The Best and The Worst of The Deck Cleanout

I can't stop thanking Jen for helping me with my horrible under-deck cleanout yesterday. She says that she feels a bit bad - she had too much fun to be thanked all that much. But she still deserves The Thanking and so The Thanking she will get.

The best part of the day ... was the lunch. I won a $30 voucher for The Pancake Manor in the kindy Mothers Day raffle (the most rewarding kindy involvement I've had all year!) We set a time to break for lunch, and worked like crazy until then. Then we went and had savoury crepes for lunch and shared a Macadamia Shortstack for dessert. Wonderful!

The worst part of the day ... was the dump. We had spent hours making piles of Things No Longer Needed to take to the dump. I thought hard about what to send to the dump. I hate to throw things out, but I can and will do it. And the things that went were things I have hung onto for years, hoping against hope that one day they will be used and re-loved and cherished again. But alas, they haven't. The only purpose they serve is to junk up my house.

Everyone will tell you that these things must GO. If it hasn't been used in three years, if it hasn't been used since long before the move from our old flat to our current house, if all it ever does is collect dust, then it must GO. Right? [Uncertain pause.] Right!!

There were speech pathology resources that -seriously- nobody will use again (they haven't been used in the last three years, all therapists tend to make their own stuff, and all these things do is junk up my place), piles of papers, old shoes and slippers that were too old to be saleable by charity shops and mountains of cardboard from old boxes.

We physically threw the lot into the Giant Pit of Filthy Oozing Stench. It was tremendously enjoyable for Jen, whose junk it wasn't. "Whee! What a wonderful feeling!" she shouted while flinging piles of Things No Longer Needed into the pit.

"Oh dear," I'd say, ruefully surveying well-used brightly coloured speech pathology word cards atop Filthy Oozing Stench. "Everybody else's junk is so yucky and mine is so pretty!"

"Whee!" said Jen as another box of things went into the pit.

I winced. It was one Giant Pit of Filthy Oozing Stench, now topped with my old ugg boots. Too old to be saleable, too worn-out to continue wearing, but certainly not in the category of Filthy Oozing Stench. Pretty awful to see the things you once held dear re-classified as Filthy Oozing Stench.

The job was finished way too quickly. There it all lay, just out of reach. No going back. I took one last look before I turned back to the car, hoping I'd done the right thing.

Then I saw it. In the piles of old papers I'd deemed no longer needed, there had been an old Pay Slip from work.

Bother!

My father had always instilled in me a fear of allowing papers with any identifying information go to the dump without being torn into a million pieces. Heaven forbid someone should get hold of your name! Or your address! Or -horror of horrors- your Employee Number! And all of these things were on the Pay Slip which had fallen face-up out of reach, grinning at me, mocking me.

"PAY ADVICE!" it loudly proclaimed to the whole world, strongly suggesting that confidential information lay unconfidentially a few metres away.

"You've thrown things out that shouldn't be thrown out!" it hissed accusingly at me.

"Look over there," it suggested, indicating a second Pay Slip also mockingly lying face up a short distance away.

I felt gutted. I had been proud of myself - I'd thrown away areas of clutter that should have been thrown away ages ago. I had not wasted hours sifting meticulously through things but instead been ruthless and consigned it all to the dump. And now I was beginning to think that some of my stuff was too pretty, some too pre-loved and some too confidential to be thrown out!

Jen and I stood there wondering what to do. If we - okay, if I crawled into the Pit of Filthy Oozing Stench, I'd be sure to be noticed and get in trouble. (This is of course apart from the other obvious reason why I'd not be looking forward to a crawl through a Pit of Filthy Oozing Stench.)

I grabbed a rusty piece of an old bicycle that was near enough to reach, and threw it at the page, hoping it would turn upside down and disappear into the Filthy Oozing Stench. Instead it moved into a position where it was more visible. "What will I do?" I moaned to Jen.

"Maybe we could get a stick" - we found one - "and stab it" - she gave it a few savage pokes - "and bring it out that way."

And that's what my wonderful friend did. First one Pay Slip and the the other. Brilliant! We returned home, shredded the Pay Slips, and I privately vowed never to go back to the dump.

It's too traumatic.

A mammoth effort

Greater love hath no woman than this - that she lay down a Day Off for a friend

and assist in turning THIS ...

...into THIS...

by helping me through such ghastly intermediate steps as THIS:

What a huge job! I have been avoiding looking at the mess under our deck post-bedbug catastrophe, but with the help of my good friend Jen, I have managed to sort out the rubbish (taken to the tip) from the items for charity (in the boot of the car) from the things to keep (slowly making their way/s back to where they belong.)

It was sad picking through some very water-damaged books to see what could be salvaged. Some were so damaged that I had to throw them away despite loving them so much. I'll be on the lookout for replacements for these:

And I won't be looking for replacements for a few others, which I decided on reflection wouldn't matter much if they were to disappear from my collection.

Pixellated to protect their identity.

I feel good about that. I think that in the next few days, I'll be doing some of the other things I've been putting off.

Minus blood. Minus flames. Plus bad attitude.

Are you ever tempted to say the total opposite of what you really want to say? Just for "fun"?

"Four days until you're back from your conference? I'll be fine!"

"When will you children just WAKE UP?"

"Swing that ukulele around just like that. I'm sure nobody will get hurt."

"I just wish you'd ask me "WHY, Mum?" once in a while.

"I know! How about one of you grabs onto my left leg, and the other grabs onto my right leg, and ready, set, moan!"

"Yes I cooked it, but even I don't know what it is. Throw it on the floor."

"I guess that if her tail was in the way, you just had to ride over it with your bike."

"Yes, snatch that toy off her. She loves it."

"Hey! Everybody come and watch me on the toilet."

Excuse me, let me just remind myself of something...

And More Rules

Oooh, Oooh, I've thought of a few more!

DO NOT empty a container of dog food onto the path and drench the scene with water.

And above all, as you have repeatedly been reminded since you were one year old,

DO NOT eat dog food.

Not even if "she wasn't hungry and she was happy for me to eat it."

Another Rule

I've just thought of a new rule.

DO NOT accidentally label the Plain Flour as "Self-Raising Flour."

New Family Rules

They say when you make rules for your family, you should keep them few in number by making them broad, and you should make them positive instead of negative.

Obviously, it hasn't been working. Airy-fairy rules like "Respect each other" and "Keep our home tidy" are an absolute joke. After this disastrous morning, I propose a few new rules. They are negative and they are specific. Watch out.

DO NOT wake up at 5:00am and shout "Mummy! Come in here!" to say you've got the light on and are reading books.

DO NOT at 5:30am shout, "Mummy! Come Here! Change my nappy!"

DO NOT at 6:00am decide to feed yourself breakfast. DO NOT fill a bowl with a man-sized serve of Weet-Bix, slop it up with milk and leave 7/8 of it to sit and rot.

DO NOT at 6:30am wake up your sister and enter her room. DO NOT do anything to her that may make her scream her lungs out.

DO NOT after being brought into the big bed dare to crack Mummy over the head very hard with a ukulele. Having big brown eyes and being Very Small will not allow you leniency.

DO NOT remove from the garbage bin any item I have deemed No Longer A Useful Miniature Musical Instrument and have consigned to the garbage for self-preservation reasons.

DO NOT talk. All that issues from your mouth is either whingeing, the word "Mum" or an inquiry starting with "Why" and ending in absolute nonsense rendering it completely unanswerable.

DO NOT procure a clean pair of underpants, dip them in the toilet bowl and wipe the floor with them.

DO NOT take large handfuls of toilet paper, wet them in the bowl and wipe the floor with them. It is not helpful. DO NOT then leave half of them on the floor and throw the other half high onto the back of the toilet door so they stick there and make the place look like a public lavatory.

DO NOT go away on a conference. Ever Again.

These rules were inspired by events of this morning. It's now 9:00am. There is plenty of time left in the day to think up more.

Honesty

It's been a difficult four days. Sonny Ma-Jiminy and Smoochy Girl have been in terrible moods, and I have been steaming out the ears. There have been many tears (not from me) and plenty of shouting (from all three of us).

I said to Sonny tonight, "I'm sorry it's been a difficult few days. The kids have been tired and crazy. Mummy's been so upset." He replied, "We've been angry." He understands.

Now could someone please tell me why I cannot honestly tell people it's been rough without the condescending rubbish pouring forth before I've even finished speaking?

"Oh, you shouldn't be too hard on yourself!" (Hard on myself? When? I just said it's been tough.)

"You shouldn't worry about any of this." (Well, it's been quite tough on me, but feel free not to worry about it yourself.)

"Don't 'sell yourself short', you're doing a great job." (Well yes, I am doing a great job with a difficult set of circumstances, but having you patronisingly telling me that honestly admitting when it's been tough is 'selling myself short' isn't helping.)

It's all said with the best of intentions. But when did honesty amount to denigrating oneself?

Mess Mosaic

There's just so much mess at my place right now. Like a giant has grabbed the house, given it a good shake, and replaced it. I think I've used that description before, but it still applies.

I was wondering what to do about it? Attack it madly, or make lists and work through it systematically?

I decided that I'd start by trying some glamour photography of the mess.

Hmm. Turns out it's still mess, however you look at it.

My Favourite Mug

Do you have a favourite coffee mug? My friend Jen who will be travelling 1.5 hours to my place on Tuesday to help me with tidying the aftermath mess following the bed bug fiasco, gave me this mug years ago. I love it.



In one hour I will be starting a LONG day at work. First up is a small boy who won't do anything for me unless it involves Thomas the Tank Engine. When I modify my activities to include Thomas, he refuses to do anything I tell him, playing his own games instead. That's why I need the mug this morning.

Second Guessing

Sonny Ma-Jiminy is three. Three and a THIRD, he will tell you. He's spending two days a week at kindy. I decided to let him go this year because he seemed to be in need of extra mental stimulation. So many ideas, thoughts and questions, and such a strong will! He seemed to crave some extra activities with bigger kids and having another authority figure seemed to be helping him learn about following rules and stifling his natural desire for rebellion.

I swallowed my pride and jumped the hurdles I needed to. Sheets and sheet bag. Lunchbox and cup. Hat with loop, washer with loop, cheese sandwich served at the correct time of day.

But yesterday he seemed to snap. He had a sandwich-throwing, watercup-tossing, floor-sulking tantrum and I got a phone call. I talked to the teacher. I talked to Sonny at home afterwards. And today,

"Kindy days are not my favourite days."

And then of course, "I don't like kindy."

Woo. I was never going to send him early if he DIDN'T like it. The only reason why he's there in the year before his proper kindy year is because he LOVED it. Or used to love it.

I know in the rational part of my brain that next week, kindy days will be his favourite again. Or, "It's my kindy favourite day," as he puts it.

But just for today, the emotional side of my brain kicked in and after he was told to stop playing in the sandpit (I thought they were allowed to play in the sandpit, so I had been letting him continue!) and come inside, I gave him a hug, left kindy, sat in the car and cried.

He doesn't like it.

I don't like it.

And I start to second-guess my decisions.


PS: that shirt reads, "My Dad Rocks," not "My Dad Sucks," as it can appear when your brain fills in the wrong missing letters.