Crazy Christmas shopping is engulfing nearly all of us.  Most of us are knee deep in traffic issues, parking miracles and queues forced upon us because we didn’t shop months ago like those weird organised people and we somehow thought that this year it might be different.  Even dreaming that there may only  be 3 of us out and about kindly sharing 47 free car spaces between us, instead of the now 3 million New Zealanders  all with their “eye spy gunna kill if you cut me off  and steal my spot” look in their eye, was rather silly of me.  I stupidly braved this yearly phenomenon  a few days ago.   My plan was to start and stop present buying in a single day.  Therefore I would never have to get caught up in anything emotional, hysterical, theatrical, suicidal or dentable.  I planned to go and come back with my body and car intact, filled with 20 Christmas presents, thoughtfully bought and stashed in the rear of my car.  All was going well albeit slower than I had anticipated.  I was getting lucky with the car spaces and encountered mostly polite people.  There was only one occasion where I had to yell out “Wow, is someone out of Christmas Joy?”   Don’t get me wrong, I had plenty of cheer left in me, I was just trying to remind the driver that they shouldn’t have pulled out like that in front of someone else.  5 hours later saw me still frantically trying to get this task finished.  I had to pep talk myself, “Just a couple more hours, you can do this.  Just hang in there.  Think of the glory you will have when you can share “done and dusted” on your face book private page.  Beating all your family and friends and skiting about your  12 hour burst of perfectional shopping”. A few sneaky café snacks later and a drink I shouldn’t have had, started to remind me that what goes down must continue down until it forces its desires upon and continue out.   I was being strong in my shopping skills but my body was failing me and my bladder was showing signs of not coping.  An hour later saw me conceding to find an ablution block that hopefully was of a reasonable standard and of my acceptance.  The shopping mall I was in was usually good, so I raced in that tiny wee room and slam locked the door in my one style perfected motion.  Out of pre-existing, been let down before habit,  I always check the toilet roll holder first to make sure that there is enough paper to finish with, thus enabling me to make a  quick decision on my next choice which meant I was now casting my eyes straight down the throne.   Café lunch return alert!!!  Oh yes.    You know you have to look and it was that look that made me swing that door open so fast and spin out of that disgusting non flushed cave.  Trust me you do not need a description nor hear my thoughts spill onto paper because I can assure you  not cool on any level.   Now my bladder is urging me to continue regardless of the haunting image in cubicle 1.   I pursue my quest into the next space which throws me directly into a 2 for 1 deal.  Another un-flushed deposit.  WHAT IS IT WITH THAT!!  IF ITS BROWN FLUSH IT DOWN!  It rhymes so it’s easy to remember, isn’t it?   It’s good manners to flush away what you gave isn’t it?  Ahhhhh!  You don’t want to look at some one else’s recycled INSIDES so what makes you think I want to look at YOURS.  FLUSH IT!!! If it doesn’t go down FLUSH IT AGAIN!!. If you need a 3rd flush FLUSH IT AGAIN!!.  DON’T and I repeat DON’T! come out of that room until you have flushed it away.    ITS SIMPLY GOOD MANNERS  ……………….

A small word with tremendous implications.  No matter how you juggle it, work it, play it, or just waste it, we all have the same time in our hours, day in and day out.  The only bit we don’t get the same is how many days of time do we have?  Most of us don’t know when our time will run out and we simply trust the man upstairs that our allocated time is poured out through many years of hopefully exciting life.  I have been thinking about time lately because A… I have been to a funeral and B.  my own mortality is being questioned. The funeral I went to was of a young wee boy all of 4.5 years old. He wasn’t sick, he didn’t accidentally die, he was just taken.  He didn’t wake up that morning and all subsequent tests showed a very healthy boy.  There was no reason that any professional could tell why he should not have woken up.  How cruel is that.  How cruel to the amazing parents who will never get their why answered here on earth.  His time was too short.  Yet his time was lived far beyond his age.  What an amazing fun packed life this young boy had.  The impact he had on people and the legacy he has left to all those who ever met him.  His parents, family and friends are very proud of this boy although it will never be enough to dull the ache they must now bear.  Laying this unfair life taken to early aside, I myself have been unwell lately.   I  am clearly past that young age and lean heavily on the downhill run.  I have had to question my own time because serious stuff happens on that downhill slope.  I have always needed to readjust things in my life but have failed to head the warnings of healthy living and good ways to ensure my time is long and lengthy.  We all think we will live forever and those bad things will happen to someone else.   Now I have to question my time and how much of it is left. My heart plays musical tricks on me and has for years.  We all have the uneven beats that either miss and then heavily slam dunk themselves back into rhythm or skip along uneven making you wonder who is compelling a tune that you just don’t like.  I have those too but I also have 2 others as well.  One is called tachycardia and the one that annoys me is the one that is simply out of rhythm.  I call it my orchestral conductor gone crazy mode that can last for what feels like forever.   It leaves me exhausted and contemplating my time.  Is this is?  Is this where I exit?  Is this where someone will walk in and find a collapsed elephant dressed in my clothes, on the floor?  I have asked myself that question quite a lot lately whilst begging to please let this not be my time.  “What will it take to make me change my ways?”   “Will changing my ways, change my ways?”  My cardiologist tells me if I did it different I would still have this faulty wiring that is now casting that shadow on my time.     So I have been sneakily putting of this surgery for a few years pretending it will go away.   Since the funeral I have not been a happy camper.  I have been sulking, hibernating and in denial.  Now it is time for me to get real and face reality and to be brave and make those decisions that will sadly not involve chocolate, lollies or any form of exercise.   Yippeeeee  on the exercise……

I clearly heard it, right out from the mouth of my grandchild.  I shall never forget it and will savour every announced word of that one beautiful clear sentence. We have Labrador.  She is a puppy but she is a huge puppy for a Labrador.  Brooke is a gorgeous, boisterous,  bouncing bundle all wrapped up  in one furry blonde  lump.  Roll on age 2 when this hyper puppy stage subsides and hopefully a less knock you over docile 4 legged pet will emerge.  I love her to pieces but she can be a handful.  So back to her size.  Brooke is not fat but just born a big boned girl.  Now if anyone said that about me then they had better be an Olympic runner.  Well, they might be safe as I would  have to also be an Olympic runner to catch them in order to rearrange something on them, so right now they are deemed safe.  Brooke is allowed to be big boned.  I am hoping those big bones will carry some fur babies down the breeding line but in the mean time she is big for 10 months old.  My grandchildren were watching her sitting on the deck.  When she sits her back legs slide matrix slowly apart as they slip on the smooth deck boards.  One minute you are looking at her sitting there and the next minute she is doing doggy splits.  Today she was sitting facing away from us and watching the glorious world from her prime Lion King position but her legs had already  spread into that wide unladylike position.  She looked butt HUGE.  Sorry my fur-girl but you did.  So much so that the grandchild had to pass a comment. “Nana look at Brookes big butt,” Grandchild announced.  “It is huge Nana.  She is fat aye Nana?”  “It’s just how she is sitting honey,” I replied trying to defend another females self esteem regardless of her species.  Grandys matter of fact response was simple “It’s okay Nana.  It’s bigger than yours.” ……….

I was returning my son to the airport with Grandchildren in tow.  The usual riding on his shoulders and trolley antics are had along with helping him to put his bag onto the conveyor belt that is far bigger than themselves plays out as usual on this monthly ritual.  Today the repetitive scenario is the same until it is time to ticket out.  Grandies have hugged their Uncle and he has disappeared behind the no go zone as we head down the elevator towards the machine that eats money.  There were a few people in front of me doing their coin exchange which in turn gives them  the right to leave beyond the car park arm bars.  Both Grandies are arguing over who would put the ticket in so I gave the ticket to Grandy 1 with instructions on which way to put it into the machine and promised the other that she could put the money in.   Both were happy as we got closer to their imminent task.  Rummaging through my handbag I was horrified to find I had left my wallet at home thus rendering me no money or eftpos card available to get us all out of jail.  Panic was starting to set in as my steps were getting me closer to the machine.  My handbag had 12 compartments so I was zipping swiftly through each one in an attempt to find some form of small change.  Just when I thought I would have to shame myself and ring family I found a beautiful looking red note.  $100 dollars tucked deep inside a deep side pocket.  Wow!!  How the heck did you get in there and more so how on earth did you stay hidden for so long without me not sniffing out your worth?  I didn’t have a chance to answer my thoughts when suddenly the girls were calling out that it was our turn.  Grandy 1 put the card in as ordered and Grandy 2 grabbed the $100 dollar note ready for her cue.   As the machine greedily took the ticket, it responded with instructions to put $6.00 into the other side.  I showed Grandy 2  where to carefully place the money only to have it equally sucked clean from her hand.  As soon as it told me I was receiving $94 back I showed Grandy where to put her hand to receive the $4 worth of coins and Nana would take the notes from up here.  I looked around just in case to check if there was anything of concern as after all, we were waiving a sizeable note, only to see that queque had grown quite long.  Instantaneously  the machine started to return the change.  Ching ching ching ching went the coins as they rolled into the little receiver.  Grandy 2 lifted the flap in excitement as she attempted to grab them to complete her job.  Ching ching ching ching ching ching ching ching ching ching ching  Oh my freaken gooosh they don’t stop coming. Panic! Panic! Panic!  Ching ching ching ching ching ching ching ching as the machine shoots out $2 coins in all directions.  It is now overflowing.  Coins are rolling along the ground as Grandy 2 can no longer contain them in her hands.  I’m stunned and disappear into a Matrix moment. Ching ching ching ching. They just keep coming and I am jolted back into reality  reminding myself, “Oh heck!”  I’ve just put a $100 note in there.  The Grandys are scrambling for Nanas “Winnings” as I sheepishly look behind me.  Not a pretty sight as agitated onlookers wonder what on earth is happening.  Suddenly the chinging stops and then $5.00 notes started pumping out from above.  Pump pump pump pump pump pump pump.  A new panic erupts within.  Pump pump pump pump pump.  I’m not sure whether the panic is from sheer embarrassment or fear I will lose some of the money in this chaos.   As quick as it all ching ching chings and pump pump pumps, it stops.  Laughter could be heard all around as the coins are now being gathered by amused onlookers and I am left to sheepishly take the notes.  There is absolutely no time to count my winnings as red is my new facial colour, a whole new level of shame overwhelms me and the person next in line is already hustling into my space for her turn……

So I come home from a long day out. I have bought my favourite fish Gurnard from my favourite fish shop and slowly eat it on route. I pull up in my driveway and sit and think, yes, I will finish this yummy treat before I even get out of the car. Looking out the window from my fatty, deep fried fish heaven, I see our cat Diesel is also on the driveway having lunch. His meal has 4 wriggling legs albeit now suddenly 2.  I break another portion of fish and eat it while I take another sideway look at Diesel.  I am contemplating his meal and the life of the poor baby mouse and whether it was a quick death or did he torture it with little tosses and flicks letting it think it may be able to eventually escape. The headless legs still wriggling defy those thoughts of a quick end and reassure the latter. I try to comfort my thoughts with maybe it’s that “thing” they talk about that it is just your body twitching.  Watching Diesel chew in complete satisfaction I  realise my facials are from another planet and then I also realise that we are chewing in unison. NOm Nom NOm. The comparison I am making of my fish meal with his mouse meal is fast loosing the battle of satisfaction.  I slowly pop another piece into my mouth, hoping to change my chewing pattern as I watch the remnants slowly disappear from the outside. That’s it I’ve had enough. The visions are getting awful and I declare the cat has won. Thanks Diesel. Here have the rest of my fish.  I am no longer hungry.

So I have Grandies with me and have just finished rugby training with their mum tonight. Two rounds of standing in the wind and rain to finally be tucked in the car to go home. Nana I’m busting are not the words I need to hear once I have left the rugby rooms. Since 1 is adamant she wants to spend her tooth money at the warehouse for a gift for her school friend I decide toilets at the warehouse will do. We stand outside the ladies for 5 minutes. No kidding. 5 minutes. I hear the toilet flush 3 times and look at Grandy 1. She is thinking the same as me. They doing a poo aye Nana. Yep those are poo flushes honey. So finally the door opens and out comes “someone” along with a whiff and she goes “ow sowwy it block” Funny how 2 Grandy and 1 Nana all roll eyes together without having to say a single word.   Reality quickly returns when another,  I’m busting Nana could be heard.  I know honey, we will have to use the mans toilet just DONT TOUCH ANYTHING.  In we reluctantly go to the man cave and there we face the white throne with broken seat and yellow wee all around the base. How could I do this to my Grandy but I force the heaving stomach movements back down and brave up a huge storm and assure them it will be okay but just let Nana lay down the V first.  The V we ladies all know is the toilet paper laid down on the seat so that nothing of ours touches nothing of yours.  I try to do a double layer since after all we are in a testosterone enclosure.  Have I locked the door properly Nana she asked and I look to see the red showing on the latch so nod a yes response.  I guide her to her royal paper trail and she promptly attempts her intentions.  Suddenly the door is opened and Grandy is horrified letting out small screams and the man apologizes at the same time Nana nearly jams his fingers in the door.  I’m sorry I say as I lock it properly and the poor busting victim sleeks away.  This makes Grandy on the throne take longer than it should while she tries to relax.  Grandy 2 is  totally amused by everything but assures me there is no way she needs to go. I’m pretty sure she is simply disgusted with the whole scene and vows to never pee anywhere again. She stands close to the wall while we wait for the noise of completion.  Suddenly another loud knock on the door happens and I promptly reply and in a very deep male voice “IM IN HERE”  Grandy 1 instantly cracks up on the toilet almost adding to the flow pile on the floor. Grandy 2 squeals with utter delight with Nana’s new man voice causing her to step back and rest against the wall to help steady her uncontrollable laughing.  Suddenly the hand dryer that she unknowingly stands under is activated and goes off with its warmth and loud roaring sound and she screams blue murder as she leaps away and into the yellow chaos, dunny girl screams because her sister is screaming and Nana has to immediately cross her legs because she is laughing so hard that she might make a new pile of her own.  If we have made it out of Yellowstone park without any nasty infections then I will be ever so grateful…….

some days naaa most days

“It” has been there overnight, unmoved and curled up in a black dormant state just under the roof moulding for 24 hours, near my side of the desk.  (I share this work space with my husband so take note, we have a long desk.  His side and my side).  It is tormenting me and all who know me, know it is a big deal to get rid of said creature.  I HATE spiders on any level whether it be a live one or one in a picture form inside a book.  Don’t even try and throw a toy one at me either.  When I go to the Facebook grapevine to catch up on local gossip and accidentally see a “what kind of spider is this? post, I’m taken instantly to a nervous wreck gotta change my pants state.  This morning I decide 24 hours is long enough and I have to be brave and remove this life changing species via my perfected  vacuum screaming dance.  This is where I must be gymnastically coordinated with the fly spray, the vacuum, the ladder and the spider.  I know from experience that I get one shot at it and normally of late I have it down to perfection.  Trust me if I get it wrong you DO NOT want to be in my house under any circumstances.  I must follow my self made 5 step programme.  1:  The vacuum bag must always be full so that when the spider hits the ‘bits’ it will be hurt real bad and be rendered critically ill and unable to scamper back up the hose.  Sometimes this requires me to have a quick vacuum to accumulate the supplies.  2:   The fly spray must be sprayed at high speed down the nozzle to back up the critically ill patient just in case.  3:  The scream must occur slightly prior to the “suck” and during the “spray” so that I cannot hear the noise of the “thud”.  When I anticipate the “thud”  I do my dance to control all the goose bumps  that are now running wild up and down my spine.  4:  Is still under perfection but it is knowing when to stop spraying so  that I don’t blow up my vacuum.   My niece, bless her,  videoed me behind my back one day doing the vacuum scream.  She now knows exactly how her Aunty is reduced to a pathetic whimpering shaking mess just to remove a dot on the wall.  So far she has not held this against me.  Finally 5 is plugging the hose hole for a few hours to back up 1,2,3 and 4 until I am sure beyond any reasonable doubt that it is dead and can be emptied into the bin outside.  I must admit this is not yet doable by me and it is still my husbands job.  It is his punishment for failing to kill spiders successfully over the years and letting them run loose in my home because he didn’t pop the life out of them when he had his one shot.  Now I control all fazes except lucky last. I look at the black culprit, from a good distance and decide I will do it when I get back from my trip to the gas station to grab some milk I have just run out of.  The milk trip will only take me 10 minutes so what’s another 10 minutes of denial right?  Once I am home I bravely go straight to the cupboard and drag  my trusty vacuum through the dining, through the lounge and around the corner and lay it down by the computer desk whilst I go and get the rest of the army requirements.  I give a quick look at what is about to give my vocal cords a workout only to stop dead in my tracks….  What’s worse than finding a big fat White tail spider above your computer?   Finding that after 24 hours of non movement, it has in 10 small minutes, vanished…. Completely….   Now my torment continues on a daily basis with every hair that tickles and every fluff that moves, while I sit at my desk in my permanent goose bump state, waiting……

I was working with hubby doing the bills.  A few arguments later and we are still sifting through accounts and expectations of who is doing what, when and where and then we start getting into the nitty gritty of matching clients with remaining dates available to do the work expected.  I’m on the computer giving my mouse pointer a fair work out while Andy stands and gives commands. For some reason the mouse will not cross over to the calendar and is getting me frustrated.  I have several pages open at once yet time after time I am slipping behind matching Hubbys commands because the pointer wont cross over to the dates.  Now you need to know my husband does not know how to turn a computer on nor how to operate one. He relies on mwah to do it all to which I am happy to do but tonight is getting me some serious looks of “What are you doing? and ummm even I can tell what is sooo wrong.” Finally my 11 o’clock brain has registered some interesting facts.. 1. Never do bills late at night.  2.  Never assume you know everything about your computer.  3.  Never hang a paper calendar above your computer and expect your mouse to leap out from the monitor, up the wall and land on it 🙁  …