School Holidays Movie Survival Guide...

Here in Australia the kids are on their school holidays.

For about 8 weeks.

Which honestly has been  bliss, because it means the 2 year old has playmates and the baby can sleep in her bed instead of the car seat as I ferry everyone around to their various activities.

I've been feeling guilty because the boy child has been asking to see Alvin and The Chipmunks for days now (yes, it was promised to him) and I have managed to keep putting it off.  Excuses?  The rain, the baby, PMS (where that scary woman came from I don't know, but she won't leave...VERY good reason to stay pregnant until menopause)...um, and the best excuse...it's Alvin & The Chipmunks?

So guess where me, the baby, the 2 year old and the boy child were at 9.30am?

Yup.  Armed with 3 frozen cokes, popcorn and maternity sized personal equipment (you DO NOT WANT TO KNOW) I braved the cinema.

It was okay.

As in I survived the tale.  The baby fell asleep just before we entered.  The 2 year old had to hold my hand through out because it was scary (I agree) but the boy child loved it.

Several popcorn/ frozen coke spills later we emerged intact.

Just in time for the sugar and caffeine to hit the 2 year old.

Needless to say I'm going to watch Avatar alone.   Thank you to Entourage for fueling my James Cameron interest.

(Don't feel bad for the rest of my family they've already seen it.  Having babies blows.)

Oh Gosh, please help me...

Re-enactment of the last few hours in my house.

Mummy was playing on the computer (it's all good the baby was fed and boobed and put to bed).  The other kids were watching random cartoons in the lounge room because Daddy was working late and I could not be bothered entertaining children after the Christmas weekend.

Isn't that what we Santa spend a bijillion dollars on presents for?  Some peace and quiet.

Anyhoo, I watched Ed's Ninja soap ad.  Thought it was cute and asked the son to watch it.  He thought it was sad when the Ninja soap killed the other soaps.  ???????  It's SOAP.

He ran off and went mental playing some game (guessing it was Ninjas, thanks Ed) with his two awake sisters.  This game involved a lot of screaming, chasing and door slamming.  The game made its way down the hallway and into my room.

BANG.

The door knob fell off my bedroom door.

The outside knob. (Yes, I said knob.  DOOR KNOB.)

Damn.

Withering stare at the 3 children bouncing on my bed.  This has happened before in our other houses and I've always been able to break out.

Not this time.  Door knob was the most 'mother/ screwdriver/ trying to rip that sucker off' proof door knob ever.  Security grills on the window.  No escape.  The walls started to close in.

KILL.  ME.  NOW.  Phone?  Outside the door.

Video for your pleasure.  If you can understand Australian.  Tried to do subtitles, but I'm really not in the mood.

Pity, the only name he remembered was Dove soap.  Ugh.  It's Ninja soap, dude.

So stuck in my bedroom, with a 2 year old who will not pee in my ensuite with out her fancy seat, two other kids who think it's hilarious that we are trapped with a Playstation, TV and computer...what was my only option?

Shout VERY loudly across the street to the neighbours who had finally appeared on their patio and ask if they could please come to my house and let us out.  Embarrassing.  Luckily the front door was open and I had spent half the day cleaning up after the holiday massacre.  Neighbours highly amused.

Door knob back on.  Channeling Braveheart...WE HAVE OUR FREEDOM!!!!

Thank you to Sharni, who I could email and tell I was trapped.  Not that it mattered cos she lives in a one horse town SOMEWHERE but at least someone cared LOL.

Memoir Monday...DIY Slip and Slide

So once again folks it's Monday and time to play with Travis at I Like To Fish.  Head on over and have a read.

(I'm dying a slow death with a tummy bug that my 2 year old gave me for Christmas, bless, so this will be quick...)

Back when I was around ten years old my parents left my younger brother and I at home and went out for the evening.  This was back in the days before babysitters, when parents assumed it was safe to leave two relatively responsible children at home on their own for a few hours.  We'd just watch a little Disney, then pop straight into bed, right?

Mkay.

So the parents left for the evening and little brother and I were washing the dishes after dinner (see, responsible right?).   Our kitchen was the epitome of 80s style and we had a very chic linoleum floor.  You know linoleum...looks like tiles but it's vinyl.  Classy.

Water and detergent were being splashed around and some of it ended up on the floor.

Inspiration hit.

Detergent + water + plastic floor = slip and slide!

We emptied a bottle of detergent on the floor, threw down a few buckets of water and presto!  Hours of good clean fun, sliding on our asses and smacking into the kitchen cabinets.

When it was time for bed, we realised that somebody would have to clean up all that water.  And there was an awful lot of water.  Because I was pretty certain that the parents wouldn't be too impressed with the impromptu water park in the kitchen.

We tried a few tea towels but they just seemed to push the water around.

Then my genius of an 8 year old brother thought of the fastest way to clean the mess up.

We could just vacuum the water up.

Like I said, genius.

We plugged the vacuum in and started to suck up the water.  It worked quite well for a while.  Until the machine started to squeal hysterically and smoke shot out of the motor.  The vacuum was quickly abandoned and hidden back in the closet.

We headed off to the linen closet and using every single towel and sheet my mother owned, mopped that floor.    It took a while but eventually we had that lino dry.  All that excitement had worn us out and we dumped the mountain of wet linen in the laundry and tottered off to bed.

The next morning my mother was a little bit peeved and curious as to why there was a Mt Vesuvius pile of washing in the laundry. We said the shower had leaked.

They bought it.

Though to this day we won't admit that we killed the vacuum.

That's why my kids always have a babysitter.  I know what those little suckers can get up to, if left to their own devices.  And I love my vacuum (it's great for Lego village extermination...see here).

The Xmas Aftermath....

So Christmas wasn't as traumatic as I thought it would be.

Here's the rundown of how it went down in our place.  Christmas.  Australian suburbs style.

3 am.  I boobed the baby.  Which is what I have been doing every two hours for the last few weeks.  Way to fake me out with that I'm a newborn and sleep through the night stuff.  You win!

3.15 am.  Hubs - Hey.

Me- What?

Hubs - It's Christmas.

Me - No shit.

Hubs - It's Christmas.

Me - Are you 10?

Hubs - No, I'm Santa, come look.

Me - Ugh.

And the guy was awake.  So apparently I had to be too.  Cos sleeping is overrated.

At 5 am the kiddies woke up.  Well, Hubs made so much noise that they really had no choice.

My two year old is now obsessed with princesses. And makeup.  Beats being a vandal.

Then he proceeded to watch Stargate.  Cos that's a Christmas movie, right?

Me and the baby

...which we are apparently having one more of NO I AM NOT PREGNANT (and spending Boxing Day watching the Duggers 17 kids and counting  'put a hat on it Jim Bob' isn't helping)....the pill apparently makes me crazy...and I never remember to take it...and he won't go snip snip Ed style...go figure.  There.  That was my rant for the day.

A few relatives came over for lunch (so we had the customary Polish potato salad, turkey leg, meat jellies).  Yum.  And we had lunch by the pool.  Because it was HOT.  Can't post any more of those photos because we look like trailer trash.  For real.

Hubs and the nephew.  In pink floaties.

As per my post it?

Hubs Santa got me something good.  Oodles of Dolce and Gabbana perfume...

I got it for him too...damn you Matthew McConaughey advertising.  Put your damn shirt on.

Gucci perfume ( I never buy perfume for myself).

A wii fit.  Are you saying I'm fat?  (Just kidding, it'll be fun).  Maximum weight limit 150kgs.  Yikes.

So to all those peeps out in Blog land who had a white Christmas.  Jealous.

SUPAH STICKIES Funny Xmas Picture Captions....

Hey, hey, hey...the husband has taken the kiddies out to see the Christmas lights so I thought I'd amuse myself and have a play with Supah Stickies Funny Picture Captions.

After this I am watching National Lampoon's Christmas Vacation.  Love the Griswalds!

Here goes nothing, it's my first attempt.

Dear Google,

Dear Google,

I understand that there is a reason behind the comment verification thang that you have set up.  Seems to deter the oodles of spam I could be receiving and all those crazy foreign comments I used to get.

But seeing that it's close to Christmas and Whoa-Mumma has a lot of parties to attend (or to drag the bourbon swilling husband home from), would you mind making your word verifications a little bit easier to read.  I can't read those things when I'm sober, let alone after 2.5 cocktails.

Thank you.

And could you please come over at 4.45am tomorrow to start the day off at my house?  I'm tired.  Seems the small children in this house like to wake up with the sun.  I don't.

Merry Christmas!  

Unsolicited Parenting Advice From Strangers. Bring on the eggnog.

I'm done with the whole Christmas shopping thing.

No, really.

For once I'm not being sarcastic.  I just mean I'm finished.  Wrapped and everything.

* standing ovation *

Oh by the way...since it is the season to be jolly....

Just thought I'd give a little holiday shout out to all the festive shoppers in the Target queue this afternoon who felt they had to pop their head into my screaming baby's pram this afternoon.

* Tsk Tsk * they whispered.

* Not a happy camper, are you darling? *

Guess what?  See those two things on the side of my head?
They're called ears.
So yes I am more than aware that she's screaming her head off.

See those two things on my chest?

That's what she wants.

So unless you want me to whip these puppies out in the middle of Target (which I'm sure would amuse your husband far more than trying to decide what Aunt Ethel wants for Christmas), pay for your sh*t and get away from my child.

That is all.

Thank you for your unsolicited parenting advice random stranger in Target said NO.  ONE.  EVER

Shameless plug...

You may remember a few weeks ago I put up post complaining about the ugly light fixture in my loungeroom.  Yes, I know, my blog really does cover the most important issues of the day.  Tiger? Tiger who?

If you don't remember, or you've chosen to file that post under '5 minutes I'll never get back' in your memory here's a quick refresher.

This ugly thing was hanging from my ceiling catching bugs.

Made my lounge room look so sad.

The lighting fairy paid a visit.

And voila!

Let there be light!

Looking pretty darn snazzy, if I do say so myself!  And yes, things have gotten a little bit more festive here in the Whoa-Mumma household.  Child wouldn't move off the couch for the photo.  Couch that is still covered in marker.  And the rug hasn't returned either (it's still on the trampoline, probably growing mould).

So you know what I want for Christmas Santa.

Memoir Monday...Swimming Pools, Movie Stars

My blog has been feeling a little neglected lately (it's a woman and you know how moody lonely we can be) so I thought I'd play along with Travis and the gang with a Memoir Monday post.

Before I was a mature, married, heck damn classy, mother of four I was a bit of a party girl.

You know the type.  I could probably have drunk Tara Reid, Lindsay Lohan and Barney from the Simpsons under the table and still be hollering for more shots.  Poison of choice? Bourbon and coke and shots of black Sambucca.  That I used to set on fire in my mouth.  As you do.

My girlfriends and I would go clubbing several nights a week.  So technically, because I had the first kid when I was 22, I pretty much haven't slept since I was 18.  And trust me, being up all night dancing on a podium is a heck of a lot more fun then stumbling through a dark house at 2am to feed a baby.

One evening I went out with the girls to the Bourbon Bar.  My flat mate was working behind the bar so it was free drinks for everyone, woot woot!  After several litres of alcohol, one hot dog and a taxi ride home, Whoa-Mumma was happily unconscious in bed.

Fast forward to the next day.  We lived in a ground floor apartment and my bedroom was near the front door.  I was lying in bed in my nightie, with a towel wrapped around my hair, fresh from the shower.

I heard a knock at the door.

I decided to ignore the knocking.

I don't do surprise visitors.  Anyone that lived in my house had a key and I wasn't answering the door in my nightie.

Knock, knock, knock.

Ugh, go away.

Did I mention the front door was right next to my window?

A big bald man's  head popped up to greet me.

Busted.  Stranger at the window.

Him - "Hey Alex, I knew you'd be in there."

WTF?

Stranger danger!

Thank goodness there was a security grill on the window.

Me - "Um, can I help you?"

Him - "Can I come in?"

Me - "Um, I'm not really dressed." (Way to tell a strange man, you're nearly naked).

Me - "Are you selling something? Because I'm not really interested." And how do you know my name?

Him - (laughing) "No I'm not selling anything."

I started to get a little bit nervous.  Big, scary, bald man.  

Me - "Um, are you a friend of Kelly's?  Because she's not here." (Way to tell the scary, bald man that you're alone, dumb ass).

Him - "Err, no...I'm hear to see you."

SH*T!  Alarm bells!

Every horror movie I'd ever seen flashed through my brain.  The big, scary bald, American man was obviously a psychopath and was going to kill me to make a suit from my skin.

Me - "I'm sorry, sir, but I don't know you, and I don't let strangers into the house."

He started to laugh.

Him - "Stranger?  I'm not a stranger.  It's me (never met you, dude).   We had a great time last night."

* crickets *

Now I was 100% certain that I'd never seen this guy in my ENTIRE life.  That and the fact that I didn't give my address to SCARY LOOKING OLD BALD MEN!

Him - "And after you kissed me at the taxi rank, I went back to the club and got your address from your girlfriend behind the bar."

WHAAAAAAAAT?  Insert picture of me completely freaking the heck out.  In bed, in my nightie, talking to a stranger at my window who I'd apparently played tonsil hockey with.  At the taxi rank.  (Have I mentioned that I'm classy?)

Me - "Sorry, but I'm pretty sure I've never seen you in my life and I'm kind of tired (AND IN MY DAMN PYJAMAS) so would you mind going away?"

Apparently the big, scary, bald man would not take no for an answer and was more than happy to stand at my window to chat and try to jog my memory.

A memory, I, TO THIS DAY, have no recollection of.  I remember the hot dog but not the man.

Damn you sambucca.

Anyhoo.

Scary bald man stood at my window and talked for 3 HOURS while I cowered in my bed.  My flatmate finally came home with her boyfriend and his friends and they thought the situation was hilarious.  I was mortified, terrified and still in my damn pyjamas.

Apparently the scary bald man and I had gotten along like a house on fire in the Bourbon Bar.  My flat mate had introduced us.

They let him in and gave him a drink.  He kept talking and talking.  Telling me about his life and his family blah, blah, blah.  Apparently he was an American who was doing some work on a movie that they were shooting on the Gold Coast.

I was unimpressed.

He told me all about his own production company and his life in LA.

Once again, unimpressed and getting highly irritated that this man was sitting in my lounge room and he would not go away.

He told me he'd just finished filming a movie with Tom Hanks.

WOOP DE FRICKIN DOO!

He shed a few tears.  Told me how hard he'd worked.  He talked about his mother.

Apparently, my aloof attitude and the whole bizarre situation was making this man work harder than he'd probably ever had to work.  Trust me, he was digging deep.

Treat 'em mean, keep 'em keen really works, girls.

I finally had enough and told him to go away because I was going out and had things to do.  He finally admitted defeat and asked if I'd just walk him to his car.  My friends thought this was the funniest thing they'd ever seen.

Fine.  I popped on my Spice girl sneakers (they were cool at the time) with my nightie (!) and walked the man out.  As we reached the car it started to rain so he suggested that I jump in the car and he'd drive me back up to my front door.

Do I have the word sucker written on my forehead?

Apparently I do.

Scary, bald man locked the doors and started to drive away.  His phone rang and the conversation went something like this "Yeah George, it took me a while but I've got her in the car with me now."

I started to completely freak out.

He pulled over and apologised for being a psychopath.  Apparently I was having some weird effect on him.

He asked if I could give him one date to apologise.  Just one.  We could go to the casino and just have some fun playing the tables.

I finally admitted defeat.  Heck, anything to get him to turn around and take me home.  Sure I said.  Take me home, I'll get changed and we'll go out.

So the scary, bald man took me home so I could get changed.  He got High 5's from my flat mate's boyfriend when he announced I was going to go out with him.  Men.

We went to the casino.  Some of his friends were there (the George on his phone) and we had a pleasant evening wasting his money.  (Funny thing is the hubs was working as a croupier at the time and I remember seeing him watching us at the tables).

To cut a long story short,  the scary, bald man and I kind of hit it off and we starting dating.

For the next few weeks we hung out together nearly every night, hitting the nightclubs with his film friends.  I even had a Pretty Woman moment in Versace where he offered to buy me any dress I wanted. 21 year old moi was unimpressed (IDIOT!).

After a while he started to get on my nerves.  I wanted to party with my friends and he wanted to stay in occasionally (?).  He was also a  bit arrogant (told my mother he'd given John Travolta dance lessons), boring and old (like 32).  So after a while I stopped answering his phone calls and I fell in lust with the hubs.

A few weeks later I was watching Daytime TV and the scary, bald man was on every show being interviewed about his new movie "Saving Private Ryan".  Apparently, Vin Diesel was making quite a name for himself.

Doh.

The hubs is still quite chuffed that his wife ditched Vin Diesel for him.

Oh well...who wants to be dating a movie star when I can have all this...

* crickets *

Shit My Kids Break - How to clean a rug...Whoa Mumma style!

With four kids in the house, you know that everything that you love, cherish and saved money for gets destroyed within moments.  The husband brought home a white, shaggy rug a few months ago to adorn our SUPER TINY (yes, it's finally driving me crazy, time to move) loungeroom.

About the same time that Jazzy started toilet training.

SUPER.

So you can pretty much guess what's been happening in our home.  A little bit of pee, a lot of snacks, heck a LOT of pee has made that shaggy rug slightly....um, well let's be frank, totally disgusting.

So how the heck do I clean that bad boy?

Well, if you're bored on a Saturday and it's the school holidays here's a suggestion.

The disgusting thing was placed on the trampoline and we pulled out the hose.

Add some shampoo.

Add one ten year old child.  It was hot.  Water restrictions be damned.

Heh, heh, she loved it.  Better than a slip and slide.

Then she took over the hose.  I ran away.

The rug?  Drying in the backyard.  

Chances of it going back in the house.  Zilcheroony.

Shit My Kids Break - Colourful Language & Colourful Couches

Wordless Wednesday link up...because if I say anything I believe it will be rather colourful profanity.

As colourful as my white leather couch is now.

The vandal.

What an idiot...

I really didn't feel like writing anything on what is apparently the only thing happening in the entire world right now.  Because apparently I'm the only one who hasn't slept with Tiger Woods.  Maybe it's just because I'm a wife and not a cocktail waitress.  Go figure.

Oh and to all the silly sluts putting their hands up and admitting they slept with an obviously married man and father.  Wow.  You must be so proud.  What an achievement.

He was always a little too bland for my liking.  Sure the man can hit a ball with a stick but he's got the personality of a goldfish.  Guess that doesn't matter when you're worth a bazillion dollars.

I heard Nike is changing their motto from 'Just Do It' to 'Just Do Me'.

Tiger Woods, you're officially Douche Bag of the Year.  Congratulations, you've really, really earned it.

I was gonna save this shot...

(This wasn't a one off, kid used to love jumping into the toilet, he was 2 at the time, he's now 8!)   Just like a swimming pool.  Err, mkay?)

I was going to save this one until his birthday but because I have a sick baby at home and nothing interesting to post, I will present this photo to you for your viewing pleasure.  Please give me any captions you think are suitable, so that I can blow them up and post them for his 21st birthday.

Dear Jillian, Re: That 30 Day Shred...

Dear Jillian,

Re: The 30 Day Shred.

I always loved you on the Biggest Loser.  Bob Shmob.

I now get why people want to punch your face in.  When you're telling them to get down and give you two more frickin' lunges when they'd rather be on the couch indulging their hangover...I finally get it.

Leave me the f*ck alone.  Why I decide to do these things I don't know.

Day 3 done.

The Christmas Party Aftermath....

So you guys wanted an update on how the Christmas Do went down...

Guess which idiot left her mask for the masquerade party sitting on the dining room table?

I believe that idiot was moi.

The mask that I planned my whole outfit around?

I believe that is the definition of an asshat (thanks Daffy).

So a quick pic of what I ended up wearing.

The shoes.  And yes, that is a rather impressive bruise on my shin from the hubs leaving his suitcase lying around from his trip to Japan (3 weeks ago, unpack already!).

 

Yes, weirdly cropped photo.  You don't need to see how messy my house is.  Geez my boobs look big.

It was like 30 degrees people!

(Note to self: figure out how to photoshop already)

Token photo with the office 'hot' girl.

The general managers wife's shoes.  Under the table.  As you do.

Did I embarrass myself at the Christmas Party?  No.  Spilling beer all over the table was totally not my fault.  We all know I'm far too classy for those sort of shenanigans.

Oompa Loompa Dippity Doo...

So the hubby's annual Christmas Do is on this evening and because Whoa -Mumma has decided to wear a short frock for the occasion, a little preparation was in order.

I may have mentioned that I care little for dresses.

Some sort of phobia stemming from an experience involving a short frock, skimpy underwear and a flight of stairs.   I won't share the finer details (because I'm a lady) but I assume there was some liquor and indecent exposure involved.

So last night, to prepare my lily white legs for their debut, I pulled out the trusty Le Tan In A Can.  Salon quality airbrush tan...in a can.  Almost as amazing as the Sham Wow.

I may have gotten a little carried away.  My instant healthy glow is a deep orange smear.  Oops.

I now look like an Oompa-Loompa.  A real one.  Not this guy.

This is a forty year old Indian guy.  Worst movie remake.  Ever.

I look like one of these tangerine tinged fellows.

And I have two fingers that look like carrots.

So pretty.  Guessing all the boozed up car salesmen won't even notice.

Lucky for me, it's a masquerade ball.  Mask + orange legs = definitely incognito...until I get tipsy, fall down the stairs and show my hooha to the crowd.  The boozy car salesmen would definitely notice that.  Maybe I should wear jeans...