Coeliac Story. Chapter 1. Karma.

Once upon a time in a land far, far away (ok already getting carried away here, pull it together) there was an unmarried, childless Taryn. This was about 10 years ago. Taryn used to work for a large supermarket chain.

She had an interesting job organising catalogues 'n' stuff. Actually I exagerate here, it was not interesting, possibly closer to boring and mundane.. hello to my old bosses if you are reading this. She went about her job to get PAID so she could go and SPEND it on whatever it was that she used to spend money on. Clothes and shoes.

Apart from organising catalogues and prices and distribution and BLAH BLAH BLAH we used to get a lot of queries from customers about, wait for it. Merchandise. It was the Merchandise department after all. Actually it had about 500 names during the time I worked there due to an equal amount of restructures. That is another story altogether.

There were a lot of STRANGE customers who used to ring up. They said they had "Coeliac Disease", what "Gluten free" food was available? eeek. This was a strange request to me because I had NO IDEA what Coeliac disease was and no idea what gluten free was. I could have Googled it but strangely I didn't. I was happy in my ignorance to remain with the status quo and continue to find these people just so damn annoying.

I used to make fun of these people (not to their faces of course but to other people). They used to call by the bucket load. I am sure I spoke to every Coeliac person that lived in Perth. We gave them the same standard response... that we did not have a list of gluten-free foods available in our stores which was what they were always after. Boo hoo they would say. I pretended to be all caring like and bid them farewell and wish them all the very best with ALL OF THAT.

Now I think the world is a very interesting place indeed. Let me highlight the fact that I USED TO MAKE FUN OF THESE PEOPLE and then I became one of them.

That's how it started, it was the universe getting me back. Karma.

A little story about Birdie.

I was telling some of you about this story. It sure is a strange one. The little boy kept waking up. During the night. A mother's dread. A strange occurance because he really is quite a solid sleeper (I say this while touching wood. Don't want to jinx myself you see.. if you are a mother you will understand). But this night he was having troubles getting back to sleep.

I couldn't figure it out. Want a drink? No? Want a cuddle? No? Go away Mum....he just wanted to go back into his cot to sleep. This was the problem. He couldn't.

Then I heard it. A bird. One of those cute little ones with grey feathers and yellow at the end of their tail. If I was a bird expert I would tell you what it's name was but alas, I have no idea. Let's call him Birdie.

Birdie was tweeting. It was 10.30pm. He was tweeting and then silence. Then he would start again TWEET TWEET TWEET TWEET. That's how birds make noise you see, incase you are not familiar with them. This was what was bothering the Little Man.

This began to puzzle me and I started asking a lot of questions (to myself...a fruitless conversation). Why is Birdie tweeting at 10.30pm? Why is he not sleeping? Where is his Birdie mum and why did she not feed him his dinner and put him to bed like good Birdie mums do? Why is he doing this? Don't birds sleep at night and wake us in the morning? Isn't that JUST THE WAY IT'S MEANT TO BE?

So I run to turn the alarm off. Open the window closest to insomniac Birdie and commenced my ranting so the little boy can get to sleep and so can I.

"Pssst" I said.

" TWEET TWEET " it said very rudely back to me. Birdie Mum did not teach him manners either.

No luck. Try again.

"SHHHHHHHH!!!!". Birdie must have fell off his perch or found another kid to keep awake because it worked.

Just call me the Birdie Whisperer. Just one of my new talents since becoming a mum.

Suburban Noise and Other Horror Stories

Picture this. It's been a crappy morning. There are snotty noses and its Booger Central. Everyone is cranky. The little man will not let go of his mother like the resident koala bear hanging from his tree. The little girl wants to go outside and play. It's raining. So when naptime rolls on (hallelujah.. praise the lord) mum is looking forward to a little bit of a rest and hopes the little boy might perk up after his snooze. She is also hoping to push her glasses up her nose at some point.

It's also a Thursday. Thursday's are BAD. Thursday's are rubbish collection day. Thursday's suck because WE NEVER KNOW WHAT TIME THEY ARE GOING TO GET HERE. Why is this bad I hear you say? Because they are very noisy. Extremely noisy. They are.. wake-up-baby noisy and this is a disaster.

So it's 11am - naptime. Rubbish truck hasn't come yet. Hmm. Wonder how long they will be. It's never the same every week. Should I push the little man out and wait for the truck and then put him down? But they could take ages, it could be a few more hours away. Hmm. Hard decisions here. Or could we possibly flirt with danger. Put the little man down and hopefully he will fall asleep, have his snooze and be up and at-em to see the truck come, crisis averted.

Now we pay our rates. They are very expensive and I think it is time that the council look after their ratepayers a bit better. The Rubbish Truck Man should call and organise a time to swing past our house. A time convenient for the both of us. Be a bit more customer friendly. They could make things easier for The Rubbish Truck Man and hire a Rubbish Truck Liaison Officer to contact the parents within the locality and work out a time suitable for both.

Not unrealistic certainly?

I Have a Business Idea - DVD's For Kids

One of the things that you learn when you become a parent is how much time you never get for yourselves ... anymore... at all. Now I appreciate time I spend in the toilet... is time away from my kids, time being closer to God...or whatever...it's just nice to be alone. It's treasured.

Although I may be a bit of a TV Scrooge it does come in handy aplenty. Especially for Miss 3. Mr 1.5 has his nap and the little lady has her "Quiet" time in front of the TV to keep her occupied while her mother does a mad dash to get the housework done, jump on the treadmill, have a shower and a cuppa before Mr 1.5 wakes. Because when Mr 1.5 is awake, these are not tasks that can be done easily.

So when I put the TV on and load up a DVD I want the process to happen quickly because time is of the essence. You think it would wouldn't you?. It doesn't. I cannot begin to tell you how much it drives me COMPLETELY INSANE that I have to stand there while the WARNING message appears about copyright and then the distributors logo appears and then some other Something-or-Other appears and it will NOT LET YOU SKIP TO THE MAIN MENU AND JUST PLAY THE BLOODY THING ALREADY. No. We have to stand there for 5 minutes and wait for all the pallava to be over with before the bloody thing gets started. Meanwhile there would have been about 101 things that I could have done in that time. Like.. eat or look in the mirror or remove snot from my clothing.

These companies that make DVD's for kids have no idea. Perhaps they should do some research and just let the bloody thing play because if I did go ahead and go into business and start being One-of-Those-DVD-Making-Companies they would be very, very worried... because mine would sell like hotcakes.

Shopping is not what it used to be

Before my two little monkeys came and turned my world up-side down I had a hobby. Shopping. It used to occupy my life so beautifully. We had a great relationship, shopping and I.

Oh there were some great memories. Calmly browsing stores, "ooing" and "ahhing". There was a lot of purchasing too might I add. The instant pick me up. Feeling tired? bored? stressed ladies? It's time to go shopping.

And shopping I did go, because what else was there to do really? It went something like this. Taryn gets out her Mastercard. Taryn gets a bag with lots of nice new pretty things in it. Such a beautiful time, a special moment if you will.

That was then. This is now. Taryn has a double stroller and a trip to the shops is frought with dramas.

With a double stroller there is a lot of window shopping going on for one reason mainly. I can't get the pram in and navigate through most shops. I can't tell you how MUCH THIS SUCKS, and it is funny because I never noticed before how much retailers were over-merchandising to a point where YOU CANNOT MOVE. It seems very possible that one store could quite possibly clothe the south island of New Zealand for a year. Cotton On is a good example. I just can't get into these shops. Which is a big shame because sometimes they have nice things.

Perhaps now is a good time to mention how hard it is to navigate in a double stroller. Because I am the tight ass who wouldn't spend over a $1000 on a good pram. Mine cost $229. That's why it was so cheap because you can't bloody move it. So if I run into you at the shops and I run over your toe, I'm sorry, really I did not mean it... blame the Child Moving Apparatus (CMA).

However there are some advantages... well one really. With my stroller though I win the stroller battles. You have one baby? Oh sorry I have TWO. My stroller is bigger than yours. I win. I go first. So nerrr.

And so the days of calmly browsing the shops are long gone because this lady is stressed and now has to lug around a bag full of snacks to throw at her kids to shut them up when the need arises. It weighs approximately 50 kilos and that is WITHOUT the drink bottles which have permanent residence inside the above mentioned suitcase ... I mean... bag.

Now I keep shopping a quick brisk excercise to minimise screaming for other patron shoppers and stress on their mother. It goes something like this. Make a list. Do not venture from the list. Get the things you need because the little man has a limited tolerance for all boring things and does not like to be stationary for a extended period of time. Get your jobs done and (if you are lucky) you might get to glance longingly into the store that you just can't get into.