Addictions

For a while now, I have been very jealous of those lucky sods who have access to Pinterest.  It all looks so organised and pretty and Martha Stewart. So I plucked up the courage to register and hoped I would be chosen (invited) to join.  Half an hour later I was.  (bit of a let-down that, don't feel so special now)

Anyway, I now Pin.  I love it and all I think about when I look at sites is whether the picture I'm looking at will look good on my board or not.  I have even ripped off a picture I saw there and recreated it in Illustrator. - See? It creates ideas!

But now, instead of pinning beautiful things, I want to make boards that are funny, that are a little bit bad taste.  I want to post pictures like this:

Funny

and this:

WTF??!!

I think funny/Wal-Mart/White Trash needs a board on Pinterest. I wonder how long it will be before I get banned? Hmmm

My other addiction this week has been Instagram on my phone.  I love what this app can do.  I love that it can make my crap photos that I take, look decent and (I might say) a little bit arty.  My goal is to get on the 'popular' page. I need lots of likes - probably also need to take a half way decent photo first though.

Here are some of my attempts:

Didn't even need to 'shop this one

Luna Park, St Kilda

Tina's new glasses

Well, there you go.

These are my Salada Days...

Last night J informed me that she had to be at school early tomorrow as she has rehearsals for 'One Good Deed' straight after snack.

O.K.

I was awoken this morning by a fully dressed-in-her-uniform-and-hair-done J urging me to get up and make lunch because she 'can't be late today!'

I tumbled out of bed and stumbled to the kitchen to pour myself - oh, hang on - lost track due to my tiredness and being awoken at ungodly hours by oldest daughter.

Anyway.... I'm up, dressed and playing will-they-wont-they with the snacks (will they eat what I've given them and not whine when they see what their snacks are?).  We (children, husband and I) have a discussion about lunch orders. Friday is the last day of term, will the canteen be open on Friday?  Better not risk it - lets have a lunch order today!  So it's decided.  I finish packing the school bags and then organise children to eat breakfast, clean teeth and have hair done.  I then organise the same for myself.

We leave the house 15 minutes earlier than most days (yay!)  My music choice in the car is acceptable to the children - Madonna Celebration (Disc 1).  At five to eight the children are released from the car and I turn the music up to deaf old man level and tootle off to work.

Work, work, workity work.  Lunch time!  I drive to the local sandwich shop and while I'm ordering my sandwich a thought occurs to me... I didn't actually write the children's lunch orders out!  No lunch for my children!  Gah!  Then I suffer the humiliation of knowing that this isn't the first time this has happened.  Usually it's T Man forgetting to put his lunch order into the lunch order box, or me leaving written-out-with-money-in-the-bag lunch order on the kitchen bench.

Then there is the further humiliation in knowing that the school has a back up plan for such scenarios. The teachers are allowed to give the lunchless children Saladas. Oh the shame.

Now with 60% less professional parenting!

I am dreading going home from work - I will be faced with a barage of 'You forgot' and 'I was sooooo hungry' and of course 'Miss Smyth gave me some Salada's'.

Definitely will need giant glass of wine tonight - only after I over compensate by serving children mountainous plate of food for dinner.

Time for Wine?

I think so.

Clearly, I'm crazy.

Whirlwind. That's how I'd describe my life at the moment.  Crazy, stupid, out-of-control.  The only shred of normality is between the hours of 8.30am and 5.00pm.  Then, and only then, I can escape to the wonderful sanctuary of my office.

Here is a list of things NOT to do if you don't want some kind of crazy, messed up life:

1. Book a rollerskating birthday party for your son. 20 six year-olds barely know how to walk, let alone roller-skate.
2. Bake the Birthday Cake on the day of the party. You just know it's going to turn out crap, you just know it.
3. Under-cater with the Cheezels and the Fairy Bread. 20 hot and sweaty six year-olds will eat and act as if they've never seen food before.
4. Allow your father-in-law to attend the party. All the single ladies, all the single ladies.... were not safe in his presence, neither were the married ones.
5. Allow your husband to attend.  Enough said.

This is how a skate party should look. (Scott Baio!)

Next year I will know better and I will tell T-Man that he can have one friend (not the 'Time Out' kid or the richest kid in the class - I don't need that pressure!) to have a party with.  Harsh, I know but I really do believe my sanity is far, far more important than his Birthday Party happiness.

I thoroughly deserved the 1.5 bottles (Amiri - NZ Sauvignon Blanc) I drank when I got home that night.

There's no dignity in a massage chair.

Last night Tina's mum had one of those super swish massage chairs delivered.  We all trooped over there (except J, who was still lolling around on the couch draining the last bit of sympathy for her sick day) and admired this new beast designed to alleviate all manor of aches and pains. Tina had a go first and aside form moan and groans his mother probably shouldn't know he makes, he said it was quite good and that I "should experience it for myself".

I squished myself into the chair and Tina used the remote control to start the thing and after the chair adjusted itself to "know" my body, it started.  It was quite pleasant and very massage-y.  I said to him that I thought the setting it was on was quite strong, what was it? "Seniors" he replied. Uh-huh. Seniors.  There are two things here - one - it was on bloody seniors setting and two - about 5 people were standing around watching me have bits of my body pummeled and probed and squashed. Not to mention the sight of my tummy and boobs wobbling all over the shop.  AND I was very good and restrained from letting Tina's mum hear my sex noises as this chair really does make you moan and groan!

I like the concept of these chairs and am sure they will provide all the massage and relaxation the user needs, I'm just not so sure about someone walking into my house and seeing me sitting in what essentially looks like a space ship pod chair with my hands and feet cocooned in little devices that when activated make escape impossible.

I definitely needed, in fact deserved, a wine after that (N.Z. Sauvignon Blanc).

This picture is strange on many levels. Does she know that he can't escape or does he think the chair is a toilet - his expression certainly points to that.

Time for Wine?

I think so.

In definite NEED of a big bag of wine.

Last night, I was doing some tedious magic wand-remove background-save as Photoshop work and even though I was mentally past it (2 glasses of wine - Semillon Sauvignon Blanc) I still managed to hear the feeble bleeting of J (daughter - first born) who had decided that her earlier reported sore tummy was now worthy of crying and thowing up on the bathroom floor.  I actually ran up the hallway to try and get to her before said throw up landed on the floor, but was too late.

And right then and there I failed at being a parent.

The sight and smell of J's Throw Up® made me want to do the same.  This has never happened before.  I have always been kind of too tough for that, but last night I just couldn't take it. I could barely even calm her down from the throw up tears.  Tina (husband - 10 years), was shocked and then all hissy fitting when he realised there was no way I was going to go anywhere near it. After what I considered a sufficient time, I ventured back to the vomit zone to find Tina with rubber gloves on, the mess on the floor covered over with paper towel (probably excessive, but hey!) and a plan of attack. He handed me a bucket and I took it to J, who was lying in bed, she then looked up at me with pity eyes because she knew I'd failed her. She knew that she'd be getting no compassion from a be-gloved parent with a can of air freshener and a roll of paper towel. Compassion during illness is my job.

While standing there though, with bucket in hand, I saw the all too familiar signs of more vomitous eruptions and shoved the bucket in her face with a banshee scream of "Don't get it on the bed!" I dutifully held her hair back and when she had finished, handed her the box of tissues.  Now that's good parenting!

I couldn't dispose of the bucket contents though and then again at 4.00am when she did it again, but I was certainly compassionate when I forced Tina out of bed to do it.

Is it Time for Wine?

I think so.