden.
Kune Kunes are such characters, they have awesome personalities, soo smart and social but feisty and stubborn too. 
If your thinking about adding a piglet..or two...I say "Do it!"

Stuff you just need

I moved out of home when I was 18. Straight from 7th form in Paraparaumu to do the student thing in Christchurch. When you first leave home, your olds get you lots of stuff to start you out. A new duvet and Cover. Sheets. Toaster. Cutlery set. Towels. Grocery vouchers. A Cook book.  Common Sense.  Morals.  Birth Control.  Pretty much as many necessity items you can fit in a suitcase.  But there are 2 things that my mother has continued to buy for me 20 yrs later. These 2 things I have never had to go out and buy for myself EVER. The first thing is an Iron. She bought it and I never use it. It always ends up put away in a box, inside another box at the back of a cupboard in the laundry behind torches, plastic bags and a weird electric duster. If when she comes to visit she can find it, it gets used.  By her.  Otherwise it just stays in the back of the cupboard. Sitting patiently waiting for Lyn to come back. I figure at least it will be in mint condition when Te Papa call wanting to add it to their olden days collection.

The other domestic item which my Mum buys every time she comes to Christchurch to visit us is Pegs. I always need them but never actually go out and buy them. There's nothing more frustrating than not having enough bloody pegs to hang out the millions of socks and undies my family seem to wear every day.  This last visit my Mum and Dad made down to look after my little farm for a week, while I was drinking booze and sunning myself in Raro, was a chance to outdo herself.  Not only do I now have a new collection of coloured plastic pegs ready with strength and determination to combat the wind and stop my bloomers from flying into the neighbours yard, but I also now have 3 extra 'Glad containers' full of yellow polyethelene goodness as back up for when the environment inevitably starts swallowing and destroying the current active members. Those containers make me smile everyday.

I love you Mum. Thanks for still looking after me.

Breakfast Spreadsheets

Is there anything more fun than being taken out for breakfast at a nice coffee shop, ordering a warm cheese scone, hot chocolate, a glass of freshly squeezed orange juice, free wifi and no children, to then have a laptop opened in front of you displaying a spreadsheet made by the husband outlaying in bold your last 6 weeks of daily spending. Fuck.

He started the conversation by saying "WE need to look at our spending" by 'We' he obviously meant 'Me' but was trying to begin this horrific discussion on a good note. Not wanting to lay the blame directly on me straight away probably for fear of getting my butter knife jammed in his eye. It was at about this point I started trying to work out which injury I could fake so I could commando roll out of there. He was good. He already had all exits blocked. 

I frantically racked my brain, whilst keeping a relaxed not concerned in the slightest expression on my face, all while mentally scrolling through all my clothing, shoes, books and Mcdonalds purchases in the last 6 weeks. Fuck. Where's a bloody 6.9 earthquake when you need one. 

Luckily on closer inspection of his fancy spreadsheet there were a lot of large gardening and home maintenance tool purchases on there which made my impulse shopping look not so bad. Phew.

Apparently he tells me this is going to be regular occurrence. I think he needs to be encouraged to spend more time with his fancy new tools and less time with his laptop which i have a premonition is unfortunately going to go missing.

Happy Fathers Day to all the Bogans out there

What an absolute cracker of a Sunday for Fathers Day today.  It was a treat for us cause we don't usually have the husband home for this celebration, he is usually away working keeping us in the lifestyle we are accustomed.  Someone has too.  So we started the day with homemade cards in bed, which the kids worked all last night on.  There was a lot of cutting out of magazines, colouring and sticking. Our kitchen table looked like a primary school art class had thrown up on it.  One card included a rap by the 8 yr old and the middle child seems to think her Dad looks like someone from a bad 70's disco movie. 




















He also got some new Kiwi Sounds to beef up our collection and a book about straw bale houses.  After the mandatory fry up for Brekky,  I packed the car and loaded everyone into it for a trip to the Oxford Speedway for a Charity Family Day out raising money for Prostate Cancer.  We met up with one of my besties and her wee family, which consists of a husband and two 2 yr old twin girls for a picnic in the sun.
I forgot that Speedway usually has a compulsory uniform of Black Jeans, Black T-shirt, Mullet and can of Bourbon in hand.  This family day was no exception.  I learnt a lot about parenting and how it seems to be very effective to just pretend like no one else is around and scream at your children about "how they better not f#@%*en show you up today!!"  A family just beside us decided to have a coke and paint fight with the 'loser' ending up looking like something from a scary version of Brave hart.  That was about the time we decided to move our blanket a bit further away.
I kept having to check where my son was in case a bogan decided to recruit him or steal him as bait for a bogan kid fight.
Then just as the sun was going down and the speedway was closing, we got distracted and let our guard down, which gave one of the twins just enough time to pick up and almost eat a piece of discarded bogan bread off the ground.  Sweet Jesus her mother had lightning reflexes.  She swooped into survival mode and dived across the picnic blanket flicking that bread out like a ninja.  Before she could be infected with bogan-niss.  We won't really know just how much she was contaminated until later I'd imagine, but if she starts demanding Metallica and coke in the next few days, we will at least be able to pin point exactly whats to blame.  Her parents have been given strict instructions to put her on a complete diet of hummus and Bob Marley to counteract the symptoms.  We live in hope.

To Write or To Read

Its been awhile since I've been back on here....I have really struggled to multi-task.  I either write manically or I read enthusiastically.  I can't seem to do both at the same time.  The last couple of months I have chosen the later and been reading like a mofo. 
I started 'Our Book Club' on FaceCrack and it has lots of awesome members who give great recommendations.  I have been working my way through all these awesome titles.  I stand in Whitcoulls scrolling through my facebook to find my next read.  My Book shelf and Kindle has never looked so full and inviting.  However in the back of my mind has been my little Blog which gives me so much happy.  I love to hide behind it and write stuff down and know its being read out in the universe somewhere. 
Blogging rules cause there are so many good ones out there.  I have 4 that I follow religiously.  They are over in Aussie and I totally dig them.  'Dad down Under' 'Woogsworld' 'Edenland' 'Life Love and Hiccups' There are plenty of awesome Kiwi ones too.  I like Blogs that make me smile or better yet, piss my self laughing.  They are the nice part of opening my email.  Its like getting a hand written letter in the mail box amongst all those suxy fliers and bills.
Which brings me to the reason I actually suddenly got my spark back.  I was standing in my kitchen in my gumboots, having just done the poo patrol of our property.  This is quite a big job when you have 6 Chooks, 2 Pigs, 2 Dogs and a Cat cruising around your acre like they own the place.  That's a whole heap of shit.  Trust me.
I came in to do something motherly for a child in the kitchen and decided to check my emails first.  Priorities people.  I haven't had a comment on my blog for ages, which is totally fair enough as it has been channelling Sleeping Beauty.  So I was surprised to notice I had one.  Bloggers freaken love comments cause it means people are actually reading your ramblings.  At this point I would like to refer you to a previous post I did about 'No1 Fan Girl' it basically admitted to what a complete spaz I am when I'm near anyone remotely famous.  That said, these other blogs that I read, I have put those bloggers in my famous category in my brain, cause they are so clever and never seem to get writers block or anything.  So my comment this morning was from 'Dad down Under'.... ummm as soon as I saw his name,  my spaz returned with avengence! "How did he even come across my little bit of the blogasphere?" but thank you universe that he did cause now I'm all like "Kids GET OUT...Mummy's blogging again!!!!"

It was a long day today

I had a pretty long day today.  Won't go into the boring details.  Just trust me it was long.
Not bad or anything.  Just long.
I think it had a lot to do with the hours and hours I spent on my hands and knees weeding the arse out of my garden yesterday.  I'm not a weeder normally.  Ask anyone.  In fact I've probably only done it twice in my whole life.  By the time it was all over my back, knees and fingers felt like they needed to be admitted to the local rest home for an extended stay of complete bed rest and liquid food to recover.
That was yesterday.   I was dreading today.  Today I'm feeling it in my thighs and lower back.
Nothing too serious but it would be a shame not to exaggerate the groans as I stand and sit for my families benefit.  They need to know how bloody hard I worked yesterday.  Thank you very much.
So tonight after my long day I figured I deserved a long, hot soak in the tub.
Picture this.  Pissing down rain on the roof.  Thunder and lightning even.  Candles lit on every surface of the bathroom.  Running a big deep bath.  Added some Epsom salts for my aching muscles (yes I'm 70! and what?) Had some nice kiwi music playing softly for ambiance.  My book is at the ready.
I can feel myself relaxing already.  I go to climb in and WTF? the bloody hot water has run out half way thru the filling so now I'm stuck with a very pathetic Luke warm bath.  Which to a bath connisure (?) like myself is just basically Shit house.  The worst kind of Shit house.  "Well too bad" I said out loud to the universe with maybe a few other words containing letters like KCUF and possibly some that may or may not have sounded a bit like Brother Ducker added to the statement.  "I will not be a victim, I am having a bloody bath" so I sat in my crappy bath and pretended like everything was freaken awesome until I couldn't handle it any longer and hypothermia seemed like a very real possibility.
Thank god for electric blankets and my wonderful mum sending me supplies to replenish my hidden Chocolate Supply.  I needed it right now.  Nothing fixes a long day and aching muscles like a whole bag of Whittakers White Chocolate and Raspberry mini slabs.

Just did some casual weeding.  No biggie!

Cinderella the Shitbag Teenager

So it would be fair to say we have had our share of drama to contend with where our Teenager is concerned over the past few months.  Don't get me wrong there have been a few good days in amongst all that as well.  But I just can't seem to recall them.  Perhaps I was dreaming. 
Evil out ways the Good.
I remember something the amazing 'Nigel Latta' once said "Teenagers just aren't right in the head". 
I agree.  One minute shes all sweet and light and the next she is a head spinning version of the exorcist.
Feet stomp like a 5 year old when asked to do anything.  Loud dramatic huffing and puffing can be heard down the street I'm sure.  It is a normal occurrence to have her mid-dishes declare at the top of her lungs "Aaarrgggh I'm just soooo frustrated...I need 5 minutes alone" stomp stomp door slam and Teenager disappears (and when after a quick game of 'paper scissors rock' one parent draws the short straw and has to venture into her pit of death bedroom to explain to her that she better bloody come and finish the job she has left half completed) it's quite normal to find her face down on her bed like her world is so bloody hard and we are ruining her life by making her put her hands in hot soapy water to clean dishes that "She didn't even use?!"
Inhale Exhale.  I often have visions of tying her to the wheelie bin just in time for Friday morning collection.  I have found some wisdom over the years.  Teenagers are a lot like babies.  If they are sleeping.  Don't you dare wake them up.  I let her sleep as long as she can on a Sunday.  Just for the peace we all get.
But today was a good day, so thought I should probably document it just in case its years before we have another like it. 

I couldn't get her off this once she got the hang of it

Scrubbing out the green slime from the Chooks water Clam

Sweeping even

Folded Washing

Vacuuming

This was the end of the day...Starting to lose her sparkle

Even cooked a delicious dinner

 Do you think she wants something?? Like maybe her Stereo power cord back or the new Wifi Password perhaps.  I think Aliens stole my teenager and replaced her with a new one.  One that's not broken.  I like those Aliens.

The Great Undie Massacre

A couple of weeks ago I'd had enough.  That was it.  No more.  Something snapped, not my waist elastic but my patience and I decided that the Undies I had been wearing for the past 20 years needed to be exorcised.  These were my Undies from 5th Form.  Yup 5th Form.  I was 15 when I bought them?!  Some might be saying "Wow she stills fits her undies from when she was 15?!" and tempted as I am to let you go on believing that,  alas it's not quite as glamorous as it sounds...I don't care how much quality Bendon put into their underwear back then, they were never supposed to survive 2 Children and 20 yrs.  All that wear and pregnancies had stretched those bad boys into a holey, sad, depressed but dependable heap. 
They had become the Street kids of my Undie drawer, the homeless living under a bridge, the orphans, the ones no one wants to be friends with.
 It's not like I haven't bought other more comfortable, exciting pairs for my arse during these 20 years but somehow those old ones would retreat to the bottom of the drawer whenever the new fancy ones were put in and then slowly creep there way back up to the top when I ran out of clean washing. I'm surprised they haven't sacrificed themselves sooner by leaping from the open drawer, landing on the floor then scurrying under my wardrobe like one of all my bloody pair of socks have done!
It's not like they didn't know they were the last one picked for the team, the ugly ones, the Great-Aunt with a beard. It must've been obvious due to my dramatic sighing and the husbands screams of terror whenever they were pulled from the depths to feel the sunlight for a brief moment.
So I finally did it, I went out and spent $117 at the Farmers sale and purchased 7 brand spanking new pairs and before they were taken out of the bag, I had an Undie drawer Massacre.  I pretty much burnt those monstrosities on the stake, i sacrificed those demons, I threw them out with the dishwater, I put them out of their/my misery and God it felt Goood! I felt free.  I felt alive.  Now my drawer is a happy, colourful, comfortable place to venture each morning. I don't have to hide them amongst the towels on the clothes line so the neighbours won't see anymore.  I highly recommend a routine purge of all that old stuff.  It's amazing how a nice new pair of scants can lift your mood!