Have you ever realized just what a messy business this tidying up can be?
I mean to say, we’re in the process of creating more storage in a house with a hitherto serious lack thereof, so our home at the moment looks like the proverbial bomb has hit it.
In fact, our lounge room (which has become the temporary dump site for the rest of the household items) has enough clear space for only two people to sit down at any given time…three if one of the abovementioned people sits on someone else’s lap (and depending on the people involved, you'd probably prefer to be the sitter than the sittee on the settee. Tee hee).
And we’re not done yet. Oh no, we are a looong way off, despite the blood, sweat, and tears that have brought us even to here.
So far the children have new wardrobes built into their bedrooms, we have gutted and retiled the main bathroom (when I say “we”, I mean the tiler of course, under my careful supervision), and are awaiting the shower frames, a glass splashback for the kitchen, and two new doors. Three, if you count the door that was installed only two months ago and has broken already (*you just can’t get good help these days can you?)!
But wouldn’t you know it, now the bathroom door won’t close properly, and we uncovered a bit of a mould problem in the toilet and laundry; where subsequently me in my enthusiastic removal of same, managed to poke my finger through the wall (pressed concrete wall my a$$). So there’s another repair and repaint job just waiting to happen.
My Beloved has had a little more success than I in the renovation department: he has tidied up the tiling in the ensuite (unfortunately our budget didn’t stretch to redo two bathrooms so we’re stuck with the 1970s shocker hidden within) and finally fixed the loo - fingers crossed (as opposed to legs while we were all waiting for an available lavatory in working order). He even got some help from our little daughter (our son preferred to keep his hands clean and play the Nintendo® instead). In fact, one could almost go as far as saying she did a better job than dad did. (One could, if one was game.)
See, my Beloved is not known for his motivation in being man-about-the-house, and somehow manages to mysteriously (or not, depending on your level of skepticism) misplace important parts of his power tools, right when he needs ‘em most. Oh he does a good enough job once he gets going. It’s just the getting going.
So there they were, dad and daughter up to their armpits in tile glue and grout, when I get called in to appreciate their handiwork. “Looks good,” says I, “well, as good as brown tiles can look, at any rate. But the tiling is fantastic!!” With this I flick a quick look towards my Beloved to gauge whether I have expressed enough exuberance in his efforts (wouldn’t want to scare him off now would I); it seems I have, as he nods approvingly at my approval.
And then proceeded to scratch his ear.
Now, if you haven’t ever experienced grout in the earhole, you probably don’t want to start now.
It doesn’t make the situation any easier if your wife and daughter start giggling at your expense. Insult, injury, and all that.
You’ll be pleased to hear (he was, get it?!) that the grout came out of where it wasn’t supposed to be, and stayed put where it was, and the bathroom is right on target for the shower frames…as soon as the ‘5-10 business days’ are up (and we’re only up to, oh, 28 days so far. Refer to the comment* above). So we’re stuck with the living room being mostly unlive-able for a little while longer.
Which only gives me more time to wander around looking at the place plotting what next needs a renovation rescue. Oh, that sound you hear? Just a grown man crying.
Jx
©2010
Showing posts with label home. Show all posts
Showing posts with label home. Show all posts
Monday, February 22, 2010
Friday, January 15, 2010
Back chat
I’ve just spent the better part of 4 days flat on my back in bed.
And not for any fun reasons either (none of the ol’ nudge nudge wink wink going on here, I can assure you).
Nosiree, the culprit of my current bed-a-thon is the shower in our ensuite.
See, my Beloved and I decided our joint New Year’s resolution was to finally finish off the plethora of renovation jobs on the boil in our home (OK, I decided, my Beloved begrudgingly agreed- only after the wardrobe fell apart in his hands whilst moving kids’ bedrooms around).
So I arranged for a “no-obligation measure & quote” from a local company that does the lot- kitchens, bathrooms, bedrooms. Unfortunately, the only time the sales rep had available in the foreseeable future was 8am last Wednesday, which meant I had to get up at some ungodly hour of the school holidays, and do a quick tidy up in the relevant rooms.
After preparing and putting away the breakfast items in near-record time (if you have kids you know how long that can actually take), I made the fatal decision to give the showers a quick scrub before the fellow came in with his tape measure (didn’t want to leave any telltale soap scum or rogue body hairs, if you know what I mean). So I squat down in the shower with spray and brush and set to work. Since I have a pre-existing back condition (slipped and bulging discs, bilateral pars defect, sciatica, nothing too outrageous) I was taking proper precautions, using a long handled brush and not staying in one position too long. Apparently I wasn’t conscientious enough as my back kept grumbling about the activities long after I’d finished.
I survived a play-date at Maccas through a haze of pain, before returning home with barely enough time to restock the kids, pack the swimming bag, and head for lessons at the local pool (for more on that particular excitement, see ‘Sink or Swim’). Still struck by some foolish urge to clean house, I was merrily (if not stiffly) hunkered down in front of the front loader when my back seized with an ungodly pain, and I froze in position half-up/half-down. Calling for the kids to get daddy to help me, I was in too much pain to even laugh at the way they both barreled into the bedroom shrieking “Daddy, daddy, mummy’s stuck! HELP!!”
My bleary-eyed Beloved staggered into the laundry which is so small one can’t turn around in it at the best of times, and did his best to drag me upright, helping me across the hall to the bed where he all but dumped me. Well, I was so incapacitated I couldn’t even remove my shoes, let alone reach for the trusty painkillers on the bedside table. So while he managed to get the kids off to their 30 minute lesson (albeit 15 minutes late) I lay on the bed dreaming of pain relief.
Thankfully he didn’t have to work that night, and next morning was in charge of the children while I still lay in bed and moaned (obviously, I need to find me some stronger painkillers). Unfortunately, nature called, as it generally does after the bladder brews away all night long, but when I attempted to sit up to get up, I was overcome with the instant and intense urge to vomit. Deciding I’d rather do so in private, I somehow managed to roll and crawl across the bed and into the bathroom (with my Beloved hovering concernedly nearby). I then experienced perhaps the most terrifying few minutes of my life.
If the waves of pain and nausea weren’t enough to contend with, I then started that shivery sweaty stuff you sometimes get- and my vision blurred then went black. Lucky I was sitting down because I couldn’t see a damn thing. I even had to put my hands to my eyes to make sure they were open! I had literally ‘blacked out’. Now if you’ve ever experienced this, you’ll have some idea of how I felt. And if like me, you are prone to the occasional panic attack, you’ll know just how much worse the sweating and shaking got! I was literally dripping with perspiration. Not that I could see it at the time.
Now, I have given birth to two decent-sized children- without epidural- but I have NEVER felt the kind of pain radiating up and down my back.
So I spent the next 3 days either flat out or sitting propped up on pillows, trying not to go any further insane.
And now there’s Vegemite on my foot.
If you must know, my Beloved had to work last night and I dropped the lid whilst making toast this morning. Since I can’t bend over I attempted to pick up the lid with my foot. Obviously my lower digits are not as dexterous as I would like, and all I managed to do was to flip the thing over, smearing the black stuff across the tops of my toes.
Talk about adding insult to injury.
So I’ve decided to leave the housecleaning caper to Cinderella et al for the time being. But since my fairy godmother is also taking extended leave, meanwhile the washing’s piling up, there’re dirty dishes in the sink, we’re running out of everything, and my To-Do List is so not getting Done.
What’s that old saying: you know you’re getting old when you back goes out more than you do… all I can say is Hellllooooo Old Age!
Jx
©2010
And not for any fun reasons either (none of the ol’ nudge nudge wink wink going on here, I can assure you).
Nosiree, the culprit of my current bed-a-thon is the shower in our ensuite.
See, my Beloved and I decided our joint New Year’s resolution was to finally finish off the plethora of renovation jobs on the boil in our home (OK, I decided, my Beloved begrudgingly agreed- only after the wardrobe fell apart in his hands whilst moving kids’ bedrooms around).
So I arranged for a “no-obligation measure & quote” from a local company that does the lot- kitchens, bathrooms, bedrooms. Unfortunately, the only time the sales rep had available in the foreseeable future was 8am last Wednesday, which meant I had to get up at some ungodly hour of the school holidays, and do a quick tidy up in the relevant rooms.
After preparing and putting away the breakfast items in near-record time (if you have kids you know how long that can actually take), I made the fatal decision to give the showers a quick scrub before the fellow came in with his tape measure (didn’t want to leave any telltale soap scum or rogue body hairs, if you know what I mean). So I squat down in the shower with spray and brush and set to work. Since I have a pre-existing back condition (slipped and bulging discs, bilateral pars defect, sciatica, nothing too outrageous) I was taking proper precautions, using a long handled brush and not staying in one position too long. Apparently I wasn’t conscientious enough as my back kept grumbling about the activities long after I’d finished.
I survived a play-date at Maccas through a haze of pain, before returning home with barely enough time to restock the kids, pack the swimming bag, and head for lessons at the local pool (for more on that particular excitement, see ‘Sink or Swim’). Still struck by some foolish urge to clean house, I was merrily (if not stiffly) hunkered down in front of the front loader when my back seized with an ungodly pain, and I froze in position half-up/half-down. Calling for the kids to get daddy to help me, I was in too much pain to even laugh at the way they both barreled into the bedroom shrieking “Daddy, daddy, mummy’s stuck! HELP!!”
My bleary-eyed Beloved staggered into the laundry which is so small one can’t turn around in it at the best of times, and did his best to drag me upright, helping me across the hall to the bed where he all but dumped me. Well, I was so incapacitated I couldn’t even remove my shoes, let alone reach for the trusty painkillers on the bedside table. So while he managed to get the kids off to their 30 minute lesson (albeit 15 minutes late) I lay on the bed dreaming of pain relief.
Thankfully he didn’t have to work that night, and next morning was in charge of the children while I still lay in bed and moaned (obviously, I need to find me some stronger painkillers). Unfortunately, nature called, as it generally does after the bladder brews away all night long, but when I attempted to sit up to get up, I was overcome with the instant and intense urge to vomit. Deciding I’d rather do so in private, I somehow managed to roll and crawl across the bed and into the bathroom (with my Beloved hovering concernedly nearby). I then experienced perhaps the most terrifying few minutes of my life.
If the waves of pain and nausea weren’t enough to contend with, I then started that shivery sweaty stuff you sometimes get- and my vision blurred then went black. Lucky I was sitting down because I couldn’t see a damn thing. I even had to put my hands to my eyes to make sure they were open! I had literally ‘blacked out’. Now if you’ve ever experienced this, you’ll have some idea of how I felt. And if like me, you are prone to the occasional panic attack, you’ll know just how much worse the sweating and shaking got! I was literally dripping with perspiration. Not that I could see it at the time.
Now, I have given birth to two decent-sized children- without epidural- but I have NEVER felt the kind of pain radiating up and down my back.
So I spent the next 3 days either flat out or sitting propped up on pillows, trying not to go any further insane.
And now there’s Vegemite on my foot.
If you must know, my Beloved had to work last night and I dropped the lid whilst making toast this morning. Since I can’t bend over I attempted to pick up the lid with my foot. Obviously my lower digits are not as dexterous as I would like, and all I managed to do was to flip the thing over, smearing the black stuff across the tops of my toes.
Talk about adding insult to injury.
So I’ve decided to leave the housecleaning caper to Cinderella et al for the time being. But since my fairy godmother is also taking extended leave, meanwhile the washing’s piling up, there’re dirty dishes in the sink, we’re running out of everything, and my To-Do List is so not getting Done.
What’s that old saying: you know you’re getting old when you back goes out more than you do… all I can say is Hellllooooo Old Age!
Jx
©2010
Sunday, September 20, 2009
Are We There Yet?
I’ve just come home from a weekend away. And now I need a holiday.
There’s nothing quite like packing two small children in the car for a trip to your home town, to make one contemplate the differences between the life you’re living & the one you left behind, and the journey in between.
And whoever said “Time flies when you’re having fun” obviously hasn’t taken a trip down memory lane with my lot on board.
Since we finally bought a car that wouldn’t break down 5 minutes out of town, I decided it was time to head north for only the second time this year to see the family; my Beloved chose to spend some quality time at home alone.
I set the alarm for 5am to get an early start on our 3.5 hour journey. It was after 1pm when I finally pulled into my mother’s driveway. (I'll let you do the math.)
In that time, I had to re-pack the car twice to allow my sister to fit in, hand over the entire weekend supply of ‘travelling lollies’ to the kids, stop to refill drink bottles a couple of times, sought out toilets of acceptable sanitation quality at least twice, referee countless arguments, try to deduce the reason behind my daughter's feet feeling "fizzy", and pull over for an impromptu play in the park in a bid to wear the kids out enough to sleep the rest of the way.
But on the upside, I only had to stop twice to attend to a vomiting child. (Loving those V-Bags I buy in bulk- they catch it all nicely!)
We all agree the best thing about this car is the DVD player in the back. The kids get to watch a movie with their headphones on while up front I get to listen to the CDs of my choice. I didn’t realize just how much I was enjoying the latter until my son pipes up from the back seat: “Great singing there mum.” No wonder the people in the car next to us at the traffic lights were looking at me that way.
Not to worry. I continue to cruise on down the road, with “Nineteen Somethin’” at (almost) full boar (love that 9 speaker stereo system!), and marvel that Mark Wills is obviously of a similar age to me, he describes it all so well. (Except for the Daisy Duke bit- I preferred Luke Duke myself…mind you, John Schneider seems to be ageing rather nicely…but I digress…)
Due to a bed shortage in the ol’ 3 bedroom house I grew up in, I had to share with my 7 y.o. son. (He was cranky because his 5 y.o. sister was quicker than he at “bagsing” sleeping with Nanny instead, and he drew the short straw as far as he was concerned. He neglected to ask me what I thought of the sleeping arrangements, mind you.) After a late night at my eldest sister’s place celebrating my niece’s birthday, we all fell into bed well after the regular bedtime.
Then, after being kicked 15 times, head-butted 4, and used as a footstool once or twice, I decided to use the body-pillow as a barrier between us, curled up into the foetal position, and finally managed, ooh, 4 hours sleep.
Then guess who had to answer the call of nature around 5.45am and decided the quickest route to the bathroom was to crawl directly over the top of me…?
That aside, we passed another pleasant day with the family before we waved goodbye and promised not to leave as long between visits next time. We hit the highway and head home…along with what seemed to be every single ‘L’ and ‘P’ plate driver in the known universe, who all had the same reaction- sheer panic- every time their speedometer hit 80kph and had to hit the brakes. (I'm sure you can guess the subsequent response from the line of traffic following.)
But at least it was only a 5 hour trip home.
We walk in the front door: there’s dirty washing in the sink while the dishwasher stands empty. The clothes are still waiting in the washing machine, right where I left them. We’re low on milk and we’re almost out of bread. My Beloved is in bed trying to stock up on sleep before a night-shift at work. The dog, on the other hand, is wide awake and going crazy in the driveway causing me to trip over while I’m carrying the bags in from the car. Which gives me reason to pause and ponder why we always manage to come home with more than we take, it’s not like we had any time (or indeed inclination) to go shopping! (I come to the conclusion that Mum must’ve found more of the flotsam and jetsam of our childhood and decided it was time we got to keep it at our place. Thanks Ma.)
Now the kids are fighting in the bathtub. My Beloved is up and about and muttering something about the end of his peace and quiet. And the dog is sitting on my feet while I sip a hot cup of tea and type.
Yep. There’s no place like home. And don’t we just love it!
Jx
©2009
There’s nothing quite like packing two small children in the car for a trip to your home town, to make one contemplate the differences between the life you’re living & the one you left behind, and the journey in between.
And whoever said “Time flies when you’re having fun” obviously hasn’t taken a trip down memory lane with my lot on board.
Since we finally bought a car that wouldn’t break down 5 minutes out of town, I decided it was time to head north for only the second time this year to see the family; my Beloved chose to spend some quality time at home alone.
I set the alarm for 5am to get an early start on our 3.5 hour journey. It was after 1pm when I finally pulled into my mother’s driveway. (I'll let you do the math.)
In that time, I had to re-pack the car twice to allow my sister to fit in, hand over the entire weekend supply of ‘travelling lollies’ to the kids, stop to refill drink bottles a couple of times, sought out toilets of acceptable sanitation quality at least twice, referee countless arguments, try to deduce the reason behind my daughter's feet feeling "fizzy", and pull over for an impromptu play in the park in a bid to wear the kids out enough to sleep the rest of the way.
But on the upside, I only had to stop twice to attend to a vomiting child. (Loving those V-Bags I buy in bulk- they catch it all nicely!)
We all agree the best thing about this car is the DVD player in the back. The kids get to watch a movie with their headphones on while up front I get to listen to the CDs of my choice. I didn’t realize just how much I was enjoying the latter until my son pipes up from the back seat: “Great singing there mum.” No wonder the people in the car next to us at the traffic lights were looking at me that way.
Not to worry. I continue to cruise on down the road, with “Nineteen Somethin’” at (almost) full boar (love that 9 speaker stereo system!), and marvel that Mark Wills is obviously of a similar age to me, he describes it all so well. (Except for the Daisy Duke bit- I preferred Luke Duke myself…mind you, John Schneider seems to be ageing rather nicely…but I digress…)
Due to a bed shortage in the ol’ 3 bedroom house I grew up in, I had to share with my 7 y.o. son. (He was cranky because his 5 y.o. sister was quicker than he at “bagsing” sleeping with Nanny instead, and he drew the short straw as far as he was concerned. He neglected to ask me what I thought of the sleeping arrangements, mind you.) After a late night at my eldest sister’s place celebrating my niece’s birthday, we all fell into bed well after the regular bedtime.
Then, after being kicked 15 times, head-butted 4, and used as a footstool once or twice, I decided to use the body-pillow as a barrier between us, curled up into the foetal position, and finally managed, ooh, 4 hours sleep.
Then guess who had to answer the call of nature around 5.45am and decided the quickest route to the bathroom was to crawl directly over the top of me…?
That aside, we passed another pleasant day with the family before we waved goodbye and promised not to leave as long between visits next time. We hit the highway and head home…along with what seemed to be every single ‘L’ and ‘P’ plate driver in the known universe, who all had the same reaction- sheer panic- every time their speedometer hit 80kph and had to hit the brakes. (I'm sure you can guess the subsequent response from the line of traffic following.)
But at least it was only a 5 hour trip home.
We walk in the front door: there’s dirty washing in the sink while the dishwasher stands empty. The clothes are still waiting in the washing machine, right where I left them. We’re low on milk and we’re almost out of bread. My Beloved is in bed trying to stock up on sleep before a night-shift at work. The dog, on the other hand, is wide awake and going crazy in the driveway causing me to trip over while I’m carrying the bags in from the car. Which gives me reason to pause and ponder why we always manage to come home with more than we take, it’s not like we had any time (or indeed inclination) to go shopping! (I come to the conclusion that Mum must’ve found more of the flotsam and jetsam of our childhood and decided it was time we got to keep it at our place. Thanks Ma.)
Now the kids are fighting in the bathtub. My Beloved is up and about and muttering something about the end of his peace and quiet. And the dog is sitting on my feet while I sip a hot cup of tea and type.
Yep. There’s no place like home. And don’t we just love it!
Jx
©2009
Saturday, August 15, 2009
Sign of the Times
I love signs.
Aside from the hours of enjoyment one can get from reading signposts or those little inserts one gets from non-english speaking countries (go on, when you’ve got some time to kill, try Googling “Engrish”) … I just love wordplay on such a small scale. (What’s that saying, ‘Small thing amuse small minds’?) Plus it gives me something to laugh about sometimes when I really need it.
Take our house, for instance.
As you approach the front door you’re greeted with “Beware of the Kids” (a funky little number I found on eBay), and never a truer word has been written, my friends.
One cannot enter our abode without tripping over the toys and arts and crafts and shoes and sports gear strategically placed in the most inconvenient locations.
I swear our front entry (a converted garage) is like the ‘Tardis’ - the amount of child-oriented items it contains seems to grow with each day that passes, and the mind boggles as to where it all came from, or indeed, where it all goes.
Unfortunately, it is encroaching on the entire interior, as the little darlings forget to put things back from whence they came. Obviously I need to find a sign that says “If it comes out to play, please put it away” that’s actually written in a language 5 and 7 year olds can comprehend.
Moving into the household (and avoiding the minefield of childhood items along the way), there’s quite a nice collection of sayings stuck to the fridge in amongst the family photo’s and children’s art work- two of my favourites are “Housekeeping is an exact science- I’m into art.” and “I’m not going to vacuum until they make one I can ride on!” Hear, hear!
Unfortunately, I have discovered if I don’t do it, it doesn’t get done, and I’m yet to figure out a way around that one*.
In fact the first sign to greet me each day is plastered on the laundry door directly across the hall from our bedroom; it reads “Please Dear Lord, make the laundry go away”. I’m still waiting for the Almighty to deliver on that one, but still it stays, offering up a not-so-silent prayer to put an end to washing days. (See above*.)
That goes with another saying of which I’m quite fond: “Cleaning the house while the kids are still growing is like shoveling the path while the snow is still snowing.” You’ve got to pick your battles. And I surrendered a long time ago.
So I resign myself to simply overseeing the childhood warfare that takes place on a daily basis, helped along with a cuppa or two.
Needless to say my coffee cup collection has a wealth of knowledge printed thereon to provide inspiration, motivation, or mere contemplation as I up my caffeine intake trying to stay awake after another near-sleepless night at the homestead- mind you I have to carefully guard the mug that says “I have children and a sense of humour- what’s your Super Power?”, as too many other mothers can also relate, it seems.
And there’s one sign here that never ceases to amuse one mum in particular whenever she risks life and limb and pays a visit to our humble home. It’s a little pink one that declares: “My Mother was right about everything!”
Every single time my mother reads that one, she turns to me with a chuckle and says “I am so glad you had kids of your own darling.”
Yep, so am I… if nothing else it keeps the signwriters in business.
Jx
©2009
Aside from the hours of enjoyment one can get from reading signposts or those little inserts one gets from non-english speaking countries (go on, when you’ve got some time to kill, try Googling “Engrish”) … I just love wordplay on such a small scale. (What’s that saying, ‘Small thing amuse small minds’?) Plus it gives me something to laugh about sometimes when I really need it.
Take our house, for instance.
As you approach the front door you’re greeted with “Beware of the Kids” (a funky little number I found on eBay), and never a truer word has been written, my friends.
One cannot enter our abode without tripping over the toys and arts and crafts and shoes and sports gear strategically placed in the most inconvenient locations.
I swear our front entry (a converted garage) is like the ‘Tardis’ - the amount of child-oriented items it contains seems to grow with each day that passes, and the mind boggles as to where it all came from, or indeed, where it all goes.
Unfortunately, it is encroaching on the entire interior, as the little darlings forget to put things back from whence they came. Obviously I need to find a sign that says “If it comes out to play, please put it away” that’s actually written in a language 5 and 7 year olds can comprehend.
Moving into the household (and avoiding the minefield of childhood items along the way), there’s quite a nice collection of sayings stuck to the fridge in amongst the family photo’s and children’s art work- two of my favourites are “Housekeeping is an exact science- I’m into art.” and “I’m not going to vacuum until they make one I can ride on!” Hear, hear!
Unfortunately, I have discovered if I don’t do it, it doesn’t get done, and I’m yet to figure out a way around that one*.
In fact the first sign to greet me each day is plastered on the laundry door directly across the hall from our bedroom; it reads “Please Dear Lord, make the laundry go away”. I’m still waiting for the Almighty to deliver on that one, but still it stays, offering up a not-so-silent prayer to put an end to washing days. (See above*.)
That goes with another saying of which I’m quite fond: “Cleaning the house while the kids are still growing is like shoveling the path while the snow is still snowing.” You’ve got to pick your battles. And I surrendered a long time ago.
So I resign myself to simply overseeing the childhood warfare that takes place on a daily basis, helped along with a cuppa or two.
Needless to say my coffee cup collection has a wealth of knowledge printed thereon to provide inspiration, motivation, or mere contemplation as I up my caffeine intake trying to stay awake after another near-sleepless night at the homestead- mind you I have to carefully guard the mug that says “I have children and a sense of humour- what’s your Super Power?”, as too many other mothers can also relate, it seems.
And there’s one sign here that never ceases to amuse one mum in particular whenever she risks life and limb and pays a visit to our humble home. It’s a little pink one that declares: “My Mother was right about everything!”
Every single time my mother reads that one, she turns to me with a chuckle and says “I am so glad you had kids of your own darling.”
Yep, so am I… if nothing else it keeps the signwriters in business.
Jx
©2009
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