JOB DESCRIPTION FOR A PARENT

I got sent this today and thought it was so very true.

POSITION : Mum, Mummy, Mama, Ma Dad, Daddy, Dada, Pa, Pop

JOB DESCRIPTION : Long term, team players needed, for challenging, permanent work in an often chaotic environment. Candidates must possess excellent communication and organisational skills and be willing to work variable hours, which will include evenings and weekends and frequent 24 hour shifts on call. Some overnight travel required, including trips to primitive camping sites on rainy weekends and endless sports tournaments in far away cities! Travel expenses not reimbursed. Extensive courier duties also required.

RESPONSIBILITIES : The rest of your life. Must be willing to be hated, at least temporarily, until someone needs $5. Must be willing to bite tongue repeatedly. Also, must possess the physical stamina of a pack mule and be able to go from zero to 60 mph in three seconds flat in case, this time, the screams from the backyard are not someone just crying wolf. Must be willing to face stimulating technical challenges, such as small gadget repair, mysteriously sluggish toilets and stuck zippers. Must screen phone calls, maintain calendars and coordinate production of multiple homework projects. Must have ability to plan and organize social gatherings for clients of all ages and mental outlooks. Must be a willing to be indispensable one minute, an embarrassment the next. Must handle assembly and product safety testing of a half million cheap, plastic toys, and battery operated devices. Must always hope for the best but be prepared for the worst. Must assume final, complete accountability for the quality of the end product. Responsibilities also include floor maintenance and janitorial work throughout the facility.

POSSIBILITY FOR ADVANCEMENT & PROMOTION : None. Your job is to remain in the same position for years, without complaining, constantly retraining and updating your skills, so that those in your charge can ultimately surpass you

PREVIOUS EXPERIENCE : None required unfortunately. On-the-job training offered on a continually exhausting basis.

WAGES AND COMPENSATION : Get this! You pay them! Offering frequent raises and bonuses. A balloon payment is due when they turn 18 because of the assumption that college will help them become financially independent. When you die, you give them whatever is left. The oddest thing about this reverse-salary scheme is that you actually enjoy it and wish you could only do more..

BENEFITS : While no health or dental insurance, no pension, no tuition reimbursement, no paid holidays and no stock options are offered; this job supplies limitless opportunities for personal growth, unconditional love, and free hugs and kisses for life if you play your cards right.

Here I would like to add, just personally I need to be able to read a crystal ball to work out what the fuck is up with my 10 year old any any given moment, to be a walking Human thesaurus for my 7yo's constant barrage of wanting to know the meaning of every single 2 Syllable word he hears and a ninja in training to outsmart the already very cunning 3 year old.

Any more to add?

Deck the Dacks with rolls of socks. Fa la la la

How many more sleeps? Do you know? Til Christmas I mean. Well I’m not going to be exact because quite frankly all that will do is scare the bejebus out of me. I have still done zero shopping. Zero.

Today, after I suggested it, we decided to take photos of the 7 grandchildren to then transfer onto a canvas for a lovely Christmas Gift for the Grandparents. Great in theory. Not so much in practice.

I’m sure my two sisters in laws were probably thinking I was insane to start with, but seeing as I’ve been a big fragile of late, decided to let the crazy lady have her way.

The problem being, none of the kids particularly wanted to take photos. It was hot as all shit and a stray kid from another family would just. Not. Piss. Off.

So in a lot of the photos is a suspicious looking Indian kid and seven children failing spectacularly to look and smile at the camera in unison.

How do professional photographers get this process so right? Do they have a substance that is to children what catnip is to pussycats? I tried the bribes of jellybeans and candy canes. That only gets you so far i.e. not far at all.

I had visions of free flowing white dresses fluttering behind the girls whilst they danced down the wooden planks onto the beach. There would be impromptu butterflies descending upon their noses while they Eskimo kissed and the boys would sit and man hug. All in glorious black and white montages that would copy gloriously onto to canvas.

Reality: We didn’t make it past the playground due to hot as shit day and my two boys who if weren’t wrestling, were busy trying to take each other out on the slippery dip. My nephew did not want one bar of our stupid “idea” and resolutely refused to get in any of the photos. I think in toddler speak he told me to shove my candy canes up my arse.

To top it all off, a guy dressed like Santa up top, i.e. Hat and beard and like a patriotic Warwick Capper down below, that is green and gold dicktogs, walked past the kids pushing a wheelbarrow of empty stubbies, presumably from the Surf Club. Disturbing, but probably not as disturbing as when my 3 year repeats the same sentence to the kindy teacher tomorrow morning. That is “Why Santa not wearing shorts today mum?”

All I can say is thank god for photoshop.

WHAT'S THE DIFF?

There are the obvious differences between man and woman. You know, one has a penis, one has a vagina. And then there’s the not so obvious ones. The ones like the use of common sense.

For instance, my husband has his Christmas party this Friday. Now he’s a plumber and in years past, Christmas parties have generally involved, beer boobs and chraginas. The last word has been altered to make it more appropriate for the Christmas season. If you’re still struggling, I’m referring to naked strippers and their bits. Par for the course at a tradesmans Christmas Party. Hey, he may as well cop an eyeful there because I certainly cannot provide that sort of entertainment at home.

This upcoming one however is at a big establishment and it has, wait for it, a motivational speaker. What in the fuck do plumbers want with a motivational speaker? A plumber turned professional football player motivational speaker to boot. Hey, but who am I to judge, perhaps there’s a whole heap of plumbers who need a little pep talk with regards to installing that cistern in a more understanding, passionate and Anthony Robbins inspired way.

So this hasn’t really demonstrated the difference between man and woman yet though has it. Well I asked dear husband, what time his party starts. His response “I don’t know”. I then went on to ask him “Is it casual dress?” His answer – “Don’t know”. “Is it day or night, will you need me to pick you up?” I don’t know. It was like when I ask my seven year old what he did at school today – “dunno”. “Who did you play with today?” - Dunno. Fantastic, I’ll keep sending you to school and paying money so you can learn fucking nothing and speak to no-one.

Back to the older man of the house though, I just don’t understand how he doesn’t know these important details. When a woman is going to a party/event we know the date, the time and the dress code. We will then go on to shop for said dress code and exchange stories regarding this outfit. Why is so hard for him to ask his mate “Mate you wearing jeans or pants?” Does he think that is too intimate?

Is his not knowing ignorance or ambivalence? I think it just comes down to a lack of, and this a technical term, giving a shit.

Today we set up a large blow up pool for the kids to cool down in. Of course last year, we blew this up with our mouths but this method apparently is no longer good enough. An air compressor would have to be engaged. And seeing as we didn’t own one, Bunnings, his lover, would be receiving a well earned booty call.

That wasn't the man vs. woman issue. No the actual placement of the pool was.

In my mind, placing the pool on the grass was the safest option. His idea was to place it on the concrete pad as he wanted to mow (didn’t happen) and it would burn the grass (we already have crop circles in our turf anyway) Clearly my idea was never going to get a look in. I got home from picking up the one child still at school to basically a carnival in our back yard – on the concrete, right next to the shiny slippery tiles. I could see the near concussion before it happened. And of course, it happened. The 3yo, after nearly being accidently suffocated by his brother staggered out of the pool, slipped on the tiles and cracked his head. Awesome. I told you so was never uttered. It didn't need to be.

What about the old chestnut that is – Sex. We are genetically designed, and this is a generalisation, to want it either more (guys) or less (the women) than the other. Guys don’t get why we don’t want it every 5 minutes, Girls don’t get why guys need it so often and consistently. This of course, I relate to a married or long term couple, not that new, let’s go at it like rabbits, kind of couple.

The telltale sign in our household is when my husband is languishing on the couch beside me at 11pm patiently watching the bachelor and not, I repeat, not giving in to his immense tiredness. He’s doing the hang.

I know we just think different and I know there has been study upon report upon thesis with evidence and documentation as to why. Wonder if there’s been any studies done on how many times the woman has been committed with frustration over the men in their lives.

WHAT'S WORSE THAN A FUNERAL?

Oh, when someone nearly gets killed AT that funeral


Yep, Mum’s funeral was today. And it was lovely. It was sad and devastating and lovely and fitting all at once.

So it went to plan, I did a eulogy which I wasn’t ever 100% sure I would get through and I nearly made it without losing it. Nearly.

Sam sat beside me and pretty much made it impossible for all behind to keep their eyes dry with his sobbing. I thought he might be ok as for days he spoke about “not being able to wait for Grandmas funeral”, but the minute he started to really concentrate on the casket, it was curtains for him.

We had a lovely poem and reflection from Bec that was truly beautiful and heartfelt. A lovely DVD with photos and accompanying song and then it was pretty much over.

Time for refreshments and sandwiches on the alfresco deck area. That’s where things went pear shaped. Within 3 minutes of everyone (over 50 people) on the deck, the outdoor fan fell from the ceiling directly onto a lovely ladies head. Miss C’s mum’s head to be exact. My sister in law was cut on the shoulder and thankfully she wasn’t holding her 1 year old on the other hip. I just keep thinking of how totally devastating that scene could have been.

Now if it had have been someone Mum wasn’t particularly fond of we all could have sworn she’s taken a pot shot, but lovely Sonya had never met mum and therefore, shoddy building practices and unbelievably bad fucking timing was at play.



After that, I spoke to one friend who said this was only his second funeral and the first one he had stood next to a guest who had a heart attack. Tom, it’s time you stopped attending funerals buddy. It was truly awful but thankfully Sonya appeared to be OK.



As is always the way, you see people you haven’t seen in 20 years and lament how much it's terrible that these catch ups are usually always for such a sad occasion.

I guess more emphasis should be put on get-togethers for no particular reason at all. We rush to book flights for funerals which we may or may not be able to particularly afford all to mourn and show our respects for someone we can no longer have a conversation with. We all say it but we never follow through. Let's make it a priority in 2010.

And of course it’s not long before reality kicks back in. After driving home after picking up Jack from kindy (Hurricane Jack did not attend), we turned to see Sam hiding behind Jack’s car seat whilst making Grandma’s funeral picture talk and say to Jack “I am your Grandmother Jack, now drop and give me 20”, Phil and I lost it, but in a good way. And I don’t reckon Mum would want the day to end any other way.

This is a video - press play.

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Love you Mum.

BIG BALLS

So for something more, upbeat.

We are staying in Surfers Paradise. In the second week of Schoolies Week. Yep, let’s just say I’m a brain surgeon in the making.

This is day 5 and to be honest, it hasn’t been that bad. Sure getting into the lift on the first day where someone had spewed the contents of their stomachs onto the lift floor wasn't pleasant. This also lead to the children analysing the situation for the next 3 hours. “Was that ALCOHOL MUMMY?” “Did they just LEAVE IT there for someone else to clean up? Roger that kids. And that’s nothing.

Day two, after coming back from work, I got into the lift alongside about 8 schoolie boys. Their first question? “Are you single?” My response? “Um, boy’s I’m old enough to be your mother”. “So you wanna come for a party? To which I slowly turned, looked at their carton of midori splices and said “um, no I don’t drink girly drinks” Not perturbed, the one closest to me whispered into my ear “seen one of these before” to which he showed me his pubescent nipple. I replied "yeah actually I have, I have a 2 year old” and with that, we hit the 24th floor and out I popped.

What else? Well there is a fair bit of screaming, whistling and I’m embarrassed to say it, but almost choreographed chants going on outside. Jesus, did they the practice this shit before they got here?

Most important to note though is that being at schoolies gives the boy’s balls.

Standing at the traffic lights waiting to cross the road, I heard the following:
Two boy schoolies (no shirts – because they can) “Hey, check out these two” I immediately spy the two “ones” they are talking about. Two girls, short short shorts, blond, pretty and usually, not a chance in hell of them getting lucky with. I didn’t hear the initial line. I believe it was something to do with their phones. Well played boys - hit em where they care. Next thing you know they are discussing where they went to school, where they are staying and the parties they are going to attend that night.

See what I mean. Usually two good looking girls walking down the beach at Surfers would get lots of looks but no actual hits. That’s because extra super big balls aren’t gifted out in any other week during the year. But on schoolies week, these kids feel like they’ve got nothing to lose, everything to gain and their fear disappears.

If I wasn’t sure we were living the dream – from the balcony this morning, directly below us, we viewed all of the sun lounges, fashioned into the unmistakable shape of dick and balls. Shooting shall we say. Well done kids, some good old penis humour clearly spans the generations.

If I have one criticism it’s the fact that none of the punks move out of your way. They just stand. In packs. Blocking everybody. Um guys and gals, I’m pretty sure you were taught manners in respect during the last 13 years. Demonstrate it. Other than that, enjoy your time, get loose, get ready and suck down those midoris, because come next week, life begins and those balls, well, they return to normal.

TIL WE MEET AGAIN

Thursday of last week started normal enough. Kids were packed off to school and kindy in the morning, I went to work and then back to pick up Maddie and go visit Mum. Same as most days. Except this wasn’t like most days.

As soon as we walked in the room I realised something wasn’t right. The nurses seem to be in multiples and they were setting up a CD player next to her ear. One nurse in particular greeted me with “I’m glad you’ve arrived, your mum’s breathing has changed, I’m afraid she may not have long”.

See I’d heard this before, a fair bit to be honest, but even I knew, by looking and listening that this was a different situation. Mum literally did not breathe for 20 seconds. Then she would restart what really wouldn’t even be considered breathing, more like gasping for breath. 9 times she would attempt to breathe, then she would not breathe again for 20 seconds and then repeat.

I completely believe though, that Mum was no longer with her body. Call me a whack job, but prior to that day, we had always got a response. Even if it were just a slight moan. She didn’t respond to my hand, in fact she was cold and clammy and it was like someone had flicked the switch and her body was on autopilot. I think she was already gone.

So the nurses got my daughter and I set up in beds with hot milo and put the Arias on as background noise. Mum continued in autopilot mode with me counting the patterns and listening to the fluid that had obviously started to flood her lungs.

I had been told time and time again, “Oh it’s such a peaceful, lovely way to go” and “they just slip away”. Um no they fucking don’t. They (people with terminal cancer that require morphine to sustain the pain relief) basically drown in their own fluids. Sorry if that’s confronting, but it’s the truth. So luckily, Mad fell asleep and after nearly 9 hours of Mum struggling, she finally gave in. She got her wish; she had us with her when she finally passed on.

So now begins the week of organisation and making DVDs with pictures of her life to music. It starts a week of bizarre conversations about cremation procedures and buying clothes that will now fit my withered and tiny mothers body. It begins the many many phone calls to people I barely know and the ones I know all too well.

The saddest for me was to watch my son, Sam, deal with the news. Instantly he burst into tears. It was horrific. He cried for 2 straight hours and cradled photos of her whilst begging for her to “just come back to us grandma”. His heart is too little to be broken.

Thank you to all who have left me messages of love and support. I do genuinely appreciate them all. Amazing the love that comes out of places I never even imagined existed.

YEAH BUT NO BUT YEAH BUT

So it’s that time of year again. You know, the one where kids of around 17 years of age finish their, depending on state, 12th or 13th year at school and descend on Surfers Paradise to go batshit.

As I am clearly insane, I have booked a week in a lovely high rise, smack bang in the middle of the action, 2nd week in. The week where all the NSW and Victorian school kids take their turn at vomiting in bushes and pashing randoms.

In my defence, I didn't do my research and I "won" this particular holiday on eBay for only $255. Cheap! Cheap until I find a log floating in the ginormous communal pool.

But has it really changed since we were school leavers? Um, irrevocably – yes.

I, *clears throat* went on schoolies nearly 20 years ago but like all good women in their thirties, I still consider myself to be pretty hip and with it. Ok, so saying hip and with it is probably sending the Gen Y’ers into flurry of "ZOMG’s she’s so old", but let me say this, we still remember what goes on. And it’s changed, and not for the better.

Myself and two girlfriends who are still my best girlfriends to this day, went off to Byron Bay where we stayed in a backpackers, took roughly 15 casks of the world renowned $6 St Bernadinos goon, $150 and had the time of our lives. And to be honest, during that week, I hadn’t given much thought to my future or what I would do once that week ended (which coincidentaly coincided with me having zero cash and a block of cheese to my name).

Sure we drank. Sure we got very loose with some French, German and American backpackers (no - not that loose) and sure, we lit illegal bonfires down the beach, but we went for the sole purpose of celebration. To celebrate the end of a very significant era. The era that in hindsight, were the easiest days of our lives. We just didn’t know that yet.

Schoolies still happened in Surfers, but it wasn’t the event it is now. Houseboats were hired, people took off to Noosa or Byron or they simply stayed home and went into Surfers at night. And it wasn’t a shambles. Hey it wasn’t perfect, and the same amount of underage drinking and debauchery still went on, but we weren’t just being ratbags in general society because it was almost expected.

The government is in full lock down on underage drinking and there are massive ad campaigns which air constantly showing the effects of getting blind, yet this 2 week event is staged and partially funded by that same government.

Hey, perhaps I will be pleasantly surprised and these kids will be singing kumbaya in a circle whilst drinking diet cokes and regaling stories about their volunteer job bathing the elderly. I'll be sure to update.

I’m not saying there should no schoolies week, but changes need to be made. Preferably before my daughter hits the golden age of 17.