--YOU KNOW YOU KNEAD IT--

Tag: rants (Page 1 of 2)

OtterBox Impact Case for iPhone

The blurb on the Otterbox site reads ‘The OtterBox Impact Series case for iPhone 3G and 3GS is a mighty silicone skin case that offers suprising (sic) protection!’ Yes. It should read: ‘The OtterBox Impact Series case for iPhone 3G and 3GS is a mighty surprising silicone skin case that offers protection!’ Besides not being able to spell in their metadata, the other issue is this…

This case sucks. I am devoting a post to it in the hope that google will find it. You’ve run out of floppy old socks to put on your 3GS iPhone? Just use one of these! It will fit beautifully for a few months and then subtly lose some necessary elasticity. You won’t notice for a while and will spend some time puzzling why all your photographs have the bottom left hand corner obscured by a white glow (if you have bought a white case…)

You may assume you are being haunted. Being teased by fast fluttering angels? Until the situation worsens and you realise that your OtterBox Impact Case for iPhone has lost the plot. Yes. Otterbox. A brand I thought had their shit together. Not this time. Saggy baggy and photograph naggy. I have used about five different cases and this is the worst. My $5 on-sale-at-Amazon Speck rubber case leaves this OtterBox Impact Case for iPhone dead in the water.

Do not buy one. Unless you want all your awesome photographs to be flawed by saggy casework, necessitating cropping of your pictures into weird dimensions. Can you tell I might be a little frustrated? Why they have such a good rating on Amazon is beyond me. I just went there to check, and their price has halved – maybe that’s a sign of HOW CRAP THEY ARE.

Welcome October. Come on d-o-w-n…

Down to my level, I mean. Down here, where I’ve spent the day negotiating the Somme…oh, sorry, I mean ‘trying to deal with face melting tantrums from both Smalls without completely losing my mind’. They don’t happen at the same of course – no, they stagger them just to fill my heart with a little more joy and laughter.

Sorry to begin the month on such a crappy note, but since getting conjunti-fucking-vitis on 11 September? The Smalls have been sick. C-o-n-s-t-a-n-t-l-y. And M joined them about a week into their malaise. And each time I think they’re all getting better? It’s a trick. They get worse.

Just to put the icing on that particular cake, two days ago Small DB got her tantrum suit on. The one with all the bells and whistles – the spitting, the biting, the smearing her face with saliva, the scratching, the kicking and sometimes? She tops it all off with the vomiting.

Have I mentioned the humbling aspect of parenthood? The first time around it’s humbling because you had no concept of how fucking hard it could be. So hard that you were happy to have remained mentally and physically intact by the time the first year came around. The second time? It’s humbling because all those things your first kid didn’t do and you thought other kids were weird for doing? (And here I mean the Nappy Change Resistance Movement which has seen me contorting myself, pretzel-like, to pin down the bits of her I need to keep still in order to get a nappy on her butt – and I mean the Running Into the Road Because I’m Mad At You game…)

Small Z never did either of those things. I used to watch other people change their screaming writhing toddlers and just kind of stare blankly and unhelpfully. Uncomprehendingly.

Not anymore baby! I know Small DB is not well yet. Our sleep is again shot to hell. She is half sick, tired, frustrated, but ohhhh – my patience snapped tonight. She scratched me, hit me, kicked me and finally bit me. So… I bit her back. No – I didn’t rip a meaty chunk from her baby arm, but I didn’t gum her either.

I gave her a nip. I am sure that this is not the prescribed method for child-rearing, but my main aim is to teach her what I will not put up with. And also, this has been the hardest day that I can remember having for months and months…and months. Which didn’t exactly stack things in her favour. She got a shock and returned to the scratching and kicking approach while I drowned myself in motherguilt. How novel.

Three hours prior I got to participate in Small Z losing her sauce in the kind of spectacular fashion that you only think of in the context of Other Peoples Children. But this time it was my nearly five-year-old lying kicking on the ground screaming, “If you don’t buy me that pack of stickers I will….I will….”

(It used to be that she would then say that she would flush me down the toilet with no life jacket and no canoe and would not hug me until I was dead. Maybe she has lost her edge a little?)

“…I won’t let you have any tea. When you want a cup of tea, there will be…NONE FOR YOU!! And you won’t have your PHONE either.”

She zeroed in very precisely to they two things that get me through my days! Nicely done. Less wonderful was her screaming, “BAD MAMA. You’re a BAD MAMA!” whilst clinging prone to my leg. I sat down with the Biter, sorry… the Bolter, sorry… Small DB, to sit it out. I had bought them a packet of stickers each…but Small Z found another one that she couldn’t live without… “YOU ARE GOING TO BREAK MY HEART! YOU’RE BREAKING IT!! YOU’RE BREAKING IT”

I had several thoughts on what I wanted to break. It wasn’t her heart. Actually, I had more of a Queen lyric in mind… I want to break free….

Prior to us leaving the house on our ill-fated journey, M had come home looking grey. He had felt much better this morning and had obviously pushed it too hard. I have very very rarely seen him sick enough to just crawl into bed, but that’s what he did. That lucky, lucky man. So it wasn’t like I even had him to take the reins for ten minutes when we got home – which would have enabled me to either;

a) run to the bottle shop for alcohol
b) gone and given the back fence a good kicking
c) gone and…well – just GONE! – hello desert island…
or….
d) all of the above

So we just got through it, taking Small bites. (Ha ha ha…yeah…not really so funny.) In the four hours since dinner I have had to change Small DB’s nappy twice, and both times it has been like trying to give a tablet to an enraged cat. It’s disastrous, horrible…and if it was anything BUT the nappy I would just abandon trying. But seriously – the alternative is poo and wee throughout the house, or rampant nappy rash. Not an option. I’ve been consoling myself reading every comment on this post

And just while I’m signing off, for those that have managed to read this far into the whining drivel of my existence…let me finish with a flourish. I have to mention the EXODUS that has happened, one that is not improving my mood. My two friends – my lovely J in the next street, and my lovely neighbour? They’ve both moved away in the past few days. It’s like a conspiracy of isolation 🙁 No more Friday night G&T’s delivered to my door… no one to make me cups of tea on days like today when I feel my grip on the world start to slip.

I’ve known about J leaving for months, but decided not to think about it because it wasn’t going to be pleasant. But now that it’s happened…I realise just how much I will miss her. We’ve been propping each other up for a year or so now, counselling each other back to sanity every other week. Of course we will go and visit…but we can no longer just ‘drop in’ on our way back from the shops. J – you were my emergency contact for Small Z at kindergarten…I don’t have anyone else I can put down that doesn’t live an hour away!!! Why must you insist on getting on with your life?!

Gah. I’m going to return to being a tough loner.

Friday on my mind.

Sooo – M left on the river trip a day early. Gee, that was awesome! It meant that I had to be at the station at 6.15am to get to work early, in order to leave early, so that he could then get to the station at 5.15pm, and we could pay for rent and food.

I would have been more zen with the whole arrangement if I hadn’t had the following day, Saturday, written on the calendar for a month. It was, I admit, mentioned in an email – a few days prior, but THE CALENDAR trumps EMAIL. He never SAID anything until the night before, and then he began with: “I thought this might be a problem…”

I would have been more zen with the whole arrangement if M hadn’t decided to give the Smalls a Grand Day Out and… OK. I’m sounding savage-bitchy. Let me GIVE them the Grand Day Out, but add that the house needs to be clean and the Smalls need to have eaten something that isn’t passionfruit sorbet or two teaspoonfuls of rice and more than TWO items on the shopping list I left need to have been bought by the time I drag myself home.

Are you getting the picture, Interweb? Are you getting the picture?? So at 5.16pm I am standing on the station (after a lovely goodbye to M, don’t get me wrong, I didn’t have a chance to get all worked up prior to him leaving because that could have got messy… I’m not seeing him for ten days, and he’s leaving a thirtysomething year old and coming back to a FORTY-YEAR-OLD, and yunno…I’ve got a little bit of strategic forward thinking in my genetic make-up…)

So Small Z is bawling “I miss my DADDA!” and Small DB is looking like a zombie and mouthing the word, “Supermarket?” And I, running on about four hours sleep, feel like I am about to both combust and collapse. We do the supermarket. Mostly we survive. Small Z is obsessing that she’ll ‘catch’ the eczema I have on my face, and I have to explain seventeen times that she’s been born lucky in that regard. I get them fed and to bed. I clean the fucking house. I retrieve my secret bottle of white wine from where I hid it BEHIND SOMETHING in the fridge and I watch me some 30Rock. And I breathe out.

Goodbye and Good Riddance 2013

This year, replete with all the usual milestones and camping trips and sailing adventures, was hard bloody work. Not the kind of hard work that comes with the bone dragging fatigue of a new baby, but emotional hard work. The kind that stems from devastatingly bad news and has to keep on going. And going in a way that continues to find joy in every day life and avoid spiralling down the plughole of despair. That is what I have done this year.

Cancer has appeared on my radar – five people I know – after spending my entire life pretty much in ignorance. Naturally I made some of it about me – an extended period of having a sore throat? Must be cancer. Bloated? I've probably got one year, tops. Check those moles. Have that colonoscopy. Because cancer is fucking everywhere – and as you get older, the more prevalent it appears to become. I hate it so much that I can't understand why it hasn't swallowed in on itself and disappeared into an endless vortex, leaving the entire population of the world relieved and thrilled.

So 2013 was not a year that I would want to hurry back to. Yes, the Smalls are Small and it is a special time, watching them evolve and their relationship with each other strengthen. Feeling our way out of babyland and away from prams and nappies. Our first year of true 'homeschooling/unschooling'. This was associated with some trepidation and then growing confidence in the decision we had made. It suits us – all of us – and we will continue onward next year. (That sound you can hear is my mother sighing.)

I have a list of hopes and resolutions that is growing ever longer. The longer it becomes the more intangible it feels. Nevertheless, it deals largely with decluttering, early bedtimes, early rising, less op-shopping, regular walking, more writing, more making and some…any…stretching. And continuing to wish on stars. My aims are not huge, but require steady application – not a mainstay of your average New Year's resolution. But I will try.

I will try and slow things down and realise that my own pace is the one that suits me. Those people that go here there and everywhere taking their kids to this and that activity/party/class – they are not me, and I do not thrive with those kind of commitments. I will continue slowly and steadily, and attempt to lie on the couch and read more often. I will nurture the most important things. Fini.


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