I feel like the new girl. Although I'm far far from it, joining in activities with child #2 is like being the new girl all over again. The big kids are all off doing their own things, Kindy, Daycare etc, and so too, their mums have their own agendas now, and there I am, left to my own devices, thrown somewhat into the deep end, right back at the beginning on the path of discovery which is making new friends.
It would be great if Lil Miss had even half as many little mates as the boy has, and with it, me, the ability once again to meet and make friends with some wonderful mothers of those cute little monkeys.
In a way, I don't want new friends, cause I like the ones I have, I feel out of my comfort zone, far from shy, yet comfortably complacent in my wee circle of 'girls', I'm finding it hard to come to terms with welcoming any more into my life.
I sat back at music this morning, like a single at a dance, checking out all who were there, "oh, she dresses well", "oh, she's a loud one", "poo, stink much", so many different faces for me to process. But I'll get there I suppose, I did it once, and now's the chance to rise to the occasion again.
And in all honesty, us mums, we're all in the same boat, waiting, watching, wanting that special someone to have a chat and ask round for a coffee.
I'm lucky to have the opportunity to be a stay at home mum. And with that in mind, I best be off, washing to fold, dishes to do!!!
Thursday, March 5, 2009
Monday, January 19, 2009
Blade runner
I can count on my left hand how many times I've mowed the lawns. Three. A grand total of three. I basically suck at the skill of lawn mowing. It's not that I don't care for it, infact on the contrary, I quite like a bit of fresh air and a sneeze in the sun. I'm just not that mowercanically minded is all.
First time was a disaster. Tried to surprise hubby (well, boyfriend he was at that stage) by mowing the lawn so when he came home it would be one less job he'd have to do. Turns out, mowers can be complicated for someone mower illiterate like me. I had no idea the blade had to be moved into the downwards 'cut' position in order for the grass to actually be clipped. And so the story goes, I mowed the whole lawns without cutting particularly many blades of grass at all, apart from the odd one alongside the deck which was slightly longer than those blades in the middle of the lawn.
Hot and bothered I showered and waited excitedly for my beloved to return home. Well, he arrived, and minutes turned into hours, and still no comment of my afternoons effort. Sitting on the couch starting to fume that he was an ungrateful so-in-so having not even mentioned let alone thanked me for my efforts, I made the first move. "Oh" he laughed, "did you". Took himself outside to the deck and had a look. Bent in half laughing he explained to me that you actually need to lower the blade and that my efforts had been in vain. Not quite believing that someone could not notice the length of the lawn hadn't changed one iota from begining to end of session.
Next was the Whakatane house with the 900 odd sqm section to mow which took me hours and I vowed and declared that I would never mow a lawn ever again. But I did. I mowed the lawn here at our new house last week. In a last ditch attempt to right the wrongs of my lawn mowing career as it were. It's not a perfect job, I didn't do the weed eating, but hey, you take what you can get - right?
And THIS time the man did notice. Yay. Twelve years on I got my "thanks for mowing the lawns, it looks great". It was worth the wait.
First time was a disaster. Tried to surprise hubby (well, boyfriend he was at that stage) by mowing the lawn so when he came home it would be one less job he'd have to do. Turns out, mowers can be complicated for someone mower illiterate like me. I had no idea the blade had to be moved into the downwards 'cut' position in order for the grass to actually be clipped. And so the story goes, I mowed the whole lawns without cutting particularly many blades of grass at all, apart from the odd one alongside the deck which was slightly longer than those blades in the middle of the lawn.
Hot and bothered I showered and waited excitedly for my beloved to return home. Well, he arrived, and minutes turned into hours, and still no comment of my afternoons effort. Sitting on the couch starting to fume that he was an ungrateful so-in-so having not even mentioned let alone thanked me for my efforts, I made the first move. "Oh" he laughed, "did you". Took himself outside to the deck and had a look. Bent in half laughing he explained to me that you actually need to lower the blade and that my efforts had been in vain. Not quite believing that someone could not notice the length of the lawn hadn't changed one iota from begining to end of session.
Next was the Whakatane house with the 900 odd sqm section to mow which took me hours and I vowed and declared that I would never mow a lawn ever again. But I did. I mowed the lawn here at our new house last week. In a last ditch attempt to right the wrongs of my lawn mowing career as it were. It's not a perfect job, I didn't do the weed eating, but hey, you take what you can get - right?
And THIS time the man did notice. Yay. Twelve years on I got my "thanks for mowing the lawns, it looks great". It was worth the wait.
Sunday, January 4, 2009
Did I fart?
Gone of course are the days of 10am sleep-ins, dinner 12 hours after that, and music blaring from the stereo in between.
New Years eve for the year 2009 was a long time coming. For around 10 years a group of us had made motions of having a get together of gargantuan proportions to see in midnight and be hooligans til the cows come home. And so it came to pass, camp mother 'Jo' decided to take the bull by the horns and organise way back in February a rented bach on the edge of the beautiful lake Rotoiti. Far enough away from Rotorua not to smell the sulphur, yet, close enough to have to drive past Hells gate and make the mandatory 'fart gag' on the way by, although admittedly, in driving through by myself having dropped the children off in Tauranga for the night at their grandparents, the fart gag wasn't quite so hilarious "phoar, did I fart?, Um, yep, guess I must have hwar hwar hwar"
In turn we arrived, around a dozen 30 somethings ready to show the Vegas district what we were made of. Turns out the 5pm til midnight stretch minus children to feed, bathe, bed and re-bed is actually quite the long night.
We transformed the lawn into a makeshift lounge bar, blue & white chilly bins for our coffee tables, and with gorgeous 70's kiwi bach furniture to lounge on, we were set for the evening.
As the witching hour crept up, so too did the sound system, and the volume of the conversation. I was quite taken with an ipod which had come along for the ride, two actually and by the end of the night I had managed to take sole charge of the evenings listening entertainment.
A few saved fireworks for the climax of the countdown, and disappointly not even an attempt at the traditional Auld Lang Syne, one party goer even wishing his loved one a "Merry Christmas dear", we were clearly not as good as this New Years eve thing as we used to be.
New years day, and our big chance at a sleep in, but of course at 6am and we were wide awake, and with the big brother I never had in the form of my cousin, and his family arriving in time for their we bubs 2nd feed of the morning, we were up and atom watching out as every car drove by wondering if it would be our babies arriving to join in the fun at the lake.
And fun indeed we had. A bit of shopping, some of Rotorua tourist fun, swimming (not me though, brrrr), some very scarey looking mermaids, our time spent at Rotoiti will always be something to look back on and smile. Even if we were only one of two couples still in 'home' mode having to feed, bathe, bed & re-bed children, there was certainly an air of wanting to stay for just one more sleep.
New Years eve for the year 2009 was a long time coming. For around 10 years a group of us had made motions of having a get together of gargantuan proportions to see in midnight and be hooligans til the cows come home. And so it came to pass, camp mother 'Jo' decided to take the bull by the horns and organise way back in February a rented bach on the edge of the beautiful lake Rotoiti. Far enough away from Rotorua not to smell the sulphur, yet, close enough to have to drive past Hells gate and make the mandatory 'fart gag' on the way by, although admittedly, in driving through by myself having dropped the children off in Tauranga for the night at their grandparents, the fart gag wasn't quite so hilarious "phoar, did I fart?, Um, yep, guess I must have hwar hwar hwar"
In turn we arrived, around a dozen 30 somethings ready to show the Vegas district what we were made of. Turns out the 5pm til midnight stretch minus children to feed, bathe, bed and re-bed is actually quite the long night.
We transformed the lawn into a makeshift lounge bar, blue & white chilly bins for our coffee tables, and with gorgeous 70's kiwi bach furniture to lounge on, we were set for the evening.
As the witching hour crept up, so too did the sound system, and the volume of the conversation. I was quite taken with an ipod which had come along for the ride, two actually and by the end of the night I had managed to take sole charge of the evenings listening entertainment.
A few saved fireworks for the climax of the countdown, and disappointly not even an attempt at the traditional Auld Lang Syne, one party goer even wishing his loved one a "Merry Christmas dear", we were clearly not as good as this New Years eve thing as we used to be.
New years day, and our big chance at a sleep in, but of course at 6am and we were wide awake, and with the big brother I never had in the form of my cousin, and his family arriving in time for their we bubs 2nd feed of the morning, we were up and atom watching out as every car drove by wondering if it would be our babies arriving to join in the fun at the lake.
And fun indeed we had. A bit of shopping, some of Rotorua tourist fun, swimming (not me though, brrrr), some very scarey looking mermaids, our time spent at Rotoiti will always be something to look back on and smile. Even if we were only one of two couples still in 'home' mode having to feed, bathe, bed & re-bed children, there was certainly an air of wanting to stay for just one more sleep.
Tuesday, December 23, 2008
And so this is Christmas...
(she sings in best 80's pop icon voice), "and what have you done..." hmm, lets see, run round like a mad thing would sum it up quite nicely.
Yay for Christmas Eve Eve daycare this morning as I was able to frantically wrap the last of the pressies and stash them beneath beach towels in the back most part of the boot of the Porshe. And by Porshe I mean Audi A6 station wagon, and by Audi A6 station wagon I mean white, dusty, cob webby Toyota Camry circa 1997. (But dreams are free of course).
I'm now in the midst of washing those last few 'must have' clothes, you know, the favorite pirate t-shirt, the dinosaur pj's, the very cute but highly impractical girly dress for lil miss to wear Christmas day so she'll look way cute in the family Christmas day snap shot - and so what if it's covered in turkey & cranberry sauce by the time the Kodak moment takes place, at least I can say I tried.
And speaking of Kodak moments. A very proud mummy moment last night when I took the boy to meet the man in the jolly red suit himself. Not being the most confident of kids, I was convinced that his 21st photo board would be sans Santa photo, but in a strange turn of events, he rocked right up to Santa, spoke very clearly about what he would like, and advised even more clearly how good of a boy he'd been this year. So with a week to go until his 4th birhtday, he managed to leap this huge hurdle that often even the most outgoing children struggle to do. So yay for him, and yay for Kodak moments.
What more to say at this time of year. Peace, Goodwill & Merry Christmas - or will it be Maori Christmas, I think we're having a hangi!
Yay for Christmas Eve Eve daycare this morning as I was able to frantically wrap the last of the pressies and stash them beneath beach towels in the back most part of the boot of the Porshe. And by Porshe I mean Audi A6 station wagon, and by Audi A6 station wagon I mean white, dusty, cob webby Toyota Camry circa 1997. (But dreams are free of course).
I'm now in the midst of washing those last few 'must have' clothes, you know, the favorite pirate t-shirt, the dinosaur pj's, the very cute but highly impractical girly dress for lil miss to wear Christmas day so she'll look way cute in the family Christmas day snap shot - and so what if it's covered in turkey & cranberry sauce by the time the Kodak moment takes place, at least I can say I tried.
And speaking of Kodak moments. A very proud mummy moment last night when I took the boy to meet the man in the jolly red suit himself. Not being the most confident of kids, I was convinced that his 21st photo board would be sans Santa photo, but in a strange turn of events, he rocked right up to Santa, spoke very clearly about what he would like, and advised even more clearly how good of a boy he'd been this year. So with a week to go until his 4th birhtday, he managed to leap this huge hurdle that often even the most outgoing children struggle to do. So yay for him, and yay for Kodak moments.
What more to say at this time of year. Peace, Goodwill & Merry Christmas - or will it be Maori Christmas, I think we're having a hangi!
Monday, December 8, 2008
Mothers are like Marbles
Yeah, yeah, I know it's been 6 months since I last blogged it out. I've been busy, too busy for me it would seem, shifting to our brand new home, coping with the increasing demands of a soon to be four year old and a soon to be one year old, and just incase I didn't have enough to trip over already, we've recently added a kitten to the mix.
Named by the boy "Choppa", like the man says "could be worse", could be standing out on the back lawn in my dressing gown shaking the packet of whiskas yelling "here poo face" or "here bum bum" - too rather catchy and popular sayings at 'The Heritage' of late.
Anyway, back to me, I have some lovely friends who also don't have all that much time for themselves (the old them, sans children), however one of my lovely friends organised a girls afternoon yesterday whereby we wined, lunched, dinnered and coffeed the day away, just us, no kids, no dinners to cook, no jammies to find. It was heaven, and yet somehow foreign at the same time.
I promised during our big outing, that I'd start blogging again, I like to read others, so only fair that I give a little bit back to the blog community as it were.
Time in the shower is, apart from the odd mummy lunch, about the only place a mother gets to here herself think, that is if she's smart enough to shower at 10pm when there's no one awake to ask 21 questions while she is in there (smart move). So I got to thinking, one night in my little quite cubical, about what object could be related to being a mother, I decided that mothers were a lot like marbles, here's why:
MOTHERS ARE LIKE MARBLES
We used to be cool and exciting
We take a lot of knocks but keep on rolling
As one we are strong,
but put a whole lot together and you will have a hell of a lot of fun.
Quite like being a mum, don't you think.
Right so that's my theory on the world today - hope you're proud of me 'G' finally getting back on the blog wagon!
Until next time
xx
Named by the boy "Choppa", like the man says "could be worse", could be standing out on the back lawn in my dressing gown shaking the packet of whiskas yelling "here poo face" or "here bum bum" - too rather catchy and popular sayings at 'The Heritage' of late.
Anyway, back to me, I have some lovely friends who also don't have all that much time for themselves (the old them, sans children), however one of my lovely friends organised a girls afternoon yesterday whereby we wined, lunched, dinnered and coffeed the day away, just us, no kids, no dinners to cook, no jammies to find. It was heaven, and yet somehow foreign at the same time.
I promised during our big outing, that I'd start blogging again, I like to read others, so only fair that I give a little bit back to the blog community as it were.
Time in the shower is, apart from the odd mummy lunch, about the only place a mother gets to here herself think, that is if she's smart enough to shower at 10pm when there's no one awake to ask 21 questions while she is in there (smart move). So I got to thinking, one night in my little quite cubical, about what object could be related to being a mother, I decided that mothers were a lot like marbles, here's why:
MOTHERS ARE LIKE MARBLES
We used to be cool and exciting
We take a lot of knocks but keep on rolling
As one we are strong,
but put a whole lot together and you will have a hell of a lot of fun.
Quite like being a mum, don't you think.
Right so that's my theory on the world today - hope you're proud of me 'G' finally getting back on the blog wagon!
Until next time
xx
Wednesday, June 25, 2008
A mother's guilt
Life's full of catch 22 situations when you're a mum. Damned if you do, damned if you don't. I really think midwives should issue a t-shirt to every new mum on the arrival of her first born.
The boy has started day care recently and while I was hesitant to let him out from under my wing, I am on the other hand delighted to do so for various reasons. However, the floodgates I was so anxiously expecting did open and I am not looking forward to a prolonged battle of teary morning drop offs.
He's the kind of boy who's happy to be where he is once he gets there, and once he's comfortable, he's all in and all go, but the reserved, shy side to him isn't quite as brave as he would like to be and his emotions overwhelm him - not surprisingly since I'm such a cool mummy to hang out with hehehe.
And so Monday's and Tuesday's are met with anticipation and apprehension from the both of us. I love the fact he's learning new things and that he has the opportunity to be independent of his mummy, but there's this horrible knot each morning as I leave him there with waterworks in full flight.
I could google the word guilt, however the Concise Oxford definition would no doubt differ from the actual one a mother would pen if it were she who wrote the dictionary.
I am trying to decide if this little challenge is more for him or for me, and I'm concluding that it is for us both, and I think we'll both be enriched and enlightened once we are over the initial shock of not being so joined at the hip.
The boy has started day care recently and while I was hesitant to let him out from under my wing, I am on the other hand delighted to do so for various reasons. However, the floodgates I was so anxiously expecting did open and I am not looking forward to a prolonged battle of teary morning drop offs.
He's the kind of boy who's happy to be where he is once he gets there, and once he's comfortable, he's all in and all go, but the reserved, shy side to him isn't quite as brave as he would like to be and his emotions overwhelm him - not surprisingly since I'm such a cool mummy to hang out with hehehe.
And so Monday's and Tuesday's are met with anticipation and apprehension from the both of us. I love the fact he's learning new things and that he has the opportunity to be independent of his mummy, but there's this horrible knot each morning as I leave him there with waterworks in full flight.
I could google the word guilt, however the Concise Oxford definition would no doubt differ from the actual one a mother would pen if it were she who wrote the dictionary.
I am trying to decide if this little challenge is more for him or for me, and I'm concluding that it is for us both, and I think we'll both be enriched and enlightened once we are over the initial shock of not being so joined at the hip.
Friday, June 13, 2008
Shhhhhh
What is that noise? Oh, yeah, it's nothing. Lil' Miss is playing happily on the floor and the Man has just taken the boy off to Grandmas for the afternoon. Lil' Miss and I are delighting in the not often found company of our own silence.
Ah, no, there it goes, I knew it wouldn't last long - "Mummy, why aren't you picking me up"?, she calls, in cheekily disguised baby language" And so I caved, and here I sit one handed typing or hunting and pecking as we used to call it in fifth form typing.
Once again it's been some time since I sat here and did this, but seeing as the house is relatively tidy, and there's only a short while til my chiropractic appointment, I decided, it was time to open the old lappy up for a bit of a rant.
I can't believe how fast the weeks are rolling around, it's already mid-year and the old casseroles are starting to nourish us regularly now. It's great this hearty winter food, definately better than the rabbit food we feed ourselves in the summer, don't get me wrong, I'm all for a good salad, but night after night trying to use up the same old ingredients, becomes a bit blah.
And isn't it nice to sit down at lunch time and tuck into a bowl of lovely home made soup and toast cut into soldiers, yum. Got to have the soldiers. I remember my Grandad used to break up and put his toast in the soup. Yuck, not my cup of tea, not into soggy bread, but what do you know, as if history repeats itself, the boy has decided he likes his soup crumb ridden also.
Ah winter, ah soup, ah silence. Well, at least I know there'll be a good chunk of two of these things at our house.
Ah, no, there it goes, I knew it wouldn't last long - "Mummy, why aren't you picking me up"?, she calls, in cheekily disguised baby language" And so I caved, and here I sit one handed typing or hunting and pecking as we used to call it in fifth form typing.
Once again it's been some time since I sat here and did this, but seeing as the house is relatively tidy, and there's only a short while til my chiropractic appointment, I decided, it was time to open the old lappy up for a bit of a rant.
I can't believe how fast the weeks are rolling around, it's already mid-year and the old casseroles are starting to nourish us regularly now. It's great this hearty winter food, definately better than the rabbit food we feed ourselves in the summer, don't get me wrong, I'm all for a good salad, but night after night trying to use up the same old ingredients, becomes a bit blah.
And isn't it nice to sit down at lunch time and tuck into a bowl of lovely home made soup and toast cut into soldiers, yum. Got to have the soldiers. I remember my Grandad used to break up and put his toast in the soup. Yuck, not my cup of tea, not into soggy bread, but what do you know, as if history repeats itself, the boy has decided he likes his soup crumb ridden also.
Ah winter, ah soup, ah silence. Well, at least I know there'll be a good chunk of two of these things at our house.
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