Our House Has Gastro

Last week, after having a very nasty tumble, Tiny got gastro. It was not particularly good timing because she was just recovering from the fall - which left her with a grazed, bruised and swollen nose, bruised lip, wobbly teeth, grazed knees and just a general feeling of shakiness. 

But heck. When is a good time for gastro?

Apparently anytime is a good time for gastro. Last night was a good time for it to come over, because straight after basketball the Doctor told me he felt like he was going to vomit. 

You can only imagine how overjoyed I was at this point. And then the vomiting commenced, and then it went from there. All night. YAY GASTRO!

It's now 2:15pm and I've only just caught up with the washing. I started at 5am. 

I am so tired party people. So tired. Someone prop my eyes open with some matchsticks. 

Sad cat image via Pinterest

I'm So Dog Tired. Please. Hold Me.

How did I end the weekend even more tired than when it began?

Friday night we went to The School. I got home late. 

Saturday night Matt got home from work looking sicker than any dog I've ever seen, and went straight to bed. I sat up by myself, and when I finally went to bed he woke up. It was one of *those* restless nights. Then Tiny came in. Then I took Tiny back to her bed. Then Matt tossed and turned. He was hotter than a volcano. In temperature. I lay awake. Then I finally fell asleep. Then Tiny came in. And so on and so forth. Repeat. 

I finally fell back into a deep sleep at 6:08am - when really, I could have just gotten up, but I was soooo doggone pooped. 

Then I ran around, and went to work. I didn't eat lunch, I just kept going and going. 

Man. Totes pooped. 

Two good things I did today? Made pikelets for my babes in the morning. And made Gourmet Girlfriend's haloumi and spinach gozleme for a crazy late lunch. 

What was good about your weekend? 

PS - I have a giveaway coming up this week! Stay tuned. 

Boot Me Out Of Bed

I am so ashamed people. You can beat me up and bounce me off the back of a blimp. I've still not gotten back on the applecart to exercise. And I have an unworn, brand-new-with-tags top to exercise in to prove it. Not even the lure of new exercise gear is enough to lure me. 

Someone paint that thing with the pheromones of neatly carved abs, tight glutes and honed arms - and there might be some interest. 

But nope. I'm still lolling about in bed in the morning. Far beyond when the sun wakes up, I'm still fighting to stay under the covers. It's warm under there. The doona is my friend, and sleep my lover. If it wasn't for work and my children requiring breakfast, lunches to be packed and help to get them off to school - well I'd be totally committed to a few jolly good in bed, long, bigger than King Kong sleep ins. They feel so good. And so foreign. 

Somebody: say something. Make me do it. 

Maybe that could be a new Nike slogan. Make me do it.

The Tale of The Tantrum

Tiny is in a whirlwind of tantrums. It's not that she's themed herself for Halloween, it's just that she's in the mood to be feral. Really, really feral.

It's. Zapping. My. Will. To. Live.

I feel treacherous and like a big traitor, but I have to tell you, I can't cope with the constancy of the curdling screams.

And if I say something a little terse to her, she instantly cries "Daddy, daddy", or vice versa. It's doing my head in.

I need a lobotomy or a bottle in front of me.

If only someone could tell me how long this is going to last because it feels like it's going to be forever and it's playing with me.

I think it's the sleep deprivation coupled with acute (not cute) feralness. She comes into our bed around 2am, and I am so tired I just can't take her back, and have fallen into an ugly rut of bad sleep. It's messing with me. I'm in a really bad mood. I don't want to hang tough with anyone. In the words of Greta Garbo - I want to be alone.

I don't know where that image is from. Too tired. Sorry.

I Am Plum Shickered!

Just before I launch into my daily spiel, I just need to set something straight. I am not some big wig powerbroker in pinstripe. Oh my goodness. The thought of me in a suit? YIKES! The only suit I have ever owned is by Aussie designer Marnie Skillings - and it's all sorts of awesome. And it ain't pinstripe. Or even a suity suit. I look ridiculous in suiting and shirts. You will most likely never see me in a shirt because a) I hate ironing and b) I just look so silly in anything of that nature. I'm look a wolf in sheep's clothing. Like a wolf in grandma's nightdress. I just look stoopid. With a really hairy nose.

Anyway, I am just checking in to let you know that this week has been good. But hard. If I was single, it would be a breeze, but factor in two small children, my goodness, so hard - and particularly for them.

I don't leave the office until around 5:30pm and don't get to pick them up until past 6pm. It's such a long day for my little poppets. I feel bad. Really bad. But they have been really exceptional, and I feel so proud of my little family this week. We've kept everything really, really simple, and in a slow, tired kind of way, it's working.


We've only got to stumble through four weeks of life like this until - ta-dah! Matt is going to switch-a-roo with me and look after the smalls. Which is a massive relief for me as we all know how bad I am leaving the small fry with babysitters. Super bad.

I'll say it again just for kicks. Matt is going to be Mr Mum. That is such a dodgy title. Sorry Matt. I had to put something cheesy in here to keep my readers dosed up on proteiny-dairy goodness. Ya dig?!

Anyway - one more thing to report back - yesterday I realised something really, super great. Something life changing. Lego is right near my new work. I mean HELLO! All Christmases have come at once. Well they will once I get my forklift license and get the heck into that warehouse. HOLA!

Blogtoberfest Day 2

I am totally pooped. The end. No one can trump it.

The Queen's Birthday: Long Weekend

I love a long weekend. Particularly when it involves family dos. Today we had a picker nicker at Balmoral. Another incredible Winter day. Playing on the beach. Digging in the sand. First tastes of fish and chips. Coffees from the hole in the wall. Hours in the sunshine. Catching up with cousins.

I am pooped to the max. After the picker nicker we quickly whizzed off to our friend's fourth birthday, and then home again, home again - jiggety jig. I am pooped. Bed - here I come.

Regular PMM programming will resume tomorrow. Until then.

Magical March: Day 14

Weekends for me are like a cool breeze. Or a chance to breathe and prepare myself for the week ahead. I have a whole to-do list to kick through, and if I don't get to cross everything off, I feel a little disappointed.

Tiny kicked off the weekend by being awake for over three hours in the middle of the night. Thank you for that. I've reintroduced myself to tired-ness. Not that we weren't well-aquainted. Tired-ness and I stretch way back to when I was first pregnant with the Doctor. We're tight.

I'm tidying up. Getting things organised. Trying madly to avoid Twitter. Baking. Shaking. Stitching. I'll show you my latest stitchy efforts when I get a little further into it.

Above is a very grainy photo of the Doctor and I. The Doctor is sporting his new swimming goggles. He likes to wear them all day long. To the shops. In the car. Around the house. In the bath. I like him to wear them too, it makes me giggle. Magical little people.