We have a largish house. That’s not a bragging thing, thats just by way of explaining the size of the pergola/awning/what-ever-you-call-it-in-other-countries (veranda?) we want built.

The house is a C shape basically, and we pretty much want to fill in the ‘C’, plus a bit more, with this roofed structure that we can sit out under in the summer, and freeze our body parts off under in winter and as our fingers slowly drop off, we can declare loudly how glad fucking we are to have it and wasn’t it a grand idea…

So it’s all good, until we realise we need quotes. Oh. My. God. The quoting thing. I hate it. MOTH hates it.

Why? Because all the tradeys we have had around our place for various quotes over the last couple of years have pretty much been dickheads. Idiots. Asshats. You call to book them to quote? They don’t turn up. They don’t ring back, they don’t DO…anything. It’s SO hard to give them work and PAY them for it! If they do a job, you can bet they leave a godawful mess behind.

But we want our pergola, so we finally get 3 dudes to quote.

Dude 1. Nice guy from large company, measures up, provides computer generated drawings, spends time deciding on stuff with us in his showroom. But…..we expect him to be pricey due to the overheads large companies have - but it ends up being competitive. The dog likes him too - this is important.

Dude 2. Local company. Measures up, quotes on the spot. HAS THE CHEAPEST PRICE - booyah!!!!!! And? The dog likes him.

Dude 3. Larger company. Didn’t like him when I rang to ask for a quote. Jumped down my throat on the phone saying “I don’t come out of hours, you know!” Screw you bud, I didn’t ask you to.

So, he turns up anyway. The dog doesn’t like him, and his quote ends up being $5,000 more than Dude 2, and $4,000 more than Dude 1. Holy hell. How does THAT work?

Dude 3 called me yesterday (at 8.00 freakin’ am!) to see how we found his quote. I told him he’s way out of the ballpark in comparison to everyone else. He asked who the other quoters were. I wouldn’t tell him and said “I don’t think that’s either relevant, or any of your business. Shouldn’t you be more concerned with your pricing structure given it is so out of whack with everyone else?”.

Note: Never call me in the morning. I am NOT nice before at least 10.00am and generally don’t like anyone. Ask my kids.

Anyway, he pretty much hung up on me. I chuckled and thought see you dickhead.

I knew the dog was a good judge of character. She pretty much likes everyone. But if she doesn’t like a person, you can pretty much bet it’s with good reason.

Had any good experiences with tradesmen? Got an insight into their asshatty behaviours?

So my son, Spawn the Elder, has had an emotional week or two. As have I. There is nothing quite like having your teenage son literally crying on your lap, well half on your lap because he is over 6′2″ tall and I am 5′3″, despairing anything good is ever going to happen in his life.

Maybe it’s my Irish ancestry. Being born in Belfast, perhaps I have inherited that melancholy Irish heritage and passed it on. I am partial to a nice potato…

Anyways, thank you to everyone that expressed concern for him. It was greatly appreciated (by me at least, as he’d be horrified if he thought I had posted about him).

Our school has been abso-fucking-lutely brilliant. His year coordinator talked to me for ages, the vice principal called, all his teachers were advised of the situation within a couple of hours, and he was made a priority booking with the school counselor (the spawn that is, not the vice principal), and then was quickly booked into see our GP.

So the boy has talked his head off to a few people, and the general consensus is that he isn’t suffering from depression, but that he needs to work on a few coping skills. He has issues with some of the kids at school because he is more mature than the average 16 year old. Therefore, he can’t be bothered with the crap they spout, and although this isn’t a bad thing, it can serve to make him feel left out and thinking there is something wrong with him. As opposed to just recognising that some of the guys at school are nothing more than raving dickheads. As most 16 year olds are.

He is feeling much brighter however, and needless to say the stronger smell of teen spirit is like nirvana to me (heh, pardon the pun).

I’m telling you folks, this parenting gig gets exponentially harder when they are teenagers.

It sucks, and although I love my boys to pieces, and they don’t get into any trouble, do pretty well at school, have awesome senses of humour, and are generally pretty decent to hang around with….at the moment, I’d give it up in a heartbeat to be back when they were 1 and 3 rather than 14 and 16, because that era? Was a piece of cake compared to this shit.

What would you prefer, or think you would prefer? Toddler hell, or teenage angst??

Also, while we were going through this, I did a bit of research into depression in kids, and uncovered quite a lot of info. I’m thinking of doing a post covering it all in case anyone else is ambushed like me.

Do you think that would be useful??

Just when you think things are getting back to whatever passes for normal, your teenage son has a complete and total meltdown, and you realise he is just like you and wandering off towards this place.

It’s a blow. A crushing, gut wrenching blow. I feel devastated. I spent yesterday at work crying if anyone even mentioned him or even had the nerve to ask how he was.

I knew he was finding some things in life hard. I knew he was pissed off and unhappy with the way some of his mates act. I knew his grades were starting to slip.

But I didn’t know he couldn’t cope with life in general very well. That he is on the top of a slippery slope that leads downwards to nothing good. That he cannot see anything good or worthwhile in his life.

He turned a tear stained face to me and said he’s stupid. He said he’s dumb and useless and will never amount to anything, never get a good job. He can’t go to TAFE, or undertake any alternative form of study due to his stupidity. But he doesn’t understand how he can possibly stay at school because he can’t concentrate in class. Even if he takes copious notes, he can’t remember what he wrote.

He gets so, so sad and frustrated so easily. And I? I am trying to find the right way to help him before his life is impacted too much.

The upside? He trusts me. Tells me mostly everything (I’m not naive enough to think he tells me EVERYTHING!) . How he’s feeling, what pisses him off, whats going on.

You have to talk to your children. Make sure they talk to you. If they don’t want to talk to their parents, encourage them to speak to somebody else. A teacher, a sports coach, a family friend, it doesn’t matter who, as long as they care for the child and have their best interests at heart.

So hi-ho, hi-ho, it’s off to the school counsellor we go. And then the GP and then….I don’t know.

Apologies for the lameness of this blog lately, but it’s about my life and my family, and we’re going through a wee bit of a crappy time, which consequently gets reflected here (and in my inability to spend time reading blogs, and being cheerful). Hopefully, we shall resume normal transmission shortly.

So the junior spawn decided in his infinite wisdom, to rack his mobile phone bill up to $500 by downloading soccer videos, Big Brother videos, and music.

I am livid. I mean, Big Brother? Haven’t I taught him better than that?

Elder spawn of the might-have-been-twisted-testicle has always been so good with his phone (even better now he works 3 shifts a week after school at Coles and pays for it himself), that I guess I expected junior spawn to be the same.

Admittedly, junior spawn has had his phone for 6 months with no dramas, however that’s because he is well aware of the expenses of downloading stuff from a mobile.

I am not really speaking to him at the moment. He has had his mobile confiscated, he has no internet access on his computer, is grounded, and now has to withdraw all his meagre savings from the bank to pay me.

Enough punishment, do you think? What else could I do?

P.S. And to all those who offered torches, candles, hugs, and hopes of ass kicking, I thank you all. You’re all awesome. It’s just pretty much how things are from time to time here, although help is being sought.

In the words of Jeff Fenech* ( who could barely string a coherent sentence together, let’s face it): “I love yous all.

*He was an Australian boxer, for all you ingrates overseas. Not that I care either really. I hate boxing.

Todays advice on Office Etiquette concerns the practice of standing on ones desk. Perhaps you might be intending to check how well the dysfunctional office heating is working, or not working as the case may be, by leaping effortlessly and catlike up onto your desk and thrusting your hand in the vent.

Or something like that. I’m just guessing here. Anyways, it’s all good in theory, but should it ever become a reality here is some advice.

Firstly, it is a good idea to remove any high heels, and be sure you have your footing before standing up. Otherwise, you may find you wobble and slip a bit, and then collapse onto the edge of the desk, your full weight being on your dodgy knee (the one with the kneecap you dislocated on the tow bar of a car years ago while lifting a slab of beer into the back of the car).

And of course should the above happen, the knee will give way, causing your skirt to want to bunch up somewhere all together too high to be seemly for office wear, like your neck. Obviously, to attempt to prevent having the same close personal relationship you share with your gynaecologist with the rest of your colleagues (remember, however nice they may be they are not medical professionals, unless of course you work in a hospital and even then, it’s still not wise), you will need to clutch at it (the skirt, not your neck).

This will in turn, cause you to slip further off the desk. Ultimately of course, you will begin an extremely ungraceful descent from the aforementioned desk. Do not grasp at the first solid object you see to save you, such as your chair, as when you get some weight on it, you will of course realise with a sickening feeling that it is on wheels, just as it skates out from under you and ricochets across the office, hitting the company accountant in the rear end.

Chances are that you will then land awkwardly on the floor with one of your previously cast off high heels embedded in your nether regions, with your skirt up to your hips and an extreme look of embarrassment on your face. Not to mention the extremely up close and personal relationship you didn’t want, but now have, with the accountant. Who is also a pig.

Naturally, I am not suggesting this happened to me at work today, as I am always a shining example of corporate professionalism and glamour. I’m just telling you all this in the interests of public safety.

Indeed.

Done anything klutzy lately?