Saturday, 29 December 2012

A Very Bogan Christmas Part Two

I fear I may have even bored myself ,writing this, so if you are still here at the end of this sentence, let alone the  entire post, I commend you. You are not a quitter. Or you need to get out more.

The Bogan festivities continued with an early celebration at my brother's home on the 22nd, as he and his family were going away. Gifts were exchanged, then the usual eating ourselves into a coma commenced.

During which, we somehow managed to avoid the most favourite topic of conversation for my family.

Winning Lotto. More specifically, what we would do if we ever win it. Yes, we frequently discuss this.

My brother and Dad also used to have a regular debate about how the money was allocated. One insisted it was given in a lump sum, the other was firmly convinced it was paid in instalments.

These discussions can become quite intense. The fact that the chances of winning lotto are so remote as to be practically non-existent becomes completely  irrelevant. We never pause to consider the utter absurdity of spending money which we will never have.

We may have exhausted this topic, finally. This time we discussed holidays and the utter insanity that is Christmas shopping and gift giving. A great day was enjoyed by all.

Then, I out did myself, on the 24th with an extremely classy and elegant Christmas Eve dinner.

Bogan Christmas Tree. Simply..stunning,
though not in a good way..

Completely disgusting and ridiculously over priced Maccas too. Is there any other kind?

Then, the count down for Santa's arrival began.  The boys were beside themselves, bursting with excitement.

"How many more hours will it be now?" Mr 8 would ask, approximately every twelve minutes.

He also became uncharacteristically concerned that the house should be clean and tidy for Santa's arrival, in case he didn't receive any presents. Of course, this behaviour never occurs on any other day of the year.

I somehow escaped for a few minutes to the boys room, intending to fold the pile of laundry there. Instead, I crashed on Mr 8's bed.Thinking, rightfully, that it will be a very long night so therefore it might be a good idea if I just closed my eyes briefly for a little snooze.I may have under estimated how tired I was as I was comatose for at least an hour.

Zombie like, I emerged, blinking and bustled the boys to bed. This took some doing as they were hyped up and there was no way in hell they were going down without a fight.

 Then, and only then, could our secret mission begin. Mr 11 may have outwitted us, cunningly pretending to be asleep. Thankfully I had wrapped almost everything in advance, so it didn't take us long to place everything under the tree and bugger off to bed at around midnight. I was just drifting off to snooze land again,when I heard creaking floorboards. 

"I'm just going to check if Santa's been!" declared Mr 11, cheerfully.

"GET BACK INTO BED, NOW!!" I bellowed, scaring the bejesus out of Micky Blue Eyes.

"But, I'm just checking if-  " Mr 11 started, defiantly.

"BACK TO BED!" Mick thundered, now wide awake and murderous.

"Fine!" Mr 11 stomps back to bed.

I finally nodded off again. A short time later, I was awoken by sobbing. Mr 4. I stumbled out of bed and into his room, where he was huddled on the bed, still sobbing.

"Mummy!" he wails. I snuggle next to him. Soon, I am snoring again. After a restless night, I am awoken by an exhilerated Mr 11 and 8 shouting that Santa had come. Surprisingly, it was not Stupid O'Clock, but a respectable 7.30am. Presents were opened in record time. Then, the fun truly began.

As we had no idea in hell how to work the Ipods Mr11 and 8 had received. As well as being an astonishing Bogan, I am also an astonishing technophobe. A few tense hours later, they were up and running and the boys were clicking away taking photos.

We finally headed off to my parents house for Christmas lunch. It was pouring rain, but this was a pleasant change from the stifling heat from the day before.

Instead of turkey(bugger that),we had Lobster Mornay made by my Mum, The Best Cook In The World Ever. Yes, she deserves capitals. As we prepared to tuck in, Micky Blue Eyes commented wryly that we should be taking a snap of it to post on Facebook. We just laughed and didn't bother, so you'll have to imagine it.

It was, indeed, a most excellent day. I felt like the happiest Bogan in Boganville. What more could you ask for? Please don't answer that question.

So, that's  our very boring Bogan Christmas done and dusted for yet another year!

How was your Christmas day? How do you celebrate, if at all?

Friday, 21 December 2012

A Very Bogan Christmas Part One

Yesterday the bogan festivities began with a lunch with the out laws. They had wanted to take us out to a Leagues Club and shout us lunch.

The fun started when we were getting ready to go. I was my usual well organised self. I couldn't even find a bra to put on. I do hate the things with a passion.

You know you are becoming a tad tragic when you almost couldn't be bothered going out ever again, in your entire life, because you hate wearing bras.

Finally, I found one and shoved it on. Only problem was, it was white. I was wearing a black top with a lacy bit at the back through which you could clearly see the bra straps.

Oh well. Deciding that nobody on Earth ever even remotely notices or cares what I am wearing, I put it on. Then, I proceeded to tidy up my hair with a straightener thingy ma jig.

Meanwhile, Micky Blue Eyes started hollering that we were going to be late, in between his familiar refrain: "I'm trying to do WORK!!"

"Get your shoes on!" I screeched to the boys.

"Okaaaaaaaaay!" yelled back Mr 11

"I aaaaaam!" declared Mr 8.

I gave up on my hair and pointlessly applied lipstick. 

Some time later, we finally pile into the car, amid arguments about who should sit on the side with the dodgy seat belt. It's always Mr8, as he is smaller.

Then, my most dreaded event takes place.

Mick hands me a street directory and instructs me to look up the place where we have to go. I turn pale.

I had assumed he knew where it was and he hadn't mentioned that he didn't know.

Naturally, any 'normal' people might be expected to have a GPS device. Not these bogans. We still resort to the trusty (scary) UBD.

It is at this point that I have to let all woman kind down and openly admit I simply cannot read maps. At all.  Let alone in a moving car. The very thought makes me decidedly ill.

Frankly, I'm surprised we haven't already divorced over this. There were some rather unsettling arguments over this very thing on our honeymoon for God's sake.

After a nerve wracking trip, during which the boys refused to wind the windows up, we eventually made it there and went in to meet the outlaws. I exited the car with windblown hair, tousled and tangled,  a dishevelled wreck. So much for bothering with my appearance. Sigh.

Then came the dramas of ordering food which seemed to turn into covert operations as my out-laws had to procure whatever members only discounts they could for all our meals.

There had also been the promise of a 'Play Area' for the boys, but, disappointingly, it was shut and still under refurbishment, although my out-laws had apparently been promised it would be open.

Within five minutes all three boys were 'bored'. Luckily the food arrived quickly. Then, surprisingly the 'Little Nippers' bags they were given actually kept them entertained for quite a while and they coloured in and did the 'find-a-word' thingys.  During which, they only spilled their drinks two or three times. Not too bad.

We were considering whether we were brave enough to go and have a Santa photo taken afterwards, as we still hadn't gotten around to it. Seeing as though we were out and the boys were presentable, it seemed a good opportunity.

Leaving the club, we then drove off and drooled over all the beautiful houses we passed in this part of Sydney. I think we're not in Boganville anymore, Toto.

Passing a park, the boys exclaimed "Please! Can we go there!"

So we did.

The boys happily played away for a while. I turned my back for a split second, then I turned around, expecting to see Mr 4 still happily playing on the 'train'.

He was gone.

I called out, thinking he'd definitely crawl out from the tunnel thing on the train. He didn't.

Calling louder, I scanned the park, trying not to panic.

There he was.  Behind a tree and some bushes a few metres away.

I saw the look on his face and knew straight away.

The smell when I got closer, confirmed it.

 I was so happy to find him, I didn't mind as much as I normally would.

Naturally, there were no toilets anywhere to be seen, but the damage didn't appear to be too bad, so I decided we'd just get back into the car and go.

Although, the Santa photo option was now out of the question as I'd left Mr4's bag with a change of undies and clothes in it, at home. Handy.

However, Micky Blue Eyes decided that since we were headed that way to go home, he'd like to go to Rookwood Cemetery and look for his Grandparents graves. 

The boys groaned and grumbled, but we went anyway.

As we got out of the car, Mr 8 and 11 were slightly apprehensive about being in a grave yard.

"It's fine," I told them "dead people can't hurt you, they're dead." This is what my Mum had told me as a child and such common sense logic had seemed to work for me, as it did for the boys.

Thus, a lovely afternoon was spent roaming around the cemetery, fruitlessly searching for Mick's grandfather's grave. In the end, we gave up walking around and decided to drive up and down looking as Mick had somehow managed to find it previously with this method. No luck.

We did, however, find Mick's other Grandparents graves. His mother's parents. His grandmother had died in a motor cycle accident aged only 32 in 1945. We stood there, pondering it all.

Some people are gone from this Earth so young and others live until their 90's. Life is such a lottery, it seems.

The weather which had been visciously hot earlier, was now blowing up a strong gail. I spotted a grave of two young brothers, one had died at only 6 and the other 12. At first I assumed possibly from the same accident, until I realised their deaths were several years apart. So sad.

So many of the graves were obviously long forgotten and haven't been visited in a long time.

I hadn't really been taking any of this End Of The World stuff very seriously or I may have been even more reflective of what it's all about and what really happens when you die.

Later that night, at home, the boys saw something on TV about the supposed end of the world and completely freaked. I managed to reassure them that such predictions had happened time and again and so far have never came true.

Anyway, I hope not, because next month I am turning 42.

Apparently this is the answer to the Meaning of Life. So, hopefully, all going well, World not ending and all that, I will suddenly possess the wisdom of the ages and know what it all means on January 15th.

That, or I'll just eat cake, as always.

More about our Very Bogan Christmas, coming soon.

A Great Big Bogan Thankyou Take Two

It has come to my attention that I have been tagged yet again for another award. This time for something called the Leibster Award. To explain what that is I pinched this from one of my taggers:

"The award is given to support and recognise up and coming bloggers who have less than 200 followers (on their blog) or likers (on their Facebook page). The word “Liebster” apparently has German origins and is reported to mean sweetest, kindest, nicest, dearest, beloved, lovely, kind, pleasant, valued, cute, endearing, and welcome. By following some basic rules (answer 11 questions set by your nominee, write 11 questions of your own and pass the award onto 11other bloggers to answer) it enables readers to get to know new bloggers and connect with a wider audience."
Thanks are due to Tracey from Bliss Amongst Chaos who  tagged me.
Now I will answer Tracey's questions:

1. What is your favourite colour?
2. Best book you ever read?
There are so many but The Magic Faraway Tree and Anne Of
Green Gables are still my favourites since childhood.
3. What is your 'houseworking' music of choice?
None really. If I put music on, no house work will be done, because I'll do anything to avoid it.
4. Do you have a habit that others would consider weird and if so, what?
Oh boy, we could be here for a while on this question. Deep breath. I have a Karen Carpenter obsession and stimming behaviours, such as hand flapping and rocking, due to having Aspergers.
5. Are you messy, or a neat freak?
Horrifically messy, I'm afraid.
6. What is one word your friends would use to describe you?
Probably 'sweet', because they are too kind to say nauseating.
7. When choosing a milkshake, what flavour do you always go for?
Chocolate, of course. Chocolate makes everything better.
8. What is your favourite quote?
Be yourself, everybody else is already taken- Oscar Wilde
9. What is your favourite movie of all time?
A bit stuck on this question to be honest, but I do love Barbra Streisand, so maybe Funny Girl or The Way We Were. As I mentioned, I'm nauseating.
10. What is your favourite Christmas tradition?
Besides eating myself into a coma? Um, no idea really.
11. Do you prefer wine or spirits?The only spirit I like is scotch, so possibly wine.

 I have also been tagged by the bad ass Tegan (see, I didn't call you 'lovely' or any of those nauseating adjectives) from  Musings of the Misguided

These were her questions:

How long have you been blogging?
Since March 2012.
What was the first Blog you read?
Karen Carpenter Avenue. Or something to do with Karen anyway. Shut up.

How did you come up with the name for your Blog?
It's basically a pun of the classic novel Tess of the D'urbervilles and since my name is Vanessa, everyone calls me Ness for short and we do, indeed, live in Boganville, it seemed to fit. Though I've since realised that anyone making the connection between bogans and classic literature might be a bit of a stretch.

Summer or Winter?
They both suck. I can't figure out which one sucks more for me.

How do you start your day?
With a cup of tea.

One thing you couldn't live without?
Oxygen. Yep, I'm a smart arse.

If you were stuck on a deserted island, who is one person you would like to be stuck with?
Barack Obama, because then there might be a rather good search party coming to rescue us.

Your favourite indulgence food?

Do you blog to a schedule?
Nope. I'm not organised and I never know when I can get computer time anyway, as I have to share. Wahhhhhhh.
If you could be anywhere in the world right now, where would it be?
In a five star motel, in any capital city, by myself, with my books, a lap-top and unlimited room service.

Are you ready for Christmas?
As ready as I'll ever be. (ie Not ready AT ALL)

Now, I think the way it works is that I am supposed to think of some questions and tag people, however it is at this stage that I will gracefully bow out of the tag game, as I suspect that all the people I was going to tag have already been tagged. I'm always a bit behind with these things. With everything, in fact. Oops.

So, anyway, so long and thanks for all the tags!


Tuesday, 18 December 2012

A Great Big Bogan Thankyou

A great big bogan thank you is overdue to all the lovely bloggers who tagged me for the Sunshine Award. I never thought of this boring as batshit bogan blog as being particularly sunshiney so it was quite an honour. And it also means that three extra people besides my Mum have actually read this blog, so that's always a bonus too.

 Apparently  it works like this:

"The Sunshine Award is an award given by bloggers to other bloggers. The recipients of the Sunshine Award are: “Bloggers who positively and creatively inspire others in the blogsphere”. The way the award works is this: Thank the person who gave you the award and link back to them. Answer questions about yourself. Select 10 of your favourite bloggers, link their blogs to your post and let them know they have been awarded the Sunshine Award!"

Hmmm, a creative and inspiring bogan? Interesting.

So onto the questions and tagging:

1. Favourite Time of the Year?

Spring or Autumn, I whinge when it's hot or cold and can't decide which I hate more. In between is good.

2. Favourite Festive movie?

Umm...not sure, but those Santa Claus movies that were on recently seemed to keep my boys entertained so they are up there.

3. What is your Passion?

I'd have to say my family. Because it would be wrong to say Karen Carpenter and cakies.  Wouldn't it? 

4. Favourite Colour?

Green. Maybe not lime green or fluorescent green, but pretty greens.

5. Favourite time of the Day?

Definitely NOT a morning person AT ALL, so I'll say afternoon or evenings.

6. Favourite Flower?
I suppose I'd have to be totally predictable and say roses.

7.Favourite Non-Alcoholic Beverage?
Tea!  I think my Mum weened me on a tea bag, so I've been addicted from a young age.

8. Favourite Physical Activity?

I'm actually one of these strange individuals who likes exercise DVDs and I have a collection of them. The fact that I never end up looking remotely like the smug, scarily ripped women who instruct them may be due to the afore mentioned passion for cakies and not necessarily to the ineffectiveness of the dvds.

9. Favourite Holiday?
Anywhere that's not Dubbo, Darwin or Woop Woop is a bonus when you're married to someone who thinks they're Bear Gryls and forgets they're actually an Accountant.

Now, who to tag. I read so many brilliant blogs, that frankly I think I should just give up, because clearly I have no idea what I'm doing on any level.  Anyway I'll tag these blogs:

My Home Truths

Musings of the Misguided

Oculus Mundi

Bliss Amongst Chaos

Twitchy Corner

Autism In Our Words

What Sarah Did Next


A life of peace & gratitude

The Crafty Ex-Pat

If you are in that list and have already been tagged or do not desire to play tag, then just ignore me. Oh wait, you are already. Done.

Oh and I should probably mention that those first three were the brilliant bloggers who tagged me. I'm tagging them back because I can. And I do also read and enjoy their blogs. So thankyou!

It has also come to my attention that I have been tagged for yet another award, so more thankyous and tags to come! 


Sunday, 9 December 2012

My Christmas Wish List

 I just realised that I was tagged in the Christmas Wish List Thingy by Tegan from  Musings of the Misguided. Thanks Tegan!

Similarly, I only just realised it actually was going to be Christmas presently a week or two ago. I'm a tad slow. Anyhow, here goes:

1. I know I'm in the minority on this one, but if Mariah Carey would please stop warbling about All She Wants For Christmas everywhere I go that would be great.

2. I wish there really was a Santa, so I didn't have to brave the shops and consequently hear Mariah Carey warbling every five minutes.

3. I wish I could take the credit if my boys are blissfully happy with their gifts instead of bloody old Santa getting the credit.

On the flip side if they are less than thrilled with their loot, I'm more than happy to blame Santa. After all, what has he ever done for me?  He didn't even bring me a Barbie Dream House when I wanted one so desperately in 1980. Or a Ken doll. I had to make do with my brother's GI Joe with the dodgy leg that fell off when you tried to pretend they were having sex. (Come on, don't tell me I was the only one who ever did that. Was I?)

4. I would really love to have a time machine. What for? Well, then I could hop in and have it whisk me back to May 1972, so I could go and see the Carpenters perform at the Chevron Hotel in Sydney.  Oh, shut up.
This may or may not be the 1972 concert, either
way, I wish I was there. In the mosh pit.

It's not lame that I want that. Or even that I know that they did, indeed, perform at the Chevron Hotel in Sydney in May, 1972. And that, while here, Karen Carpenter bought a stuffed koala bear and named him Sir Bear Of Sydney and that is why I call myself that on Twitter. Again, I reiterate, shut up.

5. I wish that the afore mentioned time machine could not only whisk you back in time, but also figure out a way to make more time in the day so I could spend hours listening to Carpenters, blogging and reading and still find time for other stuff. Like those pesky kids I have. Ahem.

PS. I also wouldn't mind finally becoming Cashed Up Bogans and getting that McMansion in Boganville Heights. Oh, and world peace.

PPS. There is really nothing at all wrong with Mariah Carey. She can't help it that she's not Karen Carpenter.

Oh, and I should tag people. As I've mentioned I'm a bit slow and spacey, so if you've already done this, ignore me.

Homemaker Mummy

Mum's Take Five

A life of peace and gratitude

Mrs Sabbatical


Thursday, 6 December 2012

Weird and Wonderful

I frequently wonder what it would be like to live in a ‘normal’ house.  With a ‘normal’ family. Because it tends to become a tad, um, shall we say, interesting, around here.
Take for instance some incidents that happened over the past week or so.  One day, the usual mountain of lego  was obscuring the living room floor.  I ordered the boys to clean it up.  Fights and mayhem ensued.

“You know what, Mum?” cried Mr 4, amidst all the hollering.
“What?” I replied.
“You’re Mum!” he laughed “you’re funny!”

Then he turned to his brother, segueing abruptly “I don’t love you!” he informed him vehemently. Mr 8 promptly burst into tears.

I ignore the washing up to play with the boys,
or just ignore the washing up to do anything that
isn't washing up really.
After smoothing that over, I then coaxed Mr 11 into a bath.

Trudging  back into the kitchen, I surveyed the usual truck load of washing up. Ignored it and headed back to the computer.
Some time later, I meandered back into the bathroom.

An over powering stench greeted me. Mr 4 grinned at me from the toilet. Which he had filled to the brim with toilet paper. Among other things.

Meanwhile, Mr 11 was soaking blissfully in the tub.
Fully clothed.

I booted him out and hastily bustled a slightly putrid Mr 4 in.  
When I wander back to the bedroom, I find Mr11 now flinging himself backwards and forwards with wild abandon, apparently head banging to some kind of rock music which is only in his mind.

Completely nude.

Also in the past few weeks, all three boys have started a game called making 'huts'. This involves positioning coffee tables and chairs in certain positions in the living room, then draping blankets over them. They then crawl in under their little self designed hidey hole.

Or they will congregate in our bedroom and do somersaults on the bed. Or decide to play 'tips' or hide and seek. Sometimes I am coaxed into joining in.

Mr 4 will be beside himself with glee.

"You hide here!" he cries, pointing behind his bedroom door "and I count!"

Trying to explain that it kind of defeats the purpose if he tells me where to hide is a fruitless exercise.  Ditto if he yells out "I'm in here!" and alerts me to his hiding place. Which he often does.

Meanwhile, Micky Blue Eyes will have one of three reactions to such pandemonium.

They are:

1.       He is a grumpy old man. Completely and utterly over such frivolity, insisting that it be curtailed immediately.

2.       Distracted indifference. He is too busy looking up old 80’s bands on Youtube, like Journey and Foreigner (if I’m lucky) or footage of Tsunamis or other natural disasters if I’m not.

This means he will yell at me approximately every 12 minutes or so to come quickly and look at some horrific doom and gloom thing that frankly isn’t extremely helpful to when you tend to be a bit wobbly (anxious) at times.

3.       If you can’t beat em, join em. He will join in with the boys antics, perhaps even roughing them, thusly hyping them up even more. Quite handy when it occurs at bed time, as is quite common. Something I never do.
Except for the other day when it was heatwave conditions and I looked up from folding laundry to see Mick spraying Mr 11 with the hose while he bounced on the trampoline. Gleefully I ditched the clothes and hurried outside where I proceeded to join in.

Next thing you know I was bouncing around being sprayed and whooping and laughing. Mr 8 joined in.
“This is the life! Wheeeee!” he shouted, arms and legs flying, soaking wet. 

It felt so good to be so utterly silly and ridiculous and just laugh. To see the boys so full of joy.

At which point I decided ‘normal’ is over rated.

When was the last time you did something completely silly? What ridiculous antics happen at your house?