Confessions of a Mad Mooer: how to get that Hollywood look when you wake up

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Confessions of a Mad Mooer: how to get that Hollywood look when you wake up

Dear Hollywood,

Please see attached what people really look like first thing in the morning.

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Take careful note of the inability to find the energy to close ones mouth as a result of being woken up at 3am for the last three nights in a row by the little Princess who will not go back to sleep until 5am followed by the twins waking up at 6am. Also the hair that took a whole night of tossing and turning to create not a mere few hours of brushing and glossing like the magazines would have us think. So in short, that “first thing in the morning look” takes all night to create not hours… That doesn’t seem like a valid argument to be making… My point is… I’m tired and I would like a nap? Waaaaaa.

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No.

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No!

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Yes!!

Confessions of a Mad Mooer: The Mad Robin in the Attic #rant

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Confessions of a Mad Mooer: The Mad Robin in the Attic #rant
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Everything is awesome

I like having a bit of a write (and evidently a lot of a rant). In my adult life I’ve now written three novels, two children’s fantasy novels and most recently a memoir or a me-moi as my daughter says. Add to that the three fabulous novels I wrote in Primary School (viciously slammed by the critics, siblings can be so cruel,  but take it from me they were sensational) and I’m quite the novelist. So it surprised me somewhat when I told a friend that I’d just written a me-moi and they responded by saying, “Oh, are you still writing? I thought you’d give up now that you’d spent time in a psychiatric hospital. Wouldn’t you be unpublishable now?”

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      WHAT THE ACTUAL F!!!!

I responded with something resembling a sentence and then disengaged from the conversation as soon was politely acceptable. Clearly they’re unfamiliar with Susanna Kaysen and the now famous quote from Girl Interrupted, “Don’t point your finger at crazy people.” Obviously nothing bad happened to them, I didn’t explode or bark or start wailing or use too many ors in a sentence or forget to use commas… I just muttered something about liking writing and then retreated to the blanket fort in my head. Here’s what I should have said -

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Serious, literary, lego me

In 1979 two great things happened, I was born (shamelessly arrogant but I feel the sense of drama was required) and The Mad Woman in the Attic was first published. The Mad Woman in the Attic was possibly my favourite text that I studied in University. And you Good Sir should read it. Because not only would you lock away the “mad woman” in literature but also in society. As soon as a woman is counter to your understanding she is to be boxed up and put away. Did it not occur to you that not all who seek help are snivelling,  messy haired, violent psychopaths? That we can be productive members of society? That perhaps the locking away and stigmatising of the “mad woman” is what forces them into violent gibberhood. And so what if I am a crackpot? At least I am in good company! Sylvia Plath, Anne Sexton, Virginia Woolf, Luanne Rice, Elizabeth Wurtzel, Suzanna Kaysen and Patricia Cornwell have all been considered raving loonies at some point. They’ve all spent time in “supportive environments whilst they recovered from exhaustion.” So when you think about it, being barking mad would pretty much be a prerequisite. If anything I should be expecting a bunch or marauding female novelists to come barging through my door at any given moment in order to clutch me to their collective bosom and shower me with literary agents’ contact details. I too am now a raving writer. I too drink tea like it’s on tap. Ich bin ein lunatic. And honestly what real writer doesn’t have a scarf, a beret and a jumbo sized pack of antidepressants on them at all times. So just go take your snivelling comment and stuff it down you fluffy, lemon, jumper.

Oh, on second thoughts, it’s probably better that I didn’t say that. Let’s face it, if I did he probably would have just said, “Yeah, that makes a lot of sense if you think about it like a crazy person.”

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Unequivocal proof of my madness, not even my kids are safe from me logoising them.

Denise Scott, Mother Bare: A Reflection Statement*

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Now when I go see a lady comedian I look for one thing,  and one thing alone, is there a lot of mention of vag. And I’m pleased to say Scotty not only delivered (oh yes, pun intended) but then gave even more. Some female comedians these days do a brief reference to the fanwah in order to tick off the stereotype but then move on to talking about other things like… I don’t know, not important things… cars or something? Not only did Scotty brush over the vajayjay she went deeper, much, much deeper.

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Yup, that’s right, Scotty went uterus deep. I don’t want to give away too much (“Spoilers Sweetie,” as the Whovians say) but her plunge into the female anatomy had one young gentleman so excited that he had to run out and Google prolapse before the show ended. He certainly looked far more satisfied when he returned so I can only imagine he found the answers he was looking forward.

I have to say that Scotty didn’t just inspire a love of learning in the runner but also in the young women in the audience. When asked what a bicornuate uterus was one young lass answered “like two,” following up with, “well, bi means two!”

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And of course it does. As an English teacher I can assure you her teacher would be proud. Very proud because knowing bi means two is one thing but knowing what cornuate (horn like) refers to is another level entirely. Have to admit I was picturing some sort of devil uterus with two horns, thank goodness I wasn’t asked because I can imagine that response would have opened up can of worms one show just couldn’t untangle.

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Cesareans,  episiotomies and bitches who get through birth with no vaginal woes also got a nod. So if you like your comedy vag focused, you’re in for a treat. I do, I’m not thinking of getting Judith Lucy’s signature on my pelvis for nothing.

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Apart from vages Scotty also told some stories of her early days doing stand up. I’m wondering if she is considering doing a “Where are they now” episode so that the rooster sucker can be heard over the voice over. “Suck my….” “Denise, do you remember this voice?” Oh my giddy aunt.

There were also some fantastic family stories that had us all rolling but again, Spoilers Sweetie. BUT I feel that I would be remiss if I didn’t mention that there are clown references and a photo is displayed at one point that is actually far creepier than the clown from Spawn. You have been warned.

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Highly recommend that you grab a ticket to one of the additional shows put on. It is seriously hilarious. Just do me a favour. Take a male with you. Preferably a male like my mate Pete who said to me, “The only thing I know about womb is it’s how you start to spell wombat and both are dirty, hairy and belong in the wild.”

* Why a reflection statement rather than a review?  Firstly, I’m not a reviewer so wouldn’t do reviewing justice. I mean I don’t even drink coffeeor smoke, which I’m told are the base level requirements. If they change the criteria to bitchy tea drinkers then I’m in. Secondly,  I’m going through my existential phase at the moment so relate everything back to my life these days. It’s been going for around 23 years now so I’m thinking I may be coming out of it soon.

Confessions of a Mad Mooer: my gift to mankind, PHILOSOPHICAL PORN!

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Recently I have become addicted to Imgflip.com and this combined with my desire to bring something to the world that is truly noble and needed has led me to create a little thing I like to call Philosophical Porn. You may call it #philosoohicalporn if you like. This is for those people who claim they read Playboy / Girl for the articles. Please enjoy this feast for the mind and eyes.

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Hmmm. Thought provoking.

Confessions of a Mad Mooer: sometimes my kids are so sweet that it pains me that I suck so much #PND

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I've become addicted to creating memes... my only regret is that I didn't start this addiction earlier.

As those of you who have been checking in on my blog for the last few months know I’m currently journeying through Postnatal Depression (PND as the cool kids call it), for the people visiting for the first time, hi, I’m Robin, I have Mad Mummies’ Disease. With PND you have good and bad days. Some days I’m so full of anxiety that I have to take zantac and gaviscon by the truck load on top of my regular proton pump inhibitor just to keep the acid at bay. No particular reason is needed for this excess stomach churning. Something as simple as someone rushing a social interaction with me can get me so anxious that I produce enough acid to dissolve the Monument of Light…. or my pancreas. Never mind that they could have been busy, or they have their own issues, or they’re socially awkward, or they could just be a massive bitch, or many other ores, no I jump straight to me sucking completely. Of course they rushed a conversation with me, of course they palmed me off onto someone else, who wouldn’t,  I suck, spending time with me must be awful. So as you can imagine with that kind of negative self talk going on in my melon I have more bad moments than is “normal” and they last longer.

When parenting you are faced with these dilemmas on a moment to moment basis. Your child is crying,  clearly it must be your fault, you’re a terrible mother, you’re a terrible person,  you can’t do anything right, your children will be permanently damaged by being subjected to your hideous company. You’re stuck in traffic, it’s your fault,  you should have forseen the accident or truck convoy or L Plater causing it and either left earlier or taken another route, now your kids are going to over heat and die in your moving air conditioning car, or get stung by a bee in your insect free car and have an allergic reaction and die, or you’ll miss their appointment,  their lives will be ruined and the world will declare you a dead beat mum. Deep breath. So many ores. Getting anxious just thinking about it.

Now of course there are still great moments of joy. As I have said in a previous entry most mothers with PND love their kids, https://riedstrap.wordpress.com/2014/05/13/confessions-of-a-mad-mooer-thats-what-she-said/ yes there are some exceptions but that is more common with Postpartum Psychosis than Postnatal Depression. However, if caught late the anxiety can definitely drive a wedge between mother and child. So in light of this of course there are moments of happiness. Many moments. More than moments,  prolonged times of delighting in your child/children but for the PND mum even these can result in more anxiety and guilt. Guilt is the mind killer.

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My Angel Cake. She's so perfect sometimes I feel like crying when I look at her.

I’ve had a great weekend with my kids. I had a beautiful brunch with my daughter yesterday.  It has been months since we’ve had real mummy daughter time. Time she needs and I need. She was adorable. We went to our old cafe, ordered our old favourite- french toast and strawberry milkshakes,  and we sat and chatted happily and then went for a walk finished off by running around a park and jumping about. I loved it. But now I feel sickened with guilt. My little girl needs special time with me so much. But I rarely give it to her. Sure we hang out whilst the boys nap but it’s not the same. I feel sick like her life is being ruined and that her confidence will be destroyed because I can’t get a break from my beautiful boys to spend special time with my little Angel Cake. So even the joy of quality time with my girl was tainted by guilt and anxiety.

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They're so perfect I sometimes find it hard to believe that they're real.

Today the guilt bit again. I went to check on my beautiful boys to see if they were sleeping well. I check multiple times. It is a issue I have with my PND. For me PND largely manifests with obsessing over safety. Making sure my babies are alive. Listening to them breath. Checking over and over again that they’re really there. And of course with guilt. So back to the guilt. I was doing my crazy lady SIDS check on my boys and came across them like this. Sleeping whilst holding hands. They’re adorable boys. They love each other to bits and pieces and have such a special bond. I watched them basking in their warm glow for a while then grabbed my camera, took a pic and snuck off back to cuddle time with Angel Cake. But then the guilt started. My kids are so beautiful. They’re clever, they’re funny, they smile and laugh all day. They’re adorable. These are all good things. There’s just one draw back. They’re saddled with me. So the guilt started again, eroding the shiny hue off this truly special moment. These wonderful creatures are saddled with an angry, nasty, negative,  pessimistic, witch of a mother. How can they stay happy and confident for long when they’re saddled with such a wretched beast as myself. The self loathing,  that nasty voice in my head jumped out and destroyed everything yet again. And as I’ve said in a previous blog I do know what my core belief is, https://riedstrap.wordpress.com/2014/05/05/confessions-of-a-mad-mooer-ive-just-had-an-oprah-moment/ heck I even know where it came from, I know exactly who put that awful critic in my head and yet I still struggle to overcome it.

So what to do. Well for me, I’m having a cup of tea, feeling a little bit teary, but know I need to up the exercise tomorrow. A bit of distraction goes a long long way. I need a mummy time out so I can pick myself up, forget who I am and get my energy back. A few hours of escapism would be great. Let’s hope I get some soon. (Note: rushing to the grocery store is not me time Mr Husband!)

I’ve come a long way in the last three months but I still have a long way to go. I’ll keep you posted with more Confessions of a Mad Mooer

You’re welcome to join me at
https://facebook.com/groups/563402577109194 My group for ladies that are cray cray (any kind of lady crazy, not just PND, if you’re a little bit mad and you’re female you’ve found a home)
https://facebook.com/confessionsofamadmooer My page for anyone and everyone
even tweet with me @RobinRiedstra

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Impractical Parenting: You know you’re a mother when…

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… this is considered not THAT messy.

… you run out of pads so use a nappy in the interim.

… you discover you haven’t actually run out of pads, you’re brain was just too fried to see them so now you’re a grown woman wearing an infant boy’s nappy for no reason.

… the idea of having a cocktail with the girls makes you so excited that you can’t sleep… for the entire month beforehand,  because that’s how far in advance you have to arrange things.

… you’ve forgotten how to go to the toilet unsupervised.

… a good day is when you get to brush your teeth.

… one spew on your top isn’t enough to make you change it.

… you enjoy snuggling in bed on your own even more than a university student.

… your food intake is even worse than a university student’s. It consists of half sucked on left overs.

…  the idea of giving yourself a timeout is appealing.

… having a headache is not an excuse,  it’s a way of life.

… the spirit is willing but the body is exhausted.

… your partner’s very presence infuriates you for no particular reason.

… you’re always hungry but never get food because your children steal it.

… you think it’s okay to sniff another human’s butt.

… you think of creating a blanket fort and hiding in it on a regular basis.

… chocolate is your bed fellow.

… you go to put laundry away, forget what you’re doing, go to make a cup of tea,  forget you made it, go to find clean clothes, can’t find them, then drink cold tea you have just discovered.

…. ask your 27 year old babysitter if she’s been taking her probiotics, because apparently everyone needs to be babied by you now… awkward.

… you have no desire to get out of your pajamas.

… a baby comes bursting out of your vagina, or in the cases like my twins thanks to an emergency c section, out of your stomach (alien style).