update (my house is still standing, I'm not injured) (yet, anyway)

After another perfectly awful email, this time directly threatening our persons, we spent the night out of our house and pursued the police, asking them just to raise the fact of the complaints and investigation with the builder and to ask him to stop contacting us other than through formal channels.  They visited him last night, I'm told, with "consequences [of his actions] explained and understood".  So far, nothing further.  I'll be going home this evening with P and trying to enjoy being there, in my space, with my family. 

I trust we won't be chased further by him, but who knows.  I believe the threats are bluster to try and squeeze a few more dollars out of us, but, like I said, who the fuck knows.  In any case, we've taken them seriously out of an abundance of caution.  You know, I'm a lawyer and I've seen far worse, but it really is different when you're the person intimately involved with the crime, not just the advisor. 

Thank god for insurance, an excellent and responsive police force, an understanding workplace and P's family for accomodating and caring for us last night. 

In the interim, Dad's not doing so well and Mum's struggling with the burden a bit, I think.  I've booked last minute flights to see them this weekend, even though we're booked to go at Easter.  I've rented a car so they don't have to make trips to the airport and even if all I do is sit quietly with Dad, at least Mum can have a breather and some space.  He's still himself, but there are aspects of him that are changing, from what I'm able to tell over the phone.  I need to see them both, I think. 

In brighter news, how about that cricket world cup semi-final?! Poor old P had tickets to the game -- I wouldn't have otherwise felt sorry for him, but this was during the threat crisis and a very busy period at work, followed a hard weekend of work on the house and stag do for a close friend, at a time when he was dealing with a pregnant, ill wife, his father-in-law's illness and has the pressure of completing the renovation -- I think the stress of the game nearly gave him a heart attack!  The result and the game were thrilling, of course, but when it comes to the wire like that it's stressful.  My heart goes out to the South Africans but we're so excited for the final on Sunday :)  I'm backing the Black Caps - go Kiwis! 

rounder by the day

I wore one of P's t-shirts and a pair of shorts with an elastic waistband yesterday evening and was the most comfortable I've been in weeks.  I ditched the white blazer and black pleated midi-length work dress as soon as I got in the door (I'd lost the wedge heels the minute I stood up to leave the office - jandals and workwear is a key look for Kiwis on a summer commute) and heaved a sigh of relief as it all hung out in P's purple t-shirt. 

I guess that's how you know I'm now visibly pregnant, shall we say.  At least I didn't doff my bra the minute I walked in the door - I've taken to unhooking it about 8pm with an audible sigh, then removing it entirely by 8.30 because the bastard keeps roughing up my nipples (by roughing up I mean touching lightly, WOW OUCH). 

Following last night's comfortpalooza, I ordered some maternity jeans and a pack of maternity basics online this morning.  And commenced bleeding on and off. 

I am living in terror of doing something to jinx the pregnancy.  I can't bring myself to buy baby things.  When I purchased the maternity goods, it was the first time I've bought something pregnancy related other than folate-laced pills or ultrasound co-pays.  OF COURSE it preceded a bodily freak out.

This is not my first rodeo with bleeding during this pregnancy.  It is scary, yes, but I've got good at ignoring it while I go about real life (ha.  that and you know, thinking about my father).  The knowledge that it is fairly common and that there is nothing I can do is not exactly reassuring, per se, but it makes me sanguine (wrong choice of word?  oh well, it fits and it stays). 

So I'm daring it to get worse.  I walked around the baby section of Smith & Caughey today (oh christ no, I didn't buy anything, that shit is expensive.) I added to the list of what we might need.  I looked at the DIA's top 100 names spreadsheets from '99 to '14.  This is superstitious bullshit I'm engaging in, believing that a positive act of child-recognition could spell doom for my baby.  I'm not doing it anymore.  I'm going to wear stuff with elastic with pride.  I'm going to be someone's mother. 

end of spring 2014

I was in Christchurch last week, alternatively squinting as the sun beat down on me through the windows of various meeting rooms or pushing back my hair as the wind blew a gale when I managed to escape outside.  It's been a disappointing spring, really.  Gusty, drizzly, grey.  I shouldn't complain - in the two years since we returned to New Zealand, the seasons have outdone themselves.  Aucklanders grow to expect six weeks of rain during spring, standard so there's nothing new with what we've been experiencing to date. It's just that springtime elsewhere seems to have bright days (notable exception: London, Spring 2012, miseryfest). 

In the past two weeks, the humidity has finally arrived.  Sensing it was going to take even more of a beating than usual, my GHDs promptly gave up the ghost and are lying abandoned on a shelf in the bathroom.  I've been using horrific amounts of hairspray and plastering my bob back into a weird little pony tail.  It's gross.  GHD's are GD expensive, the bastards, and have a life of about two years.  I've been through three sets now which is an obscene amount of money on a hair implement.  My vanity knows no bounds.

We had patches of sunshine at the beach this weekend, though the wind was still there.  We escaped to the Coromandel for a night, though I'm not sure it qualified as relaxing.  The last half hour of the drive left me contemplating whether I would, for the first time in my life, actually require P to pull over.  The alternative being that I threw up in the door handle, as did a poor British woman on our tour in Rajasthan.  I managed to keep it together, but spent some time afterwards laying prone either on the beach or on the window seat of the bach in Whangamata, letting the heaves settle.  There's sand in my cardigan but it was worth it. 

what addiction shall we address next?

In a meeting yesterday at someone else's offices, the sun on my back kept getting hotter and hotter.  My blue suit doesn't breathe particularly well and I was increasingly uncomfortable and sweaty, as the minutes ticked by into hours. The sun rose higher.  It was a formal meeting and ripping off my jacket to a sleeveless top would have been inappropriate in the circumstances.  I surreptitiously tried to blow air up onto my face.  When we finally took a break, I raced outside and gulped fresh air as fast as decorum would allow.  I was rapidly followed by another meeting attendee, guiltily lighting a cigarette.

I realised then that cigarettes are almost non-existent in my life, these days.

I've never smoked myself, but I vividly recall the first occasion in 2004 or 2005, after the indoor smoking ban took effect, I went to the Bowler (RIP Bowling Green Tavern, once Dunedin's finest, I partook of your delicious beverages, pashed on your dancefloor, even once managed to gain entry with two bleeding knees*).  That night, the smell in the bar without the mask of cigarette smoke was so horrific I had to go home.  But! the next morning, my hair was fresh. No burn marks in my clothes or on my arms.  Once the Bowler ripped out the old carpet and the smell issue was reduced (wouldn't go so far as to say eliminated), I forgot all about gross secondhand smoke issues after a night out. 

In 2008, I recall having a few colleagues who'd still nip outside for a smoke during work hours.  There were only a few, but you knew where they'd be when they weren't at their desks.

In 2010, P relegated his social smoking to only very special occasions.  It had been pretty infrequent anyway (getting laid > smoking), but he didn't always have a packet stashed in the top drawer of his bedside table anymore. 

Today, I would be pressed to think of a friend who is a smoker in the classic sense anymore.  None of my colleagues leave the office for a cigarette (a coffee, different story). 

Butts on the street are much fewer.

The Quit Me Mutu advertising is prevalent. 

Amazing what changes can be wrought in a decade or so. 

*the result of two (2) separate accidents in one (1) frosty night with (1) unfortunate pair of shoes and no doubt three (3) too many pre-drinks.

what's next, gout?

Fresh page, blank slate notwithstanding, my bloggy muse is still AWOL.  Am feeling very stilted on the old blog recently, given I don't tend to write about work, my husband generally (other than, you know, putting up mocking faux-fashion pictures) or details regarding my friends.  Maybe it's just that I'm leading a boring life?  Probably.  I can usually wring a drop of drama or six out of the most innocuous material, so I'll resort to a nice list and see what pops out:

• Summer holiday is mostly organised, including a trip to see the olds, a week at the beach with friends, and a visit from P's mum.  We've also booked a trip to Golden Bay (upper South Island, v remote, hippy heaven) for a wedding in March.  Am feeling good about summer time on the horizon.
• Friend saga.  Friend 1 has been a dick to Friend 2 over a gift that Friend 1, a bunch of other friends and I arranged for Friend 2.  I heartily disapprove of Friend 1's dickish behaviour and dealt with endless email/FB correspondence, including a few calls to other friends myself for sanity! Mother above, how is it that friends can still bring the drama at age 30+? I am actually ashamed of having had any involvement in a squabble at all.  But given I'm not going to parse the details here, you probably don't care much about that at all.  Safe to say: my policy on this sh*t now is: Let's All Calm Down and Have a Glass of Wine.  Actually, that's an excellent policy to apply across the board for me, I'll have it printed on an inspirational fridge magnet in no time.  Watch out Pinterest.*
• Tabitha cat has found an access point to the roof and scares the bejesus out of me on the regular.  She creates massive thumps, and I rush outside to see what's caused the noise, only to realise I'm being watched over the eaves by a furry wee stalker.  Gets me every time and is somehow worse than when I realised I'm being watched during midnight pee trips. 
• HAHAHAHA I jinxed myself with my recent post about musical theatre. Turns out the Sound of Music is coming to town and my sister K is desperate to go.  Mum said no way, on the basis that it won't be as good as the movie, but K pointed out that comparing it unfavourably is half the fun.  I mean, why would you watch the Keira Knightley version of Pride & Prejudice otherwise?  So, I'm going back to the theatre for a singalong, goodness help me.
• Weekend: nearly upon us, whew. 
• State of the Chubby Update: fell off the food recording bandwagon hard, but am making better decisions and feeling better about meself generally.  More cups of tea, fewer diet Cokes, no snorting chips before dinner.  Good rules, hey?
• OMG I COMPLETELY FORGOT TO TELL YOU: I think I had an attack of gallstones! No, I'm not 90 or a very fat man (the population segment I associate with gallstones)!  The other weekend was spiked with abdominal pain, that started near the bottom of my ribs and worked its way down.  I was achey on and off all weekend, with marginal improvement on the Monday.  After I was palpated by the doctor (ick! palpation! sounds vile, right? Mind you, it could have been worse - she threatened me with a transvaginal scan at one point), she concluded that the likely culprit was gallstones.  I was so ashamed, but did you know that it is actually more common in women?  And that it can be caused by long term oral contraceptive use?  Well, that's what Wikipedia tells me anyway.  I had a blood test/pee test to rule some other stuff out, but they won't know that it was the 'stones for sure unless they do an ultrasound.  Given I'm feeling better, I'm going to flag that, so unless they flare up again, I guess we'll never know.  GALLSTONES.  AM SUFFERING FROM MYSTERIOUS OLD PERSON AILMENT.  SHAME.

*I joined Pinterest in 2011, pinned approximately 3 wedding hairstyles I knew I could never be achieved with my hair, and never looked at it again. I often get so-and-so-is-now-following-you-on-Pinterest! emails, and every time I feel sorry for them, because it must be pretty damn boring.

diy

I posted something terribly depressing, then I fled the scene of the crime for a solid two weeks.  Well done, self, you're a real peach. 

The break was prompted by my holiday from work...AKA the week in which I learned my deficiencies in the home improvement realm!

Here's how it actually went:

1) I paint swatches all over the dining room wall and melt down about the difference between Quarter Surrender and One Eighth Surrender, because it's clearly a big deal.  Much time spent staring at walls in different lights.

INSTRUCTIONAL VIDEO/NAP TIME.  THIS IS ACTUALLY HOW AMATEUR WE ARE.

2) We have a cup of tea.

[50 SHADES OF GREY JOKE HERE]

3) P starts demolishing the linings.  It transpires they're hard board not gib (plasterboard) and there's a fuckload (official term) of wood behind them for bracing.  There is a technical term for this but it escapes me, or perhaps I never had it.

4) I cart loads of rubbish to our bin.

5) I cart loads of rubbish to the bin of the empty house next door, looking around to see if anyone's busting me.

6) More tea. 

7) Sparky comes to fix the outlets in the dining room and add a heated towel rail to the bathroom.  HOLY SMOKES a heated towel rail is a super luxury item! I mean, my towel is always dry now! AMAZING.  Yes, I have had an HTR (we're on close terms now) in my life previously but seriously, it's a minor improvement to an incredibly shabby bathroom and it makes me beyond happy. 

8) Tea while watching electrician and his apprentice (who seemed about 17 and named Silkie.  'Silk, get under the house.' 'Silk, get in the roof.' 'Silk, have you fixed that yet?' Endlessly entertaining).

9) Spend HOURS pulling superfluous nails out of the bracing.  HOURS.

SOMEWHERE IN ALL OF THIS WE WENT TO WAIHEKE ISLAND FOR A LONG LUNCH BECAUSE HOLIDAY.

10) Get dressed up in a disposable overall (something I hope never to do again) to install insulation.  Install insulation and only breathe a bit of fibreglass in the process.  Feel itchy.

11) More nail pulling.  It turns out they used approximately a million tacks to secure the hard wood lining, none of which came out when we ripped off the lining.

12) Freak out when P uses the drop saw. Convinced he will lose a finger, so instead of sensibly supervising with my finger on the dial to call 111, I go outside to paint a window hoping I'll somehow avoid the emergency.

13) P still intact, hammers things. 

14) Gib fixer and plasterer arrives.  Takes ages to dry.  Attempt poorly planned pathway around side of house as landscaping project in interim.  Present status: muddy.

THIS WINS THE PRIZE FOR MOST BORING PHOTO OF ALL TIME BUT WE HAVE WALLS!  ALSO, A SHIT VIEW FROM THIS ROOM. 

15) Sanding stuff.  Architraves, ceiling.  (OMG sanding the ceiling). 

16) Select paint.  Resene Quarter Surrender with white for ceilings, archs, skirts and scotia.  USe Dad's store card for discount and P nearly gives the game away asking me how I got it in front of the clerk.  Immediately have regret about colour choice. 

Aaaaand that's about as far as we got.  I didn't bother writing it in, but we made approximately 50 trips to Mitre 10, Placemakers, some fancy Villa timber store down the road, the booze store, the paint store and the supermarket during that time.  OMG, I bought building paper from Mitre 10 and nails and shit, all by myself.  They let me buy it all without some kind of licence.  (Not so much feminism's win as it is capitalism's, I expect).

in which i learn a valuable bus lesson

After the last post, I curled up in bed and whinged for a solid two days.  I couldn't even bring myself to internet, so lucky for you, you avoided the unnecessary dramz about my imminent demise during that time. 

As soon as I was recovered enough, I went out and had someone chop my hair into a long bob to give me something else to obsess over.  I cut off a great whack of hair in 2010 and regretted it almost instantaneously, but this time I'm sticking with a cautious 'is this a thing an old person would do? but I think I like it' type line.  Ask me again in a week when I've been unable to style it myself and thoroughly frustrated by Auckland's hair-unfriendly weather.

I don't even have a picture of it yet for you! You poor things, you're really missing out. 

Oh, I know, I have a public transport parable for you!  Listen, all ye mighty, but don't despair:

I caught the Inner Link bus from work to Ponsonby the other night and had that moment as soon as I sat down.  You know the one, the moment where you think 'Good grief, of all the seats I might have picked, I've sat down next to the crazy guy' or 'No wonder this was the last seat available'.  He was muttering away merrily to himself and taking up more than half the seat.  In the vein of all confrontation-averse users of public transportation, I clutched my bag a little tighter and made no eye contact.  We were in the seat just ahead of the bus's back door.  7 or 8 stops later, a woman made to get off with a load of supermarkets bags.  She dropped something.  My seat companion leapt up, leaned over the divider and helped her with her bags while she retrieved the errant item.  He made a genial comment to me about how tough it is when you're carrying a lot, then excused himself politely so he could get off at the following stop.  

So! No more immediate judgment from me based on someone's mutterings! I will restrict myself to quietly holding my breath when someone is in breach of widely acceptable hygiene standards from this moment on!  (Gosh, that sounds kind of sarky but I genuinely felt bad for my snap assessment, I promise!)

winner winner

I am absolutely owning life, recently. 

Evidence:

• I have at least one fingernail that isn't bitten to the quick.
• The scab on my foot from a tumble in leaf mould on my walk home two weeks ago is nearly healed, leaving me approx. 50% less scabrous.
• I have thought about replacing my seriously old razor blade before I develop tetanus and gone so far as to make a mental note to buy a new one.
• I found my access card for work after a short week of looking.
• My regrowth lends my hair a really 'lived in' feel.
• The ants have moved on to only eating the cats' biscuits off the kitchen floor, after I eradicated every ant found on the kitchen bench.
• Now that my glasses are completely scratched up, I don't notice a difference in quality of vision when I take them off.
• Finding my way to the bottom of the chip packet on the regular has made me extra specially nice to hug.
• The fact that the kitten is sleeping on my face on cold nights demonstrates her trust and love, right?

Actually, there's only one piece of evidence that counts.  That shows I'm a real winner, despite all of the above:

• Yesterday was the 13th anniversary of the day I first kissed P.  P, who loves me anyway.  He's the best.

rawr

I have been a monster for the past week, driven by a potent combination of hormones and latent bitchiness. 

Seriously though, as much as I'm actually awful at heart, this past week I've suffered through the worst PMS I have ever, ever experienced.  I thought my boobs were going to explode over the weekend - first the right with a bang, then the left with a listless puff, that's how aware I was of the swelling and tenderness - I've acne on my shoulders, my face is a spotty mess, I cry at the drop of a hat and I was irrationally and completely enraged by my husband's request that I deliver him his credit card (that I'd borrowed and forgotten to return, which he needed in a hurry, which wasn't particularly out of my way).  I spent at least 15 minutes thinking of different ways to disembowel the bastard until I remembered:

1. I quite like him usually, in fact I married him not so long ago;
2. I prefer him intact (after the bloody thumb-slicing mandolin incident I took a stance on P and gashes in his flesh); and
3. My period was days overdue.

Here I've been, smugly thinking since age 14 that PMS doesn't affect me greatly.  I've rolled my eyes at my mother with my father, when he's told me about the week of the month that he hides in his office because he won't be right about anything, ever.  I've impatiently listened to my sister bitch about hormonal skin issues. 

Well, my friends, I guess I spoke far too soon.  Genetics is a bitch and it appears that I am no longer immune to the vagaries of my reproductive system, asshole though it appears she's becoming.