Loser.

I'm having an argument with 4yo about something at the shops. This is normal. The argument continues all the way out to the car. This is normal. I tell her that if she does not cooperate and sit in her car seat straight away I will lose my temper. Also normal. I give her reports about my escalating temper so that when I really do lose it she's had plenty of warning. Normal, normal, normal.

"I'm going to lose my temper if you don't stop asking about this."
"I can't get you want straight away so if you keep shouting at me I will lose my temper do you want that?"
"You're really on thin ice now mate, you will regret it if I lose my temper."

4yo sighs, shoves her bottom into the seat, complies with the seat belt procedure and as I'm clipping her in mutters, "Loser."

She might as well have made the 'L' shape with her thumb and forefinger her tone was so derogatory. This is so funny coming from an angry four year old that I nearly fell backwards out of the car laughing. But because she'd been so rude that wasn't aloud and I had to buckle myself up and wait until my voice was steady before I could give her the lecture. The one where this isn't a nice thing to say to someone and what do if someone says that to her... bla... bla... I'm pretty sure she listened to the first few words of it.

To her credit, she got into the car without a fuss in the end. After all, this loser Mummy is quite scary when her temper is the thing she loses!

Poem for my daughter on a hot sunny day.

Ode to my little daughter, who never seems to be able to stay dressed when at home. We made this one up tryin' to stay cool in the paddlin' pool.

My toddler is lovely when she’s naked and cuddly,
but things can get freaky when she’s naked and cheeky.

Times can be bad when she’s naked and sad,
and she don’t give a toss when she’s naked and cross.

Things can get hairy when she’s naked and scary,
but she needs loads of care when she’s naked and scared.

And when the day’s hot and the clothes all come off,
what is the bet, she’ll be naked and wet?

Dialogue with a bloke against smacking.

With his permission, I am posting here a conversation I've been having on facebook with a distant relative about smacking. His contributions are in block quotes:

He stated: I have a newfound respect for Eddie McGuire, who has demonstrated impressive insight!

"If an adult was seen to hit a mentally disabled person there would be
uproar, but is it okay to whack a mentally growing human who is not yet
near adult intellect?"
Belting kids is not discipline | Herald Sun
Source: www.heraldsun.com.au
IF EVER there is a topic that will lead to polarising views, it is child rearing.
18 October at 11:12 · Comment · Like · Share

Eddie mentions not being at adult intellect, but fails to follow through on what this implies for children and forms of discipline. That's not insight, it's flinging analogies about with a blindfold on. The guy is still a twit. Sorry :(
Mon at 11:55 · Delete

If Eddie has said or done something else (besides being friends with Sam Newman) that makes you think he's a twit that I'm not aware of, please share. :-)

I've heard some arguments that in some circumstances an opened handed smack on the bottom to a child too young to be reasoned with is in their interests as it helps them to learn to avoid dangerous behaviours. Frighten them away from the stove, running on the road, sticking things in the socket.

And yet it is wrong and illegal to hit a dog. Although they do have leashes on collars when they go for a walk so they can't do anything dangerous. I saw a family in a shopping centre once, with a toddler (age 2-3) wearing a harness that was on a leash the mother was holding - I digress.

A point Eddie McGuire makes is that adults get frustrated - frustrated at each other, and want to hit each other, but can't because its against the law.

It is wrong and illegal for an adult to hit another adult who is disobedient, frustrates them, causes them to lose their patience, etc, and yet adults are capable of being reasoned with (or claim to be), so they shouldn't make mistakes that require punishment with violence should they?
Oh that's right, adults aren't perfect either.

I can't help but wonder, as someone who has never had a child of his own, what percentage of "smacks" (and that is just smacking, not including using an implement or going too far) are actually in the child's best developmental/discipline/safety interest, and what percentage result from a parent (or teacher, back when they were allowed to) who is frustrated, out of patience, cranky, running late, hormonal, headache, tired, etc.

Being able to smack children certainly must save a lot of parents a great deal of time and effort. It used to save teachers time and effort too - Eddie writes that
"Yes, it takes a lot longer to reason with a kid and explain a situation.
In my school days my mates and I would rather cop the cuts than suffer a Saturday detention. Same for the teachers.
But we all knew which had the bigger effect."

As someone who agrees is it wrong to hit another man or woman, and also wrong to hit a dog, it seems to me like some suspiciously convenient morally relative position whereby it is still ok to hit a child.

Arguments that the child should know better could also apply to other adults, right?
And arguments that the child is incapable of understanding could also apply to pets?
And yet, the maximum penalty for animal cruelty or neglect is still dismally short - 12 months in prison.

We should take the time to use words with adults, and animals are defenceless.
If the exception with children is that they are growing and capable of learning, developing brains that will be capable of understanding, what are they learning?
Mon at 12:51

Argh, I don't have time to address all of your points though I do address some of them on my BadMummy blog.

I didn't know it was illegal to smack dogs! Must have missed the memo. When our dog was biting 12yo (then 5) the vet recommended hitting him and gave us instructions on how to do it effectively and when to stop. We now have a gorgeous dog who will let children take food from his mouth. I do not regret this course of action. And having personally been picked up and shaken by a horse, both bitten and chased by a dog, and my father nearly having died from a deep cat bite I do not agree with you that animals are helpless. Though I agree that deliberate cruelty to them goes under-punished.

Adults do hit each other when frustrated, all the time, and most don't press charges. Advocates of the well timed smacking of children (like me) will always stress that you must NEVER touch your children when you are tired or frustrated and that is always the wrong reason to deliver a smack.

I've also seen anti-smackers I know shake their children, pinch them, or grab them by the arm and drag them. But that's ok apparently because you're not hitting them. And the same parents are reluctant to admit that their child was beyond reason as though that's some kind of failure. There's a pooload of hypocrisy in this debate.

I don't agree that it is always wrong to hit another adult. I can think of plenty of scenarios where hitting another adult would be morally obligatory.

I have never heard of "the child should know better" arguments against smacking? This sounds a little confused.

3yo understands that a smack means she has gone too far, so as a child who deliberately pushes the limits she tends to get more than average. She gets reminders that she needs to listen to us, then she gets warnings, with counting so that she has plenty of time to make up her mind (danger smacks are an exception, but oddly she's never had any of those!). She does not get smacked out of the blue when we are tired or angry.

She has had it explained to her that we only ever smack her when she is badly behaved and not listening, and that ONLY we can do that because we made her and it's our job to teach her how to be a good girl. She knows that no other grown ups are allowed to do this.

One day I'll have the presence of mind to video the course of events so that the anti-smackers can watch my 3yo weigh up whether or not a smack is worth the thrill of being naughty. Sometimes, despite all warnings, she goes ahead anyway and the last resort protocol kicks in. In these cases she KNOWS she is going to get smacked and chooses a course of action that will ensure it (because Mummy does not make threats she won't carry out). She's a total mystery to me.

Thank you for noting that you're a non-parent at the beginning. It sets you apart from a lot of tossers I know :)
Mon at 13:20 · Delete

McGuire's original article was a response to a debate sparked by a woman who was warned by police after her daughter told someone at school that her mother had hit her with a wooden spoon.
I mean seriously, that just sounds lazy to me, parent can't even hit the child with their own open palms, they have to extent their reach/increase impact speed with some kitchen utensil.

I wasn't thinking in the context of an animal that is being violent because I don't spend any time around violent animals.
I was thinking of an animal that won't go where it is told, or toilets where it shouldn't, or destroys objects for fun.

And yes, you trained your dog, but there are plenty of adults out there who train their spouses too.

I wasn't making a "child should know better" argument, I was making a "its wrong to hit adults yet they should know better" bullshit suggestion, to demonstrate how relativistic it sounds.

I'm willing to bet that for every "anti-smacker" that then engages in some sick behaviour like pinching or shaking, there are ten "I should have the right to discipline my children PRO smackers" who go far too far, and DO smack when they are frustrated, tired, headache, hormones, inpatient, personality disorder, etc, and DO exceed the level of physical force that is appropriate - like the one i saw on the tram who full swing full speed smacked her 1yo (in the pram) right across the face. I won't say any more about that at this point.

In what circumstances should adults tolerate being hit or think its ok to hit another adult?

And if they don't complain within say, a week, to the police, do they still retain the right to complain years later when they drag the person through court and want to smear their character because the relationship "didn't work out"?

I'm not a parent, but as for bad behaviour/not listening/being naughty, would it not be easy for say, some man to adapt what you have said to an analogies about his girlfriend/wife? It is the cultural norm for men to do so in a considerable percentage of the world's communities.

Seriously, give a young fool like me an example of what a 3yo can do, and I can think of an equivalent many grown adults would do.

It seems that people can draw the line for smacking someone somewhere where it suits them best, and in this case, it seems to be "no violence, no abuse, (nevermind the slippery slope), only a JUSTIFIED smack, and only to CHILDREN, WHEN they really need it".

I'm sure most of the female "smacking defenders" would draw the line well before it reached a "justified smack" for THEM, unless they consensually enjoy that sort of thing, which is completely separate issue.
Mon at 19:12

Um, I don't have time to respond now... but I elaborate on the difference between children and adults here http://badmummysyndrome.blogspot.com/2009/10/great-smacking-debateagain.html
Mon at 20:43 · Delete

"McGuire's original article was a response to a debate sparked by a woman who was warned by police after her daughter told someone at school that her mother had hit her with a wooden spoon.
I mean seriously, that just sounds lazy to me, parent can't even hit the child with their own open palms, they have to extent their reach/increase impact speed with some kitchen utensil."

Actually, having spoken to other mothers about this, it's not about the extension of reach, or increased impact. I hear that it's because they don't want to use their hands to discipline their children. I get that sentiment. Also, a lot of the time parents are just doing what they perceive to have worked for them. The wooden spoon didn't work for us (my mother broke one on my brother, didn't seem to help her out much), but then again, nothing my mother did worked for us because she was totally inconsistent in her disciplining. She could have used a cattle prod, it wouldn't have made any difference because things that were fine one day were crimes the next. There is much more to discipline than the implement.

"I wasn't thinking in the context of an animal that is being violent because I don't spend any time around violent animals."

Sorry, I only said what I did because you claimed that animals were helpless.

"I was thinking of an animal that won't go where it is told, or toilets where it shouldn't, or destroys objects for fun."

All things a person should be prepared for when they buy a puppy. Unfortunately, as you are already stating, people are not always aware that puppies (or other animals) have special behaviours and requirements and if they are ignorant or just cruel they abuse the animal for it. Parents who are ignorant or cruel abuse their children too.

"And yes, you trained your dog, but there are plenty of adults out there who train their spouses too."

That's an odd analogy. I don't see how you can really compare the two situations. Ever tried to sit down and reason with a dog? In the spouse situation, there is a viable alternative and this makes the "training by hitting" morally wrong. I've only ever met one "train them with love" dog owner and her dogs were completely out of control, they didn't respect her at all :( And as you've just seen on the news I guess, an out of control dog is a very bad thing indeed.

"I wasn't making a "child should know better" argument, I was making a "its wrong to hit adults yet they should know better" bullshit suggestion, to demonstrate how relativistic it sounds."

*cringe* sorry I still don't get it.

"I'm willing to bet that for every "anti-smacker" that then engages in some sick behaviour like pinching or shaking, there are ten "I should have the right to discipline my children PRO smackers" who go far too far, and DO smack when they are frustrated, tired, headache, hormones, inpatient, personality disorder, etc, and DO exceed the level of physical force that is appropriate - like the one i saw on the tram who full swing full speed smacked her 1yo (in the pram) right across the face. I won't say any more about that at this point."

That woman should have been reported to the police. Did you? Did anyone? Because all the people who did nothing to protect the child are accessories in my humble opinion.

Nothing I have said condones any of the above behaviour. I pointed out the hypocrisy of some anti-smacker types. I have not, at any point, condoned behaviour where parents go too far. That is not discipline, that is venting your frustration on someone who is relatively helpless and completely dependant on you. I'm not sure what you are arguing for here. Are you arguing for discipline by smacking to be outlawed?

"In what circumstances should adults tolerate being hit or think its ok to hit another adult?"

My daughter has a habit of running ahead at the shopping centre. (We do not use a harness out of consideration for other people who want to retain their hearing.) If a bloke picked her up without my permission and I didn't know who they were I wouldn't just hit them I'd probably rugby tackle them and try to break their fucking neck. I think violence would be ok in that circumstance.

To take a milder example. My husband has less nerves than me, occasionally doesn't know his own strength, and tickles me in a painful way. I thump him to make him stop, because it's quicker than explaining (I'm in pain, remember). It was this kind of hitting I had in mind when I said adults do hit each other, and it's not reported. For that matter, siblings hit each other too, particularly if they are not old enough to be articulate about their issues, this can carry on in a milder form into their adulthood.

When I steal food from the chopping board when my step-mother is cooking she slaps my hand away when she thinks I've had enough.

A bloke at CPA had his fingers saved by a guy who pushed him (hard) away from the table saw.

I think that's enough...

"And if they don't complain within say, a week, to the police, do they still retain the right to complain years later when they drag the person through court and want to smear their character because the relationship "didn't work out"?"

In the above scenarios, I don't think the complaints would be taken at all seriously.

"I'm not a parent, but as for bad behaviour/not listening/being naughty, would it not be easy for say, some man to adapt what you have said to an analogies about his girlfriend/wife? It is the cultural norm for men to do so in a considerable percentage of the world's communities."

No, it would not. Because the girlfriend/wife is an reasoning adult.

"Seriously, give a young fool like me an example of what a 3yo can do, and I can think of an equivalent many grown adults would do."

This was the real clincher for me. I'm sure you could. But you would probably deal with their behaviour by removing yourself from the situation and leaving them to their own devices (unless you were their carer which is a different story). Parents hardly ever have that option, it is their responsibility to STOP the behaviour. The situation is utterly different. But if it helps, their are people in our society whose job it is to stop adults behaving dangerously or unsociably, they are policemen, and they are allowed to use force when the adults concerned are not listening to reason.

"It seems that people can draw the line for smacking someone somewhere where it suits them best, and in this case, it seems to be "no violence, no abuse, (nevermind the slippery slope), only a JUSTIFIED smack, and only to CHILDREN, WHEN they really need it".

That's because not all children respond to gentler forms of discipline. That is just a weird genetic personality trait type fact. Call me when you know why or have a cure.

"I'm sure most of the female "smacking defenders" would draw the line well before it reached a "justified smack" for THEM, unless they consensually enjoy that sort of thing, which is completely separate issue."

Most coherent smacking defenders would not indulge in the kind of behaviour that attracted a smack in the first place. Again, we are talking about the behaviour of children, not adults.

I would love to post this exchange on my BadMummy blog with your permission. It's fascinating.
Mon at 21:58 · Delete

thanks for your responses.
please post the conversation on your blog if you like,
I won't clog up our facebooks with any more on it.
Tues at 12:22

That's a shame. I don't get to lock horns on this issue very often. Most people I know personally agree with me. The one person I'm in vague contact with (internet met) who doesn't hasn't spoken to me about it.
5 minutes ago · Delete

An honest account of motherly anger? About time.

Well this is slightly topical given my last post...

Film-maker Julia Black, a BAFTA and Grierson nominated independent documentary maker, is making a film about motherly anger. As a mother of two, she is interested in shifting the taboo that surrounds a mother's anger towards her child or children and wishes to research into how many mothers, like her, have been shocked by the level of anger they experience.

Please take a few minutes to fill in this online questionnaire. All answers are entirely anonymous and cannot be traced to your e-mail address.

www.survey.ingenious2.co.uk

I did it, and it can be done in ten minutes or so. There's also room for the more loquacious of us to comment at the end which was nice (for me anyway!).

What do I want?

Good food, good drink, to be warm in winter and not too hot in summer, to have moral, well-rounded and content children, to have a small circle of good friends who get my jokes, a devoted partner who can make me laugh even in my blackest moods, a vegetable garden and to figure out what makes humans, well, human. I want to have all this while living in an equitable society.

I’ve very nearly got them all. Australia is slowly getting there. I haven’t planted anything this year but planning to be raring to go for autumn and the 3yo is slowly getting the all important “Do unto others” maxim. It’s the penultimate one that’s going to be the corker. What makes humans human? What are humans anyway? What are we? WHO are we? What on earth are we for? and most importantly (for me anyway), how do we work?

I’ve done a science degree majoring in biological molecules, I’ve explored the world of plants, microbes, insects, reptiles and mammals and it still amazes me that something as complex as an ant could emerge from an exquisitely organised cluster of molecules let alone a thinking, feeling, acting human being capable of immense wonders, dire atrocities and love that makes my heart flip every time I encounter it.

When I crumble homemade compost through my fingers I wonder: how can we be made from essentially the same stuff as this? It is naught but luck that some of the carrots in our house turned into compost and some into human via hungry kiddie tummies. No wonder people invented a divine creator (apologies to those who don’t think the creator was an invention) - something to stop the wondering that could drive most men mad. Fortunately for me I’m not most men (I don’t envy them their genitalia to be honest and seriously, if there is a creator, I think they’ve got some explaining to do in that area) but the question is driving me mad. Not because I don’t like the wonder, but because (despite my husbands Herculean efforts) I get to spend so little time devoted to it.

Parents simply don’t get to swim in entrancing questions the way people can when they do not have caring commitments. And when the question is one of human consciousness, there’s a great deal of swimming needs to be done. So what do I want? I don’t want a Nanny, I like my children most of the time and they need their parent around. Maybe I’d like an extra 72 hours a week just for me. Yep, that’s what I want. A little speedy time capsule so I could nab an extra 72 hours while the others slept. I might age a little faster than my husband, I might use some of those extra hours for sleeping, who knows? The point is they would be just for me. Some guilt-free hours just for me, that’s what I really want.

Bad Mummy morning and the screaming to-do-list.

I’m writing this for my husband. I’m writing this for a plethora of reasons (work avoidance, getting the writer’s juice flowing, venting) but mainly for my husband who oft complains that I make unreasonable knowledge demands of him as he can’t possibly know what goes on when he’s not here. Fair cop.

This article is written to cure ignorance. It is written for those who think that keeping house for five (if you include the dog), rearing children with widely disparate needs, while writing a thesis is easy. It is written to call out those parents who are making it look easy by pouring their remaining energy into a blissfully happy facade (STOP it will you? you're not helping!). And finally, it is written for those of you who will GET it, those who know that more thought goes into seemingly simple tasks than those who don’t have to do them can possibly imagine. Also, that there are MORE simple tasks than anyone can possibly imagine, and for those of us who wander around awake, these simple tasks can take over our heads, berate our brains with their need, and whip our conscientious bodies into actions that are not, necessarily, the ones that we would most like to be doing.

If this stream of consciousness account of my morning gets boring, that’s because HOUSEWORK is boring - plough through, that’s what I do, you may find there’s a reward at the end. Oh, and this is the truncated version.

6.45am My alarm goes off. I groan, rip out my earplugs (I wear these so I can sleep through the rumblings of the walrus), remember that I don’t have to get the 12yo to school today and roll over for ten more minutes of blissful snooze while the other half showers.

6.55am crawl into my clothes, most of which are too small - can’t afford bigger ones at the moment, solving the problem with the more economical strategy of eating less.

7.00am Toddler wakes up chirpy and cheerful (thank goodness) I spend the next 45 minutes negotiating clothing and breakfast. Resisting the urge to shout, “What is WITH you? Your brother didn’t care what colour socks he wore!! He didn’t even care if he wore socks! Just put on the blue ones for FUCK’S sake!!!” No, all of that goes on quietly in my head while I calmly wait for her to navigate the minefield of colours that is her underwear drawer.

745am Getting ready to go, checking shopping lists (because it’s Tuesday and there is no other shopping day), checking that the banks have all done what they were supposed to do overnight, organising to pay the most urgent bill - “first notice… school excursion…. second notice…. final notice…. they won’t REALLY take me to court…. disconnection - Bingo!”

7.55am Ready to walk out the door only I forgot that the dog was getting clipped, impatiently wait for him to finish his breakfast before loading everyone into the car (this, just on its own, can take fifteen minutes).

8.45 Catch all the horrible traffic due to getting out of the door late so treated to half an hour’s worth of whining about childcare from toddler instead of the usual twenty. Fill in the forms for medicine at childcare (toddler has a runny nose) and attempt to disentangle myself from the lady limpet - thank goodness for childcare angels who manage to extract her without a tantrum today! They are under-applauded and under-paid.

9.15am Dropping the dog off. At least he likes the groomers, no separation issues there. Forget to rebook his clips so will have to do that at the other end of the day. Bleah.

9.30am Finally make it to the shopping centre an hour later than usual and debate the pros and cons of having a coffee now. Stomach solves the problem by announcing to all and sundry that it’s empty. Breakfast is a gourmet mocha made with real chocolate and served on a Bunsen burner. Worth every penny but the decorative melted chocolate down the sides of the mug drives me nuts (being a non-handle type of person).

I try to alleviate the pausing for coffee guilt by reminding myself that it’s a rare day when I can have a coffee in the morning without the toddler present. Also, I get out my to-do book and start to write down all the nagging clutter in my head. The list of things still left to do… it runs to three A5 pages. Not bad. This tirade wasn’t on it, by the way.

10.00am I finally get to Coles and find to my amusement that they have solved the problem of consumers having accurate information (the price per unit info under the actual price) by making the UNITS different. That is, one brand of tissues is priced per tissue, the other brand is per 100 tissues. Nice one Coles. Very clever. Respect. This is the highlight of my shopping trip. I still take the time to buy the cheapest thing on the shelf.

11.00am Home again. The plan was to dump all the stuff that needed to be refrigerated in the fridge and leave again for Uni so I can get a draft to my supervisor who is lucky enough not to have read a draft of mine yet, and so demonstrates some enthusiasm for them.

Instead I think, “It’s only a small shop today, and you’re only making soup to freeze, you can cook while you put away the shopping…” I’m powerless against that nattering, nagging, get it done now you won’t regret it voice… so I do it.

Chop onions, remembering to put peelings into our new compost pile as I go, retrieving the large saucepan from the *dishwasher that needs emptying* (“Oh, I’ll just get that out of the way too…”).

Set the onions to caramelise, find the herbs, waste time looking for a special chili mix that seems to have evaporated with the move. Disappointed I settle for chili powder. Get out cans for this amazingly easy vegan soup. Stir onions, unpack shopping, stir onions… add herbs… stir onions…

Open the cans of cannellini beans (organic, whatever that means) and tomatoes (whole tomatoes because the factory uses the better quality fruit for those that go whole into the tin - damaged stuff gets diced or pureed - see how we think about every little thing that goes into the cupboard and hence your bellies?) run a small experiment to see whether the visual effect in the blender is more pleasing to the eye with the cannellini beans on the top or the bottom (bored am I). Cannellini beans on the bottom definitely wins. I will forget this and run the same experiment next time I make this soup. Pour the resulting pink slop over the onions and muse that if I were ever to write this recipe down I would need to reassure the gentle reader (why are readers always gentle? I’m not!) that the resulting soup is a rich red. Set it to boil. Realise I forgot to buy tuna, go through the shopping list to see if there’s anything else I forgot, while I’m at it go through the receipts in my wallet to see if there’s anything claimable on them. Fix the permanent shopping lists in my permanent list book (that's why I forgot the tuna).

Time to clean up (“you might as well get that out of the way”). Rinse out all the tins with the same bit of water, run it through the blender then add it to the soup. There’s nothing meaty or dairy on the blender so that gets a quick rinse and goes straight onto the *dish rack that needs emptying* so you empty that in order to be able to put the new stuff on it and remember that you were going to empty the dishwasher… (“Might as well get it out of the way…”)

(“Might as well finish off”) the shopping job by putting the shopping bags back into the car… Also collect rubbish from car and check mail while you’re there (“might as well”). Reflect that if you were a better parent you’d make the kids clean up their own car mess so that they didn’t think fairies did it.

Reward: When I come back inside, the house smells amazing.

It’s now 12.30pm and I’m starving. Time to make lunch and start moving things to the study…

(NOTE: With a toddler in tow, this morning would have taken until 3pm to complete. After which I would have started the after-school run. Today was a rare and magical day with my son away and my daughter in an extra day of childcare. To complete my Tuesday tasks in record time is a treat.)


Retrieve draft notes from the bedroom (because you fell asleep berating yourself for your crap prose and disorganised exegesis last night) unsuccessfully ignoring all of the post move clutter in the hallway that screams, “You’re at HOME!! Might as well do ME too!!!!” I give in and put away one umbrella on my way through. In the bedroom I also retrieve an empty champagne bottle from my side of the bed. Husband has cottoned on to the fact that it will be disposed of if he leaves it on my side and he’s not wrong. Bottle magically fills recycling bin which gets put by the door for my next trip outside which will be during my study break when I will also check the mail and make two dozen roast chicken sandwiches to freeze.

Make lunch, high protein, low carb as is the norm for the new dietary regime. I compromise with avocado dip and crackers, squeezing the lemon juice through my fingers to catch the pips Lebanese style and because handling the food is how you get the love in. Run my lunch and notes to the study while ignoring the outdoor jobs that scream at me -
the conglomerate of pot plants the broken easel begging to be measured up for some new dowel pins, the weeds in the path, none of which seem to bother my husband.

I check my mail and read the news, resisting the urge to berate a commenter and tweet about her inflammatory ignorance instead. Nice break.

It’s 1pm. Time to change hats from Mummy to Scholar. And can I? No. That’s why I wrote this, seething with resentment because I can’t shut all of this stuff out while the rest of my family can. I’m surrounded by animated tasks and objects and the chatter is deafening. My environment is a visual to-do-list, and in the current climate it is overflowing. I am, you might say, constantly perceptually overwhelmed at home. This is the reason one of the traditional Dad’s jobs was to “get mother out of the house” on occasion.

So, dear husband, that’s why I’m snarky and jittery when you come home after I’ve had a day at home. I’ve spent the day trying to shut out the chorus of a to-do-list that is impossibly long. That’s why I snarled when you used to refer to my days at home as “days off”. And THAT’S why I’m so protective of my one little sterile room. My one room with no jobs in it but scholarly jobs, my little grotto. THAT’S why I snap when you ask if I really “need” it, or when you ask why I can’t have the household paperwork here too…

But now I feel fantastic, sometimes having a good old whine does the trick beautifully. I’m going to go into the house to get another cup of tea, and when I do I’m going to tell the chorusing to-do-list to go and get stuffed.

Toddler Twister

Today 2yo composed a song. There was one verse, "Daddy's not afraid of Mummy any moooore!!" She accompanied herself on the ukulele and had the rest of us in fits of laughter. We have NO idea where the words came from. Daddy is not owning up to anything anyway.

Later on we had an activity conundrum.

2yo: "I want to do painting?"

Bad Mummy: "No, it's too late for painting, you can do drawing or play dough."

2yo: Thinks. "Pasting!"

Bad Mummy: "No, you can do drawing or play dough."

2yo: "Pasting!"

Bad Mummy: "Drawing or play dough."

2yo: Thinks. "Drawing WITH play dough!"

So that's what we're doing. She's going to show me how.

Mummy Wordle Made from Tweets. Tres Cute.

I wish I could say the same for the html they give you to paste :-\

href="http://www.wordle.net/gallery/wrdl/799254/Mummy_Wordle"
title="Wordle: Mummy Wordle">

Cute way to recycle Milo tins

I must be getting housewife's brain if I'm constantly blogging about this stuff. I don't mind, I figure I need it. This is my brain holiday.

Milo is the only nestle product I buy and my son eats mountains of the stuff. We had a drought induced mouse plague last year and they got into everything that wasn't behind glass or metal. That's when I started using the tins for staples out of desperation. Now I quite like the look, it's green (well, greener than Tupperware), kind of rustic and post apocalyptic. Perfect for our Bad Mummy kitchen.

Things I do are:

1. When washing them for use I make sure ALL the water is removed. They rust at the drop of a hat (or water...).
2. I cut out the label from the bag of whatever staple it is and stick it to the tin, covering the whole label with clear sticky tape so that it doesn't get grotty. If I don't like the label, I use a strip of masking tape. This adds a bit of variety to the look.

Now I just wish my shelf was an inch wider...

Furniture Tetris

Last week our two year old daughter swallowed a staple resulting in panicked phone calls to Nurse-On-Call and forced ingestion of much fibre. She's ok now, but the event spurred a home re-organisation in the name of safety that dwarves all my previous tidying efforts.

Here be photos:

The livingroom will become a study shared by Daddy and Mummy. Eleven year old will also have a computer in here rather than in his room.


My study will become the livingroom. You can see the same poster on the wall.

The two year old, bless her, managed to find play space in the chaos.


But we did have to have our lunch outside.


We are still at it.


.

What to do if you over-do the herbs in the pasta sauce.

I just had to blog this, it's typical of a Bad Mummy Deed.

I was making a family favourite (and one of the ways I get my husband to consume fish) - creamy smoked salmon pasta sauce - when I drifted off during the cooking and tipped half a jar of dried thyme into it. Not good, unless you like your pasta sauces to taste like cattle fodder and have the texture of a mouthful of pins. Here's how I solved the problem:


1. Swirl the sauce so that the thyme coats the side of the pan.


2. Wipe off the thyme that stuck to the sides with tissue. Make sure there is a thick wad of tissue between your fingers and the pan if you like your hands to be burn-free.


3. Repeat as necessary.

These photos were taken after about five wipes so it's not nearly as green as it was when I started.

The tissues will look like you've been nursing an echidna with the flu, your bin will be gross, but the pasta sauce will be back to fabulous.

It is handy on these occasions to have a professional mess-maker (toddler) around. This is so when your husband comes home, looks in the bin and cries, "For the love of god what IS this FOULNESS???" you can say, "Ask your daughter!" You are then off the hook unless he says, "No really..."

Lazy Sunday dinners in the 'vents household...

This should be read by any mother berating themselves for feeding their hungry hoard fast food. We've normalised it :-(

Tonight I'm distracted by my own activities (in this case morosely quilting, moaning that it must be over soon or I shall expire 'neath a mass of brown and yellow cotton) and vaguely thinking that I'll make pasta and salad to feed the hungry hoard, when my son (11yo) requests a "Last Hurrah" dinner because it's the last day of the holidays. This is his code for "some form of fast food". I relent (too easy in this heat) and send him off to negotiate the precise form of fast food with his step-father. I couldn't care less myself, I won't eat much of it because my appetite takes a dive when the temperature gets above 30 degrees or so. He comes back and reports that my husband wants vegetarian and he wants hawaiian. I correctly deduce that this is code for pizza and add some meatballs for myself to the order. By the time I get to the phone my husband's order has changed to vegetarian pasta - lucky I indulged in some communication before I dialed.

We eat in front of the Fraggles (they have taken up permanent residence in our living room). I'm not hungry but manage to down one meatball and some snow peas. 11yo tries my meatballs and finishes the lot, shunning the humble pizza on his plate. 2yo is feeling sick and only eats the pineapple on her slice of pizza. The only person truly happy with his choice of food is my husband - this place creates a fresh kind of vegetarian pasta for him every time we order and it's always excellent. I reconsider my omnivourusness for the nth time this week.

Now the kids are still in front of the TV, 2yo sniffing intermittently and 11yo rousing himself occasionally to say, "I can't believe it's school tomorrow!". I don't know where my husband has got to but he's about to be galvanized into dish duty while I get some drugs for the 2yo. My grand aim is to get my study cleared out so that we can turn it into a living room and the 2yo won't swallow any more staples. (Long story.)

Update: Where was my husband? Apparently he'd just saved his captain by dragging him to safety behind a ferris wheel...or maybe it was the enemy soldiers that were behind the ferris wheel... and I think there was something about a rope...either way it was high adrenalin and he was about to save the world from something. Definitely worth postponing dish duty for!

Quilting, especially oversewing. Tips for rank beginners from an uninitiate.

Yes I know. The noun "Uninitiate" is taking extreme liberties with the English language. It's my turn ok?

Things I've learnt from my first quilt:

1. If the ladies at quilting class tell you that your first project is a single bed sized quilt tell them politely to get stuffed and make a cot quilt. A single bed sized quilt is far too big for a beginner and becomes overwhelming. Get yourself a quick taste of success and do something small. If you don't know any babies make a cot quilt and give it to the cluckiest woman of reproductive age that you know - or you could make a table runner.

2. If you capitulate and decide to make a huge quilt make sure you have a huge table to work on. If you don't have one, buy one. If you're not going to buy a larger table you are going to be doing a lot of your work on the floor, so, join a gym. This is so that you can get onto your knees and back to standing up again at least a hundred times in an afternoon without needing a Radox bath and a massage afterwards.

3. If you decide to make a huge quilt do not oversew it yourself no matter how expensive professional oversewing seems to be. If you like the finished look of your patchwork try to remember that you stand a good chance of wrecking it if you do your own quilting. Like I did! :-( If you do oversew yourself, keep it simple: long straight lines only starting from the middle and working out. I tried to complicate things and have ruined my first quilt. This is heartbreaking after all the effort that went into putting it together!!!

4. If you've ignored all my sage advice so far and still want to do some complicated oversewing I have more things to say that might put you off. Don't. Don't do it. No really. Don't.

Didn't work? *sigh* read on then.

A large quilt is extremely heavy and has to be rolled or scrunched up in order to fit under your sewing machine arm:



With a quilt this size and a sewing machine this size turning the quilt is going to be a bitch if not impossible so you are mostly limited to straight lines especially in the centre of the quilt where your rolled up portion will be thickest.

If you do not have a huge table, the heavy rolled up portions drag all over the place driving you nuts. You will need an assortment of chairs scattered around your tiny table to take the weight and the patience to sew in very short bursts, readjusting the quilt after each burst.

If you do not have a walking foot, you need to keep a huge amount of pressure on the quilt to ensure the top moves at the same rate as the bottom. This gets harder and harder as you go along. Your arms and back will be sore. You will be grumpy. Quilting will not be fun.

Some more sage advice for stubborn, bloody-minded beginner home oversewers based on my experience:

Don't oversew your quilt. You're still ignoring me aren't you?

If this is your first patchworking effort it is likely that there will be some not so straight spots. In this case, DON'T attempt to quilt by stitching in the ditch. This will magnify every single crooked patch in your work. (My own quilt has every single crooked bit magnified because I thought it would be easier to follow the seam lines. Pha!!)

If you've made a quilt with contrasting light and dark patches (as I have) no matter what colour you choose for the oversewing your mistakes will stand out. Either the light thread on dark fabric mistakes or the dark thread on light fabric mistakes.

If you're still thinking of doing some complicated oversewing on a home machine with a large quilt for your first quilt, good luck to you. I'll see you in rehab. :-( Personally it's the most difficult and cumbersome piece of sewing I've ever taken on and I'm going beyond back of burke crazy with it. Hopefully I've put you off completely and you are frantically googling for professional oversewers....

Using procrastination activities to monitor your reluctance to perform a task.

I am procrastinating. Specifically, I am postponing talking to the car sales reps by disposing of the dead ringtail possum in our back yard. THAT is how much I don't want to talk to the sales reps. I'd rather be dealing with dead animals.

Crying over spilt soup... and tax.

When you've been one on one with an energetic toddler all day, and your husband comes home from his air-conditioned office and complains that he felt a "bit tired this afternoon", is it ok to fume inwardly and fantasize about pulling his scrotum up over his ears? Or should I just sigh and remember that suffering is contextual and we all suffer according to our own personal pain continuums?

Nah, fuck it. Fantasizing about doing actual physical harm is far more satisfying.

Today was 37 degrees. Today we stayed inside a stinking hot house all day. Today, this is what I really wanted to get to:

Yesterday I bought the borders, backing and wadding and I'm desperate to get started oversewing so I can just FINISH the damn thing.

Instead I had to do this:

WOOPS forgot the folders. That ended up being only half of them:


Why did I have to do the boring tax? Because I thought today was Wednesday, why else? I completely stressed myself out trying to get everything sorted because I thought our appointment with the accountant was tomorrow.

The poor toddler desperately wanted to help and we just ended up at logger heads because she wanted to sort, and write and add up just like Mummy and of course I yelled at her every time she touched anything. I tried to make up for it by letting her stir the soup at the stove "like a grown up" (the soup was cold and the stove unlit). She had a great time:


I didn't:

Outside "Tidy" my bottom, outside OVERHAUL is more like it.

Yesterday, while just being at home I decided to tidy up out back so that we could use our BBQ for our guests tomorrow night. I thought it would just be a matter of sweeping and cleaning the chairs.

Yeah Right.

In order to get to the BBQ I had to cut away the Monstera foliage, remove the bikes, the gardening equipment, the ladder... *sigh*

I only remembered to take before and after shots after I'd moved the bikes and the worm farm to the shed and 11yo had started to move everything off the concrete to the lawn so we could sweep.


In this photo you can see the Monstera trying to devour the BBQ and the ladder under the table where it has been "stored" all winter. The concrete is supposed to be red. It's covered in dry dirt and dust. The yellow tonka truck has not been moved for months and is home to all sorts of multi-legged fauna.



From another angle: most of the things on the table have been picked up off the ground.


A close up of the clam shell sand pit cover where I have dumped "stuff" when I can't think of what to do with it. It's mostly gardening stuff. Most of it could go in the shed I suppose. Only the shed is now full of bikes...


Some of the broken pool gear that is going to the tip.


The rest of the pool gear, most of which is degraded beyond repair and is going to the tip.


I found this under a pile of leaves near the Monstera - for the uninitiated it is computer software. I wonder if Hubby has been looking for it?


I decided to make it a spring clean and got the 11yo to do the windows...


...while the 2yo washed the dirty sand pit things.



Then 11yo did the windows AGAIN (poor bugger with his perfectionist Mummy!) while 2yo cleaned the chairs.


11yo also helped prune the Monstera, did some sweeping, shifted the tip rubbish to the front and... oh, cleaned a chair. Mummy did the rest. I publish the following photos as proof that this area can be spotless. This is as clean and tidy as it will be for the rest of the year. Guaranteed.





So, all you people at work. Wanna swap?

Christmas Anger Yey!

For those who were worried after my last post, don't. The closest I will get to risking life and limb is taking me, a tent, a week's worth of novels and a box full of fruit to the Ottways leaving my family to fend for themselves.

Today I would be worrying about people in my immediate vicinity - I have a vigorous case of holiday rage going on.

To whoever had the audacity to call me at 8.45am and wake the toddler up on the first day in months that I got to sleep in UNTIL the toddler woke up AND didn't leave a message making the whole waking up exercise pointless:

"I hate you. May 1000 dead camels crush your house."

To the dog groomer who assured me that my dog would be ready at 2pm so there was no need to make a "call me when he's ready" arrangement, only to tell me she was running late when I arrived (out of breath and with my toddler napping unattended at home):

"You really are a retard. Thanks for dropping the dog off a few hours later, but really, if you'd just remembered that the customer is always right, and spent 40 cents on a phone call you could have saved yourself some time and petrol and I might have used your service again. As it is, I won't be back, and I don't care how busy your morning was. I really REALLY don't care. Especially when I've answered the door in half a wetsuit, look hot and bothered, and am slowly closing the door in your face. You're there to make my life easier not turn me into an agony aunt, PLEASE TAKE YOUR EXCUSES AND RAM THEM."

To the Mums who dawdled through Leo's wheeling their prams two abreast so that no-one could get past while nattering about inane celebrity gossip:

"PLEASE GET LIVES and GET THE FUCK OUT OF THE WAY while you are at it."

To the middle aged fat guy who failed to give way to me at the roundabout and gave me a minor heart attack:

A BIG FAT "FUCK YOU".

To the P-plater who was sharing his music's baseline with the entire gridlocked traffic community and who let me in with a nod and a wave when I thought I would NEVER TURN LEFT AGAIN, EVER:

A big fat "THANK YOU", you are a credit to your generation and gave me hope.

I will now cook dinner with a screwdriver while my daughter fills her brain with Fraggle Rock ditties.

Dishwasher gripe - have faith in the engineers.

I have tried to tell the boys in my household that the dishwasher is DESIGNED to handle plates that are stacked one after the other. Very clever people got together, invented it, and tested it with dirty plates. Why then, do they insist on stacking this way??



Have they not heard that it's better for our pocket and our planet if the washer is stacked efficiently? Why do I even bother talking? Actually, I no longer talk. I just sigh, re-stack...



...and vent my frustration passively by "forgetting" to buy icecream. If only they knew...

The living room....

Today everyone helped on the living room. Well, three of us worked while a certain 2yo got in the way and undid everything. Lily Allen's Alright, Still on repeat got us through the worst of the sorting, ditching and cleaning up horrible sticky messes under the couch. We are now relaxing and watching Back to the Future (MJ Fox still gives me tingles) while waiting for our indian to arrive. Our food, that is.

The pics don't really capture the transformation. Note the mantle piece is CD and DVD free and the toys are neatly stacked rather than spilling over the floor...

Before:



After:



What actually happened was that all the toys were dumped on the floor, sorted, and broken stuff chucked away. The board games were all shifted to the TV cabinet and the toy tubs are now shelved so that we can actually open one of the livingroom doors all the way. The whole floor was vacuumed and the inch of dust covering everything was removed. Dust puppies hiding behind furniture were hunted down and exterminated. Yey.

More decluttering... maybe now I'll be able to do the banking?

On Wednesday my desk went from this:



To this:



An indication that I might actually be able to do things like, adjust our banking now that Hubby is being paid weekly instead of monthly (yey!!!!) and maybe, if the stars align.... do our 2007/2008 TAX!!! OMG!!!