Struggle

Life has been getting me down lately.  I've been having a pretty tough time, and I can't seem to get outside my own head.

So today I took the time to speak to someone.

Because I can't rely on others to fix me.  I have to do it.

And write about it.

Obvi.

You see, I loathe myself.  I have no faith in my abilities. My ability to parent my kids, which I think I'm shit at and which is kinda why I don't blog anymore because I don't want people to know how bad I am at this parenting gig. Today my son told me that he just wants me to play with him.  Heart fucking broken.

My job, my lack of skills, my inability to move forward.  I've been doing the same job for 11 years.  But it's my fault.  I've had no increase in pay.  No advancement. Nothing.  It's fucking depressing.  Every time that I think that I'm good at my job, I question why I'm still there.  Why am I still doing the same thing? Maybe I'm just not that good at anything.  Not everyone is clever and talented and good at things.  Maybe this is exactly where I need to be and this is it.  I'm not sure what I'm trying to say but the fact remains that I'm still doing the same thing 11 years later.  Speaks for itself really.

The fact that we are broke 99% of the time.  Living paycheck to paycheck, barely scraping by and  unable to do things on weekends with the kids as we literally can't afford the fuel.  Last weekend I used various gift cards that I found in my purse to buy fruit and bread for my kids to eat.

I don't know where I'm going wrong.

I was exercising, I was feeling happy, and then I wasn't.  And I started eating junk food all the time and my clothes got too tight and I looked in the mirror and just wanted to vomit.  I don't want to have sex with my husband because I don't respect anyone who would be attracted to this.  I can't look at myself in the mirror.  I feel angry alot.  I resent my husband's carefree attitude, my kids getting everything done for them, everyone else for being happy and succeeding in life, buying homes, getting good jobs, having well-behaved children...

Last week I was feeling so bad that I wanted to run away and leave my family and never come back. But I didn't want my kids to be sad. And miss me. And hate me.  Because mother's don't leave their kids unless they're awful scum of the earth human beings.

Right?

I was going to apply for a position today that I'm woefully under qualified for, but the thing is, that I could do it!!  I could do this job!  And I would love it!

But I was sick and scared and I didn't do it.

It closed this afternoon.

Which I guess is why I am where I am today.

Because I'm not willing to take risks and feel even worse about myself when I ultimately fail.  The perennial pessimist.

Is it any wonder that I feel as shit as I do?

Yes.  I'm working on it.

Yes. I know that this is irrational and I'm obviously having some sort of episode.

Yes. I'm a drama queen for sharing all this on my blog.

No. I'm not going to kill myself.  I wouldn't even know where to start.  And I'm way too scared to attempt ANYTHING remotely self-harming unless you count eating multiple bags of potato chips and chocolate chip cookies in one sitting...

I just need a stern talking to and to let go of my bullshit.  I just don't think I can dig myself out of that on my own at this time. And that's why we should always speak up and talk to someone if shit gets too much. 

It's not weakness.

It's ok to not be ok. 

Hello 2019!

Friends, acquaintances, fans, stalkers, haters, Happy Friggin New Year!  Thanks to all of you for being here and reading my silly little blog.  It means the world. 

As you know, it was a massive year for me and mine, and whilst I feel like every year of parenting brings new challenges and successes, 2018 was bigger than any other. 

I wish I had some gems, some words of wisdom to share but I honestly don't know how it's January already and another year is over.

Mushroom started school, Miss Molly turned 2, Juffin and I finally got hitched, we celebrated my sister's wedding to an amazing man, both of my parent's hit the big 6 0, we bought a new car, and I started increased hours at work. 

I'd like to say that I kept my fitness up, my healthy eating and hill walks but that went to shit mid-year.  It's probably the longest that I've kept to a fitness routine and I'm disappointed in myself because I really enjoyed feeling strong and healthy and I actually felt happier.  Of course there's no point in wishing that I'd not given up at all so all there is to it, is to start again.  So I have.  Losing weight is a just a bonus to feeling good.

I'm working more hours so I need to be super organised.  Juffin and I have had many arguments which centre around me having to carry the load, making sure the kids have lunchboxes every day, bananas that dinner is ready at a reasonable time, the washing's done, the kids have all the shit that they need for various activities. 

With Mushroom at school I have to remember what folder needs to be in the bag for which day.  Library day, sharing day, sport day.. of course for some reason remembering these things fall to me.  Which is bullshit.  Hence the arguments.  Juffin definitely pulls his weight but why do I have to remind him?  I wish that he'd take the lead and just get this stuff done without me asking.  Maybe 2019 will be the year that this will finally happen?!  I won't hold my breath but he knows my position so fingers crossed we can make it work. 

Which brings me to my new year's resolution.  Yeah I know, who the fuck has new year's resolutions anymore?  Why put that pressure on yourself?  But this is good. I promise.

This year I will be a nicer person. 

To my husband.  To my kids.  To my parents.  To my friends.  To my colleagues. 

I will make a concentrated effort to listen.  To respect others and as a result, I will be kinder to myself. 

You see I'm a bit of a fraud.  I don't actually believe that I deserve good things and obviously that's bullshit because everyone deserves good things, but for some reason, I don't believe that I do. 

I'm really hard on my husband, I say nasty things to him and I often put him down.  He will rarely, if ever, say anything nasty to me in return. 

I yell at my kids, and don't do enough with them.  I make excuses to not to take them places because it stresses me out when they misbehave in public. 

I feel disconnected from my friendship groups and wish that we spent more time with other families but feel exhausted by week's end.  I feel like my kids are missing out because I'm too lazy and can't be fucked. 

I could go on, but that's not constructive so I won't. 

I AM going to be more positive.

I am going to be the best version of myself that I can be. 

So here's to saying yes.  To making the time.  To priorities and team work. 

And when my husband doesn't hang the washing out because I didn't ask him to, I'm going to bite my fucking tongue and ask him nicely to do it. 

Because it's one small thing and who the fuck cares?   

Thanks again for being here and I hope that your 2019 is full of peace, love and lollipops. The way it should be

Hangover

On Friday I accidentally got stupidly drunk.

I know what you're thinking, how can a 37 year old woman accidentally get drunk?

Well, she drank lots of wine, didn't eat any dinner and forgot to drink water, soooooo...

I did this at book club.  Not wine club.  Book club.  We don't generally even drink at book club but hey, that didn't stop this dickhead.

My lovely friend gave me a lift so I could have a vino or two, or twelve, but who's counting? It wasn't me! 

I was actually having an amazing time, laughing, sharing, chatting about all the things and I remember thinking to myself, aren't I lucky to have all these wonderful women in my life followed directly by, you need to eat some more food and drink some water Jess. 

Then I woke up fully clothed on my bed at 5am and I thought I was going to die. 

So that was good.

I actually think it was mere moments after having the above thought that I shut my eyes at the table, everyone cottoned on that I was maggoted and my friend carted me home.

Because I can't remember.

The next day I apologised to all the girls and everybody said I was fine.

Thank god.

But fuck, I was not feeling fine.

I was actually ok until I had to move. And move I must.  My kids had a playdate and it had literally been months since we'd seen one friend as they've moved away and weeks since we saw other friend because life. 

And I love Mushroom that we were going to see his mates so yeah, couldn't get out of it.

I showered.  I drank some water.  I swallowed some paracetamol.  I pulled my shit together, got in the car (yes, probably shouldn't have driven, well aware, it was 12 hours later and I thought I was ok...) and drove to the Strand.

I had to stop on the way to dry retch.

I then bought coffee and gelato for the kids and lay on the ground groaning inwardly whilst my friends laughed at me and the kids had the best time ever.

And then comes my mother of the year moment, are you ready? It's good.

I vomited in public on the strand. 

It gets better, whilst I'm doing this, my two year old daughter comes over and pats me on the back repeating, "it's ok Mummy, it's alright" in soothing tones. I thanked her profusely whilst thinking that I'm probably the worst mother in the history of the universe, but also not, because I told her to get on the other side of me because it was windy and I didn't want to throw up on her.

Yep.

All time low.

I really am the best mother ever.

Finest moment in recent history and also my best angle...

PS do you ever really learn not to do this dumb shit?  Because it's been 20 years and I'm still a dickhead...

Photo credit to my GF Amanda. No birthday present for you!

September

Does anyone else feel like they should be doing all the things?  But not even getting one thing right? 

Because, little old me over here, I feel like I'm doing a pretty shit job of most things.

I want a career, to focus on work, challenge myself, make more money, use my brain, be successful at what I do but I can't seem to make it happen. I'm not sure if people just don't believe in me or I just don't believe in myself and I'm not doing enough to put that across. 

But then if I focus on work, where does that leave my kids?  How do I serve myself and support them at the same time?  How do I spend time with them if I'm racing them out the door to daycare and before and after school care and then racing home to cook dinner and fold clothes and read books and play and pick up all the toys and not be cranky and tired and present?

And how do I keep my house clean?  And stay on top of the shopping and the cooking and the cleaning and the never-ending washing... and let's not mention the walls and the cupboards and the windows and the fans. All the big things that should be cleaned regularly that just don't get done because frankly I'm flat out mopping the damn floor let alone wiping down the fucking walls. And why is it my job?  Who made me the person in charge of house cleaning?  Just because I work less hours, I'm the chief cleaner or is it because instead of a penis, I have a vagina, which obviously means that I do 95% of the housework?  Please explain.  And, yes, Juffin does clean.  He cleans the bathroom, the toilet, does the dishes every night, wipes down counters etc I just get fucking annoyed that I have to ask him to hang out the washing or bring it in.  How fucking hard is it?

Speaking of, when do I get to spend time with my husband, quality time, where we don't just argue about money or who didn't put the dishwasher on, or who let the kids eat too many snacks before dinner so they don't eat it and then serve them yoghurt?  We have no family here any more, no free babysitter on tap and I wish my village was bigger but I feel so awful because I can barely find the time to see my mates now, and I only know what's going on with them because of fucking facebook and I need to put my relationship first because that shit is important but it would be nice to see more of my friends and spend quality time with my husband but there's only so much that this Mama can do... 

Then there's the self care.  The exercise, the eating well, the hairdresser, the leg waxes, the down time on your own... I like sleep but it's rare that I'm in bed before 11.  Because it's the only time that I can be alone.  And have you tried dragging yourself out of bed, after you've woken up at 2am with a cold arse because it's hanging off the side of your queen size bed as there's two males taking up most of the room and your daughter is trying to use your head as a pillow and you have to move down the end of the bed to get some room and then you get kicked and/or chatted to for hours until your alarm goes off at 5.15 and you think fucking hell, exercise is the last bloody thing I feel like doing and you roll over and get one hour of good sleep before your bladder is turned into a trampoline for one very exuberant 2 year old on?   Well, have you?

I feel the pressure, the load, the weight of my fat arse and all these things that I'm not doing well, if at all, and it's no wonder that most of us are suffering under the weight of our own failed expectations.

Where do these feelings come from?  Why do we put so much pressure on ourselves?  Why do people pretend that life is fucking perfect?  I just can't buy into that bullshit.  Today I saw a story on instagram and this woman was showing us her immaculate kitchen with shiny, clean surfaces, no clutter, no mess and was doing that self-deprecating bullshit where she goes, 'oh don't mind the mess'... FARK YOU LADY!  Your giant, beautiful, AMAZING kitchen, which is bigger than my living room, is showroom perfect.  You probably spent HOURS cleaning it.  HOURS.  And if you didn't, WELL FUCK YOU!  BECAUSE MY KITCHEN LOOKS LIKE A BOMB HIT IT MOST OF IT THE DAMN TIME! 

Do you guys feel like you're doing shit wrong too?  Let's stop pretending everything is peachy. Let's share the shit.  And I don't mean like "Today sucks, FML" let's be honest. Like last week, I was home with my son who had conjunctivitis and I let him watch TV all day whilst I read my book in my bed and I ate a whole block of roast almond chocolate that I hid from him so I didn't have to share...

Yep.

I'm a fat pog.

And this is my life.

Sausage Morel's

Week Seventeen

I remember when I was a teenager, I went on a ski trip to NZ with my school mates.  I think I was in grade 9 or 10.  Anyway, I bought all my family presents, except my Mum.  I literally didn't even think about getting her something until we were in the airport on the way home, so I got her some shitty soap and some other crap.

My Mum was so upset.  She'd paid for my school trip, organised my bags, dropped me off at the bus, yada yada yada, and I was the ungrateful arsehole who didn't even THINK about buying her a present until we we almost at home, let alone, appreciate all the things that my Mother had sacrificed to send me on that damn trip. I mean, I bought myself Docs on that damn trip.  What an arsehole.

It always makes me super sad and I think about it a lot. Especially because obviously I loved my Mum, but I guess I didn't like her very much.  I was a teenager, she was kind of a hard arse and I felt so misunderstood.  I thought I knew everything and she knew nothing.  Clearly that is totally wrong.  My Mum is amazing, hilarious, smart and strong, and so generous.  Not only do I love her now, I like her heaps.  She's the first person I call if I need someone.  I was just 14 and I thought I knew it all and she couldn't possibly understand what life was like for me.  The fact that I didn't even think about her is clearly the most devastating piece of info above.  Obviously I was a totally selfish bitch.  To be forgotten, not thought of at all, that's the most hurtful thing about it I think.

"My want Daddy"

So why am I writing about this now?  Because my kids don't like me very much.  They prefer their Dad.  I'm the mean Mum who makes them clean up, who yells all day because they won't listen, who makes their food and makes them eat it.  I wash their clothes and make them put them away, I say no when they want to watch TV or a movie, I say no when they want to eat junk, I say get down, when they're using the couch as a launching station...  Obviously Juffin says no too, but I think they just hear me saying it all day every day and that makes me the bad guy. And I'm fucking sick of it and my kids are only little, so I have years and years and YEARS of them hating on me and I feel emotionally scarred already.

Tonight I sat on one side of the table as the kids fought over who sat next to Juffin.  He ended up sitting in the middle whilst they sat on either side.

Yesterday I got home from being out and there was no-one waiting to greet me at the door but whenever Juffin returns from anywhere there is DADDY!  DADDY'S HOME!  DADDDDDYYYYY!  And hysterical jumping and loving.  Me returning home, Hi everyone!  Silence.

Bastards.

Spoilt

I was doing sight words with Mushroom tonight and the word 'Dad' came up.  He goes "Dad's the best and Mum's the poopest" and then laughs hysterically.

I wanted to smack him in his laughing face.

I know that this is all normal.  I know that there has to the favourite and the other one, and I know that my kids love me, but damn, it doesn't feel good to be the other one.  It doesn't feel good at all.

I'm sorry Mum.  I wish I could take back that crappy soap and whatever other stupid thing I gave you.  14 year old Jess needs a smack in the chops.

It's been a hard week culminating in a beer induced migraine last night and I'm feeling just a wee bit flat.  I missed my workout yesterday, I didn't do the hill this morning, I ran out of time to bake and I'm now a day behind with my washing.  Molly has been getting progressively harder to handle and Mushroom's behaviour has not improved.  I can't help but feel like I'm a crappy Mother and when they prefer their father over me, it feels like that's just proving the point.  Especially when you are the one who organises their entire lives. 

What's the solution?  Suck it up Jess. Get over it and get used to it.  Which I will. But I've come here to vent about it in the meantime.  Being a Mum is fucking hard.  Bring on Monday and a fresh outlook.  This week was crap.


 

Week Eleven

I don't know how I and the children survive the week. For some reason, I struggled to keep my temper and lost my shit a number of times.

At one point I called my son an idiot. I felt really bad about it until he pushed his sister over and shouted in my face that he wouldn't put. HIS. SHOES. ON!!!

Everything runs smoothly until it's time to put shoes on. Then everything falls apart.

I probably said for fuck's sake about 7964 times.

On Tuesday.

Mother of the Year over here.

I don't feel very good about it. Believe me. I wish I didn't shout and yell and scream.  I really wish calling my kids names didn't happen. The words just come out of my mouth  I'm trying. I really am. I'm just not patient, or loving, and my tolerance for constant whingeing and bullshit is really low.

Not an excuse. I know.

And yes. I apologised to him. He said it was ok. I hope he doesn't become a serial killer now.

So I have the big one talking back and pressing all my buttons and the little one throwing tantrums, crying and whingeing from dawn to dusk. Her favourite saying at present is NO WAY and 'What you doing Mum? What you doing? Mum. What you doing?' Repeat ad nauseam for 17 hours a day.

Interspersed with crying.

They were sent here to destroy me. I swear.

Hopefully I don't fuck them up too much!