No thanks, I’ll just eat my coat

Sometimes it’s very hard to get Hannah to eat her dinner.  I cook up something nice, just for her, put it in front of her, give her a spoon (not that she uses it for eating, but she likes to think she can), and hope for the best.  She gives me a cheeky cheeky look, and then feeds the floor.  I’m no expert on floors, but I’m pretty sure they don’t require nutrition to function properly.  A big wave of the arm and the entire meal, bowl and all, lands open side down, all over the floor.  Whinging follows, along with loud screams of “DONE!”  I don’t know how she’s done when she didn’t eat anything, but whatever.

She won’t eat her food, but I often find her pulling pieces of fuzz (pils?) off her clothes, blankets, toys, whatever really, and then eating them.  Not just chewing, having a little taste and spitting them out.  No, she will sit there and pull them off, put them in her mouth, chew, swallow, and then go back for more.  I don’t know why a fuzz ball tastes better than her dinner, but to her, it certainly seems to.

Hannah:

Mommy tries.  She really does.  Mommy makes me all sorts of different things for lunch and dinner (I like my cereal for breakfast, especially now that she gives me big person cereal with yummy raisins in it).  Sometimes I’m just not hungry, you know?  I get lots of snacks too.  Mommy always gives me raisins, rusks, yogurt, baby breakfast bars, cheese.  I really like those things, so I’m not really hungry later.  It’s really fun to throw things on the floor though.  I like to wind Mommy up.  Plus, it’s fun to see which way the bowl lands and if the food splats.  Sometimes I wonder if I can get pieces of food all the way into my playroom!

When Mommy puts my fuzzy coat on, I can’t help but wonder what it tastes like.  What does pink taste like?  It doesn’t taste like much, but I like the way the fuzzy feels on my gums.  It’s already in my mouth, so I might as well swallow it.  Pulling fuzzies off my coat is something to do really.  I usually only do it when I’m in my car seat or pram.  It amuses me.  But then I eat too many fuzzies and I’m not hungry for my dinner.  Humph.  I guess I’ll have to eat more for breakfast.

Why I need my own gloves

Sure it’s hard, but I love boxing class at the gym.  We do circuit training, it’s not just hitting the pads for a bit then having a relax.  No, we go hard on the pads, then do squats or lunges or bunny hops or sit ups, push ups, etc, then go hard on the pads again.  Boy do we sweat though!

Sweating is usually a good thing when you’re working out, but when you’re using the gym’s boxing gloves that countless other people have used and you’re sharing them with your boxing partner, sweat is not such a good thing.  When I put my hands into boxing gloves, I expect them to be clean, cold, dry, and if I’m really lucky, smelling like daisies.  Instead, when I put my hands in those boxing gloves, I get wet, warm, sticky fabric clinging to my hands.  When I take my hands out, they stink.  It smells like someone has put the sweat from a hundred people’s butt cracks into one innocent little boxing glove and then left it out in the sun to ferment for a couple of weeks.  Now that stench is clinging to my hands.  I don’t really want to wipe it on my pants because then it will be on my pants.  I wonder how often the gym washes the gloves.  Ewww…..  I think it’s time to buy my own.  Sure, they may still get smelly and hot and sticky, but at least that way, I’ll know it’s only my sweat, and I can wash them as soon as I get home.

Zumba explosion

I’m not sure if the craze is actually taking over the world, but the commercials would certainly have us think so.  I’m talking about Zumba (“this is a Zumba body”).

My gym recently started offering Zumba classes, so I thought, “why not, it looks pretty fun.”  It just figures that the gym’s air-conditioning was broken.  The room was hot and stuffy.  Oh well, I suppose that just makes the workout harder.  Before the music started, an mistakeable stench entered my nostrils.  Someone nearby had farted.  It wasn’t audible, but it was certainly deadly.  I hope no one thought it was me (FYI, it was not).  I couldn’t move, then people would think it was me.  No, I was stuck there, in the hot stuffy room, with the air from someone elses bottom wafting into my nostrils (EW!).

The instructor showed us some of the moves and then the music started.  It has never been more obvious that I am totally, ridiculously, completely un-rhythmic.  While everyone else resembled a scene from the zumba commercial, I looked more like a limp piece of pasta desperately trying to escape someone’s dinner plate.

Yeah, I may not being awesome (or even remotely good) at Zumba, it’s fun, and it gets my heart pumping, so I’ll be back next week, to make a fool of myself once again.

Tru Energy, are you really that ridiculous?

When we moved here from Willoughby, I called our electricity company, Tru Energy, to disconnect our service.  “No worries,” they told me, someone would be out the Monday after we moved.  I was a bit confused when we got our final bill.  In the very same envelope was a credit.  Was the credit applied to the enclosed final bill, or did I need to sub tract it myself?  Hmmm…  Not only that, but this particular company gives you a discount if you pay by a certain date.  The credit also showed a discount if paid by that date.  So if they paid me by the due date would I get more?  Not to mention the “discount” is supposed to be 3% and with the credit, the amount was much more than 3%.  What????

I did the only thing I could.  I called them.  I was on hold for about 15 minutes.  Argh.

“We’ll send you out a new final bill, we’ll apply the credit to the bill and there will only be one amount to pay.  We’ll extend the due date so you have time to get the new bill.”

Sounded ok to me.

The next week, a crisp white envelope bearing the Tru Energy logo came in the mail.  Awesome, I could finally pay the final bill, and not have to worry about it ever again.  I opened the envelope.  Where was the bill?  No, there was no bill.  Instead, the envelope contained a threatening letter.  Our payment was overdue  and they were threatening to send us to a debt collector.  Sigh, another phone call.

“I’ll put a note in the system, get the final bill sent out, and we will not send you to the debt collectors.”

I had to trust them, there was no other choice.  A short while later the bill came, I paid it, case closed.

Only it wasn’t.  A couple of months later, I got another bill in the mail.  This bill from for electricity usage from April and beyond.  Um…did the words “final bill” on my last bill mean nothing?  A deeper sigh.  Another phone call.  They must have so many unhappy customers, the hold time was getting longer (which of course made me more aggravated/annoyed).

“Oh, I can see here that you arranged to have someone come and disconnect the electricity on the 20th of April.  It seems no one disconnected it.  We’ll investigate the matter and send you a final bill if there is any more to pay.”

“I already paid my final bill.”

“We’ll have to investigate the matter, your final bill could have been incorrect.”

“That’s not my fault.”

“But if you used the electricity you will have to pay for it.”

I think I’m going to scream….

“I’ll extend the payment date until the end of August so there is time for the investigation and we’ll go from there.”

“Last time you extended the payment date I received a threatening letter.”

“That won’t happen again Ma’am.”

Skeptical inaudible sigh

“You also won’t get anymore bills until we sort this out.”

They annoy me every time I talk to them.  They have no idea what’s going on, who does what, etc.

Yesterday, I got another crisp white envelope bearing the highly annoying Tru Energy logo.  With an annoyed sigh, I opened the envelope.  Another bill.  This one is for June and beyond.  ARE THEY SERIOUS??????????  Oh, and not only that, but there was also a nice bold red section stating that the last payment is now over due and has been added to this statement.  Deep breath, calm down, time to call the ugly obnoxious ridiculous electricity company yet again.

DON’T USE TRU ENERGY!!!!!!!!!!!

P.S. I’m currently going through all of my old posts to add tags and make them readable (the text was white in the beginning when I used blogspot, so you can’t actually read a lot of my old posts at the moment), so I apologise to those of you who get my posts via google reader since all of my editing is showing up there.  Bear with me, and don’t freak out when you read a pregnancy blog.  It is old, I am NOT pregnant again.

Quite possibly the worst energy company ever

What’s that smell?

I’d been smelling it all day.  There was no mistaking it.  It was poop.  It was following me around.  Was it Hannah?  I checked her bottom.  Nope, no poop there.  Was she just farting?  Maybe, she does fart long, loud and often.  I checked my shoe.  It didn’t smell like dog poop, but maybe I’d stepped on a wayward nugget.  You never know….  No poop there.

We went out in the car.  The poop was following me!  Hannah wasn’t cranky, she didn’t seem to have a stomach ache with noxious gas emissions.  I know it seems a little crazy, but I checked under the seats.  Nothing.  Well, ok, not nothing, our car is very messy (mainly due to a) I can’t be bothered to clean it, b) I don’t have time to clean it, and c) I’m kind of scared of what I’ll find in there), but there was no poop there.

We went to the grocery store.  The poop followed us.  I was going crazier with every step. WHERE WAS IT COMING FROM!?!?!?!?!

We went to the register to pay for our purchases.  I opened my purse.  Oh snap, there it was.  The little blue tied up bag was staring right at me as I unzipped my purse.  In the little blue tied up bag was a nappy.  A poopy nappy.  All of you non-Mommies, I can hear all of your horrified gasps from here.  Why would I have a poopy nappy in my purse?  Oh my goodness, why would I have a POOPY nappy in my purse?  WHO puts a poopy nappy in their purse?!  Next time you are in the middle of, well, anywhere without a bin, and you have to change a poopy nappy, and have nowhere to put it, then you’ll understand.  This is the exact reason that some clever person invented the little scented poop sacks (ok, nappy sacks).  Roll up nappy, put in bag, tie up, put where you can.  Only, you’re not supposed to forget that you put it there like I often do.  Sure, I could litter, but I don’t condone littering, and I’m pretty sure that some other mother doesn’t want their unsuspecting child to excitedly run up to the colourful poopy bag, pick it up, and frolic about.  So yeah, I put poop in my purse.  Deal with it.

Ok, so these ones aren't blue like mine, but you get the idea

The one where The Jess gets married

“I think Hannah is going to steal the spotlight at the wedding.”  I said to anyone who would listen.  We were at The Jess’ wedding rehearsal and Hannah was running anywhere and everywhere in the church, squealing, laughing, and getting the oldies to look at her.  Then she climbed over the little ledge, under the railing, and onto the stage.

The next day:

Waaaa!!!!!  I looked at the clock.  4:20-something am.  Hannah was crying.  Hang on, Hannah wasn’t there.  I was staying at Silvermere (where the wedding reception was) with The Jess.  Hannah was at home with Aaron.  Figures I’d dream about Hannah crying and actually wake up the one time I could have a non-interrupted sleep.  Stupid brain, stop being annoying….  No matter how hard I tried, I just couldn’t get back to sleep.  The Jess was getting married!  Not to mention, the night before, when we were eating fish and chips and Heaven ice cream in bed while watching “Grease,” I saw an ad on tv letting me know that the Amazing Race was coming to Australia.  For the first time, Australians could apply!  I couldn’t stop thinking about what to put on the audition video.  Of course we have to apply, we’ve always wanted to go on the Amazing Race, but Aussies were never allowed (and I wasn’t allowed to apply as an American because I don’t live there).   My tossing and turning woke The Jess up.  Oops.  Sorry The Jess.

We were up, it was early, we were hungry.  Why not go to the supermarket in our pajamas (ok, that doesn’t sound so out there to you Americans, but Aussies just don’t EVER do that!)?  Pancakes and eggs sounded pretty good.  Unfortunately when we got back (after some funny looks.  It’s not every day Aussies see someone in bright pink pajamas with white stars on them at the supermarket) we couldn’t work out how to use the industrial gas stove at the house.  Humph, no pancakes and eggs.  Back up plan, to the bakery we went (still in pj’s).  We loaded up on chocolate croissants and some cheese and bacon rolls for later.  So hungry….

Our hair and make up was taking ages (well, mostly mine, hmmm…what does that say about me?).  And what to do with those short little spiky bits of annoying hair that sit in the very front of my head on each side?  I can see your screwed up what-the-heck-do-you-have-those-for faces from here.  Well, a couple of months after Hannah was born, a lot of my hair decided to take a vacation.  It’s been growing back for some time now, but is still annoyingly short and sticks out funny mostly at the very front.  Awesome.

I walked past the front window of the house and nearly jumped out of my top.  Oh wait, I wasn’t wearing one.  I looked outside to find Lozza and Marianne laughing at me.  It’s not everyday you see someone frantically running around a house with no shirt on.  Don’t get too excited, I was wearing a bra.  I had to take my shirt off because I only had tight non-buttoning shirts which would mess up my newly curled hair when taking them off if I left them on.  Oh well, everyone’s seen my boobs anyway.  That’s what happens when you breast feed for a year.  Lozza brought the bouquets (and did an amazing job putting them together by the way) for us.  Lucky she was there as we needed extra hands to help The Jess get into her dress.  It was no easy feat.  There was no way we could get the dress over her butt if she were to step in it (we know because we tried), so we had to get it over her head without a) messing up her hair and b) ruining her makeup.  Let’s just say we got a little friendlier than any of us intended (but she did end up with the dress on, makeup intact, and hair not very messed up).  By that stage we were 30 minutes behind when we intended to depart for the church.  Oh well, the bride is always supposed to be fashionably late right?  I quickly slipped into my hollywood fat sucker (body stocking from bottom of boobs down to just above knees, designed to, well, keep it all in), stuck on my “revolutionary” boob sticker bra (which turned out to be see-through as well.  Hmmm… the whole point in my wearing said stickers was to hide nipples.  Oh well) to my poor deflated I’ve-fed-a-baby-for-a-whole-year boobies, followed by my slinky see through (lucky I wore the fat sucker or everyone would see my goodies) bridesmaid dress.  Step b: shove my duck feet into thin nice looking heels (and hope I don’t trip as I tend to not wear heels due to duck feet, and probable falling over).

We must have looked an interesting sight on the way to the church.  Bride and bridesmaid in the back seat with flower girl in the baby seat (Violet, not Hannah), Chief Bridesmaid (aka me) driving, sans shoes (I can’t drive in heels, I can hardly walk on them!).  Not that anyone outside could see my feet….  When we got there (faster than expected luckily), some people were milling about outside.  I know The Jess is no bridezilla, she didn’t seem to mind, but I was rather annoyed.  These people were going to see The Jess before she walked down the aisle!  I wanted to run out of the car and cover all of their eyes.  I couldn’t of course because I probably would have tripped, broken my ankle, and made everyone think I’m a nutbag.

I was getting nervous and I wasn’t even the one getting married!!  My nervousness was more about having to stand up the front ignoring my daughter as she would probably try to get to me, while wearing heels that I was not allowed to take off for the entire ceremony.

We decided to carry the babies (Romana, the other bridesmaid’s daughter was also a flower girl) instead of letting them walk up the aisle with their too-cute flower girl baskets, mainly because they probably wouldn’t walk up the aisle (they never perform when you want them to),  and would quite possibly take off running in some other direction, sending us in a frenzy with high heels, probably falling over, breaking a bone, and showing the whole crowd our unsexy fat sucking undergarments and/or tried-to-cover-them-up nipples.

The wedding went off without a hitch (the babies had to be taken outside when they started getting loud so they didn’t interrupt), The Jess managed not to cry during the ceremony (as far as I could see, but then again, her back was towards me most of the time), and no one forgot the rings (although The Jess almost forgot hers).

I know I wasn’t the photographer, but I couldn’t help myself, I took lots of photos at the reception.  I also decorated the pavlovas, decorated the newlyweds’ car and posed for bridal party photos, so I was a busy woman.  I actually ate less at The Jess wedding then at my own!  It was a beautiful day, a beautiful ceremony, and a great reception.  I hope The Jess and Jimmy had a great day and a wonderful honeymoon.

Here are some photos for your enjoyment (some are mine, some are the photographers.  None of the ceremony shots are mine, FYI).  Most of the getting ready photos have been eaten by my stupid memory card so I’ll have to post those later, after Aaron works his computer nerd file recovery skills :

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If only I could

Sometimes people ask me silly questions.  Sometimes people state the completely obvious (thanks Captain Obvious…).  Well, sometimes I wish I could say a smart ass remark in return.  I never (ok, nearly never) actually do, but if I did, it would go kind of like this:

“It’s cold out there, did you put warm clothes on Hannah?”  Warm clothes?  I thought I’d take all her clothes off and take her out in just her nappy.

“Oh, don’t let her touch that, plastic bags are really dangerous.” (Trying not to laugh) Oh, that was going to be her dinner.  I’m glad you told me.  Hmmm…now what will I make her for dinner?

“She’s teething (said by stranger).”  I’m glad your brain is connected to Hannah’s nervous system so you can randomly tell me why she is upset.

“Don’t forget to shut the door.”  But then how will I invite all the burglars in?

Operation: Move and Tuck

Every night, I read Hannah a story, give her a cuddle, lay her down, put her blankets on, turn on the sleepy music (thanks to the baby monitor), say good night, and turn out the light.  No problem.  At least it didn’t used to be.  Recently though, Hannah has been ditching her blankets and moving about her cot before going to sleep.  Sometimes her feet will be where her head usually is.   Other times, and apart from losing her blankets, this is the issue, she will fall asleep sideways.  I don’t mean on her side, I mean her head and her feet are both against opposite sides of the cot.  The problem is she is too big to fit that way without having to make like a sardine and bunch herself up in an awkward, uncomfortable position.  Then she wakes up in the middle of the night and instead of resettling herself like usual, she has to move to a more comfortable position, and then is quite awake, and has trouble going back to sleep.  Not to mention she is cold, since she ditched her blankets.

I got brave one night before I went to bed.  Holding my breath, heart beating a mile a minute (because if you wake a sleeping baby, it’s pretty much the end of the world), I slowly turned the knob on the door that leads to her bedroom.  The bedroom with the sleeping baby.  I could hear every spring compressing as I turned the handle.  I shut my eyes, paused, listened, scrunched up my face in anticipation.  No stirring, she was still asleep.  Phew….  I opened the door and crept in.  Operation tuck had begun.  I snuck in Hannah’s room every night for a week and put her blanket on.  She didn’t stir at all.  Then I got even braver, I decided it was time to move her.  Maybe she wouldn’t wake during the night if she didn’t have to remove herself from her sardine can.

How do you move a sleeping baby?  Easy, this is how I do it, step by step:

1) Open door.  Don’t just open it, open it quietly.  Turn handle, then push door open.  You don’t want to find out what happens if you don’t get the contraption all the way inside the door before pushing.  Sleeping babies probably don’t enjoy the loud clicking noise it makes.

2) Enter room.  Hold breath and stay still after not so gracefully colliding with the dresser on entry.

3) Somehow navigate the minefield of toys and clothes and make your way over to cot in the dark.

4) Determine where in the cot baby is laying.

5) Find out which end is head, which is feet, preferably without taking out an eye.

6) Once shoulders are located, place hands under baby’s armpits and slightly lift baby while dragging to desired position.  Hannah prefers her head to be right up to the end of the cot, belly down.

7) Put blanket on baby.  Don’t cover her head, she won’t like that and you don’t want to smother her.  If your feeling really adventurous, you could tuck the blanket in at the sides.

8) this should be an 8, but it seems WordPress thinks it should be a smug looking emoticon man.  Stifle giggles and try to exit quickly without running into anything as baby does a long, loud fart which rivals grown mens.

9) Close door in manner discussed in step 1 (because we know what happens if you don’t turn the knob first).

10) Enjoy not having to get up in the middle of the night to recover or reposition baby.  Sigh in relief.

P.S. please click the top mommy blogs icon on the right hand side of my blog and vote for me.  I am currently number four hundred and something out of two thousand something mommy blogs, and I really wouldn’t mind getting higher.  Thanks for your support.

Waking your baby up by camera flash is not a good idea

I think my arms are going to fall off

I started going to the gym a while back, maybe a month ago.   I’ve been doing a program of weights, then treadmill or cross trainer, followed by the dreaded plank (Pilates move, not a thing), crunches,  and some targeted hip work.  I thought I was doing quite well, getting fit, making progress.  Then I did a boxing class.  I didn’t know I had so many muscles in my arms (not that they’re big, I just mean that my poor excuse for such muscles are part of my anatomy).  I think that maybe, just maybe, my arms will fall off.  That’s what they feel like anyway.  Even my wrists are sore.  Yesterday my arms were shaking while I was trying to do, well, anything.  Pour some milk?  Not very well.  Write a note.  Not that’s legible.   I would prefer to be doing a body combat class, but no one but me ever turned up for that class, so it never actually ran.  Plus I think if I had taken that class, I wouldn’t only feel like my arms are about to fall off, but probably my butt, and legs too.  And maybe my back.  Maybe I’d just feel like I’d turn into a big puddle, and I’d probably look like I sat on some unfortunate large object.  Oh, and just so you aren’t worried about my nose turning into mincemeat, and my ears to cauliflower, the boxing is just a class at my gym, we don’t box each other, just the pads.

On another note, I can finally fit into the one pair of jeans that was tight on me before I got pregnant.  Not that long ago, I couldn’t even get them past my butt.  Now, I can pull them all the way on (mind you, it still takes some maneuvering, but then again, it always has), button them, and actually walk around.  I guess my month of gym work is working after all.

Saturday was The Jess’ hens night, which gave me the perfect opportunity to try something new: Pole dancing.  I can’t say I’m especially graceful, but it was very fun, and surprising hard.

You probably won’t hear from me much this week as it’s the week before The Jess’ wedding, and as Matron of Honour, I still have a lot to do.  Plus I volunteered myself for cake making duties.  That’s right, I’m actually making the wedding cake.  It’s not the first time I’ve made a wedding cake, I made mine too, but someone else decorated mine.  I’m doing the decorating for The Jess’ cake as well as making it from scratch.  Deep breath…wish me luck.

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