My ring finger has developed a reaction to something (the joys of having a screwed immune system) and currently I can only fit my engagement ring and the ring I bought myself in to the smaller space available on my finger.

Some folks might read in to the fact that I am not choosing to wear my wedding ring, and have chosen instead to continue to wear the ring I bought myself. Luckily for me the grumpy Dutchman isn’t one to read in to these things. Being largely unsentimental he called me a self-involved bitch and happily went on his way. In fact if the GD had had his way I may not even have gotten a wedding ring – he would have been happy if the two of us just knew in our hearts that we were married and we didn’t do any of it. Not because he eschews material things and would rather collect ‘experiences’, no; he would have been happy not spending the money and saving it for something more important – you know – like records.

I have spent the large part of the day clearing out my cupboards, going through my drawers, sorting out old bags and shoes and putting together rubbish sacks of stuff for the refuge. Yes rubbish sacks, I have five so far, and I haven’t yet gone through the stuff in the kids room. (My stuff in their wardrobe – we have feck all storage in this house).

I don’t have any feelings about not wearing my wedding ring. The me who chose it nearly ten years ago (yes I chose it- the GD isn’t dumb) is definitely not the same person as the me who wears it today. For one thing I am nearly ten kilos heavier, have eight tattoos (I was an ‘unblemished’ bride – although I was pregnant so you know – swings and roundabouts) and I think a much more definite sense of style. Bear in mind of course that in a recent survey on Facebook 7 out of 10 of my friends said they wouldn’t be friends with me anymore if I bought these;

I don’t care – I feel like it would be totes worth it – I LIKE them.

Anyway, the me I was ten years ago was a very different beast. She didn’t have kids, had just travelled overseas for the first time and thought she was SO worldly, wore mostly clothes from the op shops, was not allergic to anything – or was at least blissfully unaware, drank most nights with her friends and then got up every morning at some un-godly hour and ran for 8kms with the same friends, lost weight just by maybe eating a salad that night and really, really wanted to get a tattoo one day. Just a small one – in a discreet place, you know like my ankle or something.

Things change.

I’m struggling at the moment with some of it. I’m obvs older, and mature-er and have different priorities – like keeping my kids alive through the holidays for example – and I have good friends and all sorts of great stuff going on.

And while the ten kilos extra doesn’t consume me like it would have ten years ago, and I am confident and fine mostly with the way I look on a day-to-day basis, it still bothers me. It bothers me that all the things I have done – which have worked in the past – aren’t working now. It bothers me that I can’t move as fast as I used to, and don’t last as long as I used to. It bothers me that my knee plays up when I run more than 5 kms – and god forbid – the pain has been preventing me from wearing some of my extremely cool heels. (Chuck Taylors and Birkies for the win but).

It bothers me that 3 years on from diagnosis my gut still blows right up like a pregnant womans randomly and that fucking salad can give me stabbing pain. It bothers me that it bothers me and that I havent found a definitive, actual thing I can do every time to fix it.

So, I’m trying a new look with just two sparklers on my finger while the rash heals. I’m getting rid of all the clothes that don’t fit me because holding on to them with no hope in sight of fitting them again is pathetic. I’m reading books about healing my gut and I’m sleeping in on Tuesdays and Thursdays instead of running and hurting my knee more. And I’m trying to ignore the voice in my head that says I’d be a better version of myself if I weighed what I did ten years ago. Because she was cute but I’ve got way more style.

We have come to a working agreement with the lads. If they misbehave they get 5 minutes in their room and I threaten them with the immediate and permanent death of their wee burgeoning social lives. Just the thought of not being able to play with Eli and Daiwick has them scuttling off to their room to sit out the 5 minutes punishment for swearing/hitting their brother/breaking something of mine/breaking something of theirs/refusing to clean up – you name it! Their bedroom has seen a lot of time out action in the last couple of days. But we are cracking it  I feel positive. No one has died.

The grumpy Dutchman has sort of given up smoking. He does not feel positive. He is really living up to his moniker at the moment. It is choice fun. He has resolved – and told people which was daft – that he will not be buying any more cigarettes. Very clever. Very subtle. Full of loopholes. He can still smoke other peoples cigarettes. Tricky. You see he maintains that it is his right to get lung cancer if he wants it. I think he secretly thinks he is bullet proof. His cancer proof dutch lungs to go with his giant dutch teeth and pretty blue eyes. He maintains he is only giving up because of the cost. I have mentioned how stingy he is. I don’t care – I’ll take it!

I am so pleased that he has stopped – for one and most obvious thing right off – he is in the house more! With me and the kids! Right there! Being really fucking grumpy that he doesn’t have cigarettes! It’s SO fun. But at least he’s not stinky. Grumpy, but not stinky anymore.

I have done a lot of fuck all since we hit the ground. I had that day where I unpacked the bags from our holiday and moved a bit. I took the lads to the movies – yesterday? Maybe? It’s all a blur – and we walked there because my car sucks, but really I’ve done a lot of nothing.I have watched a LOT of Third Rock from the Sun. I have eaten a LOT of stone fruit. They go together remarkably well. I keep waiting for Netflix to cut me off. It keeps asking me if I want to continue and I keep saying yes please! I keep waiting to be bored with not moving and watching TV and it still hasn’t happened. I have been day napping.

I hope I still fit my pants by the end of the week….

Good day, and good year to y’all.

We touched down on home ground yesterday, New Years day, and it’s important to say that travelling with the GD and the children when one has spent the night previous ‘welcoming’ in the New Year is just as much fun as it sounds.

I did not make it to midnight – I never do. And I am thankful that I got the sleep that I did because I did not feel good in the morning. Adulting fail.

The GD got two hours sleep. And that’s only because I let him sleep past the alarm and got up myself to start organising the fam. We needed to be on the motorway by 8am to be at the airport and the grumpy Dutchman opted to stay awake until nearly 5am with his brothers. I need to say however that he was remarkbly chipper all morning – perhaps still drunk.

Thank god for hot chips. They performed their miracle cure and by the time we were on the plane I was feeling like a human – just in time because the GD was hitting the wall.

Such a relief to be home. We had a wonderful holiday but I was starting to need my own space again. We flew out of beautiful dry heat into a wet cyclone of sorts – it’s still warm but windy and wet – and who needs more than that as a reason to stay home and do exactly nothing?

Me and my feminist Kanye tee shirt have stayed indoors all day today. On this, the second day of the year we decided that going out or doing anything might be a little too hard so we stayed home and unpacked and slept and played with Lego and watched shit TV. Bliss.

You know, apart from the cabin fever affected kids who have wrestled and fought and generally driven us crazy all day. The 5 year old in his wetsuit and the 8 year old wearing pre-teen attitude like armour.

I haven’t made any resolutions but I have thought a lot about what I want out of 2016. Stay tuned for a ‘planning’ post.