Tag Archives: Embarrasing Stuff

The pictorial progress report. Still a long road ahead.

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I avoided stepping on the scales and measuring myself yesterday because I was a bit afraid of what I would see – big fat numbers.  But it has been a month since my original fat photos so I could not avoid the progress report any longer.

It is not AS BAD as I thought it was going to be.  I am relieved that I have not gained any more, but it is what it is.  It’s pretty much what I expected, given that I had overdosed on youknowwhat and youknowwhat – the two evils, both beginning with C.  I dare not even speak their names, for I fear once the words spill from my lips, I shan’t be able to stop myself from indulging once more.

 

It has been one month since I started this journey of finding myself again underneath this layer of wobble.  One month of trying to become a runner.  One month of dinky knees.  One month of feeling guilty for eating too much c_ _ _.  One month of highs and lows.  One month of learning what not to do.  The first month of many healthy months to come.  My gift to my family – a healthy mum and a healthy wife.

 

Now, don’t get excited.  What you are about to see looks almost exactly the same as what you saw a month ago.  A little disheartening, but oh well.  Baby steps, baby steps…

Now remember – the BEFORE pictures are on the RIGHT.  Look LEFT for the non-existent improvement.

001 collage (1)

 

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Notice the difference?  Yeah, me neither.

As with my running, I will keep on chugging on.  I will keep you updated on my progress.

A few little funny asides about my 2012 blog stats.

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WordPress was so kind to send me a review of my year of blogging.  I like the way they have used the image of fireworks, like my entry into Blogland was so explosive and all.  I mean really, the world will never be the same again.  History books will be rewritten, they will read – 2012: Sophia, the amazing and hilariously quick witted Taco entered the blogosphere.  Billions of readers the world over created a cult following and a new religion was formed – Tacology.  Believers think that they were all born from a giant vagina.  Oh wait, that really is where we all come from (size of vagina in question is open for discussion).  My bad.

 

Here is my report:

Here’s an excerpt:

600 people reached the top of Mt. Everest in 2012. This blog got about 4,100 views in 2012. If every person who reached the top of Mt. Everest viewed this blog, it would have taken 7 years to get that many views.

Click here to see the complete report.

 

Things that tickled my funny bone:

1.  My 2 posts about boobs were the most popular.  This doesn’t surprise me really because everyone likes boobs.  Men love them, women have them, babies drink from them and children jiggle them.  Win win all ’round.

2.  I found my most popular search terms interesting.  It seems that girls/women are still slightly obsessed with Eddie Vedder as evidenced by the search term ‘Eddie Vedder’s Wife’.  Obviously that is not me, but once upon a time I wished it was.  You can read about my fantasies here.  The other search term I found intriguing was – ‘Cats Reading’.  Come on, really?  I have something to tell you folks.  Cats can’t actually read!  But if you really want to search for that you will find that it leads you to this post.

3.  Most commented on post was one about how much my baby’s shit stinks.  You guys are a classy lot aren’t you?  Ok, in all seriousness, the post in question was the one about whether on not to start using cloth nappies, and I have learnt that cloth vs. disposable is a very hot topic indeed!

4.  But the most interesting fact of all to me is this:  I noticed that whenever I checked my blog stats there was quite often a referring view from Pinterest from this picture –

Sexy Toes

Sexy Toes

I posted this in the one about reclaiming my mojo.  Well, I decided to actually go investigate who had repinned this picture.  Oh my gawd!  You wouldn’t believe what I found!  My toes are now a proud member of a ‘Legs Feet’ board belonging to what I can only assume is a dude with a foot fetish.  My feet sit alongside pictures of half naked girls with their arses up in the air, snatchburger sticking out wearing red latex stilettos and manicured toes being licked or sucked on and women wearing slutty heels, legs akimbo squatting onto a mirror.  I find this finding super funny and am somewhat proud of having my feet on display amongst such lovely legs, toes and vaginas.

Sick baby and a new car and a challenge.

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This post has three points of call but first I want to give a massive shout out to all the dads that celebrated Dad’s day yesterday.  Whether you are a new dad, old dad, granddad, surrogate dad, uncle, brother, step-dad, foster dad, cool dad, funny dad, weird dad, a dad no longer with us, or a single mum working both the mum and dad roles, you all rock in my book.

Dads are awesome, especially my dad and D.  Dad and D, you are the best dads in all of the lands and I love you both infinity + 1.  Dad, thank you for always being there for me and supporting me and always telling me I look beautiful (even when I don’t).  You’ve  helped to shape me into the lady (said in the ‘I’m a laaaady’ voice from Little Britain) I am today.  D, thank you for being the coolest dad (and husband) in town and making our doodles laugh each and every day.  Never a dull moment in our house.  Love.  Admiration.  Gratitude.

 

Sick Baby

T has his first cold 😦

I think we’ve done pretty good not catching one until now.  I believe this is a testament to the goodness of magic boob milk.  But regardless, even the magic milk couldn’t protect him forever.  I caught it from J and T caught it from me.  K is fine.  He NEVER gets sick, probably something to do with how filthy he always is.

Having a sick baby is sad.  My poor little muffin is having such a hard time nursing and eating.  He nose is dripping like a tap and when he tries to eat all the snot bubbles out of his nose.  It really is a woeful sight.  He is not really sick, but just enough sick to be sad and clingy and sad and tired and sad.  Thankfully it hasn’t affected his sleeping at night and we have been getting through it with extra cuddles and nurses and an extra nap.  We had just managed to drop the third day time nap but have taken it back up again for the moment.

He HATES having his nose wiped.  Like seriously, screams the place down but I have to do it.  Mummy always has to do that bad jobs and be the evil parent.  I tried to use a bulb aspirator thingy and I swear after that experience I will never ever use one of those again.  I have already binned it.

Bulb aspirators = Baby torture.  Bulb aspirators = Baby thinks ‘Mummy hates me’.  Bulb aspirators = Mummy dies a bit in her heart.

 

Even though T was sick we all went in the new bus (more on this later) to the Gold Coast Show on Saturday.  It was effing freezing folks.  Wind chill -OMG.  Even though my nipples were on permanent erect, the boys had a good time.  They wanted to go but we didn’t want to spend a fortune so decided to pay for the entry and they had to pay for everything else they wanted.  J took $50 and K took $20 because he is saving for an iPad.

K has named himself bravest in the family after going on the Kamikaze.  No way in the world would I go on that thing.  Maybe 20 years ago…

We found a free activity at the show.  I know, I couldn’t believe it myself.  FREE??? At the Gold Coast Show???  Crazy.

K and J participated in a free Lego competition.  They each had 20 mins to build anything.

J had no idea what his creation was. It was a lump of random Lego pieces haphazardly put together to form a – in J’s words, ‘it’s a, ummmm, ship thingy?’

K started off making a snow base for which he was going to make a polar bear. With 5 mins left of the competition he became frustrated with his ‘polar bear’ (lump of white), pulled it all off and started building another lump of white. When interviewed about his creation his polar bear had morphed into an igloo. Somehow, and we are not sure how, K’s lump off white earned him 2nd place and a Lego policeman pack.

Checking out all the crap J wasted his dollars on.

Sick and sad and tired T at the show. Still Theodorable.

I expected to get a call to work this morning but didn’t.  I think just as well considering T is still not 100%.  Mother in law finds it hard to carry him a lot because of her bung shoulder and at the moment T likes to be held, so lucky for all concerned that I get to be home with him again today.  Here is a photo taken just now of Little Bear sleeping off his sick.

 

New Car

The time had come when we had to face the facts.  My little Hyundai i30, while still an awesome car which technically could squeeze in all the family, was just too small for us.  Time to upgrade and upgrade we did!

And when I say upgrade I mean UPGRADE to a BUS!  Not really a bus, but pretty darn close!

We really liked the Nissan Elgrand and were looking at trying to get a 2002 model or there abouts.  They were somewhere in the vicinity of $16K – $20K which is a fair chunk of coin.  Then out of nowhere came this absolute fucking bargain too good to pass up.  It is a 1999 model which was a few years older than we wanted but at $9K such a massive saving we just had to check it out.  At that price, it was going for well below market value.  We bought it.

 

 

 

Only teensy little problem is we now have 3 cars.  Anyone want to buy an i30?

It is super cool.  There is plenty of room for everyone.  T’s car seat goes in the back row and he loves the new view.  In the i30 all he had to look at was the black window shades but the tint is so dark on these windows, shades are not needed.   K is stoked that he can have his own reading light for night trips that won’t annoy the driver.  J has been enjoying sitting in different spots each journey.  It’s great because the boys can sit apart so they don’t touch each other or look at each other because you know that, ‘he looked at me’, is always cause to start of a car fight.  Also, I OWN the road now.

 

The Challenge

Found this little challenge as I was blog surfing and decided that if there was one thing I needed help with it was getting to the bottom of the shit around here and organising my house.

Just a few minor technicalities……

Last week was dedicated to completing some pre-challenge tasks.  Basically getting ready to start.  I didn’t.  Is it bad that I was too unorganised to complete the tasks I needed to complete to become organised?  I am sorry Organised Housewife, it’s the sick baby and the new car’s fault.

Anyway, I am looking at it this way.  I am just a little over extended at the moment to do this challenge 100%, but I would like some kind of plan or guidance to do a half-arsed job of it.  I do love a good plan.  I really like the way she gets you to organise yourself.  You build a folder with lists and shit to do in it.  This becomes your bible should you need to organise your life again in 6 months or a year later.  Lists are my friend.  All I need to do now is actually go and buy a folder and some ink for the printer…

The plan is this.  We are going to have to move out of our little house in the coming months.  We are looking at before Christmas.  I am going to do a half attempt at completing the challenge now.  Meaning, I will do what I can when I can.  And then in a couple of months when things have settled around here I will do the challenge again with gusto.  This will make packing and moving a gazillion times easier too.

 

Today is challenge day 1.  Today’s task is to clean and organise your kitchen.  Right at this point in time my kitchen looks like a hippo’s asshole.  Have you ever seen a hippo’s butt?  I have, I watched a doco on the hippopotomus last night.  They do a super wet and sloppy shit and use their tail to whip that shit all around the river.  Class act, and just like my kitchen.

I have half of D’s trip to the super market still on the bench, a junk bowl from hell, drop zone for everyone’s crap, dishes in the sink and a tower of pills and potions on top of the microwave.  I will photograph the hippo butt for you.

 

Disclaimer – my kitchen is not ALWAYS like this.  It has been a particularly busy and crazy weekend and morning.  Sick baby takes it out of you (I just spent 1 hour rocking a hysterical T to sleep), and here I am blogging instead of getting into it.  Also, all my doodles are slobs.  Sometimes it feels as if I am fighting a loosing battle.

If you squint it doesn’t look that bad. That’s not true it still looks bad. I am mortified to show you this. Oh the shame.

So that is it.  Stay tuned for the most amazing ‘after’ photo imaginable.  Anything would be better than that mess right?

Million dollar mansions, Eddie Vedder and me.

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A long, long time ago in another lifetime, my best girlfriend and I, in our teens, used to take her dog for afternoon walks in an affluent waterfront neighbourhood near her house.  Our daily ritual consisted of looking on in awe of the beautiful, MASSIVE houses with their manicured lawns and the Audi’s in the driveways and the diamond encrusted rooftops.  Occasionally we came across homes that were being newly constructed, and as we walked the dog in the late afternoons when the workers had all gone home, these unfinished homes begged to be explored.

As we trespassed (People were way more trusting back then – these house were not security fenced.  It may have well been an open invitation.  That is what we told ourselves anyway), we openly discussed which rooms would be ours, what colour we’d have the walls painted, where the TV would go and how rich and fabulous we would be.  Of course there would always be an amazing entertainment area with a full bar and live-in barman for those exotic cocktails we would require at all hours.  In those daydreams, I would ALWAYS be married to Eddie Vedder and we had the most amazing life.  He loved me so much.  We would jetset all over the wold being incredible, and did I mention we were super rich and famous (me, for no reason other than being Eddie Vedder’s wife and muse)?

‘This one is for my beautiful wife, Sophia. I love you.’

My girlfriend, who I shall protect from the embarrassment of these confessions by remaining nameless (YOU know who you are!) was also wrapped up in ‘the world of pretend awesome’ and was married to none other than Billy Corgan.  We had the best imaginary dinner parties in those houses.  I wish I could go back in time and be a fly on the non-existent walls and hear the garbage that came out of our mouths.  I would laugh my butt off.

 

Today as I was taking my daily (not really daily, but I tell myself it is daily) walk around a nearby lake estate, I was reminded of those earlier days.  Not the whole ‘married to Eddie Vedder’ part, but the part where I always believed that when I grew up I would buy and live in a fabulous house.  Walking around the lakes today, I once again was looking at beautiful homes that have always been of my reach.

The unobtainable homes where I walk.

I never doubted that in time I would grow up, get a job, get married, have a family and live in a home like the ones my friend and I traipsed through way back when.  The houses I walked past today were similar and reminded me of the fact that we are nowhere near living that dream.

 

Why the hell not?  I’m all grown up, D and I are both professional people, we are married with 3 kids.  How is it that we are still caught in the rental trap?  And more importantly how the hell do other people live the dream?  Seriously, is there a secret that we are not privy to?   I totally get that these people I am envious of probably didn’t walk into a sales office somewhere and throw down a suitcase full of money and buy the best house on the block.  I am aware that there are hefty mortgages involved and I guess I am grateful that we don’t have that kind of debt hanging over our heads, but when I am old and grey (I’m already grey, but that is beside the point) I want to have something to show for all the money we have shelled out, and I want to have something to leave the kiddies.  And I want to be comfortable.  And I want to live in a house that all of our shit actually fits in.  And I want to have enough bedrooms for our brood.  And I want a pool.

The house we SHOULD own.

Some things have changed since those old days.  I still daydream about owning my dream home, usually whenever I open the brochure for the latest prize home or go walking around the lakes, but Eddie Vedder no longer features in them.  These days, my husband is ALWAYS D, and our dream home is full of our happy children running around a great big yard, and swimming in that pool.

I honestly do not know how or when we will ever get out of this rental trap, but it is certainly not in the foreseeable future.  A permanent teaching job for me is nowhere in sight and even further away than previously thought because of the recent change in government.  Growl.

I am not unhappy with my life.  I’m perfectly happy, just a little cramped.  But there is love in our little house and that is all that really matters.  I would live in this

I’d rather not.

if I had to.  As long as D and I and the 3 doodles were all together, we would be alright.  It is love that makes a home, not bricks and mortar.

Far too good to be stuffed back in the cupboard, forgotten for another 20 years.

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I went to bed early last night with the intention of catching up on some much needed ZZZZs.  Stupidly, I took reading material with me.  I’m an idiot.  Everyone knows the only material which is guaranteed to put you to sleep EVERY SINGLE TIME is mandatory university readings which you have skillfully put off looking at until the night before your tutorial.  I know that many of you right now are nodding your heads, and just gave a little chortle in agreement.  If you have either been to uni, or are currently at uni, you know what I’m talking about!

I used this picture because cats are cute and smart, but even cats cannot stay awake to read university readings.

 

Seriously, in my mind’s eye I see a secret society of university lecturers all gathering in a candle lit lecture theatre late at night, when all the good students are at home drinking double espresso, trying to keep their bloodshot eyes open long enough to get through just one fucking page of a 100 page compulsory reading before class the following day.  The head lecturer moves to the front of the congregation and raises his candle, signaling the start of the meeting.

He speaks, ‘Fellow members of the secret ‘Make-Your-Students-Want-To-Shoot-Their-Faces-Off’ society’, I bring you here to impress upon you the importance of boring the arses off your students.  Select for them the most mind numbing, soul destroying, monotonous readings you have in the depth of your filing cabinet.  Any readings you have classified as ‘a hot poker in the eye socket would be better than reading this’ in EndNote will suffice.  Now go!  Put together a selection of your worst.  No less than 2000 complied pages will do.’  A cacophony of evil laughter is heard as the dark figures file out of the lecture theatre and into the night.

 

But I digress…

 

So, I went to bed early last night with the intention of catching up on some much needed ZZZZs.  I took my box of old diaries and letters with me and took myself back to yesteryear.  There is far too much classic comedy GOLD in that box to hide it away again.  Now that I have found it, I feel it is my duty to share it.  Any mothers out there with young daughters take note – this is what YOUR girls are writing in their diaries behind closed doors!  Oh the horror!

Here we go again, without edits.

 

5/01/89 Dear Diary,  (11 years old)

Today was totally boring all that was on TV was tenis and sick soapies and to top it all off I had to water the plants!  I got a post card from Megan today and I found Mindy’s phone number in the phone book.  Really interesting.

6/01/89 Dear Diary,

Their was nothing to do today so I looked up my own phone number in the phone book thats how bored I was.  I made half friends with Tammy again and Kevin is a pain in the neck.  I have nothing else to write.  Goodbuy.

7/01/89 Dear Diary,

Today was boring as well.  I rang Stacey up 4 times and Mindy 2 times.  Megan got back to day she rang Stacey the second she got back and didn’t call me at all.  What a poff I hate her so much.

9/01/89 Dear Diary,

Me and Tammy went to the shops and got bubble gum and lollies.  We went to Tammys mums friends house and swam in the pool, river, pool, river, pool, river then we played pool but we couldn’t play river HA HA.

 

 

Can you believe I had to WATER THE PLANTS!!!  My parents were so mean to me!  Obviously I had an adventurous summer holiday that year.  11 year old me was still pretty innocent, but just you wait til you get a load of 14 year old me.  I am deeply embarrassed to put this up, but in the interest of having a laugh at my expense, I’ll do it.

 

29/08/91 Dear Diary,

We arrived at the school dance in a vintage yellow car.  Rob and Matt and Jamien and Leith were there and were paying out on us.  Scott wasn’t there yet.  When we got there Melinda went strait off and hung out with Angela and Eva, what a bitch!  I was talking to Leith and he said ‘would you root Scott?’ and Melanie said ‘yes she would’ and I said ‘maybe but only after a while’.  Leith said ‘so you would?’ and I said ‘yes, I just wouldn’t jump at the first opartunity to get down his pants’.  Then we were dancing and then were all talking outside.  I was talking to Alan and Craig and Dallas and some other grade 12s, then I went back and sat with Mel.  Jamien and Leith and Troy and Jay and Peter came over and they said ‘you excite Alan’ and Mel said ‘Alan excites Soph’ just joking but he took it seriously.  Then we had to go and speaking of going, I must depart.  Full House is on.

Love Soph.  I love Scott.

4/09/91 Dear Diary,

I am so pissed of with life.  I haven’t seen Scott in days and its so annoying.  I love him like I’ve never loved anyone else.  Today I heard that Scott only went out with me for a joke.  Im so depresed.  I am sick of being in trouble and being stuck in the office.  If I don’t get out of detention soon I am going to swap schools even though I don’t want to leave all my friends.  Life sux.  If a fairy granted me 3 wishes it would be – 1. to go back out with Scott for a very long time.  2. to be a famous model like Alison Brahe.  3. For Mum and Dad to like Mel.

Love pissed off  Soph.  I still love Scott.

 

 

Oh. My. Gaaawwd!!!  I was such a fucking git!  Totally boy crazy, those hormones must have been running rampant.  I must have been a total bitchface to live with.  Thank goodness I have boys.  I also have to say that I cannot even REMEMBER most of those people I wrote about.  Obviously nothing more than a fleeting presence in my life.  I do remember Scott because he lived up the road.  I think we went out for about a week.  A truer love there never was(n’t).

I wasn’t an actual slut.  I had a gazillion boyfriends, but they didn’t last any longer than a week.  Some of them I never even spoke to.  ‘So-and-so wants to go out with you’, I say OK and then we avoid each other like the plague until it got boring and I’d get someone to go and break up with him for me.  I was still quite young, I didn’t actually have a real boyfriend until I was in year 10.  I do remember him though, he really was my first love.  But not my true love, that’s D.

How many of you still have diaries from when you were young and stupid?  Were you a brazen hussy like me?  I cringe when I read this nonsense, but it was who I was back then.  In retrospect, I can laugh at teenage me and appreciate how ridiculous I was.  I did not know what love was, yet I was ‘in love’ with a new random every week.    I now KNOW about love.  I’m all grown up with children and a man I adore -this is love.  This is what it is all about.  Your teenage self is just a rehearsal for the real thing.  I guess that is why one goes through so many boyfriends.  It is just fine tuning.  Practicing for perfection.

Mojo? Is that you?

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Just in case you missed it, I recently posted about my missing mojo.  I haven’t seen it for a while, I suspect I left it somewhere between Pregnancy Lane, Caesarean Street and Time Poor Mummy Terrace.  If you want to read about my man toe or bastard hair, you may do so here.

 

I’ve been in ‘find my mojo’ mode for about a week.  I bought 2 packs of hair die – one is not enough for my fat wog hair, and I also bought some wax strips for Leg Plantation Forest.

I actually waxed my legs a few days ago but did a pretty shithouse job of it so I had until tonight categorised it as a ‘work in progress’.  You know how people tell you that you shouldn’t get waxed when you have your period because you are more ‘sensitive’?  Well, they weren’t bloody (pun intended) kidding!  Holy shit balls!  I’ve waxed for many, many years but in all that time have not done it at that special time of the month.  I was not prepared for the world of pain I experienced when I pulled the first wax strip back.  I do not mince my words, it hurt like a mother fucker.  Worst part was I then KNEW how much the subsequent strips were going to hurt and the anticipation of the rip was excruciating.  I had to mentally prepare myself for each one, and because I had little T propped up on the bed watching his dear old mum torture herself, I couldn’t let on I was in agony.  ‘Oh dear me Theo,’ says Mum with a tormented smile on her face, ‘that sure does smart.’

Regardless of the physical suffering I endured during the waxing debacle, I still began to feel like a new woman.  Shit, I could wear a SKIRT, and my man toe had turned into a lady toe!  That night, while T was in the bath I painted my toes Candy Pink.  It was an improvement on the previous state of my feet but I’m not really a candy pink kind of girl, so I took it off.  It didn’t look right.

Today I used the ‘supposed to be painless, but totally painful’ epilady to get rid of the rouge left over hairs that I missed with the wax strips.  Now I have sexy smooth, ready to be felt legs.  I repainted my toenails Porn Star Red – totally me.  Not that I am a porn star or anything, I just prefer the bright stuff.

Sexy Toes

 

So D took T out this afternoon for a couple of hours so I took the opportunity to chuck in the hair dye that has been sitting on my bathroom bench for a week.  Burgundy apparently.  Turns out, if you don’t mind getting purple (or whatever colour you are using) all over your face, ears, neck, arms and bathroom sink/benchtops/floor, colouring your own hair isn’t that hard after all!  My hair is now not only greyless, but shiny and beautiful.  I even went the extra mile and ran the GHD through it.

Don’t mind the white Ahh Bra. Damn those things are comfy!

 

So voila!  Mojo, I think I have found you.  I am feeling a bit better about myself anyway.  The only area I have not tended to is the lady garden.  I would rather stick a hot iron up my arse than attempt to wax that myself.  Some things are best left to a professional.  And when I say professional, I really mean a hot lesbian.  Personally I couldn’t care less who waxes my nether regions, as long as they are gentle, but I always tell D she was a hot lesbian.  He likes to pretend.

 

I feel all smooth and glossy.  I have a feeling someone is going to get lucky tonight.  And it better be me!  (D are you reading this?  Come to bed.)

10 things you may not know about me.

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1.  I was a single parent when I had K.

Being a single parent is a tough gig, but so freaking awesome too.  The hard part I guess is also the easiest part.  Hard, because you have no-one to share sleep/experiences/support/decisions with, but also easy, because you get to make all the decisions and the rules and do everything your own way.  That being said, I’d take my partnership with D over being a single parent hands down.

When I was younger I was in a not-so-great (ok, it was bloody awful!) relationship which resulted in a surprise pregnancy.  I was 22.  The baby’s father decided that he wasn’t ready to be a dad, while I knew that I wanted nothing more than to be a mother.  Subsequently, he left me 3 months pregnant.  Turns out it was the best thing he ever did for me!!!  Baby K came along and my life was forever changed for the better.  I loved him with every part of my being.  He was my everything.  I always say that K saved my life.  If he didn’t come along, I probably would have stayed with his father and who knows what might have happened to me and where I would be now, but it wouldn’t be here with K, D, J and T.  Thank you K for giving me back my life!  I love you, you will always be my number one son!

Me and newborn Kai. 2001.

 

2.  I know I have mentioned it before but I’ll give the whole story.  I met my husband through an online dating site.

Once K was about 3 years old, I was ready to receive someone else in my life and signed up to RSVP.  After a date with one gentleman who stood me up and a bunch of awful emails from illiterate old men, clearly just after sex, I received a ‘kiss’ from someone called ‘jaisdad’.  It was his name which caught my attention, as he was obviously a dad to a son, whose name happened to rhyme with Kai.  I checked him out and thought that he looked ok, so sent a reciprocal kiss.  The next day I received an email from him and was shocked that this man could not only spell and string a grammatically correct sentence together, but he also sounded interesting and definitely someone I would like to get to know better.  We emailed each other daily for a whole month before biting the bullet and meeting.  We set up a date at Dreamworld with the kids in tow, and as they say… the rest is history!  I met my sole mate and my best friend on that day. I love him more and more every day.

 

3.  I didn’t get my shit together and go to university until I was OLD(er).

So I had this little boy and was working a ‘going nowhere fast’ job a few days a week in a cafe.  I have nothing against hospitality workers, hell I have spent years working in the industry, but unless you OWN the place or are making the big bucks running the whole joint, I see hospitality more as a stepping stone to working towards finding your dream job and making it happen.

Problem was, I didn’t really know what it was that I wanted to do.  All I did know was I wanted a better life for me and my son and I needed to MAKE that happen.  After weighing all my options I decided that I would apply to do a Bachelor of Education at university.  Since I never finished school (shock horror, I was a high school drop out), I had to do a song and a dance and apply as a mature aged applicant, which means – old fart with no education.  Anyway, this old fart got in.  Hooray!

I began my teaching degree in 2005 and actually shocked myself by doing really freaking well!  I received awards and all sorts of shit.  Yay me.  Toot toot (blowing my own trumpet).  Turns out I’m actually smarter than I ever thought I was.

Rocking the cap and gown. 2008.

 

4.  I like to teach ‘challenging kids’ the most.

I have been teaching for 3 years.  This would have been my 4th year, but so far I’ve been at home with T.  I am dreading the day I have to leave him and go back to work.  That day is coming very soon.  Mumma Bear needs some moolah and is soon to return to the world of casual relief teaching – no planning, no reporting, no responsibility with a paycheck.  Yes please.

I have spent time in 2 ‘types’ of school.  I’ve taught at Predominately white, middle class, high performing schools and a completely opposite type of school.  While I enjoy teaching, and love the children I teach in the ‘easy’ schools, my own children even go to one of these school and thrive academically and socially,  I have to say that working in a ‘challenging’ school is far more rewarding.

When I say challenging, you all know what I mean.  Low socio-economic area, families living below the poverty line, children presenting with all sorts of issues from living with abuse, to parents in jail, to not showering for a week because there is no hot water and electricity, to being wards of the state.  Honestly, I could go on and on.  Needless to say, generally these kids are performing well below national average.  Sad but true.

With all of these challenges also comes behaviour.  Sometimes extreme behaviour.  Like, whoa kiddo, are you freaking kidding me?  Did you just say, ‘go fuck your mumma’s asshole, bitch’?  (not said to me, they wouldn’t dare) Colourful.  You need a thick skin and a sense of humour!  And to be tougher than they are.

But sometimes, you are the only constant person in these kids lives, and these kids, more than the kids in the middle class schools who have a whole support network cheering them on, need us.  I feel like I can really make a difference in their lives, and they need it.  I love teaching underprivileged kids, they sure do have spunk.  Never a dull moment, that’s for sure.  And seriously, if you can teach in a school like this and survive (and still want to be a teacher), you can teach anywhere.

 

5.  I love Home and Away and Big Bang Theory.  Say no more.  T’s favourite song is Soft Kitty.

 

6.  I am a Belly Dancer.

My mum has been belly dancing pretty much all my life.  She was the first professional performer in Queensland and has had her own belly dance academy for a million years.  As a child, I did ballet.  I wanted to be a ballerina when I grew up, but I NEVER EVER wanted to belly dance.  That is what my mother did.  Gross.

After K was born something shifted in me and I felt moved to do something womanly so went to classes.  I’ve been dancing for 10 years now and have even stepped out as a professional from time to time.  Yep, I get to wear fabulous costumes, dance around, entertain people and get paid for it!  Pretty awesome.  I danced all through pregnancy too, and even performed with the troupe 3 weeks before T was due.

I’m the one with the gut.

 

7.  I have an Eye Papilloma.

It is a benign tumor inside my bottom eyelid.  I’ve had it cut out before and it’s grown back.  It’s annoying and gross and I can’t wait to have it removed again.  This time they are going to cut a much bigger chuck out and laser burn the edges.  Awesome.  I hope they put me to sleep this time as last time I was awake and had to stare down the needles and scalpels coming towards my eye.  Not something I would like to experience again.

 

8.  Conceiving T wasn’t as easy as we thought it was going to be.

Soon after we were married we began trying to fall pregnant but to no avail.  I thought that it would happen within a few months at most.  How wrong I was!  After 18 months of disappointment and heartache, we had moved onto an (in) fertility specialist.  It turned out that I was fine but D has dodgy swimmers.  Lazy, deformed, a-hole swimmers.  We had hoped that we could achieve pregnancy through IUI, but the specialist only gave us an at best 5% success rate as his sperm would still be unable to swim the fallopian tube to inseminate the egg.  He gave us a less than 1% chance of falling pregnant naturally and said our best option was IVF.

We decided to do the IVF and were waiting for my next period to begin to start the treatment cycle. Imagine our shock/surprise/disbelief when that period never came and I was PREGNANT!

 

9.  I can’t sing.

Seriously.  Small children and animals run and hide, plants wither and die, musicians the world over cry a little when I belt out a tune.  My husband, a music teacher, must be so ashamed.

 

10.  I don’t have that many friends.

But the ones I do have are so special to me.  Love.

Lost my mojo. How can I reclaim my hotness?

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This is me from 2004.  D and I met online, back in the day when online dating was embarrassing and giggled about.  This is the photo that reeled him in.  2004 me would be horrified if she saw 2012 me.

Don’t look at the shoes. They were ugly even back then.

That was only 8 years ago.  What the flippety jibbets has happened to me?  Yeah, I know I have recently grown a human and had him cut out of my belly, but my feelings of grossness go beyond a stretched uterus.  I used to frequent the gym several times a week and now my idea of exercise is walking down the driveway to check the mail and then walking back up again.  I guess that would explain the loss of my guns and the gain of my tuck-shop lady arms.

I feel yucky all over and I need a plan.  I want to scrape myself off the back end of a monkey’s arse and feel pretty again.  How the hell can I make myself over when money’s too tight to mention?

I haven’t had my hair done since before T was born.  My hair is almost grey with a little bit of brown (slight exaggeration) and so dry and in desperate need of a cut.  I have finally stopped shedding like a Siberian husky in Outback Australia after pregnancy and am left with nothing but shit frizz.

Oh the shame.

So, so much shame.

I haven’t coloured my own hair since K was a baby.  We are on one salary so going to the salon is out of the question.  Back in the day, I didn’t have any greys so it was no biggy.  I’d just whack in a semi, and if I didn’t like the colour I’d change it next time.  Now I need to cover these bad boys up and I’m scared to death of stuffing it.  What’s a girl to do?  I can’t do much about the cut but would a colour rejuvenate me just enough to get by?

Major freaking, hell, shit crisis.  I found a grey hair in my eyebrow.  WTF?  Is it not bad enough that I am half grey downstairs, now I am going grey on my face?

No that is not my eye. If it were, I would sing a song of joy for the beautifulness. The picture is merely a tribute to my asshole-grey-eyebrow-hair.

Another thing.  I don’t shave.  I haven’t shaved since I was about 20.  I know what you’re thinking, but no, I don’t have armpit hair so long you can plait it and then wrap it around my waist and use it as a belt.  I wax.  I wax my legs, eyebrows and lady bits.  I can use an epilady on my underarms because it’s quick and easy.  I haven’t had a wax in months.  It is getting pretty freaking scary.  All I can say is thank gawd it’s winter, but mustn’t be fun for my poor husband to snuggle up to Beast Lady in bed.  I have bought some home wax strips and am going to attempt operation ‘wax thine own legs’.  Anything has got to be better than growing my own coat of fur for the winter months.  Here is a picture of my man toe.  That will give you an idea of what my legs must look like, but I am too embarrassed to actually photograph those. Let your imagination run wild, I guarantee the reality will be far, far worse.

Sexy. Yes, those are my ‘Punchy Uggies’.

I feel so blah.  And to make matters worse, it feels like the Wicked Witch is about to drop her bloody bomb around Vag Town.  Does it get any worse?

People in Blog Land, please feel free to give me any suggestions on how to get my mojo back.  I’m lost and scared and can’t find my way home.  And I need some chocolate.

Crossing over into Blog Land. Don’t eat me!

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Hi.  I’m Sophia.  I’m 34.  I am many things and I wear many hats.  I mainly wear a mother hat and a wife hat.  I also wear a teacher hat when I am not at home.  At the moment my teacher hat is on the hatstand because I am taking leave with a wee baby at home named Theo, he is the light of our lives and is 6 months old.  I also have an older son, Kai and step-son Jai.  Yes, 3 boys.  And my husband, Dave makes 4.  Say no more.

Jai, Theo and Kai with Dave in the back.

 

I didn’t think it would feel quite so weird writing my first post.  But it is.  Super weird.  I’m not sure why exactly, blogging really is just an extension of what I have been doing all my life.

Recently, I opened my hallway cupboard to look for some wrapping paper.  When I tried to pull it out, I inadvertently started an avalanche of all things junk-cupboardy.  I’m talking books, electrical cords, broken board games with missing pieces, a George Foreman Grill for 1 (a wedding present – pretty sure there are usually 2 people in a marriage), scrapbooking supplies, photos, old school projects (The kids not mine.  Mine are probably still in a junk-cupboard at my parents), gift bags, rubbish, crap, crap and more crap came pouring out cartoon style.  Yes, it really happened, I kid you not.  Needless to say, I took this as a sign it was time to clean out the closet.

I found, way in the back, an old box I’ve been carting around since I first left home.  It was full of old letters and diaries from my childhood.  Let me treat you to some of my early literary genius, spelling errors and all.

 

30/12/89  (12 years old)
Dear Diary,
Tomorrow is New Years Eve.  I am going to Stacey’s house for a barbieQ and we are going to play spotlight.  Today I went skating with Jodi and Stacey and the other Jodie was there.  It was really fun.  Today Stacey rang me up and said that Mark was about to ring me up because she gave him my phone no.  He rang me up and asked to go with him and I didn’t answer and he kept talking so he dosn’t know if I will or not but if he askes again I will say yes.  He is really nice.  He’s 11 years old, and says sorry.  I am totally amased at that.
Love Soph

4/06/90  (12 years old)
Dear Diary,
Dmitri is a pain in the backside because he wont let me hang around with him and he winded me today just because I was their and put my fingers on his back and pushed them in just a little bit.  Far out, what a pain.  I hate his guts so much.
Love Soph

28/09/91  (14 years old)
Dear Diary
Hi Dude! Guess what?  Today is my birthday!  This is what I got – a tape from Tammy and a silver locket from Mel and as well as a little box thing from Mel as well.  I didn’t get anything from my folks, I think that sucks.  Well anyway this is what happened lately.  Well on Wednesday, Melinda came over and that night I sleapt at Melanie’s and we went into Surface Paradise and went to Macas and we walked past these 3 guys and they go – ‘you better not dress like that or we will attack you’.  It was so funny.  Then we got some of those photo things and when we came out the 3 guys were still watching us so we went straight to Ocean Blue Resort to wait for Mel’s mum and we met these guys.  The first one we mets name was Brian and he was a real asshole cause he thought he was so hot and he felt my ass and I turned around and said ‘EXCUSE ME!’ and I said ‘lets go now’ to Mel and we walked off and he’s going ‘I just want to talk to you, wait’ so I stopped and he goes ‘why won’t you give me a chance? You’re so hot!’  I said ‘I KNOW I AM!’ and Mel was making me crack up.  Then we were saying how I was going out with Scott and he’s really big and would bash his head in if he found out he tried to crack on to me and then we ran off.  It was so funny.
Love Soph

 

As you can see I was quite the Queen of the Run-On-Sentences, and a little bit of a tart!

My diaries were also full of the following – I love Scott/Trevor/Cameron/Gavin/James/Chris/Nathan…………insert random name here _____.  Quite a few of the old, I hate life! and Life sux! and I hate my parents!  Why are they so mean to me?!?!  Oh, and I hate my Brotherrrrrrrrrrrrrrr!

So aside from my early beginnings of diary keeping, I moved on to scrapbooking, then online journaling within a forum but felt compelled to begin a blog and share my witty repartee with the world.  Yes, I think I’m witty.  Sometimes.  Other times I’m just a little bit awkward.

Well, I guess I’ve done it now.  I’ve written my first post!  Now what happens?