McVodka Anyone?

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Happy days! My 15 year old has developed the “I don’t care” line of attack to a fine art! Refusing to do any work – being nasty to everyone. Just so you know …… I got myself knocked up, have made nothing of my life and am only ever going to have a dead end job. That’s why we never have any money. I’m glad someone worked it out – I’ve been scratching my head about my crappy life for years!!!

In fact, no government is ever tell him what bits of paper he needs to succeed (NCEA). He doesn’t have a back up a plan (whatever that means) and no amount of talking to him will change this! Even better is this rapper poet (that’s an oxy moron) he goes on about ! Google George the Poet (Stuff him and his poetry bless his rapping cotton socks) is Alex’ new hero! O

In response to being told that certain privileges may be withdrawn, he preempted the situation bydisconnecting his gaming machine, bringing his TV et all and depositing it with a grand gesture! This created the required result with his father, who yelled! Alex also threw all his clothing in the corridor after I asked him to tidy his room! I suppose I never said how I wanted this task to be completed!

I may set the TV up in the living room and have a McVodka!





My Kitchen Hell

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My Kitchen Hell
Jamie Oliver can shove his 15 minute meals up his backside!!! I blame him and his smug anyone can cook face! 15 minutes my arse! I started cooking at 4.45 pm, we sat down at 6.15 pm. Things started well, I bish bosh bashed the chicken. I put the oven on grill …….. And popped the chicken in. I set about the rest of this “quick easy meal” innit!

Things smelt smashin’. I was feeling confident! Then I looked in the oven…… Bugger it I’d nearly set the oven on fire….. Took chicken out …. It looked a bit dehydrated. My dear friend laughed! I laughed it off! Jamie Oliver meanwhile continued to smirk at me from the cover of his book 30 Minute meals!

I lurched from disaster to crisis…… Comment was made “you make cooking look so hard!” It is hard bugger it! It is! You forget I was raised with household staff – cooking was a batch of biscuits with my dear Aunty, or mince pies at Christmas (for tradition’s sakes)!

I tried to confident as I put my pre-made, commercially packaged naan in the oven. I continued trying to slice his bladdy cucumbers into nice delicate ribbons …… Time marched on regardless! My tongue was firmly out as I concentrated!!!!

Smoke signals emitted from my thermo-nuclear heated oven! The naan was crispy black! He dinnt tell me to turn the bladdy oven down innit! Dutifully removed, burning thumb, I threw these into the sink! My friend laughed like Billy-Oh! The smoke detectors sang; as usual my family ignored them! I tried to rescue the bladdy naan. I started to pick the unburnt bits from the base …… Leann suggested I cut the burnt bit off – this I did slicing my thumb …… She meanwhile disconnected the smoke alarm. Then took over while I had a little cry! I finished putting it all together – my whizzy stick thing is broken, so I whisked with a fork!

I plated it up on a nice platter, dropping the bits and bobs from a height! I realised I’d forgotten them cashews ….. So I bashed em with my rolling pin and open the pack in my own clumsy way …… Cashews exploded over the table!

Start to finish 1hr 30 minutes! Jamie is still smiling at me from his book cover …… I’d like to grill him right now and bish bash bosh his smile orf his face!

Comment from the table: “I’d love it mum if I could cut the chicken!” “The naan is a bit crispy” ………
Stay tuned for my new cooking show “My Kitchen Hell!”

PS: the pudding is undercooked!


Shite …..l the storm before the calm

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Today was a Total Waste of Make Up – well it would have been if I’d bothered to put any on! Why you ask? Well after a few weeks of shite, and yes shite with an “e” (sounds classier eh?), today was, well shite! It started out shite on Sunday when I got a text from “her” bemoaning the behaviour of one of my children – what’s new pussycat I wanted to yell back in CAPS LOCK! But I didn’t. I abandoned my post at a friends open home and rushed helter skelter to son’s flat only to be told to go forth and multiply as he did not need my shite! This came after I heard him yelling at his beloved that she had split his eye open when she punched him. “It’s pissing with blood” he yelled! Motherly instinct kicked in and I ran to protect my baby. I finally made my way into his dingy flat …… He threatened to kick me in the stomach, push me down stairs. I stood there whilst he called me a fucking whore, a bitch and blamed me for everything that is wrong in his life. I stood there whilst he told me he wished I’d fucking died when he was 15 (2011 quake in Christchurch) . I cringed as I remembered saying the same thing to my mother, not long after my father’s death in 1987. Granted he has had a bad 12 months – ironically the worst 12 months of my life. I stood at the top of the stairs wanting to hug my baby boy – but he was gone, my blonde blue baby was gone. In his place is an angry young man who blames me for all the wrongs in his life. Sure I’ve made mistakes, I might not have been the greatest parent but he was loved, greatly loved and still is. It’s hard to hug a boy surrounded with barbed wire. Mind you I’d have to get through the locked door first, then I’d need to hug him until the hurt unlocked too. I just stood there and when the sobbing stopped I reached out through the door with words “I love you and I know you are angry.” I left with his dog – terrified at the commotion. I hate sitting by and watching his young life implode. It is one thing after another – got in with a bad crowd, started drinking for sure, drugs maybe the synthetics, left school, left home because I was too restrictive. I’d tried so hard. I agreed to pick him from parties at 2.30; I’d get there and he’d not want to leave. He’d get violent and abusive. I allowed the girlfriend to stay over – she claimed I hated her…….. They moved out into a one room flat – disaster! He lost his job – again drinking, mouthing off at the boss, being cocky. He borrowed $800 in 2012 for Xmas promising to give it back. The chip on his shoulder grew and grew.

By Sept 2013 he was back home, car broken down, angry as hornet. The girl moved in too ….. But got the pip because I wanted help with the housework whilst she surfed the channels, so moved back out. Things were tense – he argued that black was whit, left was right. Whatever we did it was wrong. He ended up assaulting me and putting a hole in the wall. The police were called, I left in an ambulance. He turned himself in to the police. He was arrested and charged, spent the night in a cell.

Shite ruled ….. My mother was angry with us. He was angry with us…… To cut a long story short – he spent a week with my mother and then moved into another flat with the girlfriend and two others. Of course we stumped up the cash again. This was a mess ……. By week two one of the flat mates moved out in a rage after pranks went wrong! I bought them a fridge ……

Girlfriend’s brother moved in rent free and after a night of heavy drinking and drugs resulted in my receiving a phone call at 3am to say my son was in hospital, badly beaten up and to prepare myself for a shock. I finally discovered that the brother beat my son to a pulp and the stabbed himself. It was a shit feat. Michael was suffering severely from concussion, and this with the regular drinking resulted in further aggression.
They lurched from crisis to crisis, this addicted our family very negatively. We were at our wits end as parents and about to implode. After a very stressful period of trying to keep him out of prison, spying a fortune in lawyers fees he was discharged without conviction, with an order to pay $400 to women’s refuge. Which we paid! Another flat, another deposit and another phone call – his car had been impounded.

That was months ago …… At the end of August they both moved home with the intention of staying together (or at least he did). Once again, his father and brother helped him move. She told him it was over ….. He was angry but resolved. We supported him and helped him move into his new flat. He got a new job, is back concreting, but with the support of his normal flat mates, who drink in moderation, take turns in cooking and share the chores. He is pleasant, communicative and funny. He has not run out of money, he gets to work on time, and best of all is socialising with old friends from school, paying his debts and has met a lovely girl. It’s not all roses, there are moments of his former angry self but it’s gone from daily to maybe once a month. I’m so proud of him and so glad that the other destructive relationship is gone!

Spatchcock anyone?

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I was on Facebook this morning. The place it go to boost my self esteem (I look at my vast friends list and feel popular)! A dear friend from my school days was bemoaning her epic fail in roasting spatchcock in her flash new combo oven. Feeling sorry for myself as I don’t have a combination oven i went to my lowly kitchen (sans aforementioned combo oven, sans a good cook too – but that’s another story) to make a coffee. Being a responsible mother I glanced into teenage sons bedroom to see if “it lived” and saw the site of a terrible massacre.

We recently acquired a kitten, part Maine Coone, with a bag of dog food at the pet store (but that’s another story). I think, fits in the family well – it’s as mad as a March Hare. We also have an older ginger tom. They hate each other, As hiss and roar at each other often – as all good siblings do…….. Chicken ( as known as Count Nickolai) gave Alex a gift….. a small gift; a small fledging. Around 6.00 am I heard some furious jingling (his “effective” bird collar). I thought he was playing with his toy de jour (socks) and snored on gracefully.

I have never seen so many feathers…… tiny, wee fluffy baby bird feathers in abundance ….. there’s no feather famine here. Alex groggily awoke to my gasp of horror and looked around the crime scene. There was much laughter as the perpetrator sat by the bedroom door looking proud of his achievement. He had left his “token of love” at the foot of Alex’s bed, but the feathers he had spread not unlike a bed of rose petals leading to the room of his beloved. The jingling made more sense now. Alex exclaimed that he too had heard the furious early morning jingling, but thought it too was a sock being tossed happily the air. Nay, Nay said the Chicken it was my token of love.

Traumatised I made a coffee and went back to bed, it’s Sunday and people in moon boots don’t operate vacuum cleaners any day, let alone on the sabbath. I issued instructions to the boy to clean up.

“Mum” he yelled from his room “I think he wants me to roast it – it’s plucked bare.”

“Spatchcock anyone?” I asked to dulcet tones of the vacuum cleaner and the boy bemoaning “there’s even feather’s in my wallet!”


Extreme Parenting – Hostage Crisis in small town New Zealand

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This week there was a hostage crisis in small town New Zealand. There were no armed offenders squads, cops or negotiators to be found. Stealthily like an over weight ninja I awoke at Dawn’s crack ( which not pretty if you knew my friend Dawn ….. Err soon to be ex friend! ) With all the stealth I could muster , followed by one white Bichon (suffering from a paranoid delusion of abandonment) and a schizophrenic kitten that thinks it is dog we captured the tv remotes and most criminal of all were the play station controllers. With steely reserved I kept my beeearch face on until they did their chores ….. Huge list really:

Open Curtains:   Accompanied to the dirge, “why it’s not fair” credited to the famed composer Idontgiveashitzie

Make Bed:    Accompanied by Heavy Metal band “I’m only gonna sleep it agaaaaaain tonight”, release of album “But mum…..” Expected in the new year.

Pick up and put clothing in the appropriate place: this is an operatic piece.  “Do as you are told.” (Falsetto from stage left); Alex’ baritone from stage right “get off my case get off case get off it!” Brandon (Soprano) “I’m not touching his undies I’m only doing mine. Don Charlivani’s “Do as your mother says” reverberates through corridor.

Mum sings in falsetto: ” Just do it, do it and your beloved shall be yours. Yours alone yours alone!

Victory is mine!  Ninja mums rule. Hostages released – crisis averted.


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So describing me right now…,,

Tears, tantrums and Lorazepam

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This is it, the blog I’ve been threatening to write in one way or another for years! This week there have been tears, tantrums and lorazepam in this house and I’m proud to say I am responsible for all of them.  As you know the world revolves around me. After all I am the “giver of life” well actually money. I am the life source, font of all funding and am answerable only to him above (and I don’t mean Him, but him, the pilot)! Actually, I’m not really answerable to him, but I like to let him think so and that keeps me one step ahead of the bastards!

Tears: I don’t like housework. I like it even less when bathrooms, teenagers, wet towels and tiny short curly hairs are involved.  The tears were all mine, first of horror at the state of the bathroom – there’s something alive in the shower box I tell you! Seriously, at night I hear it weeping! The tears were then of frustration as the girlfriend of  #1 did not rush to my aid as my legs swayed under the weight of a hundred wet towels (why would she, Geordie Shore was on – really I am amazed by my own stupidity sometimes).  The tears were then of anger as I staggered forth and she sighed whilst I briefly interrupted her view of the telly. However I had the last tears of laughter when I wrote a poem for the bathroom, which was received the all teenage angst it deserved.

It reads:

When you bathe or shower, you may lose foliage from your personal bower. Whilst it is entirely natural to malt in the nether, I don’t want to pick it up ever. When this bathroom you do depart, clean up your pubes and don’t fart!

The poem was met with some amusement by #2 who explained it to#3 but #1and #+1 did not find it so funny. In fact the day after #+1 packed a sad and left!

The bathroom remains a jungle more dense that deepest darkest Africa but with some areas of minor deforestation.

Tantrums: Him, the pilot may be meeting Him the maker pretty soon if he doesn’t stop the 50s housewife bullshit ……. He says all I do all day is sit on the sofa and watch telly. In return I glibly proffered the excuse that maybe whilst I watched telly the towels washed themselves, the shopping fairies brought groceries and left them all over the bench for him to put away. Furthermore did the laundry walk itself to the tub and who did he think tidied up. “No one” he said and I then had to have a tantrum whilst he swept his arms around the wreck of the Hesperus and said “I’ll get the vacuum cleaner shall I ?”

I yelled after him, ” and bring me a lorazepam I’ve had a stressful day on the sofa!”