Showing posts with label Family. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Family. Show all posts

Saturday, 12 November 2016

10 Things I'll Be Remembered For

Hello again, dear readers! 

You forgot all about me? I'm sure that's not possible! Is it?

Of course not! Even when I'm no longer around, I'm sure I'll be remembered fondly by many of you. While I have no plans or intentions to go anywhere for a very long time, recent events have certainly got me thinking. 

Here's ten things I think I'd be remembered for: 


I'm always polite and nice to people. Even those who would never like me even if I gave them a small yacht and a lifetime supply of chocolate.That's just the way I am. I always think of that meme that goes around. The one about how everyone has some kind of internal struggle you know nothing about. So just be kind. Sometimes people refer to me as being sweet. It used to make me nauseous, but now I think it's a good thing. It's means I'll be remembered for a being a sweetheart. Okay, it is a teensy bit nauseating...


I don't make friends easily, but I'm very sincere and loyal once I do. And online friends count now, right? Otherwise I'm practically Nelly No Friends...


I'm as funny as a fungal toe nail in person. However, give me a device and an internet connection and you'll suddenly discover something about me you never previously noticed. I have a personality! Who knew? 


One day I will shuffle off this Earth for tea and cake in the sky. Hopefully, a very long time from now. But my boys will still be here.  And I expect they'll all be top blokes (I would say that, I'm their mother...). So I'm taking the credit for it, even in the grave. 


While my writing may never reach any grand or literary heights, I hope that I've been able to entertain and amuse SOMEONE out there. You're laughing WITH me, not AT me! Aren't you? 


I've gone from a fetching mullet-perm to an elegant poodle-perm. More recently I've been totally on trend, embracing the clown look. Furthermore, I can effortlessly segue into a foxy lady and channel Kath Day-Knight from Kath n' Kim. Noice. Unyewwwsual. 


Whenever you are trapped in some sort of easy listening hell you will ALWAYS remember me. For instance, you might be trapped in the dentist's chair.  A Carpenters song may echo eerily in the background as your jaw aches. And you will think of me. You know you will! And once again, you're totally welcome! 

Also, when I'm gone it will be your duty to honour me by eating ALL THE CAKE I can't have anymore.  You can't deny that it's a great legacy I will have left you. Use it wisely. 


I'm so quiet, there's a good chance you won't even notice I'm gone. Or maybe, just maybe, my resting bitch face will be curiously missed.  After all, a quiet, pleasant person (with a misleading resting bitch face) is preferable to some one who is nasty, gossipy or racist. 

I was going to add something about my tenacity in the face of adversity. I'm a breast cancer survivor and all that. But really, I'm just one of many people who've done the same. It doesn't make me special.

Well, maybe a little bit. Give me a break! That shit is HARD. 

So that's what I think I'll be remembered for! Let's fade out with a bit of Barbra...

Memorieeeees, like the corners of my miiiind....

Linking up (late, as usual!) for Friday Reflections.

What would you like to be remembered for? 

Images: Pexels, Pinterest

Monday, 15 September 2014

In Praise Of My Parents And Parents-In-Law

Today I'm confessing to what I REALLY think about my parents and parents-in-law. This could be interesting. But it's actually pretty straight forward for me.

The truth is, I think they are all AMAZING. And they didn't even pay me to say that! Seriously.

Micky Blue Eyes and I consider ourselves to be extremely lucky and blessed to have both of our parents still alive in their 70's and still actually married to each other for decades. Impressive.

I mean, they've stayed married for that long without attempting to kill each other. How did they manage to do that? Ahem...

My parents, Alison and Michael, were married in 1966. My brother arrived in 1968 and I made my way into the World a few years later in 1971. 

My parents on their wedding day, November 11, 1966.  It's obvious
where I got my striking good looks from.

Growing up with my parents was a wonderful experience. My parents provided just the right amount of firmness with an abundance of unconditional love.

This is still the case today, for myself, Mick and my boys. The boys have doting Grandparents. Not 'dotting' as Micky Blue Eyes sometimes mispronounces it. He has this weird habit of doing that. Mispronouncing words. But that's a whole other post....

Me with my Mum and Dad (and a certain little man)
 on my 40th birthday, January 15th, 2011.

To be perfectly honest I'm still something of a Mummy's girl, even at the ripe old age of 43. Shut up.

But to all you naysayers who think cutting off the apron strings is long overdue, I say this:

First of all, my Mum never even wore an apron! (Okay, it may not have been meant quite so literally....)

Secondly, Mum is like my best friend as well as my Mum, and I wouldn't have it any other way.


Thirdly, she makes THE BEST apple pie and cakies in the whole entire Universe! And I'm the Cakie Queen! Winning!

On a more serious note, from what I can gather, a fair amount of folk out there do have a somewhat fraught relationship with their mother and/or parents. I'm very aware of how fortunate I am.

My parents-in-law are extremely private sort of people, so they may not like me talking about them in this space. Therefore I won't say too much. Only that they've always accepted me into the family in all my weird and quiet wonderful ways, and how very much I appreciate it.

 At our wedding a hundred 19 years ago, Micky Blue Eyes became a tad tongue-tied during his speech. This resulted in him thanking his parents for 'bringing him up under a roof that didn't leak'.  It was funny at the time, but you had to be there.

Well, not only did they bring him up 'under a roof that didn't leak', they also brought him up to be an exceptional human being. I am very thankful for this, because I benefit from having such a wonderful husband and father for my children.

Nauseating, but true. I apologise, I should have provided sick bags for this post.

I've just realised that I don't have many recent photos of my parents or parents-in-law. It seems as though we're all camera hogging exhibitionists. Or something.

I'm not even sure why I get so stressed when the silly season rolls around.  My parents and parents-in-law are such good sports that they don't force us to race around like mad things to their respective homes and stuff ourselves with multiple Christmas feasts on one day. We've always been lucky enough to alternate each year between spending Christmas day with one side and boxing day with the other.

And it's actually not an ordeal to spend time our families, at Christmas, and throughout the year. How lucky are we to be able say that?

All together now.....Nawwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwww!

It's a short and sweet post today. Sickly, sickly sweet. I sincerely hope you're all feeling warm and fuzzy right now and not terribly ill. Oops. Over and out.

Linking up for I Must Confess.

How do you REALLY feel about your parents and/or in-laws?

Or, if that's a loaded question, just tell me a joke instead....

Thursday, 11 September 2014

Introverts Are Still Awesome!

You may remember my lovely little self-indulgent stroll down an introverted lane. Well, I now want to take another wander down this path and present my much anticipated Part Two! I know you've probably been waiting for it with bated breath. What's that? You have no idea what I'm on about? HMPH. You can read it here.

Anyway, as I was saying, I am really quite the massive introvert. Even alcohol doesn't 'bring me out of my shell'. Instead, I just feel sleepy and mellow after one or two drinks. After a third I'll either feel light-headed and sick or slip into a coma. I'm SUCH a party animal!

Fortunately, I never attend many parties. Unless they are children's parties. Nobody appears to have 'at home' parties anymore. Or, if they are, we're not being invited. This means that I may have to sit in a McDonald's/Play Centre/Bowling Alley with a few other unfamiliar parents and make polite chit-chat. Not surprisingly, I suck at it. 

I'll either go with my favourite option: mutism. Or, alternatively, I'll completely put my foot in it and blurt out way too much information. 

Like the time one Mum was chatting away about a friend who had tragically lost a baby half way through her pregnancy, yet still had to give birth.

"I couldn't imagine having to go through that!" she said, almost in tears "It would be terrible!"

"Yes, it is," I replied, without thinking "the same thing happened to me." 

The poor woman looked thunderstruck. Of course there was no way she could ever have known that. I wouldn't say it was exactly helpful of me to bring it up. She apologised, clearly wishing the ground would swallow her. Good one, Ness.

Ditto the time when I used to attend Playgroup with Mr 5 before he started school. One of the Mums there expressed her worry about her Dad who was having a colonoscopy that day. I proceeded to inform her how Micky Blue Eyes has one every year after having had bowel cancer in 2004. Her worried expression turned to one of terror. Well played yet again, Ness.  Way to go with the social gaffes!

As Mr 10 would say in a faux American drawl:


No wonder I mostly stick to what I'm best at. Shutting right up.

Yes sir, selective mutism and I are besties. 

ALL VALE NESSKI: Bringing you awkward silences since 1971!

Another phenomenon that came into play during the Play Group era was my introverted tendency to suffer from a 'social hangover'. I briefly touched upon this before.

Playgroup only consisted of a measly two hours a week of social interaction.  That's nothing, right? So why did I go home every week and feel like sobbing from exhaustion? The next week would roll around and I'd feel barely recovered.

Meanwhile, the other Mums revealed how they schlepped their kidlets to various groups on multiple days of the week. I was STUNNED to learn this. Seriously. STUNNED. 

I couldn't have been more shocked if they'd revealed that they liked to snort cocaine off a hooker's arse while their kids watched. 

Okay, I may be exaggerating just a teeny bit. But it is quite amazing to me how you weirdo extroverted folk like this socialising caper so much. 

I guess I could force myself out of my comfort zone once in while. Speaking of which, I'll be attending Mr 5's school assembly this afternoon. There will be crowds, noise, parents, children and off-key singing. Last time I attended Mr 10's assembly I accidentally sat in the wrong spot in the school hall. This resulted in me being mistaken for a casual teacher twice.

It only occurred to me later that I should have totally went with it Jack Black/School Of Rock style and pretended I was. I'm sure I could have had those kids belting out Carpenters songs before school ended! Shut up, they are rock! CLASSIC rock, I tell you! Oh all right, classic soft rock. Adult contemporary? Okay, so they're bloody easy listening! So what? HMPH. 

I'm rambling again, aren't I? Oh well, this is the only place where I do it, therefore I'm allowed. So ner!

It is quite interesting being a shy, introverted Aspie and being a mother of three amazing but noisy boys! On the one hand, I often crave peace and solitude. On the other hand, my family are my coat of armour against the World.

An oldie but a goodie 

In all my many awkward moments I can remind myself that I don't have to worry about what others think of me. I have Micky Blue Eyes and the boys who love and accept me. We are a family of introverts. The only difference is, my boys are certainly NOT shy! 

I'm still plodding through Susan Cain's Quiet: The Power Of Introverts In A World That Can't Stop Talking and finding it fascinating.  See, introverts ARE fascinating! I knew it! I'm totally riveting. So the fact that you're probably nodding off around now is not my fault. No way. 

Anyway, Susan Cain has a Manifesto for Introverts.

 I'd like to make up my own manifesto, but I'll have to think about it further in order to come up with something poetic and wise.

In the mean time, you can always count on good old Grumpy Cat:

Linking up for The Lounge and Laugh Link.

Do you have a manifesto?

What does family mean to you? 

Monday, 7 July 2014

I Won't Last A Day Without...

There are certain things that I would I find terribly difficult to give up. Such as:

My Family

Okay, there are certain days when I do wish I could be all by myself. Except I'd be belting out Carpenters songs instead of Celine Dion. But in reality, I couldn't live without my family. They are my suit of armour against the World. Whenever I'm feeling awkward and alien like (which is often) I can remind myself that:

a) As Dr Phil says: You wouldn't worry about what others thought of you if you knew how seldom they did, and
b) I have Micky Blue eyes and my boys who love and accept me.

The Internet

Some days I am scrolling down my Facebook feed (or typing another pointless blog post- ahem) and wondering why I bother. Still, I can't seem to hit the deactivate button. It's a sickness really. Sigh.


I tried quit sugar last year. It was the longest five minutes of my life. BOOM TISH. Seriously though, I did only last about five minutes. More recently I started the Get Healthy Programme, except I seemed to think it was the Get Diabetes programme. I have ended up delaying this for a while and am starting again soon. Hopefully I'll last for at least ten minutes this time. Shut up.

Karen Carpenter/Carpenters addiction/obsession

This fascination, which began at the tender age of 11, has only intensified with the arrival of the internet, making it even more impossible to hit that Facebook Deactivate Button, thereby quitting all of the fan groups and pages I belong to. Don't ask. I've lost count. But at least the fact that there are so many groups proves that I'm not alone in my weirdness.

Quiet Time

As much as I love my family, I do need time alone as well.  This is particularly precious due to it's rarity. I have been forced to give this up to a degree. But I'll still grab the smallest opportunity whenever I can. In fact, on our current holiday, when faced with the choice of joining my family for a stroll on the beach or staying in the apartment alone with the lap-top, I chose the latter. I justified this by reasoning that I spent plenty of time doing stuff with them every other day. And the sand. All that sand, everywhere, six months later. *Shudders*.

Cups Of Tea

I only drink one coffee a day. And about a billion or so cups of tea. I think I was weaned with a tea bag. Okay, not quite, but I did start drinking it at a young age and am absolutely addicted. The tea bag must be left in, thank you very much. I know, it's disgusting. Especially since tea bags were EVIL when I was growing up. We always had proper leaf tea in a pot. But I'm lazy, so tea bags it is now.


 For me, the highlight of our family road trips involves stopping off at any available Op Shops and loading up on bargain books. This is approached with the same fervency and desperation that a heroin addict would reserve for getting their next fix. I. MUST. HAVE. BOOKS. I probably should purchase a Kindle at some point and bring myself into the 21st Century, however I’m sure I still wouldn’t be able to resist those road trip Op Shop crawls. They're much better than Pub crawls in my opinion.


This is one I struggle with. I can easily be lazy and give it up, but my physical and mental health suffers if I let it slide. So I force myself to do sweaty aerobics on most days. I do this for the endorphins, not to become svelte and super fit with a rippling six-pack and buns of steel. I prefer buns with cream, actually. Ahem. Which is why I'll never have the former.


I've only recently come to the conclusion that writing is kind of similar to exercise for me.  I may not be the best, most eloquent writer, just as I am not the most agile, fit athlete, but I usually feel better when I do it. Even if it's just scribbling nonsense purely for my own amusement or boring you all with this blog, I need to do it. As I've mentioned I can be lazy, so sometimes I have to force myself, just like the exercise. When I do, I feel better. The end. So, I guess you're all stuck with me. You're welcome.

And there you have it. The stuff I would find hard to give up. Now I'm off to read books and drink tea.  Oh alright, I'll exercise instead. Hmph.

Linking up (late, as usual)  for Laugh Link and also for I Must Confess.

What would you find hard to give up?

Monday, 10 February 2014

What Does My Family Think Of My Blog?

Good morning, all you groovy people! It's Monday, which means it's time to confess something. This week the wonderful Kirsty is asking the question: What does your family think of your blog?

They think it's awesome, of course! After all, everyone's entitled to my opinion! Okay, I made that up....

Hmmmm, Let me think about this.

They never really say much about it so I haven't got much to go on. The 12 year old has mentioned perhaps once that he thinks it's "Sort of cool." My nine year old doesn't mention it at all. However, if I ever post anything on Facebook about him, regardless if it's something positive, he doesn't like it whatsoever, so I'd presume he's less enthusiastic. Mr 5 doesn't know what a blog is and that I have one so he has no opinion.

Meanwhile, Micky Blue Eyes has complimented me on my writing ability, declaring me 'witty'. Despite this, he apparently has some objections to being portrayed as a bogan (can't imagine why) and thinks I should be 'more positive' suggesting I change the blog title. Since I'm lazy and quite unimaginative when it comes to thinking of titles, I just decided to completely ignore him.

Besides, I conducted a comprehensive survey (posting a question on Facebook counts as a survey, right?) asking if I should change it and the results were unanimous. The whole two people out of my 150 plus Facebook 'friends' who politely pretend to read my blog said I should keep the title because I'm totally famous on the Internet and a Professional Bogan of Kath n' Kim proportions. Or something.

My only concern about it - the blog in general and the title- is if it ever impacts negatively on my boys. I wouldn't want them to ever be picked on or bullied and called a 'bogan' as an insult because of my blog. I don't worry about it too much because hardly anyone reads this space except a handful of people who already know us. I'm assuming they wouldn't wish to associate with us whatsoever if they really thought we were horrifically embarrassing bogans. They get that the bogan theme is intended to be somewhat tongue in cheek.  Anyway, I'm prepared to either ditch the blog  altogether or change it if ever did become a problem for my boys.

This is not very likely as the number one fan of  this blog is my Mum who has always believed that I'm some sort of writerly genius just waiting to happen ever since some of my primary school teachers told her this was a possibility. More than 30 years  ago. Still hasn't happened. Oops. But it's nice that my Mum never gives up on me and thinks this blog is work of blinding brilliance. Thanks Mum. I don't think my Dad ever reads it. Not because  he doesn't care but because when he's online all  he ever thinks about is Manchester United with the same kind of intensity and passion I reserve for my Karen Carpenter fascination. My brother, who inherited all the artistic talent, happily designed the banner/header thing for me so I assume he somewhat approves.

In the end it doesn't really matter what anyone thinks, anyway. It's like Dr Phil says (you have to love Dr Phil's sayings) : You wouldn't worry about what other people thought of you if you knew how seldom they did.

Similarly, I wouldn't worry about what others thought of my blog if I knew how seldom they did. I mean, I'm not exactly trying to change the World here or writing anything profound. I'm just having a bit of fun for the heck of it. So I'm not concerned about who does or doesn't like or read it.  I'll just continue banging on to myself  here for as long as it makes me  happy. So ner!

Linking up with Kirsty from My Home Truths for I  Must Confess.

Enough about me and my blog….

What do YOU think of me and my blog?

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.