Archive for the ‘dinner time’ Category

My husband is leaving me and I think my sanity might be hitching a ride.

Tuesday, October 22nd, 2013

He’s leaving. It’s not forever, but he hasn’t left yet and I’m already petrified about how on earth I will cope.

I am becoming a surfing widow once again. He is off on the trip of a lifetime and I really hope it is that; the only trip like this he takes in his lifetime. No, not really, I actually hope he completely loves it, the waves pump and he has the best time away with some awesome mates. I absolutely want him to go.

I’m just a bit frightened about what life looks like without him for two and a half weeks. You see I am the breadwinner at the moment. Not as some people think because I am desperate to get back to work, but actually so he could resign and spend some time finding something he really loves doing. So at the moment he is the main carer for the Wild Child and The Stink. He loves it, which is great. He is awesome at it, which is even better.

I have worked often in the last four and half years, I have always done the drop off and pick up and all the looking after. Even while I’m working full time, plus a few other jobs on the side, I have done a few pick ups and drop offs and dinners and lots of all the other stuff so it’s not that I can’t actually do it all, it’s that I might need some help. And this is where the main problem lies, I’m not great at asking for help. My really-amazing-better-than-my-family-because-they-actually-help friends don’t wait for me to ask, they offer and thank god for that. But even then I feel guilty.

I feel guilty that even though I can help out my friends in return, I feel bad that they offer, when my family either can’t or don’t or say no. I know that staying home for two weeks without working wouldn’t be any easier, but it might be less stressful, and financially not much different once the trip and the child care is paid for. I’m okay with feeding them baked beans, or even sushi on the way home. I’m okay with showering every second day, washing clothes on the weekends and being a bit cranky at school. I’m even okay with him being away for my birthday and having the in-laws turn up that night. (Okay I might have drunk a bottle of wine to get through that, but it’s my birthday and I can if I want.)

I just have to view it as an adventure and take the kids on the journey with me. We can all sleep in the big king bed we finally got, we can all hang out and be feral on the weekend together. And if it doesn’t work, we can all hide from the world at home, or the beach, eating icy-poles and reading books.

So if you see me in the next few weeks and I stink, look hungry, are full up to the eyeballs on caffeine to stay awake and don’t recognise you, please don’t take personally, I’m sure the madness will only be temporary. Hopefully it will come back with my surfer boy.IMG_0836



Feeding time at the Zoo

Wednesday, February 20th, 2013



I don’t know about you, but at my house, feeding time is endlessly entertaining. Not for me, but for anyone standing around watching the chaos that is dinner time, it is hilarious.

The problem is, I don’t see the funny side.  And I am far too embarrassed by the horrid table manners of my children to invite anyone over to share this precious time with me.

It starts with the demands for food. In my house this begins at about 4pm, the 5.30am start contributes to the whole day being much, much earlier than it should. So instead of snacks, I starve my children so they eat dinner. Sometimes it even works.

Generally by this time I have tried to pretend to give the wild child some choice about what he is eating, you know bacon and egg rice or tuna pasta. (It is gourmet in our house, let me tell you. In fact if Masterchef really wants to challenge their contestants, tell them to prepare something that the whole family will eat, in ten minutes, with a whinging baby on one hip, that is super healthy and actually interesting. Good luck.)

Dinner is presented. Bubba gives it one swipe with his hand and his bowl ends up on the floor. Wild child lies face down on the table protesting, hair goes in delicious dinner. Dog tries to lick the dinner off the floor as I catch the spilling cup of water from wild child now moving head out of dinner and into drink. So, the dog gets yelled at, the bubba pulls his bib off and gets served his dinner from the floor back in the bowl. He gets a spoon, I get a spoon, the wall cops the next two spoonfuls. Now I have my head on the table with both children laughing at me and not eating very much at all.

And then the pooing begins. Always at dinner time. Wild child runs off needing to do a poo, bubba starts concentrating, already doing a poo. I wipe one bum, change another bum, wash my hands and we attempt dinner again. Games, songs, races, bribes, threats, eventually most of it is out of the bowls, some in tummies, lots on the floor and a bit in the dog’s mouth.

Hilarious I know.  Now I just wish I could see the funny side of it. Maybe at 5 in the morning when they wake up hungry, the true comedy of this will really shine through.

Some how I doubt it.

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