Sunday, 12 April 2009

Public Toilets YUM!!


If the boys give the baby any more chocolate bunnies, I may have to take him to an audition of Baby Biggest Loser.

Camping is HILARIOUS. Truly. We are in a caravan park, which is like a mini-city. Unfortunately, we are two tents up from the biggest, noisiest, chainsmoking-est alcoholic FUCKWITS known to mankind. So Dave and I have worked out a system, where I put in my earplugs every night and he throws a pillow at me when the baby wakes up. Then he takes the morning shift …. but I end up getting up anyway, because I know how much Dave loves mornings and itches for me to get up with him. So I do.

Max is so big now. When did this happen? I’m trying to reconnect with him as much as I can. We went in the dance competition at the club last night – he taught me the Macarena and the Birdie dance, I taught him the YMCA and the Nutbush. (Ahhhh, Nutbush. The memories!)



Then he went in the limbo competition and won some lollies …. every single time he went under the stick he looked at me – every time he goes down the water slide the same thing – he looks up for me, to see if I am watching. I wondered how often he has looked up, this past year – to see if Dave or I were watching him do something. They say the squeakiest oil gets the most grease ….. the baby is the squeakiest oil in town, where my sweetheart boy Max holds it all in and goes about his day quietly. I’m very anxious, lately …. and last night spun out that somebody had snatched Max from his tent. I had to get up and go check on him, watching him breathe. I could not ever bear it if something happened to him.

And the stepson – my bonus firstborn child? He is in his element. Bossing his dad around, playing with Max … I proudly taught him his new favourite pickup technique.
“Mate, chicks LOVE seeing guys holding small babies.”
It so worked. Sometimes he actually stops and says, “Wow, it’s like, you’re not a normal stepmother!”I say, “Mate – I’m not a normal PERSON.” It is so amazing, to have know this guy since he was seven, watching him grow into a man.




My Davey Gravey is loving it. Despite being in pain from tearing a muscle in his back, he’s holding up well. Got a four-wheel drive to take his ute on the beach – (somebody asked me recently what a “ute” is, I think you call them pick-up trucks in America) ….. and after his initial disdain at camping right in the middle “Of everybody, hon. Chrissake!” … he is talking of staying longer.

Rocco’s teeth are breaking through daily. He is growing up before our eyes. My sister Linda told me to be careful of dingoes in the tent. Then she thought for a moment. “Actually, the dingoes better be careful of Rocco.”

Too true.

I have a restless spirit, which is irritating the hell out of me. I need my head to shut up, but alas all the tools I used to use to do that are illicit and not conducive to rearing healthy children. (Just ask me and my siblings.) Damn. I’ll have to go in the Karaoke competition tonight (PRIZES). Maybe a long, long run. Ten coffees a day. Or a punch in the head. Chrissake.

I think I know what’s wrong …. it’s this time of year. Rocco turns one next month (!!!!!!) Which, of course, coincides with the Great Cancer Fiasco of ‘08. I’ve found myself turning to Dave, looking to make sure he is healthy. Absently wondering how big his tumours were, this time last year. And we didn’t even know.


That he is even still here …. that he gets to celebrate the baby turning one – is such a magnificent gift. I hate how I lose the plot over stupid and trivial things, and have to claw my way back to the Zen mother and wife I want to be. I wish it came easily to me, but it doesn’t.

How cool does this look:



Unfortunately, it is not our campsite. It is our neighbours. I have seen them looking over at us, with a hint of disdain in their eyes. They even sweep their fake grass first thing in the morning. They talk to each other quietly, waiting their turn with respect. The mothers hair is smooth and glossy.

Here is the Rileys Trailerpark campsite:
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Note the empty easter eggs boxes, lying where they were thrown! The "drying up rack" for the cutlery and pots - aka the grass, and the baby chewing on something I can't determine right now. He was crawling around in just a nappy this morning. Then grabbed the drain from the water tap area and started SUCKING on it. It was too much, even for me. I grabbed him, Dave’s all like, “He’s fine, hon.” I was all like “It. Is. Dis. GUSTING FUCKS SAKE.”

I really did say "fuck" in front of the baby. And the neighbours. And snatched the baby away to put some clothes on him.

Zen, I tell you.
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Oh my - I feel SO much better after writing this! Now I'm off to find the tallest sand dune I can, stick out my antenna arm, and hope it I can post it. Happy Easter, my Bunnies! I hope you are all ok, living your lives out there. If you are not, you should totally come camping with us. It's better than the Comedy Channel. XOXOXOX
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