Monday, August 22, 2011

What the BOX?!

I've been writing.  Honestly.  I just don't have the energy to fight with our old desktop and post the pictures. 

So here's a quickie.  Just to let folks know all is well.  Except for with our old computer.  (I firmly believe all the kids' games Ryan and Andrew find on the internet have done it in for good.)

Aidan blogging on Mom's netbook.

Yesterday Ryan met up with the rest of us after school carrying a large empty box.  For her stuffed guinea pig. 

That, of course, reminded Aidan that HE too had a box stashed somewhere in his Prep classroom.  He and Matthew came out dragging a box bigger than the two of them.

Proud box hunters

Oh yay.  Just what we need in a house I am continually trying to DECLUTTER!

Is it too much to ask that other families recycle their recyclables at THEIR homes and not at mine?!!
(April's blog on Recycling in Prep School!)
Sigh.  Aidan now has an announcer's booth - slash- drum set and Ryan's guinea pig has the largest room in the house, in relation to body size.

Rock star with stick guitar.

At least I got a cool blog title out of the deal!

Friday, August 5, 2011


My first whinge being that I will never get used to that word.

"Whinge."  What the heck is that?  Besides one of those things that Harry Potter does every now and then - like snogging - that reminds us he is English after all.

Nothing to whinge about here.  Matthew his first week in Australia.

Mums - a word I can use when I have to - use it all the time with their kids at school.  As in, 'quit your whinging' or - turning in exasperation to another mum - 'have you ever heard such whinging in your life?'

The best was when Damon tried it out. 


As in "some of the guys at the bar last night were winching about....."

Winching about what, honey, the fact that you still don't know what tomato sauce is, let alone how to pronounce tomato?!

Americans, we bitch and moan, we might formally complain.  But we do not whinge.

I will make an exception this week though, to whinge about the weather.  And those damn friendly Aussies. 

"I got a whinge, Mom.  The surf's too high!"  Aidan.

Doesn't the sun know better than to shine ALL THE TIME?!  It's WINTER, for crying out loud.   What's up with 23C (low 70s F)?  (And this the coldest winter in a decade, they say?)  Friggin' cloudless blue sky. 

I'm trying to be miserable here.  I have a RIGHT to be friggin' miserable.

How am I supposed to do that when the sun shines for 12 hours a day, every day, in every season, all year long, 5:30 AM to 5:30 PM.  It's too damn consistent.  How am I supposed to go loopy here?  Where is my right to be SAD when I want to be?

For crying out loud, I don't even feel like taking naps here.

And then there's the Aussies.  I'm miserable over here, or TRYING to be, stop SMILING all the damn time!  I don't even know you, STOP BEING NICE to me!

School on Wednesday.  I told you I was too sick to come in and volunteer.  And I get a HUG and a "I hope you feel better soon?!"  STOP IT.  I FEEL BETTER ALREADY!

Aidan tries Japanese soup for the first time.  YUM!

Royal Brisbane Women's Hospital on Thursday.  STOP TELLING ME HOW GREAT MY ATTITUDE IS!  I'm miserable on the inside, really, STOP MAKING ME SMILE!

The Chermside shopping centre afterwards.  I know you are only trying to make sales, good-looking, friendly guy with the hair products, but do you REALLY have to rush over and tell me how beautiful I am?!  I HAVE LOOKED IN A MIRROR TODAY.  Crap, now you have me running home and putting on face moisturizer.  I DON'T WANT TO LOOK GOOD!  I am miserable.  Or is everyone too busy smiling at me to notice?!

Friday is the worst though.  Great, thanks guys.  As if I need to hear how bad EVERYONE ELSE'S week was too!   Is it the moon?  WHO CARES?  Stop empathizing (can you spell that with an 's'?) with me.  My...oh damn, too late, your husband is even worse than mine.  Yup, same thing.  God love 'em, it's just the testosterone poisoning and they can't help it.


AND they have rainbow icrecream!

And, when I whinge that you all are destroying the very blog I want to write on whinging, and when the jokes start and everyone starts laughing - laughing so hard my stomach actually hurts.

So that I really didn't need that telephone rep calling up five minutes with a sales pitch.  And telling me he loved my sense of humour.  (I'm married and I'm not switching companies, so STOP BEING SO DARN NICE!)

Friggin' A.

My only whinge about Australia is that it won't let me be miserable,

Where the heck am I going to channel all that negative energy now?!!

Sorry Mum, we love it here. 

Uh,  uh,  you people speak funny and you drive on the wrong side of the road.

I give up.

Just don't come to this %*$ country unless you're prepared to be happy.