Kim started this and so far I’ve read hers, Bec’s, Badger’s, Blackbird’s, Joke's, Babelbabe’s, and am off to read Susie’s next but I have to be feeling brave cos those gorgeous retro graphics stress out my computer and it quietly dies on me. (Sorry Susie).
Anyway, it seems everyone here cuts their own hair, or does obscene things to their cuticles. I am proud to say I DON’T do the cuticle thing, although I was a nailbiter as a child. You are all just warped and sick. I’m warming to the idea of cutting my own hair though, for reasons revealed below.
So. My confessions.
• I lie awake at night cursing myself and sobbing for psychologically destroying my firstborn. Then I remember that he is the prototype and it’s in his job description to be the one screwed up by his amateur parent. Besides it makes up for the fact that he always gets the new bike and his brothers will never ever get a new bicycle until they leave home and purchase one for themselves.
• Like Bec, I cut my own kids’ hair. Why? For the same reason Bec does. (Oh yeah, plus it’s cheaper). But really, why are lice so prevalent these days? We seem to have finally got them under control, but eliminated? Not a hope. And this leads me to …
• I have the worst straggly split-end hair in the southern hemisphere (cunningly hidden cos I wear it fetchingly up every single day) because I have not been to the hairdresser for about six months. Why not? Well, clearly because I am a loving, hands-on, devoted mother who is constantly up close and personal with her sproglets, particularly a certain seven year old who likes to climb into my bed and snuggle up really really close. You see where I am going here? Yes. You read it here, on my blog. Suse has lice. I’m not infested, mind. And I haven’t actually found one on myself for months (and believe me I check OBSESSIVELY, all the time), so I probably actually don’t have lice, but it’s the mere thought of them that turns me to a quivering wreck. Ever since my ever so swanky inner city cool hairdresser told me how they hadn’t seen lice in years in their salon but if they do, the protocol is that the client has to leave IMMEDIATELY, in the middle of the cut, and the whole place has to be sterilised top to bottom and the poor unfortunate slovenly slattern, uh … loving dutiful mother can never show her face there again. Well, I have this recurring nightmare. You see? So, I am coming round to Bec’s and Blackbird’s idea of cutting my own hair. Because although I would be disgusted if I found creatures in my hair, I would never stoop so low as to banish myself.
I just wanna know, how do you do the back?
• I am annoyed that two of my favourite blogs only became regular reads of mine AFTER they had their babies. I missed the birth stories. I love birth stories. I can’t remember reading Babelbabe’s blog before the arrival of Terzo, and I had only just discovered Kim and Bec a couple of weeks prior to Jasper’s arrival. So I wasn’t emotionally involved, you know? I didn’t get all warm and fuzzy and full of strong urges to send small knitted garments through the post. Sorry. I know I could trawl the archives and re-live the pregnancies, but it’s not the same.
• An hour ago I just admitted in front of my husband, three children and parents, that I could happily run away with John Hannah. And Robson Green. And Andrew Denton. And Cate Blanchett. And possibly even Annette Bening.
• I am totally non-streetwise. I have no knowledge of popular culture. I have no idea who Jessica Simpson is and why she should be naked on anyone’s couch. Nor do I know who Jennifer Love Hewitt or Ben Lee are. Sometimes I feel old fashioned and like I should start scouring Who Weekly and get with it (man). But mostly I couldn’t give a shit.
• I swear sometimes. But I think that’s the first time I have done so on my blog.
• I don’t know how to make my fonts smaller or change colours, or do strikethrough. I am too lazy to find out, and am just confessing this in the hope that someone will tell me in the comments section.
• People who can't spell annoy me.
• I hate that I can see all my flaws in my children. (They do have a gazillion good points, I just don’t think they get them from me). Son #1 has all my neuroses, lack of social grace, paralysing shyness and general nervy-ness. Son #2 has inherited my meanness, bitchiness and self-loathing. Son #3 has, well, just my general fragility and propensity to burst into tears at the drop of a hat. I hate myself for bequeathing these things to three poor innocents. (However, #1 got my blue eyes, #2 my ability to spell, and #3 is just fabulous).
• I adore my children with a passion that frightens me. But many nights I cannot wait until 8pm and they’re all gone.
• I quite like my husband too, but I love solitude.
• I have a patch of stress eczema on the top of my head. I only recently learned that not only do heaps of women have this, but that it has a name. I scratch and pick it until it bleeds, so it never heals. This revolts me but I am comforted by the thought that I’m not alone.
• I am a lazy slob. I don’t mop my floors. I vacuum and sweep when I have to (ie. hardly ever) but if the floor needs washing I get the dog to lick it.
• I am a food nazi.
• I think most people are less intelligent than I am. God what a horrible snob I am.
That is all.
If I confessed the rest you’d send Child Protection Services over.