Kerri’s Awesome ‘Blog

Memories are wonderful things.

I am on the verge of turning 50 and I have recently regained contact with a very dear friend after almost ten years. If you don’t count the twice I have seen her in the previous 5 years, we can count it as 15.

Rosie and I met when we were both living in Fiji. We had joined Fiji Women’s Club, as neither of us are good at being idle, and we were not allowed to work. We found in each other the same wicked sense of humour, an appreciation of the dark and ridiculous and we both loved to drink!

We spent a lot of time together laughing over a bad golf shot, and there were PLENTY of those (who could ever forget Rosie, her club and ball, walking to the next tee having a stern team talk *snort*), drinking at the 19th green, making bad hats for Easter, fabulous hats for Melbourne Cup Day and the interminable committee meetings which would always start AND end with a few drinks. When you can’t legally work and you have a wonderful Fijian lady looking after your kids and doing your housework, it’s amazing the shit you find amusing to fill in the time.

We had a common bond in that we were in a strange land, with no family or friends, and nothing to do, so we did nothing and everything together.

This week, I have been in contact with her again, and after all the years apart, it has been like talking to her over a beer on the balcony at the golf club in Suva. It’s been amazing. Things I haven’t thought about in years have popped to the surface and made me smile, cry and want to bury myself in a hole.

It’s good to be back in contact Rosie, I loves ya babe!

Oh, and spank that gorgeous husband of yours for me, will ya?

So, what does all this have to do with me turning 50, you ask?  For the last few months I have been stressing over the fact that I don’t have as much time in front of me as I have behind.  Then I am reminded that I have an incredible past, have lived an amazing life and have been blessed in so many ways.  I have done so many things that others may only dream of and I also have an incredibly bright future.  I have it all, at 50 

Two of the most important things in my life are fashion and music.  Recently we lost two icons from these industries.

Thank you for the enormous amount of pleasure you have given me over the years:

Bo Diddley (79) singer and guitarist who invented his own name, his own guitars, his own beat, and, with a handful of other musical pioneers, rock ‘n’ roll itself. The legendary singer and performer was known for his homemade square guitar, dark glasses, and black hat. Along with Chuck Berry, Diddley was recognized as one of rock’s most influential guitarists. In recent years he had suffered from diabetes. In 2007, he suffered a heart attack in Gainesville, Fla. and was hospitalized after a concert in Council Bluffs, Iowa. On May 13, 2008, he had a stroke in Omaha, Neb. He died of heart failure in Archer, Florida on June 2, 2008.

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Yves Saint Laurent (71) French designer who rewrote the rules of fashion by putting women into elegant pantsuits that defined how modern women dressed. Saint Laurent exploded on the fashion scene in 1958 as a boy-wonder successor to Christian Dior and became one of the best-known and most influential couturiers of the second half of the 20th century. He created a bold new dress code for women during the feminist revolution of the ’70s and helped to launch the era of the celebrity designer with his jet-set lifestyle. He died in Paris, France on June 1, 2008.

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40th dinner - Bob and Phyllis

Originally uploaded by Kerri McCrorey

I’m late for Mother’s Day and getting in by the skin of my teeth for Father’s Day.

Thank you for being such wonderful in-laws. It makes not having my own parents around a lot less depressing at these times.

I love you!

I keep hearing about this phenomenon, but find it hard to grasp.

Do other people’s kids leave home?

Mine have been hanging around for 20 years and more and I’m still waiting for them to break the *choke* dreadful news that they are going to move out.

Don’t get me wrong, I adore my kids. It’s just that they’re messy little bastards and it doesn’t get better with age.

For those following along, you know that we are trying to sell our house. It is on the market now. The photographer came last Monday so we have great photos for the advertising campaign.

I have paid my $40.00 to our local council to get the “149 Planning Certificate”, which sounds terribly official, but all it does is give us permission to sell our house. Great little income rort there Rockdale Council!

The Solicitor is revved up and ready to go.

The Hawaiian and I have the house looking like a dream home…….

Then the kids come home.

Why is it that children/teenagers/young adults always explode all over the house when they get home? Is this only a problem at my place, or is it some sort of epidemic that I can blame some other bastard for? Who did this to my kids? It certainly isn’t MY fault, my kids have been brung up proper like! *smirk*

Ok, so Im a slob too, their father was a slob, and The Hawaiian is one too. It’s a little unfair of me to demand perfection from the kids when I can’t lead by example.

There are so many more important things to do than housework. Like playing on the internet, blogging, chatting, having a mani and a pedi, shoe and bag shopping…. the list goes on and on.

So if you want to buy my house, don’t try and come over to look at it without at least a half day’s notice, preferrably a full day. Best option for us is for you to just buy it from the photos.

Then we can get outta here and leave the damned kids in the empty nest! *evil grin*

This is a post for you Sam Let’s hope that a glut of overdue stories will keep you occupied while waiting for the tardy one.

The period of my pregnancy from about 34 weeks onwards, I called ‘The Blah Period’.

I was tired, looked and felt like a sack of crap and just wanted the damned thing OUT!

My first baby, the gorgeous Sooz, had given me no trouble through the pregnancy. No heartburn, no morning sickness. She did, however, have the habit of sticking a foot under my ribcage and giving an almighty shove.

I digress… Susan was due February 27. I had seen my Obstet that week and he informed me all was well, and as I was 4cm dilated it would be any time now. “Pack your bag” he said.

*ahem*

After two weeks, two more Obstet visits and two more suggestions that I pack my bag, he booked me in for induction the following day “Just in case you don’t blow tonight” were his exact words (23 years on and I still remember the words!)

Next morning I dragged my sleepless, sorry and literally aching ass out of bed, showered, woke up Limo Driver and we made our way to the hospital. I was BURSTING for a cup of tea, but wasn’t allowed one, so the morning was already off to a bad start, I not only had a sore ass, but I was in a FOUL mood!

In those days they gave me no idea what to expect from an induction, so I was flying blind.

I arrived at 7:30am and sat and sat until 9:30 when they inserted the drip. Every ten minutes or so they would come in with an expectant look. I gave them a blank look back “what?”. What are they expecting from me? What is supposed to be happening?

At 11:30 still nothing, and still no cup of tea. I was frothing at the mouth. Am I ok? Is everything going to plan? Where is my doctor? I haven’t seen him yet and assume he is playing a quick 9 holes at the local golf course.

12:00 midday and Midwife Extraodinaire comes in and says they are going to break my waters. “Awesome” I think, they are finally going to do something. I am taken into a delivery room and look in horror at ‘the crochet hook’. “You’re going to do WHAT? With THAT?”

Luckily for them, it was completely painless, though the memory of the device still makes me shudder.

The deed was done and again we have to wait… but for only about 2 minutes, when I get my first contraction. An ALMIGHTY contraction. I am taken back to the waiting room, as it is still ‘going to take some time’. *snort*

Still no doctor - must have been a quick 18 holes.

Limo Driver is timing my contractions from that stage on. Second contraction is 3 minutes later. 3rd is 2 minutes later. 4th, 5th and 6th, all two minutes apart.

Limo Driver decides to speak to Midwife Extraordinaire. “No, that can’t be right, it’s her first and it’s going to be a long time yet”. We had been dismissed. *shrug*

So, taking her at her word, we continued to keep time of the contractions. Maybe these weren’t contractions? Maybe I had the flu! That’s it, I had the flu! A painfully regular flu!

Where is my doctor?

12:30pm The flu is now at one minute intervals. Still no doctor. Midwife Extraordinaire comes in at Limo Driver’s insistance and takes me to the examination room, where BINGO! she realises I am fully dilated and about to drop a VERY large bundle on her nice clean floor!

“Oh” she says “I should call your doctor”. She hadn’t called him yet?

12:40 After approximately 20 contractions (or so) I ask “how long is this going to go on for?” Midwife Extraordinaire rolls her eyes and informs me that the average time is around 10 hours. I had been in labour for a grand total of 40 minutes and had already had enough. “Fine, that’s it, I’m outta here! Childbirth is cancelled!”

I glared at Limo Driver who had put me in this predicament in the first place and barked at him to take me home.

Midwife Extraordinaire was desperately trying to pin my legs to the bed to keep me from climbing off, telling me I was going nowhere as she needed to check my progress.

She looked

Looked again

Limo Driver looked.

Limo Driver almost fainted.

I was crowning.

WHERE IS MY DOCTOR???? 36 quick holes perhaps?

Sooz, though in no rush to leave her comfy spot, was not pleased that her safe abode had been forcibly crumbled. She was now making a SPEEDY exit!

Three times in my life I have been pleased when someone throws the ‘childbearing hips’ line in my direction. Each of those times was in Labour Ward.

Sooz was born at 12:48pm March 14. At 9lb 10oz, she was long, fat and screaming hungry. 10 fingers, ten toes, two beautiful big blue eyes and a head of blonde ringlets from the day she was born.

Oh…. and I forgot my bag! Heh

So, where was my Maternal Instinct? Another story, maybe for another time.

….and it’s name is ‘Guitar Hero 3′

My son, bless his cotton socks, went out and bought a Playstation 3 and Guitar Hero 3 on Thursday. He set it up in the family room, good little sharer that he is, and it has been running hot ever since.

I knew this would happen if that game came into this house! My husband is gone forever!

I found my old blog, finally! I only made two posts on it, but I found them interesting, as I originally thought it would take us a matter of weeks to get the house finished. It turns out it took us almost exactly a year.

Written 17 April, 2007:

The adventure starts here. Right here, right now.

I have avoided starting this blog because, I think, it becomes real once you put it down in text.

I am abandoning my kids and moving to a country on the other side of the world. There. I said it.

My “kids” are all old enough and big enough to look after themselves these days. I rarely see them, though they live at home. However, being so far away from them is going to be extremely hard, if they need me to do the ‘Mummy’ thing. Let’s face it, they don’t need me anymore, it’s me that needs them! All I need to do for them these days is find the tomato sauce thats hiding behind something in the pantry or provide a free taxi service. They wipe their own butts, blow their own noses and can open cans, toast bread and boil eggs. My job is done. They are so good at feeding the pets that they often ALL feed them without consulting the others, which is a pretty happy situation for the four legged fuzzy people who share our home.

I currently live in Sydney Australia with my husband Brad and the abovementioned ‘kids’ who are, as of this date, 19, 20 and 22. Brad and I are moving to San Francisco with friends for what may be our big break.

It will be nothing less than a fabulous opportunity to experience an incredible city. There’s very little to lose, really…. apart from my mind!

So, I’m leaving one spectacular bridge, for another spectacular bridge. It could be a lot worse!

Written 27 April, 2007:

Put simply, our house is currently a dump!

For our move to San Francisco, we have decided to sell this house, which is old, large and requires a lot of maintenance, and buy a smaller, newer one which will be more manageable for the kids while we are away. To do this, we have to make a few improvements to the current house in the hope of achieving a higher price.

Every room needs some attention, though some more than others and we have decided to tackle the task one room at a time. The office is one of the worst, as it has been our hoarding ground for the last ten years. Don’t know where to put the portable airconditioner? Bung it in the Office! Where’s the sock basket? Probably in the Office. (Yes, we have a sock basket, let it go!). This is where we have decided to start.

The last week has been spent emptying out the room, sorting things to go to freecycle, the salvos and the tip and taking said items to their respective new homes.

Tomorrow we finish the desk and shelf dismantling and we start painting! DEAR GOD! I can’t wait to get one room finished and looking fabulous to spur us on to the next, because from where I sit right now, this is one damned awful task and so incredibly daunting. Why am I sitting here instead of getting on with it? Excellent question! I wish I had an excellent answer!

On with it, then!

Unfortunately, I have no photo of my Dad in his uniform, so I have posted a photo of my uncle (Mum’s brother) as a second best option, though it has to be noted that Ally was second best to no-one. He was a champ and my Dad’s best mate.

Ally and Dad would get up to no end of mischief together, and when they were too old for the physical mischief, they would reminisce instead, over a few glasses of ridiculously expensive Scotch Whiskey and laugh until they cried.

It was always a complete crack-up watching them together.

I note here that I would write about my Dad’s achievements in the army, however, in his own words, he “spent more time in the brig than in action”, and I can only regale you with tales of him stealing his commanding officers great coat and similar larrikin activities….. ANZAC Day deserves a more sombre tone. I know there are stories that Dad could have told us, but he never did. I can only imagine the horror that he saw but would laugh off with his stories of childish pranks.

Dad was in the Australian Army and was in Papua New Guinea on The Kokoda Trail.

Ally was a Pathfinder based in England in the Australian Airforce in WWII.

They shall grow not old,
As we that are left grow old,
Age shall not weary them,
Nor the years condemn.
At the going down of the sun,
And in the morning
We will remember them.

Lest We Forget

I have the best job in the world!

I love doing what I do, I visit people in their homes, play with fabric and colours and walk out with a handful of money. Cool huh?

The best bit is when a customer cancels an appointment and there is little to do. This morning is an example of that.

I work for a crazy, loveable couple (S & V) who treat me and my family like their own family. This could be an issue for a lot of people in the workplace, but for us it works like a dream, mainly I think, because there is so much respect on all sides.

S & V have a young family who I have seen grow since birth and have done the odd babysitting adventure for them. My son has helped S on a few jobs with some labouring work, and we have socialised with them, their friends and family. V makes her special Czech dumplings just because she knows my husband loves them. We are all pretty good mates outside the workplace.

So, back to today.. S arrives and I am playing on Twitter, he comments “ah, working hard already are we?” I grunt and nod while shoving a pack of chocolate chip cookies in his face. He responds “My turn to make coffee then?” I grunt and nod again, refreshing the Twitter page. He knows me too well, I am NOT a morning person!

My first appointment had cancelled the night before, so I had a couple of hours to kill.

S arrives with coffee (hazelnut flavoured today) and he gas bags without taking a breath we chat about the Real Estate he and V were looking at over the weekend.

I start to do some actual work and note with some smug satisfaction that this is the case and he throws me a shocked look “Hell, we can’t have that! More coffee?”

Gotta love the man!

V, I don’t know how you put up with him, you are a saint!

P.S. When the work is on, we all run around like blue ass flies…. REALLY! LOL