Monthly Archives: July 2013

Wa Wa Mee

Hello.

This is just a quick post to let you know that I’m still here.

 

Forgive me however, for this impending waa-fest.

 

 

Life has been incredibly busy in the last few weeks and I’ve neglected my little blog.  I’ve abandoned my beloved link-ups and I’ve fallen behind with my favourite bloggers.

 

 

Between my job, (which is huge at the moment), the commute, (the fecking commute!) and a smattering of unavoidable family dramatics, I’ve been a bit, Les Miserables of late.

 

 

I know I’m not the only purse-lipped, white-knuckled Mama navigating King Georges Road of a morning.

 

Don’t punch me.

 

 

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But sometimes, fitting it all in is so Bloody HARD.  Some nights I struggle to remember what, if anything, I did for myself during the day.

 

 

I am a Robomum. Back on auto-pilot for the foreseeable future.

But I’ll be seeing you.  Intermittently.

 

And so I don’t disappoint further…

 

 

Love,

Robo X

 

Linking up, in what seems like forever, with Essentially Jess for #IBOT.

Les Miserables is Robo for ‘miserable’.


Australian Idiot

No old favourite for me, so I’m linking up a new fave over at The VI Blog

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Don’t wanna be an American Idiot.

One nation controlled by the media.

Information age of hysteria.

It’s calling out to idiot America.

Green Day

Skype.  Facebook.

Twitter.

Instagram.

#morningrun  #dinner  #goingtosleepnow  #sweetdreams

 

 

Green Day were right.  It’s becoming too much.

 

These days, when I type, I find myself going back to correct spelling because words often runinto eachother.  Like that.  Like a web address, or a hash tag.

I’ve coined my own term for editing: “Going back to do a space bar run”.

It’s embarrassing.

 

 

I love media.  But I’m a bit over all this online business.

I’m over knowing everyone’s business, all the time.

I’m over being accessible. All the time.

 

 

I’m processing so much information that I’ve lost track of it.

I don’t even know what I know anymore.

I’ve stopped asking questions because I’m receiving so many answers.

I’m speaking but at times I’m not certain it’s me who is thinking.

 

 

Technology is exhausting.

 

 

I sit next to my husband at night but we’re both immersed in a little screen.

I take a screen when sitting outside with the kids.

I feed my kids while they’re watching a screen.

And I interrupt special moments by picking up a screen.

I want to start closing some screens.

 

 

I don’t want this to be my normal.  It never used to be.

Inspire me please, with ways to realistically manage the household internet.

 

 

Robo X


Blues, Boos and Barbecues

Thanks for visiting The Lounge today, on this blue day for us Blues supporters.

Link-up below if you wish and check out all the other posts too.

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I’ve just returned from the State of Origin, my first ever Decider match. I donned a blue wig and T-shirt and sat in the Blatchy’s Blues area with 14000 other NSW supporters.  It was loud and fun, exactly how game day should be.  If you’re a footy fan, I’d recommend shelling out the cash for a State of Origin match, at least once.

 

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However, as usual, no night out would be complete without the one or two dickheads who ruin it for the rest of us…

 

 

I saw three fights break out.  Three.  These were fights between adults supporting the same team at a game they bothered to travel to, after paying at least $110.  I don’t know who they were, they weren’t wearing the blue wigs like the rest of the cool people.  They were just idiots.  How pathetic are people?  Boo #1.

 

 

The vocal, young guy I was sitting next to was the perfect gentleman, apologising in advance for the noise he was going to make when the game started.  That was OK.  What was not OK was his elbow in my jaw when NSW scored their try.  He was so excited, he didn’t even notice.  Now my jaw is clicking when I move it.  Boo #2.

 

 

Another adult who, from my spot up in the nosebleeds, looked as though he was dressed up in a lion onesie (but actually turned out to be completely naked), streaked across the field.  Funny but grow up.  Enjoy paying your fine.  Boo #3.

 

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Source

 

 

There were a few names that I actually stood there and thought about, while waiting for my $10.30 hot chips and water (which is Boo #4, by the way).  Referee, Shayne Hayne, Queenslander, Cooper Cronk and NSW player Boyd Cordner.  What the actual?  When I named my kids, the first thing I thought about was eliminating the silly name possibilities against my exceptionally long Greek surname. Shayne Hayne?  I’m calling it.  Boo #5.

 

 

Which brings me to Boo #6.  This week’s theme, barbecues.

 

 

Man is the BBQ expert of the South.  He does a very good job, it goes without saying.  We’ve had many a return visitor at Casa de Robo for our Greek style barbecues.

 

 

I don’t doubt that there is a certain level of skill associated with cooking meat.  There are lots of variables – the fire strength, the charcoal, the fat, the type of meat…  

 

 

But we all know that cooking is the glory job.  My argument is that the hard work is in the barbecue preparation.  Most of the magic happens in the kitchen, well before the meat hits the grill.

 

 

Not only do I buy the best meat I can afford.  I trim it, wash it, marinate it in a special secret recipe and take it out to the barbie.  I wash all the vegetables and make a salad.  I put together other condiments such as cheese platters and home made dips.  I take all the plates, cups, cutlery and drinks out to the barbecue area and then I’m the one bringing everything back into the house.

 

 

Why can’t Man help?

He cooked the Barbecue.

Of course.

 

 

That aside, the old BBQ is a firm favourite.  It starts out as a regular barbie which then turns into a good old feral, redneck style event where we build a fire and the kids get to chuck in sticks.   Aside from the awesome food, at our place, a fire is the grand finale to a good barbecue.

 

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Our burnt little Weber has seen a few too many Robostyle bonfires.

 

 

Do you BBQ?

Link up here:

 

Love,

Robo X


Destination: Sydney, Australia

 

Anyone who knows my blog, knows that I’m mega-proud of my Greek-Australian heritage.  You can check it out here and here and here.

 

 

I admire, anyone  who can pick up and move their life to another place, another country.

What strength of character.  What opportunity.

 

 

My parents were Assisted Passage Migrants to Australia.

They each took a month long journey to an unknown land, from the the port of Pireaus, in Athens.

 

 

My dad arrived in Australia on the Skaugum. It was 1956 and he was 21.  He cut sugar cane, built kitchens and worked shifts at BHP, during the Steelworks heyday.

 

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source

 

 

My mum arrived in Australia on the Patris in 1962.  Barely 18, she cut hair and worked in beauty parlours.  She couldn’t speak English so she would smile, nod and produce the meanest coiffure in town.  She was one of the original WAHMs, setting up shop in the kitchen, while raising her kids.

 

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source

 

 

These two ships were integral in bringing Greeks to Australia to start new lives.  The Patris made many more voyages than the Skaugum and it was one of the more popular vessels, until migrants began flying more frequently.

 

 

These ships were important in establishing the Greek Australian community.

Strong life friendships were forged on the high seas and people formed solid connections they would come to heavily rely on.  They formed relationships and later families.  It is no surprise that I am firm friends with the children of the people my parents met on their boats.

 

 

The Patris and Skaugum are iconic to me.

Along with thousands of other Greeks, they brought my parents to Australia.

I’m so glad they hopped on those boats.

 

 

I’d love to see your iconic images.  Link up this week over  at Musings of the Misguided.

 

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Love,

Robo X


Hump Day

Day two of the last week of school holidays and the dreaded hump day is here. 

It comes around on every school break.  It’s the day I realise that there’s limited holiday left and full-time work is just around the corner.

 

 

Great big exhale.

 

 

Most of my posts relate to the fact that I love my job and my kids at school.  I’m passionate about teaching most of the time.  But inevitably and I doubt that I’m alone on this, in the last week of holidays, the idea of returning to work bears a heavy, anxiety-inducing burden.

 

 

Today I’m worrying.

 

I’m worrying about a procedural review that I’ve been asked to conduct at school.  It’s something I haven’t done before, so I’m imagining late nights, Excel spreadsheets and tedious red tape.

 

I’m worrying about the student council elections that I have to arrange, with votes I’ll have to tally and kids I’ll have to disappoint.

 

I’m worrying about the black dog that term three weather often brings.

 

I’m worrying about the mornings and how on earth I’ll get my two dressed, fed and into the car on time, every day.

 

I’m worrying, as always, about my ‘day care guilt’ and I’m wondering if by working, I’m actually doing the right thing by my children.

 

 

Another great big exhale.

 

 

Sorry, but it’s hump day and I’m on a school holiday downer.

 

 

Do you worry about returning to work and leaving your kids?

Any tips?

 

 

Love,

Robo X

 

 

Linking with Essentially Jess for a bit of #IBOT action.

 


Cut & Paste Post – Fail

Check out The Lounge Link Up, this week over at Falling Face First.

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fail

/fāl/
Verb
Be unsuccessful in achieving one’s goal: “he failed in his attempt to secure election”.
Noun
A grade that is not high enough to pass an examination or test.
Synonyms
verb. miscarry – fall through
noun. failure – failing – fiasco

 

 

Today, I’m sharing  a selection of interesting images…

 

 

Tattoos

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Hair

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Family portrait

the-worst-family-portrait-in-history

Hug

olympic-swimming-fail

Sunburn

sunburn fail

School formal

pooh

Drinking

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Wedding

wedding-dock

John Stamos

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I have no words.
Robo X

The kindness of Strangers

Over the last few days, I’ve read what feels like hundreds of blog posts.

Taking part in last month’s Digital Parents Blog Carnival meant that I would opportunely acquaint myself with many blogs, some I knew and others I had not heard of.

 

 

Some Bloggers pose questions, while others offer opinions.  Most posts are versions of reality, but some are far removed from my reality.

It’s these ebbs and flows that make the blogging ride so enjoyable.

You can keep reading, if you want.

 

 

Checks and Spots is a blog I came across in the Carnival – one that I look forward to revisiting.

 

Clare’s post, The One Thing I Wish I Knew About Motherhood asked 16 women what they wish someone had told them, before they set sail as a parent.

 

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At the risk of sounding overconfident, I knew I would be OK with the arrival of baby number one and thankfully, I was blessed with a text book dream baby; he played nice.

 

 

It was baby number two who I was worried about.

I was not as self-assured about my sanity with the arrival of my second kid.

 

 

There were so many more variables at play.

 

It wasn’t just me who had to get my act together, there was a 2 year old as well, who might have other plans.

There was Post Natal Depression that I’d heard about first hand, the memory of labour to worry about, another change to the dynamic of the household, my body, my patience…

Experiencing the warm, fuzzy, open-all-hours, newborn baby stage, this time with another little traveler in toe, made me very nervous.

 

 

People I spoke to were quite specific about bub number two having turned their world upside down.

 

 

But a woman I worked with at the time, Anne, set the record straight.

She listened and empathised and then she gave me her simple philosophy – the best advice I’ve ever been given.

 

 

Baby Must Thrive, Mother Must Survive.

 

 

According to Anne, it was simple.

 

All I had to do was take care of my babies and take care of myself.

 

Feed the baby, play with the older one and rest whenever possible.

Do the housework when I could, cook simply and freeze meals.

 

Do only what you can.

Attempting what you can’t accomplish is futile.

 

 

Just ensure the baby thrives and you survive.

 

 

Anne’s words became my mantra for the next two years.  

They helped in gaining perspective.

 

Now I’m a mum of two and a full time employee.

If I am tired, I try to rest.

Sleep is elusive but toys underfoot and mountainous laundry, are not.

 

 

So God bless Anne P, the tall blonde from Cronulla, who I briefly worked with, years ago.

I only knew you for a very short time but you gave me the best motherhood advice I’ve been given.

 

 

Wisdom hey…

Just paying it forward.

Got any good advice for parents?

 

 

Love,

Robo X

 

Linking up for a very long overdue #IBOT over at Essentially Jess!