Day 31

Thought that now we have sailed on by the half-way mark of my journey, and autumn is coming to a close, it is a good time to reflect on progress. I present to you, my report card. *runs and hides in room*

1. Making my bed every day. Grade: A. The only day this didn't get done, was the same day I wanted someone to drop the bed - the whole actual frame - on my head, to put me out of my sick misery.

2. Blogging. Daily. Likewise Grade: A. Ever striving for new heights of inappropriateness and controversy.

3. Takeaway crackdown. Grade: A. Only one very slight aberration - a single drive through - involving chicken nuggets for hungry children, and also a Sunday park meal involving a bucket filled with chicken. Chicken in a bucket is so glamorous, don't you think? This is so much an improvement on our previous habits that I'm pretty sure my gall bladder thinks it's been accidentally transplanted into another body.

4. About that sushi... Pass. Gone. Gone forever, never to return. Not a single craving in a week now. I'm as cured as if I went to a Benny Hinn meet.

5. Feed the dog. Grade: B. Dog is slightly fatter, and has been desexed, to boot. He is an icon of responsible dog ownership - apart from the fact that he is wearing a dog tag with another dog's name on, and has not yet been vaccinated.

6. Stop buying Black Milk. Grade A +++. I even sold things. It's been a dark time, and I don't really wish to speak of it...

7. Brush teeth - twice daily. Grade: B+. Only a couple of genuine forgettings, and those have been of a night-time, usually when Harvey decides to have a late night session of Jimmy Barnes-esque yelling.

8. Wash make-up off before bed. Grade: B+. Skin is not yet reflecting the great lengths of effort I have gone to, and seems to be making one hell of an attempt to cling to adolescence in all it's glory.

9. Not checking Facebook at work. Grade: C.

10. Getting up with the daisies. Grade: D. *hangs head*

11. Going to bed sensibly. Grade: C. Haven't been falling asleep on the couch, at least.

12. Water the plants every day. Grade: B +. And... I doubled the number of plants in my care. There have been no visits from concerned Plant Welfare Officers, which is promising.

13. Use that flipping gym membership - three times a week min. Grade: D. It's the 'three' bit that's really tripping me up. But I've managed twice most weeks - even if one of those visits is spent primarily chatting and watching vids on Facebook while taking advantage of the free creche.

14. Return missed calls / text messages. Grade: B+.

15. Stop talking about people behind their back. Grade: C. Can I get a better grade for this if I tell you that it definitely wasn't YOU I was talking about??

16. Read Bible each day. Grade: D. I'm pretty sure I qualify as a hypocrite, now. Do text messages or Facebook statuses with Bible verses in them count?

17. Taking my tablet. Grade: A. Only missed a few while sick, and I'm pretty sure I would have seen those ones again anyway...

18. Hanging washing outside to dry. Non-attempt.

19. Drinking more water. Grade: C. I think my biggest issue here is just forgetting. I get to like, 9.30pm and then think "Should I scull the 600ml, or just start fresh in the morning?" And decide that it's probably defeating the purpose to flood the system so late, only to get up and pee all night long.

20. Planning the night before. Grade: C.

21. No chocolate bingeing. Grade: B.

22. Pelvic floor exercises. Oops. I'd forgotten this one was even on the list.

23. Pay off the credit card. Grade: - . Can I have an extension, please? :(

24. Quit hoarding. Grade: B. While I haven't hoarded anything new, I haven't been terribly proactive in getting rid of stuff either. Maybe time to attack this on the weekend.

25. Maximum of one sugar in cups of tea/coffee. Grade: F. Forgot this was on the list also.

26. Stomach crunches, thirty-six, daily. Grade: B.

27. No picking spots. Grade: C. *points finger at face* They started it. *pouts*

28. Grocery shopping with a list only. Haven't actually grocery shopped, since adding this one on. We are pretty much subsisting on Weetbix and leftover dining hall food.

29. Write to the sponsor kids. Well, I did make one attempt, but apparently it's no good to send. Talk about discouraging, guys. Someone needs to tell that kid that I'm trying really hard, so if there's something in the letter he doesn't like, he'll just have to suck it up.

30. Mystery List Item. Grade: A +++ ;)


A very wise sage who follows this blog suggested that it would be good if I answered some questions. So! If you have a question, write it as a comment on the Facebook link, or on the blog, and I promise to answer as honestly as I can without dishonouring my family and my country. I also promise to make up an awesome answer if I don't know something. If I get enough questions, tomorrow's blog post will be a 'Q&A'. And... go.

Day 30

Half way, woo. *party popper*

Dear Sponsor Child,

Hello, I'm your sponsor, Meg. I live in Australia, which according to Google maps is a very long way from Rwanda (hysi) where you live. I don't think either of us need to really worry about that, though, seeing as we have no immediate plans to actually meet. It was nice to receive a photo of you. Do you mind if I scan it and put it on my Instagram? You are quite cute, but you know, digital permission and all that, I thought I'd check. Are you on Facebook? If so, friend me and I'll add you. I'm the only Meg Hitchick.

Your letter said that you live with your mother and grandmother. That must be pretty full on. I can't imagine lasting more than a few nights under the same roof as my mum and nanna, it would be like the perfect storm. Picture a Jedi fighting a Ninja and you get the idea. Angry Birds, much! Do yours get on alright? I hope so. I live with my husband Dave, and his second wife X-Box, and our two children Finn and Harvey. We have a small home, only have one spare bedroom and one living area (plus a dining room), so conditions are pretty crowded. Two toilets though, thank goodness. I don't know how people live without a second toilet. Means more cleaning, but it's sooooo worth it.

We also have a pet dog, Bear. I realise that that sentence is going to translate funny, but he isn't a dog-bear, that's just his name. Bear is cute and fluffy and sleeps on the heated floor under our bed. He is pretty useless, and it just cost us $200 to get him neutered, but that isn't much in the scheme of things when you think of how much we will spend on him over his whole life on food and grooming and stuff. Like, if he needs an operation or something we could be up for $2000 right there. Australian anaesthetic is so pricey. You guys have it so good, operations are heaps cheap where you are, so I've heard. It's only like $50 to get laser eye surgery over there, right? I bet it's even cheaper for dogs to get surgery.

So, you're five... did you have to start school yet? Finn started school this year. At the school where I work. Only three weeks until holidays, I can't wait, school is so dreary at this time of year. Especially cause it's so cold and dark in the mornings, and the cleaners have only just turned the heaters on in the classrooms when I get there, so it's freezing for like, the first hour and a half. My fax machine had a total spack this morning, I think because of the cold. I feel sorry for the kids who have to spend an hour on the bus each morning just to get to school, they must have to get up so early.

Do you have any idea what you want to be when you grow up? Pretty much everyone over here wants to be a rock star when they grow up, you know, really make a difference to the world. Rock stars are awesome because, like, when they speak out about things like poverty, people really listen and get on board. Some stars even sell their merchandise and donate some profits to charity. Forty bucks is such a rip-off for an album, but people will pay it, cause they totally get that it's for a good cause, every little bit helps hey.

Your letter said that your job is carrying water for the family. That must be nice, being outside all the time and keeping fit. You must have awesome biceps. Mine are so lame, because I don't get to the gym often enough. I'm just so freakin' busy, you know? So much to do. I work three days a week, which is so full on, I just want to come home and crash in front of the telly, but then it's like 'pack the dishwasher, do a load of washing, check my email, have a shower'... never ends. You know what I mean - or at least, I bet your mum does. With five kids, man, she must be doing like eight loads of washing a day. I bet she is disposable nappies all the way.

What do you do in your free time? You play any sports? Do you read much? My favourite books are the Harry Potter books. You read them? Maybe you've seen the movies. The books are better, you should read the books. I could send you some Harry Potter stickers if you like.

I'm so starving right now and I can't find anything to eat, I'm dying for some chocolate, but it's all gone *sobs*. So I'm off to go hunting, for some biscuits or something.

Anyways, catch you soon. I'm going to write all the time, except when I'm like, super busy with work and stuff. Or if my internet goes down again - sorry in advance if it does, stupid country internet is so dodgy. First world problems, eh?

Laytahz!

Meg xx

Day 29

My inner sports hero (very inner, and doesn't make an appearance often, especially not while playing sport) is dreamily imagining the cheering fans at this point, as I metaphorically run past puffing, yelling to me "Keep going, Meg, you're almost half way! You can do it! Run, Meg!".

My inner couch potato is chewing a Mars bar, channel flipping right past me on the screen, and saying "Big deal. 'Nother thirty one days to go yet. What else is on?"

My inner narcissist is telling them both to shut up because nobody cares about their opinions, anyway.

My inner peace-maker is shushing everyone.

The discipline is being tested this evening because today I picked up a book, that I have been waiting aaaages to read, from the bookshop in town. I ordered it from America (yep - you can still do that through an actual bookshop and not have to pay with a credit card, who knew?) not long after it came out over there, and it's here at last. I've been sweetly torturing myself by doing every housework job imaginable while leaving it sitting on the kitchen counter, from which vantage point it is beckoning me to get into bed and nom nom nom it all up. I even washed out the lunch boxes ready for tomorrow.

Part of my reasoning is wanting to delay the inevitable moment when I will have read the book, after which it will no longer be something to look forward to. The other part is that this particular book is written by someone I quite admire - for all the wrong reasons - and I don't want to feel inferior once I start reading.

I've been reading this blog, called Enjoying the Small Things, for a couple of years now (the fact that that bit is in a different colour means it's a link and if you click it you can go straight to the blog in question - heads up for the noobs) and the blogger has written a book. If you've not ever come across Kelle Hampton before, basically her story is that her blog became a Really Big Deal after she posted a quite raw and honest account of the day her daughter, who has Down Syndrome, was born, and it pretty much went viral. It's possibly one of the more profound things I've read in my life.

Since then she has become a kind of accidental activist for families of kids with special needs, but her blog is kind of more than that. It's a call to embrace life in whatever form it comes to you, and to appreciate the beauty in every moment. It must kind of help you to 'see the beauty in every moment' when you are six foot tall, drop dead stunning even in your pjs, and can take great photos of your kids forty times a day with your eyes closed because you're a pro photographer. When you bake, and shop, and hand paint things and never spend seven straight hours cleaning up your house because you let it go for two days... But, I digress. Enjoy The Small Things, she does.

I get the spirit of what she is doing, and I can try really hard not to hate her just because she takes amazing pics. It makes me stop and consider what the point of all this disciplinationing is, if not to create the breathing space I need to be able to 'Enjoy the Small Things' more.

And now that the chores are done - book time :)

M xx

Day 28

L-L-Let me tell you a story.

Finn's class at school are l-l-learning all the sounds of the letters of the alphabet, and each Friday they send home a marvellous creation known (quite inventively) as 'The Sounds Book'. The Sounds Book is in fact a blank exercise book; l-l-lovingly wrapped in rainbow smiley face paper and covered in contact by Finn's devoted mother, with the aim of inspiring affection for it...

Each week, Finn's teachers paste a paper strip with the 'Sound of the Week' (insert 'L' sound here) to a new blank page. The unspoken agreement is that Finn, at some stage of the weekend, will hunt through magazines to find pictures of things that begin with that l-l-letter. He will then, in all of his five-year-old dexterity, cut these out and paste them into The Sounds Book, complete with informative captions. Thus, over the course of the year, the blank book is transformed into a beacon of l-l-linguistic l-l-literature.

In reality, what happens is this: On Monday mornings, Finn's distracted mother discovers The Sounds Book in his schoolbag, where it has l-l-languished in self-indulgent l-l-laziness all weekend. What then ensues is a frantic dash by Finn's demented mother, through the increasingly sliced up pile of magazines to find anything, anything at all, that could be contrived to be beginning with the Sound of the Week (this morning some very suspiciously cocktail-like beverages clasped by bikini-wearing celebrities and snapped through a telephoto lens were cheerfully passed off as 'l-l-lemonade'). Finn's deranged mother, by now running ridiculously l-l-late to work, then packs away The Sounds Book for another week and sets about getting the children out the door, while Finn, delightfully unaffected by the need to participate in this ritual, happily chants whichever creative ditty has been assigned to the Sound of the Week ("LICK-ing a Lollipop, Lick Lick LICK! Lick-ing a Lollipop, Lick LICK LICK!"). Until the following Monday morning, when it b-b-begins all over again.

Sadly, Finn's demotivated mother has been as yet unable to break the unfortunate cycle of The Sounds Book. Monday mornings remain a tribute to the educational adage that parents do the l-l-lion's share of the homework. She has, however, been suffering all day l-l-long with the L-L-L refrain imprinted on some deep, primal, pre-coffee part of the brain, resulting in a strange sort of brain echo whenever anyone uses an L-word.

It's been a l-l-long weekend, and I must apologise for the l-l-lack of blog action: I'll just say this - everything went to crap.

L-L-Literally.

So now that my traitorous gastrointestinal system has been brought back into l-l-line, I'm picking up where I l-l-left off. It may only be fifty-seven days of digging in, now, but rest assured, those three days were taxing enough in their own special way. I don't feel the need to elaborate.

And, I think that despite neglecting just about every other item on my l-l-list, I have finally worked up a permanent cure for L-L-List Item #4 'Sushi Eating'. Not a problem, any more, ever. If I ever eat sushi again, it will only be after a l-l-lobotomy.

M xx

P.S. OTT, but who the heck managed to convince Toni Collette to do that new ad for the Commonwealth Bank? Blackmail, for sure.

Day 24

Over 2000 page views... *whistles* If nothing else, at least the blogging has been worthwhile! I'm starting to feel the pressure to perform - I kind of worry that if I post something super lame there'll actually be people who are let down. Scary. 'Letting people down' is about as happy a prospect for me as 'rolling in compost' and 'eating dried cheese off the floor of the car'.

Please don't be let down.

So seeing as I've spent most of the last 23 days slashing at my own ego and generally denigrating my public image on here (hello, the furore over the sponsor child letter writing), I thought tonight I'd try for some encouragement by making a list of some of the things I *think* I do well. A change of tack in case I should decide to sue myself for defamation. Of course, this could backfire horribly and I may end up with people lined up from here to the back fence ready to tell me that I suffer delusions and that I am not, in fact, good at any of the things that I think I am. But we will limp over that bridge when and if we come to it.

Things I can do, or do well:

1. Bed-making. Nobody I know can make a bed as quickly, precisely and as wrinkle-free as me. Years of practice, my young grasshoppers. Stick with it.

2. Forgiving people. You may want to turn this round and say that I suck at holding a grudge, but whatever. I am about as stubborn as chocolate stains on a tongue when it comes to keeping my back up against someone, and I pretty much have never completely burned anyone out of my life, no matter how badly behaved they are. I'm not very tolerant, but I do let things go when they get up my nose. Lucky for Harvey, otherwise he would have been one of those babies who ended up in a big clay jar at the front door, for collection...

3. Side kicks. Not like, 'hey, I'll be your side-kick', but those kicks you do where you swing your leg around and... oh never mind. It's never going to win me a bar fight, anyway.

4. Inventing 'cheats' for recipes. If there's a lazy way to cook it, I will find an even lazier way. For example - substituting barbecue chicken for proper chicken. I don't care how easy it is to cook chicken, it's still easier to shred a BBQ chook.

5. Mixing chemicals up. I'm bad-ass at chemicals. Acids, organics, salt solutions, nutrient broth... I can even do molar calculations in my head, which makes me almost as smart as Stephen Hawking. I also look quite foxy in a lab coat, or so I'm told. Chemicals are to me as a piano is to Beethoven.

6. Being 'in the moment'. I am capable of completely forgetting about anything else other than what I'm doing at the time. I give my attention 100% to the present - which is probably the reason I hate interruptions like phone-calls, unless they are fundamentally relevant to what I'm involved in in the moment. It's also possibly the reason why I once left my three-year-old son in a caravan park unsupervised while I went down the street to a cafe and supermarket... and only realised as I was returning to the park an hour later. Thankfully, some nice people had kind of adopted him, and hadn't called the police. Yet. It was a stretch, but I managed to pass it off as baby brain.

7. Finding new and exciting uses for Nutella. Currently, Nutella is featuring quite prominently in my favourite dessert recipe, which involves a plate with dried banana chips, almonds and sweet bikkies - and a big blob of Nutella for dunking.

8. Tutoring. I love coming up with ways to get things to 'click' for the kids that I tutor, and I'm like a dog with a bone about making sure they understand things. They like to tell you what you want to hear, kids, and so if you ask them 'do you understand this?' and they don't really but they think they have a hope in hell of faking it, they'll still say 'yes'. But there is no mistaking that marvellous moment when the lightbulb comes on - realisation brings a sudden bright shinyness to their eyes, and they push themselves spontaneously back from the table and really look at you, saying "Oh! I get it now!". And then I know I can stop digging, fist pump the air, and then set about patting the newfound knowledge into place with a few more gentle exercises. Best. ever. sense of achievement.

9. Punctuation. I dare you to pick me up on a dodgy comma, or a missing apostrophe. I really dare you. Punctuation is my heroin. And spelling is my cherry on top.

10. Knowing when I'm probably pushing it to keep going with something. And that is why, right now, I'm posting this and off to watch a movie with the hubs.

M xx

Day 23

You know how some cartoons show people with two shoulder angels? They have a goody on one side who tells them the right thing to do, and a baddy on the other side who tries to convince them to do the wrong thing. Well, my shoulder angels have been locked in battle this last few weeks, but I think the good angel may have just gotten a pretty decent boost to his (her?) forces. Although Harvey has been doing his best lately to help the bad-angel pull a Pearl Harbour on my List... now Finn has entered the war.

My little 'pocket conscience' has been by turns encouraging me and chastising me, and I gotta say, the kid really knows where to stick the pins in to make me squirm. He can be super sweet at times - the other day while I was putting on my make-up, he came strolling in to my bedroom, stopped in his tracks and said 'Woahhh. Mum, I just want to encourage you; you look SO beautiful in that skirt'. Talk about the warm fuzzes. I felt like a million bucks walking out the door to work - even if the comment came from someone who thinks that Lightning McQueen underwear teamed with a Toy Story T-shirt, grey tracksuit pants and blue and brown dinosaur gumboots is the absolute height of good taste. My boy say I look good, I walk three inches taller.

But - I can be deflated just as easily. Tonight while setting out on a short car-trip to pick Dave up, this was how the conversation went:

Finn (completely out of the blue): "Now, Mum, when Daddy gets in the car, you don't speak rudely to him alright?"

Me: "Why would I speak rudely to him, mate?"

Finn: "Because sometimes when we go in the car, you just speak rudely to Daddy."

Me: "When?"

Finn: "Just lots of times, you speak to Daddy in a cranky voice. Daddy doesn't speak in a rude voice, but sometimes you just speak rudely to Daddy."

Me: "What do you mean rudely, what things do I say?"

Finn: "You just shout and say naughty things."

Me (feeling a little defensive): "What naughty things?"

Finn: "Naughty things like a baddy would say."

Me (meek): "Oh."

Harvey: "Dad dad. DAD DAD DAD DAD."

Finn (in his patient, teaching-the-baby voice): "No Harvey, Dad-dad just never speaks like a baddy. Only Mummy. Mum, when Daddy gets in the car, I'm gonna remind you not to speak rudely to him okay?"

Me (thinking about all the times lately I've directed heated comments, or vented quite viciously to Dave in the car, thinking the kids were off in la-la land): "Okay, buddy."

***

A few minutes later, Dave hops in the car.

Finn: "Now, Mum, remember what we talked about."

Dave: "What?"

Me: "Did you set this up with him?"

So my good angel just got back-up. There will be no more talking rudely in the car from me! Considering I rouse on Finn for back-answering or saying horrible things about people, I guess it's only fair. Harvey, on the other hand, drives me to chocolate in excess. Last night thanks to his late-night shenanigans, I went to bed without brushing teeth or washing face. My cute little bad angel would rather me hang out in his room and cuddle him. :)

M xx

Day 22

Read this today on Steve Pavlina's blog:

"The five pillars of self-discipline are: Acceptance, Willpower, Hard Work, Industry, and Persistence. If you take the first letter of each word, you get the acronym “A WHIP” — a convenient way to remember them, since many people associate self-discipline with whipping themselves into shape."

Crikey. Someone actually thinks up this stuff.

Read some more:

"Self-discipline is the ability to get yourself to take action regardless of your emotional state. 

Imagine what you could accomplish if you could simply get yourself to follow through on your best intentions no matter what. Picture yourself saying to your body, “You’re overweight. Lose 20 pounds.” Without self-discipline that intention won’t become manifest. But with sufficient self-discipline, it’s a done deal. The pinnacle of self-discipline is when you reach the point that when you make a conscious decision, it’s virtually guaranteed you’ll follow through on it."

Ahh.

Well, I definitely just made the conscious decision to go and get the Nutella out of the pantry, and eat some off a spoon, and I certainly followed through on it, but I think that is not quite an indication that I have reached Self-Discipline Nirvana.

It's been a long day so I'm off to bed.

M xx

Day 21

Things that sneak up out of nowhere and try to get you while you are practicing discipline (you know, just in case you needed warning):

1. eBay seller fees! I might be doing my darnedest to pay off the card, but eBay sure want a fair slab of the pie. 'Cause they are so poor, and all. Fifty bucks, schmifty bucks.

2. Chocolate. Today, I was minding my own business and looking for some morning tea, when about eight pieces of chocolate jumped out at me from the pantry, like a crack team of ninja warriors, and forced themselves down my throat. Sneaky little buggers.

3. Eleven PM. I swear that eleven o'clock at night is stalking me. The harder I try to get away from it, and into bed, the faster it comes. I see it all the time now.

4. The bottom of the dog food packet. Kachow, out of the blue. Someone must be eating all the dog food. I suspect the dog. Must remember to buy some more, dog has had to eat Weetbix for dinner again today.

5. Bad television shows. They grab your attention with cheap tricks and then slowly torture your brain cells to death so before you know it you have rotted away three quarters of an hour watching The Force, and have run out of time for the washing up, or anything else remotely useful.

6. Mondays. The Monday is the most badass day of the week for stripping you of good intentions and sending you into survival mode. Part of the problem is that they are so closely backed up by their evil wingman, the Tuesday.

7. KFC. Oh, it lurks there by the side of the road, all innocent, but then bam! your car is veering off course and getting sucked into the vortex of the drive-thru and fried chicken starts to flow into your veins making you forget all your worries... And then you are left out in the cold feeling queasy and greasy, holding a cardboard box and an empty wallet. Insidious.

8. Facebook. Both friend and foe. One minute it gives you the motivation to get up and go, the next minute it's beckoning to a spot beside the laptop on the couch, and suggestively revealing all sorts of tasty gossip that keeps you scrolling down for more. And then you turn into a pumpkin.

Well, The Force is over, I need to go change the channel. :)

M xx

Day 20

Quick one from me tonight.

You know, seeing as I'm going to all the trouble of getting some discipline about me, I think that as the ones I live with are getting so much benefit out of it, the least they could do is put a couple of things on their own lists.

Dear Harvey,

While I appreciate your renewed efforts at remaining in bed all night, there are a couple of issues I'd like to address. Please consider not wasting two thirds of every muesli bar I hand to you. It would be nice if you could address me as 'Mummy' and not 'uuuuuuuuuuurrrrrrrgggghhhhhhhh'. I'd love it if you would sit moderately still while I do up your buttons. Wash your hands after letting the dog lick them, and please stop putting my plasticware in the garbage bin.

Love, Mummy.

Dear Finn,

I know Harvey isn't sharing, and I don't really care. Please go and play with one of the other 7 million toys you own. If I have to ask you one more time where your iPod is and you answer 'I don't know,' I'm going to replace it with a rolling pin. Try playing Angry Birds on that. Flushing the toilet isn't terribly hard, but you will need to make an effort to remember it - after every time you wee. And from now on, when you are hungry, you will take that as a cue to start preparing our family's next meal. Spaghetti bolognaise will be fine. Please remove your finger from your nose. It is never acceptable, not even when you are going to sleep.

Love, Mum.

Dear Dave,

The washing basket is located approximately two and a half feet to the north west of where you currently drop your dirty clothes. An extra step and a fully extended arm should do it.

Love, Meg. xx

Day 19

Heaps of people have commented or written or told me how much they're enjoying my blog and how inspirational it is for them. If I was a better person I'd say something about how humbling it is to know that I've made some small difference to people's lives - but the reality is that it's actually just giving me an even bigger ego. *wink*

Truth be told, though, I get more than my fair share from the people around me. I'm truly blessed to have such amazing friends who inspire me every day.

There's this girl I roll with, she is amazing. I've never met someone as graceful and patient as this one. She has an amazing gift for knowing when to speak, and when to be silent. Although she lives alone in the city - which I think is brave enough in itself - she is never afraid to try new things: surfing, getting a bike licence, even traveling overseas alone. She can cook pancakes from scratch. She has many admirers, but she isn't full of herself at all. I'm so proud of her, proud to be her friend. She inspires me everyday, to be more adventurous.

Theres this other girl I roll with, she's an ace. She can eat a whole Mars Bar cheese cake in a sitting. She works out regularly (hello, holy grail) and looks fabulous. Best of all, she is a supermummy. Not a supermummy like 'spotless house, fresh baking, children in ironed shirts, clean carpet' supermummy. But an 'adores her kids, sees the opportunity in each moment, happy enough to have mess and chaos and crazy kids because at the end of the day they are loved and gorgeous, and will fight like a lioness to defend them from any earthly harm' supermummy. She inspires me everyday, to be more vicarious.

There's this girl I roll with, she is wicked. Cooks like an angel from the kitchen of God, and can kick a** in an argument with just about anyone. I reckon she could probably whip the Dalai Lama into line over a thing or two. She dresses with style, and redecorates about once a week. But she knows how to speak the truth, and isn't afraid to tell it how it is. She inspires me every day, to be more bold.

There's this girl I roll with, she has put up with me for a long, long time, and still manages to see the best in me. No matter how many times I pulled her hair, or called her the worst names, she still loves me, and she is irresistibly fun. She inspires me to be more loyal.

There's this girl I roll with who I've actually never met, but she shows amazing bravery and hope in the face of what seemed like probable defeat, risking heartbreak again to bring her dream of a much wanted baby to life. She is walking, cradling this tiny life, tiptoeing through every day at the moment, probably with her heart in her throat, but she is walking. She inspires me to be more courageous.

There's this girl I roll with, also mostly online, but honestly I have never met anyone who is quite as able to make lemonade out of life's lemons. Pretty sure if I had been in her shoes these last few years I would have checked out of life and into self-pity a looong time ago. It's not true that lightning can't strike twice,and it's not true of cancer and your loved ones, either. But this one, she has a spring in her step and she still has time for the cares of others. She is feisty about bringing the best of herself to her family, her friends, the world. She inspires me every single day, to be more joyful.

There's this guy I roll with, we see a fair bit of each other, but I still get a kick out of waking up next to him. He is the definition of consistency, of generosity and of genuine interest in others' well-being. He's also mighty well put together, and has almost a zero rate of hair-fall. Sometimes when I look at him and catch him looking back my stomach does that feeling like when you drop suddenly in an elevator. I feel a little bit like I might have gotten away with a neat trick by convincing him to marry me, but I'm keeping that quiet. He inspires me every day, to be a little less selfish.

If you can't pick yourself out of the list above, it's just because I didn't get to you, yet.

I could go on all night, but there's wine needs drinking, and B-grade movies need picking to pieces. Anyway, I don't want to gush, but I dig y'all, okay?

M xx

Day 18

I am officially demoting one of my List items.

'Number 18: Hanging washing outside to dry' has been the most momentous fail, and upon further consideration, the addictive feeling of being on top of the washing is too good to pass up, so I'm reverting to the clothes dryer. I need to be time efficient, and hanging washing out is not time efficient. Maybe if we still had the usual budget constraints then there would be good incentive to avoid using the dryer, but it's fast and free, and unless I get the washing happening on a more regular and timely basis there will end up being large stretches of the week during which Team Hotchick has to get about naked while they wait for their clothes to dry.

Soooo, it's gone. Boom. Sorry, environment.

Should I replace it with another? I mean, I'd hate to admit that I probably need to clean up my language a bit, but maybe that would be a good replacement. Those sneaky little swears just seem to keep %$@*ing slipping out, these days.

Went to the gym today and did a really wussy job of some ball squats (they sound rude but they are nothing to do with testicles) and a satisfactory number of tummy crunches, all the while chatting to a mate. The guy who does our kickboxing class was cleaning the equipment, and he laughed at us and shook his head, and I was led to recall his comment from last night's (killer) kickboxing session - "If you aren't puffing, crying and sweating then you aren't working hard enough to do any good!" He is probably right, but I reasoned that as I'm still in the process of getting addicted to the gym, I'm trying to make my experience of it as pleasant as possible. Tried to do 10kg leg curls, and instantly got a very loud, clear message from the muscle fibres in my thighs: Stop. We don't do this. 


I know that resistance builds strength - in all areas of life - but if only there was a way to make resistance feel a little bit less, well, resistant. It's okay at the gym, because if you are feeling like a pansy you can just shift the little doovey-whacker in the weights a few notches up (or down) and lighten the load instantly. Then you continue to work out, so that for all intents and purposes it looks to the people around you like you had it on the wrong setting to start with, and not just like you're pathetic. Well, where's the one of those that you can fiddle with to change the challenges of life up or down a few pegs? Wouldn't it be tops to think, 'oh, I'm having a bit of an off day today, so I'll just take it easy and drop this thing back a few less children/chores/interruptions/idiotic people.' One can dream...

Must go and give a lizard a bath. (!!!) Toodle-oo,

M xx

Day 17

Major technical stuff up with the blog post last night which saw me throw a childlike tantrum and go to bed in a 
huff. This is take two. ;)


Was walking down the street today (slightly down, it was a pretty flat street) and I saw a young woman, quite obviously pregnant, cigarette in hand and puffing away. One of the last social taboos, smoking while pregnant. Almost as bad as not writing to your sponsor kids. This is not going to be the judgmental rant you might expecting.

The first thought that went through my head was 'oh honey, 'don't do that, it's so bad for the bubba. Think of your bubba and stop it.' My next was 'well, she probably already knows that, and wishes she could stop, but she is obviously addicted.' My third thought actually sounded like Dave's voice in my head, saying 'Did you know that nicotine is one of the most addictive substances, more addictive than cocaine?' And my fourth thought (in a very short space of time) was not so much a thought as a wave of empathy, and an impulse to turn around and run after her and tell her 'I know. I know how hard it is, and I understand, and I'm so sorry for judging you.'

"Why do you look at the speck that is in your brothers eye, but you do not notice the log that is in your own eye?" - The Bible

See, I've never smoked a cigarette (nobody ever offered me one... thanks for that.) but I do know what it is to have a habit or behavior I would desperately like to change. And I understand what it is like to lack enough motivation to change it. After all, isn't a habit or persistent behaviour nothing more than a substance addiction to the brain chemicals that the behaviour triggers inside you?

 For example, say you find, oh, i dunno .... popping bubble wrap really soothing and relaxational. When your fingers pinch those tiny pockets of air, your brain sends lots of, lovely 'that feels nice chemicals' whooshing around your bloodstream, leaving you with a sense of calm and well-being. It makes sense that your body will want to replicate this experience - especially under stress - and so it programs you to search out the trigger (bubble wrap). Before you know it, you've got a roll-a-day habit that makes everyone around you grit their teeth in irritation and hide their incoming mail parcels from you. The chemistry might be wild, but the effect is simple.

The  health of your baby, the fear of becoming obese, the loss of your teeth, saving the environment - whatever it is - no matter how important it is to you, the argument has to be really persuasive in order to overcome the fact that you are a junkie for your own brain juices. It's like a war, between my wise, all-knowing Head Meg, and my animal instinct, immediate-gratification Base Meg. All that Head Meg can do is stand in a corner and shout messages of abuse and self-loathing while Base Meg roams about like a heat seeking missile on a destructive rampage, doing whatever it takes to get 'high'... All of it: the sleeping in, the chocolate munching, the whole lot.

So wish I had the weapons to win that war with ease. And I bet that Miss Winnie Blue with the baby on board wishes she did, too. But I do have one big idea, and that's kind of the same one behind this whole sixty days of digging in. I just need to get myself addicted to a whole different bunch of triggers.

Food for thought.

Day 16

Reasons I am doing a shoddy job of today's blog post: 1. It's nearly 11pm. 2. I worked twelve hours straight today. 3. Dave is STILL using my computer to write his job application... I am trying to blog on the iPad and I'm going cross eyed. 4. The dog wants me to come to bed soon, he is sleepy. 5. My fingers are cold. 6. My friend Hollie had her gorgeous baby Samson today, and I am distracted by the excitement. (Yayyyy!!!) 7. I am now one hundred and eight stomach crunches in arrears... 8. I really need to go have another drink of water. 9. I'm questioning the reality of my existence. If 'I think therefore I am', and I'm not able to think any more due to sheer exhaustion, does that mean I am not? 10. I'm depressed because Libby and Donna went home today. :( 11. I need to pee. 12. I'm only 16 days in, and the goal seems unachieveable. 13. My spell checker isn't working. (see above) 14. It's nearly 11pm. 15. I'm going to end up repeating myself. Nighty night - better effort tomorrow! M xx

Day 15

Hi. 


This is Finn writing this post on Mummy's blog, and Harvey is helping me, because Mummy says she's got a headache and has been busy all day and she says that the blog can go jump in the lake. Blog rhymes with frog, you know. Frogs like lakes, you know. Frogs can go in water and on land. I learnted that from school.

Mummy has been trying really hard to be very very good lately. I like it when Mummy gets up early to get my breakfast for me, because sometimes I get my own breakfast and then I spill the milk alllll over the floor. One time I did that and I didn't even mean to do it but Mummy said 'well, that was clever.' But even though she said I'm clever she doesn't want me to get my own breakfast any more. Harvey said that he likes it when he gets his own breakfast because last time when he was looking for a spoon he found a whole drawer full of shiny things and some of them were very very sharp and made a really good noise when he whacked them on the cupboard door. Mummy said the shiny things were doing 'mahedin'. Then she picked them all up and putted them back in the drawer and Harvey cried.


In the morning I waked Mummy and Daddy up. Daddy said I had to stay in my bed until number 6, and then I can get up, but Harvey just cried when it was still number 5. Harvey and I played on Mummy and Daddy's bed and then at number 7, Mummy got up with us.


Mummy says she is trying hard to do all the good things, but it's very tricky because she keeps forgetting or not wanting to do them. Harvey knows how to make Mummy do things like get him a biscuit. Harvey makes really loud noises like this: AHH AHHHHH AHHHHHHHHHHGGGGGGHHHHHH!!!! Then he holds on to Mummy's leg and pulls her, or sometimes he bites. Harvey bites me sometimes and Mummy told me to say 'NO, Harvey!' but when he bites Mummy she just yells really loud like OWWWWW! Then Harvey cries. Mummy tells Harvey to 'suck it up, princess' and I always laugh because Harvey isn't a princess, he's a baby. I teached Harvey a new word, he can say 'door'.


Me and Harvey brush our teeth all the time now. I like to eat the toothpaste. Mummy boughted a new toothbrush and she brushes her teeth with lots of toothpaste but she doesn't eat it, she spits it out.


I think Mummy should be really good by reading me lots of stories and getting me a drink of water for my bed. She washeded my school uniform and then I didn't have any school uniform so Mummy putted my pants in the dryer and when she got them out they were very toasty warm. I like my pants when they are toasty warm, but not when they burnded me.


I love my Mummy. Harvey loves Mummy, too. She is a very good girl, because she always makes our beds. She is the best Mummy.

Day 14

Fourteen glorious days! Scientists reckon evolution takes millions of years... and yet here I am a completely new organism after just two weeks. Barely recognisable from my previous self, except for pretty much everything about me. Pretty sure I'd find it easier to develop gills or grow a snail-like shell than actually get some of these habits to become automatic.

You know, if you ask me what my absolute favourite moment of these days has been, it's that moment when I am lying in bed, teetering on the very brink of falling asleep, my head sinking in to the pillow and listening to the gentle electric hum of the heater. When everything is relaxed and sleepy, babies snoozing quietly, and all the chores for the day are finished, all the demands dealt with, except maybe the demand of rolling over and thumping Dave in the neck with my elbow to stop him snoring. A moment of pure bliss, unspoiled by yapping, whining, stomping or grizzling of any kind. The urgency of using each second to it's best advantage, of getting somewhere or doing something, of being productive, just fades away, and for that moment, I am a creature unbridled by time, set free from the current of the passing minutes and hours. I am a quiet harbour, a still pool, a whole bunch of other literary blah blah.

And then the moment passes, and I am deeply, inelegantly dead to the world, with my mouth hanging open and a bit of dribble crawling down my face to the pillow.

Conversely, my least favourite moment of the day is becoming slowly aware of that same bit of dribble all crusty on my cheek, the baby making a noise like a chainsaw doing warm-ups, and Finn sticking his bony little elbow into my side to try and dig himself a bunker to curl up in in our bed. It's not that I particularly hate mornings, it's just that they require me to wake up and function. Time starts up again, and gets faster and faster the longer I try to stay in bed and fight it. And the six-thirty deadline creeps closer and closer, along with the knowledge that even though I feel exactly the same amount tired and sleepy as I did just before popping off the log last night, this time I must reverse the process and un-relax myself. The moment of bliss has ended - rudely - and now I will pay for it in the currency of the daylight: work, work and work.

I confess - for the last couple of mornings, six-thirty has gone whizzing by, with me giving it the metaphorical finger from under the covers.

Why is it so so hard to get up in the mornings?? You'd think after twenty-nine years of practising it every day I'd kind of be getting the hang of it now. Seriously, I should just give up and try to grow that shell instead.

M xx

Day 13

Happy Mother's Day :)

I was all prepared to break my 'getting up early' covenant this morning, as it would have been highly rude of me to refuse the Mother's Day gift of a sleep in... but fortunately my family (including my three-year-old niece) understand the importance of my quest and made sure that I wasn't put in a compromising position.

It's been a lovely weekend - and quite a reflection on my status as a mum. Without really realising it, I've gone through quite a transition inad the last few years. As a woman without kids, my priority was always avoiding any sort of solid commitment on weekends - keeping them free for whatever came up that was going to be fun to do. I hated the idea of signing up for anything that was going to require a guaranteed chunk of my time, and thought that the best kind of weekend was an empty, make-it-up-as-you-go-along type affair. Running around after children was about as high on my priority list as, say, poking razor blades between my teeth.

Once I had my first baby, weekends no longer represented doing whatever I wanted, but still, I was determined to make as much of 'my time' as possible. After all, the baby/toddler/very small child had basically no preference of his own, and could be easily convinced that whatever I wanted to do was worth going along with. For the most part, anyway. So a weekend was a sort of 'on duty' attempt at having my own fun. Isn't that the benefit of very small kids? They don't yet have their own little life outside of yours.

Finn was so excited to get
dressed in his soccer gear,
he forgot his clothes.

This weekend, we got up early on Saturday and got ready for Finn's soccer game. I headed off to coach netball, while Dave took the boys down to the soccer fields... apparently Finn didn't so much play soccer as wander around the field taking in the delights of the cheering crowd, while holding hands with a female team-mate. After the game, Finn was dropped off to a friend's birthday party, while I took Harvey and Lucy (my niece) for a walk down to watch the school rugby match, where Dave was helping out. Figured I may as well make yet another effort to figure the rules out, given that I will inevitably be spending many more Saturdays in my future as a footy mum. Then it was time to pick Finn up, and have a play at home with another little friend for the afternoon. The day was rounded off nicely by some giggling and chatter before going to bed sleep-over style (more giggling and chatter after lights out). After bedtime, my 'me-time' involved sneaking out in my tracky dacks for some telly and chatter with the girls (big night out, woah).

Kid fun.

The weirdest part is, that despite this kind of a Saturday being the stuff of nightmares to my kid-free self, I actually really enjoyed it. I'm not dreading the weeks and years of this to come, and there is something great about no longer feeling the pressure to make sure every weekend is 'the time of my life'. It's the time of someone else's life now, and that's cool. There's something intoxicating about seeing your children start to discover the stuff weekends are made of, and after all, isn't childhood the place where the concept of the 'fun weekend' is born? I like being part of the fabric that will hopefully be sewn into many wonderful memories of being a kid.

That said, the school clothes just got chucked in the dryer ready for tomorrow morning, and Finn's homework doesn't seem to have managed to get itself done yet. *sigh* Still getting the hang of the school mum thing. Sorry, List items #18 and #20.


Ciao. M xx

Day 12

I think I've found my blogging mojo. *waves* to my stalkers - I know you're out there, reading but not commenting, and that's okay because I still feel your collective weight of expectation pressing down on my (slightly tender) shoulders. It's thanks to you guys that I dragged - and I mean draaaaaagggggged - myself back out of bed the other night when I realised that I was about to doze off without brushing my teeth. Wild horses could not have accomplished that feat two weeks ago.

And, it's thanks to you guys, that I spent early Friday morning hanging out about forty washer loads of clothing onto the line in the backyard, while the electric clothes dryer flirted, and sulked, and pleaded by turns with me to just give in and blitz the lot of it.

And I also owe most of the credit to you guys for my unbroken streak of tablet-taking, during which I have had so few mood swings I almost feel like a man. Amazing. If I start looking at catalogues of power tools and caring about the NRL scores, I may have to reconsider whether my dosage needs to be revised back down to 'whenever I think of it'.

But - we need to talk about the credit card. Somehow, instead of connecting with my inner scrooge and tightening the plastic belt, I have instead managed to be convinced of a dire need to spend an unspecified number of dollars on cleaning products from <<Enjo>>. Naughty. Smack my wrist. I'm like a monkey: if you wave shiny objects at me, I lunge at them; in this case the shiny objects just happen to be my kitchen and bathroom and car, after being thoroughly and chemically free Enjo-ed. Now as I see it, you as my voices of conscience need to decide either:

1. to collectively chip in and buy me every Enjo product under the sun

2. to convince me that buying Enjo products is not in fact a matter of supreme importance and whip me back into line

or

3. some other creative solution to the tension.

And.... go.

M xx

Day 11

What I think I look like
while kickboxing...

Last night I finally broke my ten-day unblemished 'no-takeaway' streak. Pretty much, it was a choice between missing out on a trip to the gym for kickboxing class, or feeding my kids a large BBQ meat-lovers from Eagle Boys to keep them going until we got home. What to do - when it comes down to one List item versus another?

What I actually look like.

Got some funny looks walking into the gym with a big cardboard pizza box under my arm (and I swear the smell of bacon permeated that place almost instantly, causing the singlet-wearing dudes using the weights to sniff the air accusingly and reach for their protein shakes). I'm pretty sure Tony (tough gym instructor guy) could smell the pizza on my breath, too, because he worked us all out with about of the quarter of the sympathy he usually shows, and that isn't very much to start with. Felt my little food baby bouncing around quite resentfully during our warm-up jump-rope. Even started to believe that two slices of pizza had somehow punishingly added half a kilo to my backside, because it seemed to feel even more wobbly than usual while I skipped. Turns out I had forgotten to take out my iPhone out of the waist band of my leggings, and it had slipped south. Both relieved, and slightly embarrassed about this.

However - one pizza in ten days is still a vast improvement on matters, so I'm not beating myself up about it.

Discovered that I have jeopardised myself and my friendships terribly by revealing my crimes against sponsor children - apparently my slack letter-writing puts me on a level of heinousness equivalent to People Who Think Puppy Torture Is A Fine Art, and People Who Urinate In Public Elevators. In my defence, let me say that I do occasionally write letters, they are good ones with photos and stickers and everything, and I always pay the extra bucks for a Christmas and birthday gift. Perhaps these small concessions will raise me in the public esteem to the level of such creeps as People Who Try To Return Used Underwear To The Store, and Trolley Boys Who Leer At Breastfeeding Mothers. I can now pronounce (I think correctly) my newest sponsor child's name, which surely counts for something.

As for that Mystery List Item: I'm sad to say, it has nothing to do with secret pole-dancing lessons. Sorry to disappoint. :) M xx

Day 10

Confucious once (reputedly) said: 'Man go to bed with itchy bottom, wake up with smelly finger.' 

Think about it, think... about... it... Do you get it yet? Ahh! The penny drops, and you are now screwing up your nose in disgust :)

May not be the most elegant way of putting it, but it is undoubtedly an effective way of illustrating the idea that actions and decisions have consequences. While I haven't conducted any experiments to do with retiring to sleep in a state of anal discomfort, I have certainly been toying with this idea lately, that everything you do or don't do has an impact. Maybe small, maybe unseen, but actions change things. No action allows different changes to happen. 

So if outcomes are determined by actions, then isn't it our nature to want to control those outcomes? Isn't it just like us human beans, to want to manipulate what we do and how we think, in order to avoid the proverbial 'smelly finger'? Don't we all agree that it is best not to go to bed in that state?! - however tempting, easily justified or immediately gratifying that may be?

Yesterday I was having a somewhat interrogative chat with one of my many anonymous brother-in-laws *wink*, who commented that, unlike myself and my hound dog urge to disciple myself on the all-pervading List, he feels little or no need to remodel himself or change any of his current habits. He seemed a little astonished, even, that so many of you - my fellow crusaders - have been rallied to action by the call to dig in. His take on the situation (and I paraphrase) was that 'you are who you are', and if you are predisposed to behave in a particular way or you find yourself naturally reverting to a certain habit that others may consider less than desirable, then simply find a way to make the habit more acceptable. Either that or who jolly cares, and what business of theirs is it anyway? 

Briefly considered testing this hypothesis by allowing my five-year-old son to give in to his strong urge pick his nose incessantly, without reprisal. Thought that the results could be assessed by charting his long-term satisfaction with this hobby, against the predictably negative social consequences of such behaviour... Tossed the idea out on the basis that I probably couldn't afford the medical bills if he got beat up every Friday lunchtime behind the canteen for being such an obvious bullying target.

Besides, ultimately the issue here is not what other people think of me, it's what I think of me. "Don't you have standards?" I asked him. "You know, standards about things, that you hold up as good, but you don't necessarily live up to, but you wish you did?"

"No, I don't have standards like that. And if I ever find that I have a standard that I don't live up to, I lower my standard."

"Oh."

I guess he just isn't much of a one for the digging in.

Me? I'm just brimming over with unfulfilled standards, ideals that need a bit more elbow grease, and grand occasions to rise to. So the quest continues - and yes, it is bringing with it a certain amount of satisfaction. I am becoming more like the person I imagine I want to be. My actions are slowly beginning to align more closely with what I believe, so it actually feels like I'm less of two different people and more of one person - no longer a discontented idealist, but a satisfied realist. My metaphorical finger smells less of butt, and more of roses.

And on that note, I'm adding to my <<List>>. M xx