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?

Walking off into the sunset

On Friday I walked off into the sunset. I left work behind and haven't looked back. It helps that first thing Saturday morning we jetted off to warmer climes and spent the weekend just chilling. I've been able to wean myself from my blackberry without any withdrawals. I'm so used to being on holiday and still checking my blackberry and sending emails, but this time it seems perfectly natural to be blackberry free.

It also seems as though work is a million miles away. It's not uncommon for me to dream about it, but since Friday I've slept like a log and can honestly say I haven't thought about it at all.

It's bliss.

Now it's time to get stuck into the post-work bucket list.

Nothing to wear

Why is it that my wardrobe can be technically bursting at the seams, but I never have anything to wear? Why do clothes that I want to wear just randomly disappear into thin air only to reappear two weeks later when I don't want to wear them?

I'm going to the theatre tonight and I just can't find anything to wear. Nothing looks any good. Nothing fits and nothing says 'night at the theatre with a gorgeous girlfriend'. All my dresses are either too dressy or not dressy enough. My pants remind me of work and who the heck knows where all my skirts are hiding? Even if I could find my skirts I can't think of what tops I might wear with them.

So I've added wardrobe organisation to my post-retirement bucket list. If I do manage to organise my wardrobe it will be a minor miracle. Keeping it organised will be a miracle so major that someone seeking sainthood really should consider claiming it as one of their three miracles.

If only I had the ability of a toddler to throw on any combination of items in their wardrobe and totally rock the look. Then I wouldn't have to throw toddler-esque tantrums about having nothing to wear.

Stopping to smell the roses

I've started to make my 'bucket list' of things I want to do during my 'retirement'. Things I never really find time to do now - or at least to do properly. Attending to my blogs is right up at the top of the list. As is reading and following other people's. I love reading about other people's adventures and thoughts and loves. It's a bit like reality television without the trash.

I often read about blogger's fatigue - where they've diligently blogged and shared daily for a long time but life is finally catching up with them and they need a break. They need to step back and reinvigorate themselves. Blogging has become a job in a sense (oh I can but dream).

I'm the same except in reverse. I'm dying to blog daily. Not that I flatter myself people will want to read my random rants and thoughts on a daily basis, but I want to write them all the same. Bring on blogger's fatigue!
ps how gorgeous are these roses? I walked to the shop the other day to get some bread rolls for lunch and walked away with all these roses ... and totally forgot the bread rolls! Oops!

Wanderlust: Falling through the cracks of the system

Wanderlust: Falling through the cracks of the system

When I started Puddleduck's Basket I very enthusiastically joined the blogging 'community' through Digital Parents and started following a whole heap of Mummy blogs. Typically, life was always just that little bit too crazy for me to consistently keep up and my following fell into abeyance.

As part of my new focus on the small things and taking time for myself, I've tried to rekindle my connection with these blogs - some of them are inspiring, some are hilarious and some are humbling.

Some, like Wanderlust, are beyond words. Read this post from Kristin. Read more too if you have time, but if you don't, please just read this one. Her strength is beyond description.

Growing up

When did my little girl get so big? I know they say the first year of a child's life is where you see the biggest changes, but honestly the closer my little duck creeps to three I'm blown away by how much she's grown and changed.

And it kills me that I'm not spending every single day with her while she grows and changes and more and more personality reveals itself. Instead, we tend to pas her by - racing to get ready for work in the morning and dying to relax and wind down in the evenings.

Weekends are a little bit different, but she still gets dragged along to what we want to do rather than having two days devoted to her wants and needs and general fun-having. Not that I don't think she doesn't have a great time tagging along, but when do we ever stop and just go with her flow?
So I've decided to take some time off. Become a kindy mum and wife. Maybe even a domestic goddess-in-training (okay, okay I'm dreaming there). It's a huge wrench and change, but at the same time I can't begin to describe how much lighter I feel at the thought. I know it's the right thing for our little family. I simply can't wait.

I've always said I'm not cut out to be a stay at home Mum, but all of a sudden I feel ready to try. Wish me luck!

Little people

Not that I often get the time for reflection, but when I do it is generally when I am struck by the sheer joy and abandon toddlers are capable of. I mean they throw their entire self at everything they do. We're renovating at the moment and Puddleduck has embraced it with her usual enthusiasm.

Even when the job is something as boring as unscrewing tables and shelves from walls she loves it. We spent the afternoon last Saturday unscrewing while she sang songs about her new house and her new tools and how Daddy goes 'bang bang bang' on the walls.

I think we're going to need all this gorgeous enthusiasm to get us through the project. I'd also like to borrow some of this for the rest of my life. To be able to embrace new things, boring things and challenging things with the 'full steam ahead' approach of a toddler would be a wonderful gift.

Renovation Rescue

This is our new front door. Pretty cool, huh? It's ludicrously heavy and hard to open and the key to it looks like it comes from a different century but it's all ours. Well, partly ours and mostly the bank's. But let's call it ours for now.

The Puddleduck family are getting ready for a renovation project. Something I've always secretly hankered for (Mr Puddleduck can confirm my desperate desire to create 'projects' in other houses). Mr Puddleduck does not share my general excitement about projects. Yet he fell just as much in love with this place and its potential as I did - in fact, possibly more so in the beginning. The result? Something first time renovators probably should run screaming away from.

The front door does look ok. Now for the rest of it ...

This is currently the home of the third bedroom and the only bathroom in the house. We're turning it into the kitchen. It's attached to the large open plan living space upstairs and opens onto the upstairs courtyard (*makes note to call it roof terrace so as to sound fancier*).

This is Puddleduck in what will become her bedroom. It's currently a massive room at the front of the house that we'll split in two. It will adjoin the downstairs living area and the internal courtyard.

Do I sound suitably casual writing all of this? I'm trying hard. I mean the more I say or write it the less daunting it will become, right?

Enormous thanks to my talented and visionary friend Ms M for helping us get our heads around how to make the most of such a quirky and exciting space! Had we been left to our own devices who knows what we would have ended up with.

Good heavens I have overused the word 'space' in this post. I apologise and blame new found addiction to interiors mags.

Killer heels

I'm not sure whether to blame it on motherhood to an active toddler or plain old middle age creeping up (GAH), but I have become a firmly entrenched wearer of flats. No more killer heels for me - I barely even pretend to make the effort these days even on 'business suit' days at work. I'm not sure if I should be ashamed of this or proud that my 30s are proving to be the decade of the ballet flat.

I'm not even sure when this descent began. I think it can be attributed to a horribly undignified toppling over in the corridors of power when I was about 6 months pregnant. One of those moments I'd genuinely prefer to forget but suspect I will remember forever. I like to pretend noone saw.

Just like noone saw me when I fell over dashing through the gravel carpark at a great friend's wedding trying to get to the ceremony before her. I blame the shoes - the gorgeous nude patent pumps with an 11cm heel that look so gosh darn pretty in the cupboard. Less so waving in the air while I try to pick myself up off the ground ...

These shoes are now Puddleduck's favourite dress up shoes. She totters around with the skill and dexterity I maintain I used to have. I mean I genuinely remember running across regional airport tarmacs in 5 inch heels in absolutely no danger of landing on my backside. Not these days. Sigh.

No, these days I prefer the sweet and humble ballet flat. Perhaps it's a throw-back to my ballet days, but I really have developed quite a thing for them. I mean they really do go with almost everything and a good pair will make you feel like you're walking on air - yellow Bloch flats I am looking at you.

In some ways it's like cheating. I get all the comfort and practicalit yof a pair of Kumfs or Diana Ferrari Supersofts without the daggy Grandma factor. Yes Mum, Supersofts are daggy. But you can get away with them because you're a Grandma :)

I currently have my eyes on these. With free shipping for international orders over 75 pounds I really should get a few pairs ...

Random reflections

I was in Parliament House today. A building I worked in for nearly 7 years but which still keeps revealing secrets. It turns out that the building was deliberately designed to have no mirrors at all – apart from the bathrooms (and subsequently the pass office where people can do a quick check before having their photo taken). This was because the designer felt that the building should be without vanity.

Now of course anyone who knows Parliament knows it is hardly a building full of people without vanity, but it got me thinking about the different types of vanity and how they manifest, even if there are no mirrors at hand for gazing.

There’s the obvious physical vanity – primping and preening and obsessive glances at oneself in any surface that might be even slightly reflective. But what about other types of vanity? Like the arrogance to think that you have the right to meddle in other people’s business. To interfere in their lives and try to dictate their actions.

Is that vanity? Or just supreme arrogance?

If it’s arrogance, I suppose the next question is what part of the assumption that you have the right to meddle is vain – the assumption itself or the expectation that you will get your way simply because you want it? In my view it’s the latter. We all meddle – whether we admit it or not. We all offer opinions on other’s actions. We all think we know best. I think for me the tipping point to vanity is when you actually expect someone to jump to your command. To bow to your infinite wisdom - wisdom being all the more infinite for your utter lack of experience and perspective of the situation being faced by the other person.

What do you think? Is this vanity? What other forms of vanity are there?

Jolly Holiday

What is it about holidays that make you want to skip everywhere? Why is it that normally you'd kill not to have to get out of bed at 6:30 in the morning but on holidays you wouldn't dream of missing the dawn-y gorgeousness of 6:30am?

Our little Puddleduck family has just been away for a few days and it was quite disappointing to have to get back on the plane to reality yesterday.

Puddleduck is a teensy bit obsessed with Mary Poppins at the moment and the entire trip had the Mary Poppins soundtrack as backing. I still have Jolly Holiday in my head - talk about wishful thinking! Where is Mary Poppins when you need her?

Beach bliss

There's something ridiculously cathartic about the beach. I'm not sure if it is the salt air, the waves, the sand or a combination of all three, but somehow it heals and soothes. Whether it's cold or hot, sunny or overcast I can almost literally feel my troubles melting away when I'm at the beach.

I started this post over a week ago and since then we've not only been to the beach but also on a mini-break. Now THAT'S cathartic. Even taking into account flying with a toddler!

One of those weeks

I'm having one of those weeks. I've got a million and one things to get done - both at work and at home - and so far all I seem to have done is add to the list, not take anything off it. Worse still, I haven't even been having fun procrastinating! I mean if I'd spent the week pinning I probably wouldn't mind so much.

Sigh.

I have tried. But the more work I plough through the more I seem to create. And the more I create the less motivated I get. It's a vicious circle really.

Sigh.

I wonder if shopping would help?


PS yes I know *technically* blogging may be considered procrastination ... I prefer to look at it as a motivation-recovery tool ... Don't argue.

My new obsession

I'm a teensy weensy bit addicted to Pinterest. I get almost giddy with delight at the thought of logging on at night and spending a few hours browing through the gorgeous and inspiring pins.

It's more restful than Facebook and requires less thought and care than blogging. Plus it's all about simply beautiful things.

Bliss.