My Partner is Determined to Turn My Child Into a Geek

My partner txted me this image today while he was out with my daughter having one of their Daddy/Daughter days. 

I can see her thought processes in action:

“Who is this blue woman? Why is her head smaller than mine? I think she’s gonna eat me. Daddy, are you seriously gonna take a photo of her eating me? Is that white thing the rubbish bin? I need to throw this booger on my finger out…it’s a pretty big one… Maybe she’ll eat that instead? Maybe I should just give it to her? Mummy? Are you out there? Please save me from these geeks…you’re my only hope.”

When she got home I asked her what the blue lady’s name was and she said with absolute certainty “Fartagun”.

I am not familiar with Star Wars at all so I have no idea who she is but it would not surprise me if her name is, in fact, Fartagun. 

My partner is a geek in many ways and is quite freakish in the collection of information he stores in his brain, but he’s very selective in his geekdom. Black Hawk Down? Yes. Star Wars? No.

And so we are left wondering…is this lady really Fartagun?

Mea Culpa

We’re all human. We’re all fallible. And sometimes we commit wrongs we just can’t right - not for a lack of trying.

To those who read (and yes, I know you do) I apologise publicly, as I have privately and I can only wish brighter days ahead for us all.

I Vant To Be Alone

I was out seeing Inglorious Basterds quite late last night. Really enjoyed the film but it finished around 1am and with a detour to KFC that involved some roadworks and an insane traffic jam over the Westgate Bridge, I eventually arrived home and skulked in the door at about 2.30am.

As I settled my weary head into the pillow I realised it was actually 3.30am, given daylight savings had just kicked in. Doh! And I knew my daughter would be up at 5.30am to inform me “Not night time outside, Mummy! Daytimes. Open eyes! Open eyes!”

Blergh… this kid busts my balls.

Pre-child I was a morning person. Loved to get up early and watch the sun rise. Post child I get very grumpy when my slumber is interrupted and anyone and everyone who crosses my path knows this. And yet the loves of my life in their evil Daddy-Daughter partnership conspire on a daily basis to send me to an early grave.

Daughter wakes up three times a night, most nights,  to tell me she is about to pee and needs me to stand guard cos everyone knows naughty goblins are on the lookout to steal unguarded children away to the underworld the moment that first drop hits the toilet bowl. So there is nothing for it but for me to stand in the doorway like a zombie til she’s done.

She never calls for Daddy. Never. Nor does he ever hear her. Ever.

With the knowledge that I have been woken thusly about 3 times every night, every morning (and I mean every morning) partner rolls over at 5am to wake me  like he’s doing me a favour and showing me something I’ve never seen before with his “Ooh, looky what I have for you right here…yes, I know you’re impressed…how could you not be? It’s all yours, babe. Go ahead. Abuse me. You know you wanna.”

Again, pre-child, mornings were glorious. Post child? Get outta here! I’m tryin’ ta sleep!

5.30, right on cue, she traipses down the hall and squeezes in between us to tell me to wake up cos she’s on for a chat.

Why is it kids seem like they’ve done a boatload of speed at that exact moment your day will consist of 23 hours?

“Mummy. Mummy? Good morning? How was your sleep? Mine was dood. I’n a big girl so I is up early. I dot this kitten out of da egg. You get me more eggs? Then I could have lotsa kittens and dey be a family. Da mummy will go to work and da daddy will stay home and look after va other kittens. But I need lotsa eggs. We make a cake today Mummy? Hmmm? We make a chocolate and strawberry cake for Maxy and Zaksy cos they be the good boys but Niko and Daddy can’t have any cos dey be naughty…” and she finally stops to take her first breath. But only momentarily.

Where is the flipping off button I’d like to know?

Partner leaves to go watch NFL on the telly.

15 minutes later she somehow manages to talk herself to sleep but in the process takes all the space in the bed so I take the opportunity to go and lay in her bed.

Oh sweet relief. Solitude. A single bed where I can be left uninterrupted and alone to enjoy my own company and hopefully some sleep.

Til I hear the pitter patter of big feet making their way from the lounge room.

What the hell is he doing? This bed aint big enough for the both of us. But he squeezes in promising to leave me alone wanting nothing more than a cuddle and a snooze. Whatever the case his plans are interrupted when daughter comes in and we all somehow manage to fit into the single bed.

What is wrong with these people? Don’t they crave space?

I am so tired. I actually, truly, ruly, absolutely, positively just want to be alone. For an hour. 15 minutes even.

So I can just have some sleep. And silence. And no talking.

Happy Birthday Mum

My mum would have been 63 today.

Strangely it’s a harder day for me to deal with compared to Mother’s Day since she passed in January this year.

A few days ago a girlfriend just randomly started talking about her Dolly Parton CD of 40 or more “Essential Hits” and I asked her if “Coat of Many Colors” was on it. She looked at me a bit strangely and said she wasn’t sure if she’d heard that song. I recoiled in horror saying “Oh my god! How could anyone not know that song???”

Mum was a singer who had crossed many genres in her career that included country and when we were kids she’d sing “Coat of Many Colors” to us.  I showed my friend the song on Youtube and as I sat there watching it I remembered how my mum would play the guitar in the same fashion with the same nails and the same hair (albeit black) and the same makeup.  She truly was the black Dolly. And I started crying because that song meant so much to me. And I really, really miss her so much.

So this is for her. Happy birthday Mummy xxx

Songs That Stop You From Gettin’ It On

What song have you just not been able to get down and dirty with?

I was laughing over at the Diva who had posted a pisstake version of Bonnie Tyler’s “Total Exclipse of the Heart.” 

It reminded me of a horizontal moment with a guy from my past and at the crucial moment when you’re hovering just below the mountain tops and about to hit the peak, Bonnie came on the telly and started singing “Turn around…every now and then I get a little bit lonely and you’re never coming round…turn around…every now and then I get a little bit tired of listening to the sound of my tears…”

And I was working away thinking  “The chick is a serious mood killer.”

I soldiered on and tried to block her out, but it was tough and by the time she got to singing “I really need ya tonight! Forever’s gonna stop tonight…” I lost it and cried “Bloody hell! How am I expected to cum to Bonnie Tyler! Jeez…”

While checking Bonnie out I came across this version of Journey’s “Separate Ways”, coincidentally yet another video that had a similar effect on me during another occasion with the same guy who was a big Journey fan. (Ok, ok, I was young and stupid). It always amused me how seriously he took Journey in light of these high camp videos. When I first saw the original video I couldn’t stop laughing and he was totally offended that I couldn’t respect his favourite band. I think he even gave me Steve Perry’s letter “X”.

End of story there.

I did not think anything could be funnier than a Journey video itself, but this does it well.

Cake Porn

This weather is doing strange things to me.

I’ve been trawling the net for a bit o’ crumpet. Some lovely puddin’. Some sweet tart. A lovely cherry pie.

“Why you always gotta make everything out to be sexual???” I can hear my partner asking.

I dunno. But I see a picture like this tiramisu cake…

And this raspberry and lemon curd sponge cake…

And this upside down plum cake…

Or some luscious Black Forest Cake that is dark like you imagine the Black Forest to be not those Christmassy looking cakes with heaps of cream and maraschino cherries all over the place…

and yes, ok, I admit it. I get a bit toey. A tad hawt in the trousers. Pre-cakeasmic.

But look at them!

Phwooarrr….

As I’ve said before, Ican’t stand all those frou frou cakes doing the rounds at the moment that look much much better than they taste. I don’t wanna taste icing that looks and tastes like play dough. I am gagging for cake you used to get from the ladies of the CWA. Doily underneath and all. Cakes that remind you of being a kid. Cakes that warmed the cockles of your heart on a cold winter’s night. Cakes that just make you happy to look at. Nothing gets my engine going like a cake.

And yeah, cakes my mum used to make most of all.

Best Foot Forward

Ever feel like you’re drowning in “to do” lists and that you’ll be dead and buried long before you reach the end?

Rueing the day you refused to buy a clothes dryer when you can barely move through the house without hitting a damp towel because of unseasonable rains?

Wanting to throttle the rubbish man who missed your bin?

Having a fumbly day where everything you do you have to do two or three times?

Or you’re on a mission to get a task done but realise when you get there you forgot what it was you were supposed to be doing, cos your brain’s just so rattled?

Ever realise that’s the 17th time you forgot what you were doing that day and then when you tabulated the amount of time you wasted doing so, you wanted to punch walls in?

Sick and tired of clicking through the volumes of twee Mummy/Mommy blogs and their immaculately designed and cleaned homes and equally immaculately turned out children, totally devoid of human life and filth?

Buried in kids toys, papers, clothes, snot, sticky hands & about to go postal after your 4 year old’s stuck the 25th sticker on your forehead, but stop yourself when you realise it says “You’re a Star!” and she earnestly looks at you and says “You so berry, berry pretty, Mummy! Let’s play shoes!”

Ever realised that sometimes it’s more productive to tell yourself “Fuck the motherfucking list! It’s gonna be there tomorrow anyway. Right now those Giuseppe Zanotti’s are calling my name. And if I’m able to say that and I’m not cleaning toilets for a living, then life is pretty good for me and I have no right to complain or punch walls in – you privileged and pretentious whining cow…”

And so my daughter and I cleaned out a bunch of my shoes, put my winter shoes away and prepared myself for summer and spring on this here bookshelf. To do list is one task shorter.

I am amazed how many pairs I had. I am amazed that each of these pairs in this pic are high heels (25 pairs). I am amazed that I have so many light coloured shoes given I am size 9.5. Who do I think I am? Minnie Mouse? I am amazed that I have 3 pairs of gold high heels. I mean, why? I am amazed that the number of flats I have here in this cabinet totals 4 and they’re not exactly what you’d call sensible either.

Thinking that maybe I make things more complicated than they need to be and need to strip life back to bare essentials.

The question is could I really wear Birkenstocks and Mary Janes day in, day out?

To All the Recently Arrived Indian People in Melbourne…

I want to say…”Welcome”

And I’m so sorry that Australia is full of bogan whities with their innate sense of entitlement and total lack of irony that they’re also strangers in a strange land who frankly are not fucking welcome.

I got home late on the train last night. The carriage was mostly packed with people of African, Asian and Indian origin heading home after a long day. People working their guts out, day in, day out, with no energy or desire to create a ruckus. Peaceful, quiet, respectful.

Til on jumped a bunch of teenage bogans, pissed and straight from the Royal Melbourne Show. Sporting southern cross tattoos on their necks and loudly playing Australian rap (that I’m positive was Lebanese Australian, but there you go…) out of their stereos and shouting crude and racist remarks about how disgraceful it was to see all these “monkeys” on the train.

These are the fuckers who think they’re too good to clean toilets and that the country owes them the dole for the term of their unnatural lives.

I know its wrong to hate and there are very few people I put in that category, but damn do I hate these miscreants.

I hate the fact that they put people in dangerous situations. I hate that I had to ignore these idiots who called me for sitting next to a black man. I hate that while I was more than prepared to tell this fucker exactly how he could go and fuck himself I could only say as diplomatically as I could “I’m happy where I’m sitting. Maybe you should sit somewhere else?” The very last thing I wanted to do was turn a bad situation into a catastrophe for myself or the people around me who were so abhorrent to them.

May all your testicles shrivel up into sultanas never to spread your nasty seed. Or be sliced off by an oncoming train that you’ve wandered into in your drunken stupor.

I’m not fussy.

Telly

I am ashamed to say we bought a massive 106cm mother flipping flat screen plasma television about a month ago. I railed and railed against my partner’s wishes and desires for years and years, arguing there was no rational purpose for us to have one citing these very valid reasons:

• When my daughter was born there was no way I was going to contribute one red cent of the baby bonus to the plasma industry.
• What about all that carbon footprint jazz?
• Our names are not Chez and Dazz (all offence to the Chezz’s and Dazz’s of the world, some of whom are within my immediate family).
• We do not have the requisite number of children fitting the names of Montannah, Renaey, Kara Tay, Shon-telle, Tarkyn & Steele (though yes I do barrack for Collingwood and yes I do think Steele Sidebottom is one of the coolest names ever).
• He will not have time to watch AFL, soccer, gridiron or any other form of heterosexually acceptable homo-erotic man on man action after he’s attended to both my daughter’s and my every whim and desire. (And yet we are sitting here on a Sunday morning in the lounge room watching American college football. A game I do not get at all and for some reason that I cant quite articulate makes me really uncomfortable. This is college football and they have their own freakin’ stadiums the size of the MCG?)
• We live in a fairly large non-open plan Victorian Terrace, containing only numerous gorgeous, quaint little rooms. In all actuality, it’s a big fish out of water.
• There was nothing wrong with the old analog telly. I mean it was a dual video player/tv. At some stage in its life  it was cutting edge.
• And once I dig my heels in I am hard to budge without a sound rational argument.

And so it was until my daughter and I were drawn to this large LCD TV playing Madagascar at Dick Smith Electronics.  We stood there wordless and slack-jawed for 10 minutes marvelling at the colours. It was just beautiful.

After some research we settled on the plasma over the LCD, namely because my wiley powers of flirtatious persuasion worked on a JB Hi-Fi salesman who offered me a deal I could not refuse and also because the picture was just better.

The only comfort I can derive from my lapse is the fact that friends with the same stance on this subject have been similarly slack-jawed on viewing it, though this mobile phone pic does it little justice.

I guess you really can never say “never”.

Happy Anniversary

My partner and I have been happily living in sin for around 8 years now. No mean feat in this day and age of easy come, easy go.

To celebrate we spent the evening getting sloshed on overpriced, yet oh so yummy and lethal cocktails, enjoying only the company of each other’s presence in a way that, post child, we had almost forgotten we could.

Milestones often carry a weight of expectation that can sometimes ensure the occasion fizzles and you’re sitting around left wondering what the hell it is you see in each other. But he is still as funny and cute and kind and sweet and macho as he ever was and still the most fun I would choose to have on a Saturday night. So last night we chose to celebrate at one of our most favourite eateries.

Seamstress Restaurant Bar
113 Lonsdale Street, Melbourne
www.seamstress.com.au

If I were to tell you exactly how much I love Seamstress I would say this.

If I were about to give birth to quints  today and knew my next meal out in the “real world” would be when I’m well over 50 – for 15 years I would reminisce about every mouthful I’d ever eaten and every cocktail I’d ever sipped at Seamstress – and hope they were still around when I’d done my time and finally got released back into society. 

So it was the perfect occasion to revisit the place on an insanely balmy September evening in Melbourne last night, before that unkind inevitably.

Their complimentary broth always gets me salivating over thoughts of delights to come. Delightfully peppery and comforting in that way your mum’s home cooked chicken soup is in the dead of winter.

We started with some ocean fresh oysters, plump and succulent, with a tonic of tequila, chilli, lemon and coriander. To die for.

A pork loving Polak, my partner couldn’t go past the crispy golden plains pork belly. With that first mouthful I dodged a bullet as his eyes crossed and he uttered that familiar groan. He was done. More than done. Clearly the quints would have to wait.

Our favourite waitress recommended an Italian white (I think it may have been a Falanghina but I was pretty chirpy by that stage so can’t quite remember) that had such an unusual taste I’d never come across before of butterscotch, honey and pear to go with my char grilled Hopkins River Angus fillet with forbidden rice and braised oxtail. Just divine.

By a wonderful stroke of luck they also had rhubarb crumble on the desserts list. To quote Meatloaf, I would do anything for love – as long as it included rhubarb.

And the Pies won! Woo-hoo! Carn the mighty Pies! (Yes, I know they’re going to get thrashed next week but you gotta celebrate the small victories. This week I would have Jack Anthony’s babies. Next week? Abort! Abort! Abort!)

Relationships are full of ups and downs and I think we’ve had more than our fair share of downs this year. But I think the true test of a relationship is looking forward to waking up next to someone you actually really like day in, day out.

And I sincerely do.

Happy anniversary moje duzy, owloshienie niedzwiedz.

xx