Do you set yourself goals?

I do, and sometimes the goal itself isn’t the reward (although according to the book I’m reading Your Life in Half a Second, it should be). But no, sometimes the goal is a bit shit, like paying off some debt or doing a First Aid course, so I have to structure in a reward once I get there.

And sometimes the goal is awesome, but it’s painful to get there, so I have to give myself other bits of pain, to help me along. I know, I know, it’s weird, and I should be motivating myself to move towards pleasure, instead of away from pain, but I wonder sometimes if I’m just not wired that way.

When I was a baby, I apparently HATED having a wet nappy, and so I reportedly toilet-trained myself at 9 months. (Yes Mums, my Mother swears this is true… Hmmm…)   The same went for not being able to get into ALL OF THE THINGS, so I learned to walk. So even then, I was motivated by either getting stuff, or moving away from undesirable situations.

This year I wanted to go to the USA for Christmas. I have a brother and sis-in-law there, another brother and sis-in-law who will be going there, and Mum who jet-sets around the place like nobodies business. So everyone else saved their pennies and booked their flights and prepared for fun times with egg nogg and Ugly Christmas Sweaters and singing by the open fire. Except me. I mean I saved a bit, I guess, but not enough. “I can’t help it,” I wailed, “it’s expensive to be me you know.” (And etcetera.)

As the time to loc- in a flight drew ever and ever closer, I had to invent more and more leverage to get me to save the money. I imagined missing out on all the laughs, I pretended that perhaps one of my mob was dying, or would die in the next year, and this would be my last chance to see them, I thought about my kids not waking up with the Nanny they usually have Christmas with. None of it was working.

And then, in the backbackback of my crockery cupboard I found this:

Not sure if it’s for drinking out of, or bathing in

And I vowed, that until I saved the money to go to America, I would not be allowed to drink my morning coffee out of anything else, nor would I be able to drink any other coffee than this:

I suspect this may be poison

There was to be no Nespresso at home, no capps at the local cafe, no sneaky little jaunts with friends after drop-off for ping-jections of that sweet brown nectar of the gods. Nope.

Times were getting desperate, friends, desperate indeed.

And then, somehow, with the help of Flight Centre, all night google searching of airline prices, a change tin filled with two-dollar coins, and the invention of early Christmas presents, this happened:

YES, THIS!

And then this happened:

Cheers to holidays

And now THIS CAN HAPPEN:

Sweeet

I’m not sure what I’m more excited about. (I love you, Nespresso Machine.)

So, what are you doing for Christmas?

And how the heck do you motivate yourself, other than drinking daily poison?

…From The Ashers

Okay everyone, check this out: Mirabel is a cool charity that provides support for kids and families affected by parental substance abuse. So every year, they run a bit of a drive to collect cute handmade toys for those cool little kids to cuddle.

I know, I know, at this time of the year it can feel like everyone has their hand out asking for either your time or your money to help out someone who doesn’t have as much as you. And I know it’s difficult to know who to help, hell, sometimes the problems seem so big and so widespread that you can feel like you might be swamped by it all, so it’s easier to just bury your head under a sea of shiny plastic crap.

So I’ve found you a solution: Sewing for Softies.

Gorgeous Pip of Meet Me at Mikes has all the details on her blog right here.

Pesonally, I can’t sew for shit.

I once asked my family for a sewing machine for Christmas, so they pissed themselves all the way to the shops and got me one. For some inexplicable reason it came with a complimentary fondue machine, which incidentally has had quite a run. Here is a pic of my machine:

It makes a nice shelf, no?

It has ugg boots on top of it, which, quite frankly get more use all the way up here on the Sunny Coast.

So being a bit challenged in the manual arts, I have appointed myself CEO of Operations and Snacks, and have managed to get a whole lot of lovely fabric donated by Alisa from Plump, (a ripper of a local lady who is in the business of all things cushions you can see her stuff here or at the Eumundi Markets every Wednesday and Saturday), I’ve set up a venue for a sewing-bee and am in the process of recruiting a small army of sewing-ladies to do the actual work.

Easy.

Perhaps you might consider doing the same in your town? Maybe you have some crafty friends that you can bribe with the promise of sweet treats and crisp glass of bubbles for their troubles? And if you live on the Sunny Coast and would like to be involved in our night, then message me and I’ll send you the details.

Let’s see if we can make some little kids smile big toothy grins, with gifts made with love, this Christmas.

…From The Ashers

I know it’s hard to believe, with all of the opinions and ideas that I have about everything under the sun, but I have a bit of a blogging block this week. Don’t get me wrong, I’m still thinking of millions of things to annoy you with, but somehow I just can’t seem to find the words. Or the right words at least.

Everything I try to write is coming out either overly melancholy, or derivative or just plain boring.

I saw a quote today:

“If the words you spoke appeared on your skin, would you still be beautiful?”

-Simply Chiropractic

I kind of feel like that applies to my blogging this week.

And if the words can’t make things more beautiful or add something to the world or at least be gorgeous in their own right, then I think I’d prefer to not say anything at all.

I’ll be back soon.

Hopefully tomorrow.

…From The Ashers

Country Life: You don’t get this stuff growing wild at my place.

I have had a weekend of fun and funny catch-ups with friends, and has given me pause to think about how different we all are.

I think that I have the best job in the world, and so some days I look around at all of the people, doing all of the different things, and wonder at why they aren’t all chiropractors like me.

I think that I live in the best part of the world, and so some days I look around at all of the people, living in all of the different places, and I wonder at why they don’t all live at my place.

And the list goes on.

Because every day that I consciously choose this life and the things in it, I am expressing my preferences and crafting out a little more of the story of my life. And because I love all of the things that I get to do, and feel so lucky that I have somehow been able to make all of these choices, I find it weird that not one single other person on this planet is choosing that same things as me. Why aren’t you all trying to muscle in on my space?

Could it be that you like your choices?

Seeing my country friends on Saturday, and the things they love, and then seeing my overseas friends on Sunday, and listening to the things they love about their home, made me smile and smile at how much I love the decisions I have made. All of the little choices that I have made over the passing years, that make me, me. I also loved that we are all able to sit around a table together, share a meal and some laughs, find our common ground and relish the things that make us similar, but then also search out the differences, and rejoice in the things that make us so unique.

Vive la difference!

…From The Ashers

Here are the hits:

1. This little beauty. I’m doing these for All Hallows this year, instead of those thirty-five buck carving pumpkins the supermarkets are trying to sell me. And they come with the added bonus of providing ingredients for all the Pina Coladas I shall be making to survive the trick or treating. (I’m only doing it to get rid of the fruit you know)  Anyway, with pineapple and coconut, a Pina is practically a health drink!

2.  This tasty little morsel.

Sorry. I ripped it open before photographing.
What happened to ‘Tweet it before you eat it’?

I know it’s October, and I know I shouldn’t encourage the Mulit-National Money Sucking Machines by buying seasonal promotional items when the season is nowhere to be seen, but they are only ONE DOLLAR. And they say “Merryteaser” on them (what does that even mean?). Nobody knows, but how can I refuse when they beckon me from the counter with their cheery red packaging and their enticing and cooling snow graphics? And when they are only ONE DOLLAR? So, in a moment of weakness I purchased two, one for me and one for the love of my life. I popped them high up in the fridge, away from prying little eyes ‘for later’. Well, later was much, much later, say around 11pm when Nath had fallen to slumber, and I snuck out to the kitchen and ate mine. And then Nath’s. Sorry Nath.

But never fear, a patient gave the “kids” a giant chocolate Freddo each today. I’ve hidden them in the fridge. For the “kids”. Of course.

3. The Spring Spectacular at school tonight. I managed to sit through it all, even though there were TWO count them TWO renditions of ‘Let It Go’, and not a one Monkey Wrench cover. And my ears aren’t even bleeding. For serious.

So, well played kid’s school, well played.

As you can tell, Coco is a very talented musician.
Liam was also there, clarinetting along, but we didn’t get a pic that didn’t feature other kids.
So just imagine you can see him too. For balance, like.

4.  Did  you see Harry Potter on Jimmy Fallon? I’m not sure if I like Daniel rapping, or Jimmy grooving along and trying to keep up, the best. Something about that man just makes me laugh (Jimmy, not Daniel). Check it out, and watch it through to the end. It’s fun. I shared on FB my version of ‘The Black Widow’ for Edenland’s lip sync competition, but I’m thinking I might have to pop the real thing up here. Or maybe “Ice, Ice Baby”. Nath does a killer version of “Bust a Move”, so the possibilities are very exciting.

5.  Getting some of your feedback on the blog this week. I love your comments, shares and retweets. You might not realise it, but when I’m sitting here, being the little keyboard warrior, it’s hard to imagine that anyone else even reads this drivel.

I can, of course look up Google analytics and see how many of you play along, but it’s much nicer to actually get some feedback. So thanks to all of you who do comment, and then share the love around. It makes a difference to me.

I’ve got a few little writing plans for next year (see, I am following Matthew’s rules from the book I mentioned this week, and telling you about some of my goals) and this blog was created to see if anyone would like to read my stuff. It seems some of you do, and that, quite frankly, is BLOODY AWESOME. Writing stuff has always been a little secret and fragile thing that I’ve held in my heart, too frightened to let it see the light of day, lest it wither and turn to so much dust. Giving it some air, here on my little space on the internet has been both confronting and freeing in equal measure.

So thanks you lot. You make an old bird’s heart zing.

So how was your week? What were your hits?

Did you have any big wins?

…From The Ashers

When I was a kid, dinner was served up at the table at 6pm. Mum would set the table herself (after asking us seventeen billion times to do it for her), every night. We always had a table cloth, correct cutlery and crockery and glasses of milk. The milk was her downfall of course, because we would fill up on that before even starting. It’s amazing how easily the lactation of cows, made for their calves, can sustain the stomachs of human children.

My brothers and I would sit at the table, and it was as if some silent starter yelled, “LET THE GAMES BEGIN!” For that is what befell my mother for the next two hours. Every.single.night. And they weren’t fun games.

I look back, and I wonder how she did it. A single Mum, on meagre wages, working all day, then coming home to prepare something nourishing for her children, who never, ever ate it. Or even attempted most of it. The rule in our house was that we had to eat everything on our plates. I suspect that ‘the rule’ was never adhered to. Not even once. Every night we were bribed, threatened and cajoled. It almost always ended in tears, and that was just Mum.

Skip forward a score and ten, to where I am the person in the Mother Seat. Where I am the person thinking of the food, shopping for the food and cooking the food. So much carry on about food. Only to have the vermin cherubim screw up their gaping maws cute little faces and say, “I don’t like that.”

Because, of course, they don’t like anything.

And they don’t have the tools at their disposal that we did. We had a pet Labrador (they eat anything, yes, even Corned Beef with white sauce), we had overalls from Just Jeans (so many pockets) and we had milk (did you know you can hide one stalk of broccoli and nine peas in every glass?). The only thing they have at their disposal is whinging. And they use it well.

When they were little, I tried and tried to think of delicious and healthy things the children would like to eat for dinner. I stopped short of making food art, but I did attempt to make their plates contain ‘the colours of the rainbow’ every night. It made no difference. They still hated it.

So these days I have taken to simply pleasing myself and drinking wine. In fact, I delight in lovingly placing their plates in front of them, and hearing them say how much the despise the menu plan of the day. I see their displeasure as a personal success. So you can imagine how I laughed when I saw this on my instagram today:

Sorry family. If this is true, then my love for you is a bit shit.

(Who am I kidding, I’m not sorry. You’ll get over it.)

Are your kids good eaters? What are your failsafe recipes?

…From The Ashers