Watch the war in colour

The TV just told me that a new DVD of World War I is available. IN COLOUR! The colour will make it a joyful viewing experience because that black and white is just way too gloomy.

FREE!

Today I received a FREE brochure in the mail that invites me to sign up to receive more FREE brochures.

Yippee! More junk mail. By simply signing and sending off the tear off section I'll be able to receive free brochures about Male Arousal Patches, How to Win the Lottery, and How to Become a Published Writer. Very diverse and information that all good households need.

There's probably one coming to your suburb soon.

It's all in the way you flick your hair

I wish I had the self confidence of a fourteen year old and felt comfortable strutting about the house saying "I am so great, I am so great!" right after I'd just signed a contract with my parents agreeing to clean both toilets twice a day in lieu of having to do the dishes.

Yesterday

Four in the toilet, three in the pants!

Each time he told us he wanted to go and only three times we didn't make it in time.

A major breakthrough in all things toilet related

Not only did we have the plumber come yesterday to repair the toilet but Henry for the first time ever uttered these words with sounds of desperation "Mum, I have to do a wee on the toot"and then followed through.

We were so proud and so was he as he looked in the potty and saw it filled almost to the top.

When he needs to go he walks around with his legs crossed and bends over as though he's in pain. It's like he thinks if he does this he'll stop it coming out and wetting his shorts or something. I've tried to catch him each time but as soon as he'd get on the potty he'd stop and nothing would come and then he'd do it in his pants. My theory of him becoming uncomfortable each time he was wet eventually paid off and he asked to go. YAY! He may regress yet but so far this morning he's asked us to take him three times but not done anything. Yet.

I'll live in Melanesia

So the Intensive Behaviour Therapy is paying off. I think. Henry's day care teacher takes great delight in telling me how cheeky he's been though. I'm almost at the point of asking her if he EVER does anything positive. I think she's just paying me back for the time I got very irate with them all for leaving Henry outside. It's the same old story. The minute you question anyone's ability to do their job properly they'll pay you back by being stoney cold and miserable towards you.

In fact I'm starting to wonder whether or not anyone has any "people skills" anymore or life is so busy it just doesn't allow for "friendliness".

I am a member of freecycle.org. An online worldwide junkyard. The idea is that you post the stuff you no longer need (as long as it's still useable) and pass it along to someone who does. For free. The purpose of it is to keep stuff out of landfill for as long as possible by recycling it. You pass it along. You can also ask for specific items that someone may have lying around but forgot they had.

I have never asked for anything or actually ever collected anything from freecycle but I have managed to offload a lot of stuff that was too good for the tip but not good enough to sell. The problem is though that there are some people who will immediately respond to a post and ask for ANYTHING and EVERYTHING you have. They don't do it politely either. They write to you and say "I'll have it, post it to me at this address". As if! As if I am going to go out of my way to pack something that is FREE and send it off to some moron who is incapable of asking politely for it.

It's not just freecycle. It's everywhere. I'm sick and tired of it! There's no time to be polite because they always have somewhere to be that's better than where they are.

I watched a program on television last night about some Australian cops working in Melanesia. The guy said his time there had given him a new perspective on life because the people there have nothing but are so happy. The people back home in Australia live in relative luxury and have many possessions but are all miserable and stressed because they're chasing an impossible dream. Our communities have broken down, whereas their community is all they have. Each person looks out for the other. Maybe we need community based Intensive Behaviour Therapy.

End of rant.

Intensive Behaviour Therapy

I haven't been posting much lately. Partly due to lack of time but partly because I've been involved in some Intensive Behaviour Therapy (another way of saying I've been disciplining him in a psychologically friendly manner) with my adorable son. I guess the Terrible Two's have hit with some kind of incredible fury.

We had four days at my sister's house where he was an absolute angel because there was ALWAYS something to occupy his time, including the ute which he is sticking his head out of in the photo above. So I believe this current phase may be due to boredom. I've dug out all my old parenting manuals and have been intently reading them for the past few days and putting the ideas into practice. They work for the most part. I've also figured out that every afternoon I have to take him to the park and wear him out otherwise he's climbing the walls between the hours of 6 and 8PM.

I've given up attempting to visit with friends, especially those that don't have small children or never have because unleashing Henry in their homes induces a look of shock and horror and I can see them calculating the minutes before we leave. They start glancing at their watches and muttering under their breath that they just remembered they had to be somewhere. Somewhere away from us. I try to leave their homes in the same state it was when we arrive but it's sometimes very hard to see EVERY piece of broken glass. Plus it's impossible to have a conversation in which one person is required to speak a whole sentence at once so visiting anyone for company is clearly out of the question. If I need to lay eyes on another adult human I simply go to the grocery store. At least there when Henry pulls all the baked beans cans off the shelf I can walk away and pretend it was someone else.

The parenting manuals all assure me that this behaviour is normal for his age and he's testing the boundaries etc but I'm not sure if I'll make it past this and come out the other end still sane.

Perhaps I need to buy a ute and leave it permanently parked in the living room.

Rejuvenation

This morning I had a massage. And a skin rejuvenating facial. The photo above of my sister's cow has absolutely nothing to do with this by the way. I just posted it because the that cow is so relaxed she feels comfortable slobbering all over the floor of the house while she hollers for her daily weet bix.

So, before I attend my massage I go through my usual morning routine - shower, teeth, clothing. I look decent enough. I'm clean. I smell all perfumey and stuff. I get to the salon and am greeted by a smooth skinned well dressed, slim young girl. Immediately I feel dowdy. My denim skirt and crushed t-shirt and unkempt hair (I didn't bother with this) make me look like the stressed out, time poor mother that I am. She on the other hand looks like she's just stepped off the facial table.

I haven't had a massage for a long time. I had forgotten how uncomfortable they can actually be. I don't mean it's not relaxing, it's just that as soon as they tell you to undress you become instantly aware of the fact that you forgot to wear your best bra and undies. You've got on the ones you wore when you were still pregnant, the ones that have stretched so much they should actually be painted with the southern cross and raised on a flag pole. Your bra strap has been broken for months and it's attached to the cup with a rusty safety pin. You forgot that SOMEONE UNRELATED TO YOU MIGHT SEE THEM.

Luckily she leaves the room and you're able to take off your bra and hide it in your handbag before she sees it. You can get on the table and cover your undies with the towel that's hanging over the end of the massage table.

She tells you to get on the table and get comfortable and she'll be back in a moment. So you do. She comes in. Asks if you're comfortable. Too cool? Too warm? You've got your face shoved in that hole and your skin is being stretched so tight you can't really answer without sounding as though you've been trying to swallow one of the cotton wool balls you saw on the side table.

She warms up some oil in her hands and gets started. Bliss! for a minute or two. Then you get an itch in your leg. Right down behind your knee. You apologise and reach behind you to scratch it. Get relaxed again. Start drooling because you can't get your lips to meet together because they're stretched wide open while you've got your face in the hole. You watch it drip onto the floor. It's better to close your eyes. You relax again.

You start to wonder whether or not she's noticed that hairy spot on your back and is she thinking she'll offer you a wax job before you leave. You hope she doesn't notice the love handles that have formed over your hip area. You wonder if she thinks about having to massage really fat people and does she compare you to them. You hope she doesn't look down at the cracks on your feet and offer to give you a foot job too. Has she noticed that you haven't washed your hair for a few days? Are your ears dirty? You tell yourself that these things don't matter. She does this everyday. Surely she's not checking me over for signs of self neglect while she's attempting to help me relax!

After a while you start to forget about all that stuff because your face is actually numb. You have to pull stupid faces at the floor to help get the feeling back. You realise though that the tension knots in your back have disappeared. Just as you do she tells you it's time for the facial. She says she's leaving the room for a few minutes to make up the mask. She tells you to roll over onto your front and use the towel to cover yourself. You breathe a sigh of relief because you haven't paid any attention to your bikini line in several years.

She re enters the room with a bucket of foul smelling gunk. Apologises for the stench but assures you it's the best facial mask ever and that it's got REAL egg in it! Great! Slopping egg all over your face could be done at home where no one would care about your decrepit underwear but obviously this is a special egg facial. It's got added ingredients that are going to suck the poison straight out of your pores.

You discover the facial part is actually really very nice. Before the smelly gunk goes on some lovely smelling creamy/oily type things are lathered around and some hot towels are used to wipe it off. There's a steamy thing right in front of your nostrils turning the stuff inside your nose into a watery mess that starts rolling down your face. She very gently wipes it off for you and pretends she didn't notice.

Soon enough it's time for the foul smelling gunk. She lathers it on about two inches thick and then leaves. It seems like she's gone forever and left you with this concrete stuff to dry on your face. You can't move or it'll crack. Maybe it's supposed to do that!?

She returns and starts to scrape it off with a spatula. Then she rubs away at your face trying to remove the last dried up bits of egg. Finally it's over. But you don't want it to be. Because while you were in that room having someone pamper you and there was some kind of chanting being played in the background you realise you had actually relaxed and you didn't want to leave the confines of the dimly lit room that seemed a million miles away from the dirty floor, the screaming kids and the pile of bills. You realise it was the best damn massage/ facial you've ever had!

Then you go to work. With bits of dried egg still on your face.