Who am I?

Okay, okay - feeling a lot less grumpy today - not much has changed as such, but I guess it's not 3am, the time when all problems band together, drink a few quadruple espressos and hiss at you.

I'm sitting here at the kitchen table threatening the children. It's homework time and they're just not in the mood. Hard to blame them. And for some reason they're not quite believing me when I say I will sell them if they don't shush.

And why this luxury, this blogging in the middle of the day?

Because the baby is in jail.

Mr Oub, as he does, got a notion in his head. And decisive, as I dithered, he set up the monstrously huge playpen (aka Babyjail) in our already crowded kitchen. I was all bitter, get it out of my beautiful kitchen like. But then we were all overcome... a bit like when you live beside a motorway and have gotten used to the traffic noise, but then you move and it's all quiet. It was odd. Strange. Baby Oub likes her cage. She shut up for once in her short screechy life. Whatever the bars are saying to her, she likes what she hears. We don't know quite what to do with ourselves. Other than prepare for a possible incarcerated future for our youngest child.

I'm an innocent mon!

So, I sat down to do a bit o' blogging. Horror of horrors, I am discovering that I have misplaced the funny. This post is just not going to get any more rib tickling than this. I dunno. Maybe it is possible to run out of your sense of humour - I may be dour forever mour. Not a great loss to the world of comedy perhaps.

But in the spirit of making people laugh, and it being my birthday week, here are a few old IDs I found recently as Mr Oub and I tried to clean out the study (once again). The study is our little landfill. Feck it in and shut the door. Methane is produced there. Hmm. Okay, maybe that was the kids.

Anyway, Here are some classics.

Mr Oub likes this one. He was getting a little lechy. I was not best pleased. I was all jealous of my previous self and like no, you will not find yourself a time machine and go back and cheat on me with my younger self. Or something...

I remember that beige cardigan. Crazy student me...

And this one is a classic. My journalism class had oh so wisely decided to go out on the batter the night before our pictures were to be taken. I look so rough on this id you could probably use it as sandpaper.

UUrghgghhhhhhh

And here, for no reason at all, is a picture of a trio of swans I made at pottery class last night. Quite.

 

Byes :)

Who am I?

Okay, okay - feeling a lot less grumpy today - not much has changed as such, but I guess it's not 3am, the time when all problems band together, drink a few quadruple espressos and hiss at you.

I'm sitting here at the kitchen table threatening the children. It's homework time and they're just not in the mood. Hard to blame them. And for some reason they're not quite believing me when I say I will sell them if they don't shush.

And why this luxury, this blogging in the middle of the day?

Because the baby is in jail.

Mr Oub, as he does, got a notion in his head. And decisive, as I dithered, he set up the monstrously huge playpen (aka Babyjail) in our already crowded kitchen. I was all bitter, get it out of my beautiful kitchen like. But then we were all overcome... a bit like when you live beside a motorway and have gotten used to the traffic noise, but then you move and it's all quiet. It was odd. Strange. Baby Oub likes her cage. She shut up for once in her short screechy life. Whatever the bars are saying to her, she likes what she hears. We don't know quite what to do with ourselves. Other than prepare for a possible incarcerated future for our youngest child.

I'm an innocent mon!

So, I sat down to do a bit o' blogging. Horror of horrors, I am discovering that I have misplaced the funny. This post is just not going to get any more rib tickling than this. I dunno. Maybe it is possible to run out of your sense of humour - I may be dour forever mour. Not a great loss to the world of comedy perhaps.

But in the spirit of making people laugh, and it being my birthday week, here are a few old IDs I found recently as Mr Oub and I tried to clean out the study (once again). The study is our little landfill. Feck it in and shut the door. Methane is produced there. Hmm. Okay, maybe that was the kids.

Anyway, Here are some classics.

Mr Oub likes this one. He was getting a little lechy. I was not best pleased. I was all jealous of my previous self and like no, you will not find yourself a time machine and go back and cheat on me with my younger self. Or something...

I remember that beige cardigan. Crazy student me...

And this one is a classic. My journalism class had oh so wisely decided to go out on the batter the night before our pictures were to be taken. I look so rough on this id you could probably use it as sandpaper.

UUrghgghhhhhhh

And here, for no reason at all, is a picture of a trio of swans I made at pottery class last night. Quite.

 

Byes :)

Hmmm...

It's nearly three am. There really isn't any point blogging now, cause there's no one around to read it. By the time morning rolls around, this post will most likely have quietly slipped down the blogrolls of the blogosphere, gently tripping off to binary purgatory unnoticed.

And that's ok.

I'm in a little bit of a grump.

Why?

Ah, hard to say... I think I feel that life is in a bit of a transitory phase at the moment. Things are changing. Evolving - will it emerge from it's chrysalis a butterfly or a moth?

Is it that it's my birthday next week? Just shy of the dreaded 4-0. I don't think it's possible I'll be 40 next year. I'm actually17 you know. Have been for years. But at forty,  if you're average, life is half over. Jaysus. A bit scary. I need to get a move on. Achieve! Don't I?

Or is it that my 20 year school reunion is on tonight and I'm not going? Couldn't work up the enthusiasm to see a bunch of girls I haven't been arsed to see in twenty years - just cause it's been twenty years since I saw them last...

Or is it that we're looking at secondary schools for the eldest Oub child and suddenly it doesn't feel like playing anymore? Yikes, this is an actual person we have to guide and grow. Where has the cute toddler who said funny things gone? He was far easier than this real, growing, creature who we might fuck up. The responsibility.

And then there is my lovely aunt whom I am very very close to. She is into hospital for open heart surgery on Wednesday. It's bloody scary. And I'm not so much worried that she won't come through it all - she has the best doctors - it's more her having to go through this awful time at all. The fact that she is getting old.  It's also seeing the same with my parents. Does one start counting how many years you have left with them?

And when and where and how do you balance these concerns with the reality that there isn't much you can do? That life is life and it'll have it's wicked way with you one way or the other.

(It may come as no surprise to you all that it was just my philosophy course marks that dragged down my over all finals results, leaving me with a 2.2, not a 2.1. Bitter, moi? )

But enough.

It's now half past three and the baba has decided to wake up and she's yelling.

Not much to be said about that.

I'll be tired in the morning, but maybe I'll have left the grump behind.

Hmmm...

It's nearly three am. There really isn't any point blogging now, cause there's no one around to read it. By the time morning rolls around, this post will most likely have quietly slipped down the blogrolls of the blogosphere, gently tripping off to binary purgatory unnoticed.

And that's ok.

I'm in a little bit of a grump.

Why?

Ah, hard to say... I think I feel that life is in a bit of a transitory phase at the moment. Things are changing. Evolving - will it emerge from it's chrysalis a butterfly or a moth?

Is it that it's my birthday next week? Just shy of the dreaded 4-0. I don't think it's possible I'll be 40 next year. I'm actually17 you know. Have been for years. But at forty,  if you're average, life is half over. Jaysus. A bit scary. I need to get a move on. Achieve! Don't I?

Or is it that my 20 year school reunion is on tonight and I'm not going? Couldn't work up the enthusiasm to see a bunch of girls I haven't been arsed to see in twenty years - just cause it's been twenty years since I saw them last...

Or is it that we're looking at secondary schools for the eldest Oub child and suddenly it doesn't feel like playing anymore? Yikes, this is an actual person we have to guide and grow. Where has the cute toddler who said funny things gone? He was far easier than this real, growing, creature who we might fuck up. The responsibility.

And then there is my lovely aunt whom I am very very close to. She is into hospital for open heart surgery on Wednesday. It's bloody scary. And I'm not so much worried that she won't come through it all - she has the best doctors - it's more her having to go through this awful time at all. The fact that she is getting old.  It's also seeing the same with my parents. Does one start counting how many years you have left with them?

And when and where and how do you balance these concerns with the reality that there isn't much you can do? That life is life and it'll have it's wicked way with you one way or the other.

(It may come as no surprise to you all that it was just my philosophy course marks that dragged down my over all finals results, leaving me with a 2.2, not a 2.1. Bitter, moi? )

But enough.

It's now half past three and the baba has decided to wake up and she's yelling.

Not much to be said about that.

I'll be tired in the morning, but maybe I'll have left the grump behind.