Mummy needs a drink

Phew. It's been an eventful few weeks. Leaving aside the renovation and Christmas, we've had doggie dental surgery, house inspections, landlords announcing a return to Australia and pre-school decisions to be made.

This last week has been a particular rollercoaster with a surprise house inspection, the first progress payment for the renovation, and our eldest dog needing six teeth removed.

Surprise inspection I hear you ask? The agent promises they wrote to us about it weeks ago, but we didn't get the letter. Suffice to say the 'courtesy' reminder call half an hour before they turned up sent us into a spin. Especially given Mr Puddleduck was at work and Puddleduck and I were having lunch with a gorgeous little man and his Mummy. Why the spin? Because our dogs aren't official. I know, I know. Serves us right.

Had I not been smack bang in the middle of it I suspect it would have been an hilarious episode of slapstick. Mr Puddleduck leaping out of a taxi and crossing the lounge room in a single bound whilst grabbing leads and throwing dog food and bowls into a container to be hidden upstairs under beds and behind shoes in cupboards. Then, just as Puddleduck and I zoomed up in the car he sprinted out of the front door with three uber-excited cocker spaniels hyped up out of their minds at the thought of a middle of the day walk.

I then scooped up any further evidence of dogs (photos, hair, treats etc) while simultaneously bribing Puddleduck with the 'biggest treat in the world' if she promised solemnly not to mention puppies AT ALL. I soon realised asking a 3yo not to mention something was akin to asking Basil Fawlty to not mention the war, so I changed tack. Something along the lines of 'don't talk to the ladies coming to the house soon because they are very naughty and Mummy doesn't like them at all' ... I know, I know. She'll be in therapy for years.

Inspection over we waited for the hammer to fall. I was ready with the story of my friend in throes of a 40 hour labour and with noone else to care for her dogs. I was ready to deny all existence of dogs. What came next was an utter surprise. Our landlords have been transferred back to Australia as of March next year. Our agent was most apologetic and seemed as surprised as us. March is better than next week - but gosh it's going to be a close run thing with the new place.

I need a drink.

Operation wardrobe

So I mentioned my wardrobe clean out. THE wardrobe clean out. The great wardrobe clean out of 2011. No small task. Dozens of bags later and I finally had some space to hang things in my cupboard again. So, logic dictated I should actually, you know, hang things.

Now I realise that isn't much of a leap for most people, let alone for people blessed with some level of organisational ability. However, for as long as I have been in charge of my own wardrobe my clothes have tended to live anywhere but the cupboard. The floor, a chair, the desk, another part of the floor ... you get the idea. So committing to hanging clothes in the cupboard and creating some semblance of order within said cupboard is no mean feat in my world.

Because I am not a sadist, I've long since outsourced the ironing of my clothes. Given they all come back from the ironing man beautifully hung and crease free you'd think it wouldn't be much of a stretch for me to neatly arrange them in the cupboard. However, my post-ironing hanging is patchy at best.

So task one was getting rid of all the horrible wire hangers and transferring everything to wooden hangers. And, you know, taking all the clothes out of their ironing plastic. I tackled my coats and jackets first. As it's coming into summer I relegated them to the top of the cupboard. Didn't that sound organised? So much more so than "this whole project already seemed like a stupid idea and as they were all already hanging and the smallest single category of item in my wardrobe I started with my coats and jackets so that at least I could pretend to have made significant progress when Mr Puddleduck got home to discover my wardrobe all over the bed" don't you think?

Anyway, I pressed on and here are the results. Coats and jackets all safely tucked up the top and dresses, tops, skirts and pants down the bottom.

I made an attempt to order into categories and then from dark to light within those categories. I don't suspect that orderliness will last too long, but hey, it's the thought that counts, right?

Afterwards, I treated myself to a trip to the ironing man to return the eighty billion wire hangers and to hand him another pile of clothes. It's like my clothes breed. I swear I don't know where they all come from.

Oops

So I was planning on blogging every day. Oops. I haven't even come close. I can, however, plead an enormous (ok, enormous for me) level of productivity in other areas of my life.

Our current house is in the midst of a massive spring clean. I've been brutal with both my wardrobe and Puddleduck's wardrobe. Mine almost fits in the cupboard all at once. That's about the first time it has since I was Puddleduck's age. Puddleduck's doesn't all fit, but it does seem to all fit when I throw in a 'putting away' basket and the washing basket, so at least there is some potential for 'neatness' in her room.

Which brings me to another pending achievement ... Puddleduck has started sleeping in her own room. All night. I'm not yet ready to declare victory, but it's progress in the right direction. It was one of those things on my post-retirement parenting list to attend to. I'm not opposed to co-sleeping at all, but I was starting to feel it was time for Puddleduck to at least spend some time in her own room. I was going to put my foot down when we moved into our new place and she had a room of her own as opposed to just a landing off our room, but she actually instigated the move herself so I wasn't going to knock a gift horse. One of the little girls at kindy told us the other day that her Mummy and Daddy promised her a little sister if she slept in her own room. I'm hoping Puddleduck doesn't have any ideas along these lines.

Bizarrely, her newfound enthusiasm for her own room came after the dummy fairy visited and took all her dummies. Another thing ticked off my post-retirement parenting list. The dummy had been driving me bonkers for quite a while, but I had never had the time I expected it to take to properly wean her. As it happens, it didn't take long at all when we threw in the bribe of glass slippers and a crown.

Puddleduck has also managed to nail the whole toilet thing. Surprise surprise, this was another thing on my list. Coincidentally, she nailed it after I finished work so I'm claiming it as an achievement even if I didn't actually do anything to help it. She just decided it was time. Sweet.

So really, even though I haven't been blogging, I think I can claim I've been productive enough to justify the blog slackness. And now I have all those things ticked off my list I can concentrate on blogging, can't I?

Time flies

Honestly where does time go? It disappears like a flash when you're working hard, it disappears like a flash when you're having fun and it positively whizzes by when you've got a 'big girl' to race around after.

Our little Puddleduck has turned three. I'm not sure how it's possible but she seemed bigger and older from the moment she woke up that morning. As always she was full of attitude with an answer for everything and firing a million questions from the very second her eyes opened - actually, she often starts with the questions before her eyes open. But there was something different too. I can't put my finger on it, but it was there nonetheless.

We had a gorgeous family day at the zoo and the beach and we all collapsed in a happy, exhausted heap when we got home.

I can't wait for the next year with my big girl.

Things I've learnt this week

I've learnt that it's not just work that brings out the inner procrastinator in me. I can, and will, procrastinate about anything given the chance. This includes - but is in no way limited to - washing up, putting away, exercising (actually that's not a big surprise), shopping for specific things and, of course, cleaning. I am, however, turning into a little bit of a list-maker. Well, lists in my head anyway. So far I'm still too busy procrastinating to put them on paper.

I've also discovered I have an alarming addiction to buying flowers. In fact there's a very real risk that if I don't get my own garden soon I may have to start frying the old bunches up and serving them for dinner as I won't be able to afford groceries. That and the fact I keep forgetting what I went shopping for the second I clap eyes on the flowers. Ooops.

Budget

I'm doing up a budget. Well, at least I'm attempting to track our spending for a month or so to see where our money actually goes. Aside from into Puddleduck's tutu collection. It's such a depressing thought I can barely bring myself to do it. I figure some cool software might just help me over the line and towards cold hard figures onto a spreadsheet. Does anyone have any recommendations?

Or should I just keep my head in the sand and ensure I can keep sleeping well at night?

First day

Today is my first day as a lady of leisure. I'm just a teensy bit excited. Actually, I'm so excited I can hardly sit still. Which really isn't conducive to my plan to lie on the couch all day and read books in peace.

So I'm making a list of things I now have the time to do properly.

I can finally go through all my food magazines and pull out recipes that seem yummy (and achievable given I'm only a domestic goddess in training). I can even file and index them if the mood takes me (unlikely). Better yet I can meal plan. I'm told this is essential to becoming a fully fledged domestic goddess.

I can go to IKEA and buy jars and other random things I never get time to look at and find uses for. I am sure I have all sorts of things that will look lovely in jars.

I can attempt to create some semblance of order in the attic. That's if I can actually get past the stairs without a giant pile of books and clothes and toys falling on me and burying me forever.

I can sort my wardrobe out. Get rid of things that I haven't worn for ten years and the things that no longer do up without a seam bursting. I can colour code and hang in categories. Actually, first things first - I can take great big piles of clothes to the ironing man. Then maybe I can tackle sorting and hanging.

I feel so virtuous planning to do all these things. And surely planning is almost as good as doing them? So it doesn't really matter that I have spent my entire first morning drinking coffee and wandering around Surry Hills, does it?