What a bunch of whacky f** weirdos we are

I can't leave the house without making the bed, have to take my phone to poop (I think 100% of my blog readership is all of you on the loo?), can only sit on the right side of the bus and I have to have my asthma inhaler by my bedside even though I don't actually think I have asthma. Oh and I never eat the bottom part of a banana, have to have some sort of cover on me (even in the arm pit of humid summer nights) and I have to turn the radio off if I am trying to parallel park or if I am lost.

My eldest daughter Leah has to straighten things on shelves, not at home of course, but in the super market. She spends a lot of time straightening and correctly stocking at Coles.

One of my friends has to make the "woosh" sound (the one Microsoft used to make in the 90's) when she sends an email. This ensures it arrives quickly apparently.

Another of you has to put your right shoe on first, every time.

There is the friend who can't sleep if there is ANY water in the kitchen sink and another friend who has to check the bed for spiders every night before they can set toe inside it.

And then there is this bunch of whacks:
gets physically sick at the sight of a raw egg and won't allow different foods to touch each other.

Always has to use the last stall in the public toilets (furthest from the door),

Has to sleep in complete darkness and even covers the crack under the door,

and my absolute favourite crazy quirk, that I am pretty sure would make you money on the internet... Only cleans the house in heels, can't do it in flats.

Please share your quirky traits and be a loud and proud weirdo!

It doesn't rain it hails a fiery shit storm

I am late for work, my cat does a massive chewed up mouse and fur spew on the carpet and I have no bread to make lunches so I fashion a sandwich like shape from mushed up rice bubbles.

It doesn't rain, it doesn't poor.... the shit hits the fan and the fan then falls on your head.

There is no coffee in the house, the toaster literally went up in flames and claimed the last hot cross bun as its sacrifice. The computer system at work fails and I am now officially in 1933 with a rubber stamp and that stupid purple paper stuff.

And Finally...

Work finished, my bus pulls up at my stop, 1st I drop my phone and my headphones are ripped from my ears and fling into my bra, promptly lodging themselves in my boobs with the force of bullets. While I am picking up my phone, I drop my smart rider and it flips down under the bus. While I am arse up trying to retrieve my smart rider, the shopping bag I am holding splits and the cans of instant icing I have just brought go rolling onto St Georges Tce.
The bus driver is holding back his laughter so hard I am pretty sure he tinkled. So now I have my hands full of icing tins and my smart rider is in my mouth, so I get on the bus, lean my face against the smart rider box thingy so it beeps and fall into the closest seat. In my head all I can hear is fucking applause.

This a true story, ok the toaster thing happened to a friend but the rest was all Caroline.


This blog is dedicated to a friend who is going through a much worse fiery shit storm. You are one of the strongest people I know. Keep on going x

The silence is deafening

Since you've been gone, we have had 5 bbq's, 2 birthdays, 3 public holidays and a few dinners.
At each one of these events the absence of you is in every pause, every silence.

I can just about hear you over my shoulder talking. Conversation came so naturally to you that there was almost never a lull. Our times together now as friends and family are comparatively quiet.

As a result, I sometimes find it harder to make conversation because I am conscious of you not being there to say your part.

The silence at these moments screams MUM, MUM, MUM, MUM.

Are We More Extreme?

This is an observation and not a judgment. I am very much a part of this too and a lot of cases it's an improvement. I am not against any of the things I am about to write...

Someone turned the volume up in the universe and it has been cranked up ever since.

We are pushing ourselves into extremes. Little extremes and big extremes.

Not "going to the gym" anymore. Not pregnancy anymore but fit mums and mums to be cross fitting with a six pack and a baby bump and running a marathon as soon as the stroller is delivered.

Not a lunch box for kids anymore but an extravaganza of Mummy creativeness complete with $6 worth of blueberries and a tofu sculpture.

Not food anymore or "on a diet". Now its a Paleo, clean eating or vegan, organic lifestyle changes. Super foods.

Not parenting anymore, but mindfulness, non gender stereo typing, free range, helicopter, unplugged parenting. With 1000 blogs for and against each one.

Not opinions and conversations but documented social media debates with selfie back up proof included.

Not beauty anymore, but sculpted, contoured, scraped and injected perfection.

Not famous anymore but super human, infallible, mythological creatures of dynastic proportions.

Not having a dream, but attending the next seminar while mindfully requesting the universe to fulfil your order of a Maserati.

Its not a house anymore. Its the tiny house, tree house, teepee, tent, camper trailer, off grid, no foot print home movement.

It seems to me sometimes, that the scale of normal has been stretched and snapped,

now normal is the new "New". Are we more extreme? 

Who needs a holiday?

I know, I just a had a massive one. I look at our trip as more of an odyssey. An adventure and now a wonderful memory. It hasn't for one second sated the need for another one.

How many of you would give your left kidney for a holiday.... right now?

The holiday is more than the destinations. In fact, I think the destination is the least important factor.

The anticipation of something different. The count down to the holiday, is one of the best parts. Thinking and planning and wishing and hoping about your wondrous break and knowing that it really is going to happen in exactly this many weeks, days, minutes and seconds.



The freedom, you know the feeling... when you step through the airport doors, or get into the drivers seat, the weight slides off your shoulders and you smile, knowing that you are going and for a little while you are free.

There are heaps of reasons not to go anywhere. The biggest of which is money, work and kids. The responsibilities don't go away...ever. They will be there when you return...always. Make that time and take it. Go, if you have a sniff at the opportunity to go...go.

If you really can't go. Take the time to make a little of your day like a holiday. Sit outside and watch the trees and the sunset. Go to the beach with a picnic. Light candles and drink nice wine. Pick somewhere within two hours of where you live, where you have never been to and go there just to see something new or just sit down for a few hours and plan your most wanted trip, down to the dollar. Maybe, just maybe you might realise you can go... and then just GO.

LATEST BEAUTY TREND: Haggard old gypsy woman... I am rocking it

I have no beauty routine. None.
I am sporadic and completely random in my "Maintenance".
The idea is a solid one, I grant you.
Regularly and routinely look after your skin, hair etc and not look like a haggard old Gypsy woman, cool. I get it, still don't do it. Occasionally, I will catch a passing glimpse of myself in the mirror, which will have me running for the concrete concealer in utter fear, but still, I am so low maintenance, it can't be counted as even trying.  

This is not me bragging.... I am literally rolling my eyes at myself.


My eyebrows are regularly successful in their plan to take over my face. One of my good friends recently bought a little home eyebrow waxing kit. She was very proud of the result, so lent it to me and encouraged me to give it a try. I think she may just have been sick of looking at the black caterpillars attached to my forehead or wanted a good laugh :)
It could have gone VERY badly, I was expecting to be completely eyebrow less or having to try and dial 000 using brail  because I managed to melt my own eyeballs. Its hard to blog about beauty mistakes when blinded, but I was picturing myself having a go anyway!

Sorry to disappoint guys but I actually did it, my eyebrows and pride are in tact, BUT it took me an hour of complete concentration and I had to put the kids into a TV coma.


Why am I sharing all this with you? I want to know how the hell you ladies do it? How do you look so good and together? When the hell do you do it all? Masks, scrubs, hair treatments, waxing, dyes, plucking, exfoliating, moisturizing and that all before the frigging make up?? Do you not sleep???

Even more, who has all this time and energy to make their own beauty shit? I know you exist, I've seen your posts and your pins all involving oatmeal, eggs, coconut oil and fresh herbs (which being on my current diet sounds better than what I had for breakfast).

How? for the love of  shiny skin how? how?

Oh God. I am boring myself already

Today is the 1st day of a new eating regime. Day 1, actually 1/2 of day 1 as its only just lunchtime....
So far my inner dialogue has gone something like this...

Yeah, I can do this, I'm gonna follow this diet and i'm going to be healthy and slim and feel great... WOO

Is that sausage roll I can smell?

If I squint, really hard, these blueberries look a little like chocolate covered raisins.

Why can't coffee be negative calories? Its not a food as such, its my life sustaining battery charger...

"Yay" (sarcasm dripping from each letter).... spinach...

FOOD FOOD FOOD FOOD FOOD FOOD FOOD... I'm sorry were you talking to me?

What should I blog about.... I know!.... Food

If I don't eat anything else for the rest of the day, I can have a glass of wine when I get home.

This Chamomile tea tastes like mouse pee

How can fruit salad be so unsatisfying?

I am still NOT eating kale... just no


If I stand at this exact spot at the counter at work, I can see Krispy Kreme donuts (because my brain is an asshole)

So, as you can see, I will be back in my size 12 jeans shortly.... ahem.

Getting to Know My Dad Again

I have always had my Dad.

My Dad is patient, kind, intelligent and a bit of an Olde World gentleman.

For many years, Mum and I spent a lot of time together. Having fun, raising children, eating, talking, shopping, with Dad in the background. Dad was a steady constant always the supporting act to the colourful, if not crazy, ride that was Mum.

Dad is now very much in the foreground. The texts and conversations that once would have been with Mum, are now with Dad. The many days of babysitting per week and random requests from me for a new mop head, tin of tomatoes and more wool for the blanket, all fall to him now. I don't think we have ever communicated as often as we do now.

Dad has even taken over Mums' role of "Avon Lady" in the retirement village where they live.  A lot of Dads days were spent in caring for Mum, "preserving" her energy for the next adventure she chose to embark on.

Today we met for coffee, went shopping and had lunch together. I think, a first for both of us, alone.

It is a very good kind of different. Next time we will get better sushi though, hey Dad?

I Want To Leave A Pile Of Nothing

We have been back for 2.5 months. I am already searching for the next "thing". The next big adventure or move.
We are in absoloutley no position to do ANYTHING but I look and dream anyway. I am no longer able to just be content with what we had. I am not looking to aquire new things but more new experiences.
I am now an "exciting life" junkie. It is going to be a while down the track, but it will happen again, because so far it has happened anyway, but now I am behind the steering wheel.

Its been 2 months since Mum died, to the day. The "things" she had didn't matter, and amounted to quite a small pile at the end of the day. It didnt bother me though, because what mattered to her was the fact she could see trees and hills from her hospital bed. What mattered to her was the taste of the Orange juice after days of fasting. What mattered to her were her "babies". If Mum could have written a book about her life, it would have been 1000 times more interesting than anything I have written in this blog. I wish now I could have written them for her. Nothing matters more than family and the time we spend together.... at the moment I would like that to be in a range of exotic places. I hope the pile I leave behind one day is tiny.

The weirdest of the weird...

Warning: This is weird and a little black. I apologise if I offend anyone, It's not my intention. It is at the heart of it, really quite funny and one of the many weird things we encounter in life. Its how we cope sometimes with loss of a most cherished love one, like my Mum. I have realised it's only weird and funny because its true xx



Have you ever just stopped and thought to yourself "Never in a million years did I ever think that I would end up doing...This , this is really, really weird".

I have a pretty high tolerance for weird, I do, but when I am sitting at my kitchen table with a spoon, snap lock bags, small boxes and my mums ashes, even I have to stop and wonder a bit.

It all started innocently enough, Mum requested that her ashes be scattered in a rose garden. Right, easy. Well no, firstly, there is heaps, they are really heavy. Secondly, lots of people want to be involved. Its ok. These people are all loved ones and were truly loved by Mum. Its just not what I expected. I had nightmares of a big cloud of dust enveloping picnic goers and romantic couples as they enjoyed a lovely day in the park with the rose garden, while we were saying another goodbye to Mum.

So we came up with the idea of everyone getting a small box to scatter for themselves, in their own time on a rose garden of their choosing. Lovely, in theory. Really weird in reality. Its a big responsibility, what if I spill some? Do I just vacuum it up and say a sorry to Mum? Also would she be pissed off to learn her ashes are in Woolworths brand snap lock bags?? and Reject shop gift boxes? Do I sticky tape them shut? We don't want a random accident involving little dust piles. What do I do with the left overs????

Its just really weird and something I never ever contemplated. Poor dad is with me on this too, we have been putting it off for quite a few weeks now. Mum has had pride of place on the kitchen bench in their home. The cylinder with her ashes even sports a small soup stain on the outside of it, which for Mum, is really, really fitting.

I know with all my heart that Mum wouldn't mind me sharing this story. She is,where ever she is, rolling with laughter. Mum always was the weirdest of us. I guess we are following a grand tradition.

Girls Can Be So Mean!

I have been home for 10 minutes. I have literally walked back in the door and had my youngest daughter grab my hand, pull me into my bedroom and shut the door. In a flood of tears she told me she was fat.

After a fair amount of coaxing, the story came out. A little friend of hers had pinched her waist and exclaimed "You're already fat!". To make matters worse, today was a "dress up" day. My daughter wore her most favourite and pretty dress, the one that gave her a little confidence in herself.

This blog is not to question wether or not she is fat and its also not to defend her or myself. IT DOESN"T MATTER.
The fact is, she is 8 and the sweetest, kindest, most mild and caring little girl. Not only that but she is very bright. I am so proud of her and in her private moments she is also a very special kind of funny. I love the fact that she reserves this special inner clown just for us, her loved ones, it is a real privilege. My daughter also loves to sing. She wakes up in the morning with a song and a little skip and dance. Everything is a musical to her. I pretty sure in her mind, life is a disney cartoon and I am so grateful for that too.

I am hugging my daughter, equal parts crying for her and fighting the urge to pin a certain little girl up by her big toes next time I see her.

I am facing an annoying and unwanted choice.

Do I reassure her and say "No darling you're not fat, you're a growing girl who is gorgeous"?


Do I say "It doesn't matter. big, small or tall you are a good person with a loving and kind heart"?

I ended up doing a bit of both. Every girl deserves to have a period in their lives where they feel and truely believe they are the most beautiful girl in the world. EVERY GIRL deserves that. I am her MUM and I am so angry that at 8, she has already lost that.

This won't be the last time. I know that. I want her to be strong enough to say "Screw you and your shallow opinion", but I know she's not. She will take that hurt and little bleeding heart and tuck it away, from now on always doubting a little if she really does look pretty.

How dare they?

A bit of my history

When I was about One Year old, I suffered burns from a hot cup of coffee. It was one of those unpredictable and unforeseeable accidents in life.

We were visiting friends, The coffee was too hot for the adult to drink, they had carefully placed the cup on the kitchen bench and pushed it back for it to not be in reach. I climbed up the kitchen draws and pulled it down over my head.

In a funny coincidence, my Mum had just read an article in The Readers Digest (As you do) on how to treat burns, so instead of covering me in butter (as was practiced at the time), she rushed me to the shower and peeled off all the clothes and burnt skin. The end result was a skin graft from my thigh to my underarm and my neck. I have no facial scarring and no ill affects thanks to her actions. I don't remember the event or any of the aftermath at all.

As a family, we had recently immigrated from Zimbabwe, and were only just settling into a new life in Perth. I was in Princess Margaret Hospital for months. Everyday, for more than two months, Mum would have to drop my brother to school and then catch two buses from Booragoon (where we rented at the time) to PMH and then back again. Mum didn't speak a lot of English and could't drive and didn't know Perth well at all.

After my Kids were born, I remember asking her about this time. She said it was hard, that she missed me when she couldn't see me, that it made her sad. However she also told me that the hospital offered her counselling to deal with any guilt or depression... "Thank you but no, I'm not depressed and I'm not guilty, I didn't burn my daughter and don't feel like it was my fault. " She told the Nurse at the time. My Mum was so strong and absolutely right. I can imagine, now, as a Mum, dealing with Mothers guilt etc how easy it would have been to fall into the cycle of guilt and depression but Mum didn't even consider it. She did the job that was at hand. Mum didn't often complain about the trials and tribulations that were delt her, she just got on with living.

White with 1 ?

Sitting on the steps of the Trinity Uniting Church on St Georges Tce in the City, every morning, is my mate. 

He's an older fellow, maybe 60's. He likes to sit on the church steps and read, he goes through about 1 book a day.

To be honest, I am pretty sure that he's homeless, I am assuming he is someone in need. I am not entirely sure what that need is, I don't even know his name. 
I also assume that he is lonely.
I do know that he is from the Pilbara and he thinks that our recent summer was too mild "Didn't even get bloody warm Mate!" he told me.

He got my attention one day last week, because he looked very peaceful. He doesn't have his hand out, he's not asking anyone for anything but he looked like he could do with a good meal.

My mate is not too bad off. He probably isn't even the one most in need. After recent months working in the city, I am certain there are hundreds of people in more dire need and the situation seems to be getting worse on a daily basis. But he caught my eye and because I didn't have to do the awkward "I don't have any change to give" shuffle, or the "I am currently in fear for my life, please don't scream at me" run, for some reason I was more open to giving.


I gave him my banana and asked how he liked his coffee. 

"White with one love, cheers".

It's now a nice morning ritual to bring my mate a coffee, but I have just realised it's high time I introduced myself and found out his name.

P.S He reminds of someone. Someone who once was in a situation where they had no-one and nothing and with the help of others, has a great life now. I wasn't able to help this person then, I didn't know them. So I can do this little bit now.

knock, knock....Who's there? EVERYONE

This morning I received a visit from my local Jehovahs Witness lady. I have spoken with her on quite a few occasions. If it wasn't for the giant gap in our spiritual beliefs, we would be fairly similar people. Mums of primary school age children, living in the same area etc. 

I have no interest in converting, but I do enjoy chatting with her, mainly because we are fairly similar and yet she very seriously holds these interesting and vastly different beliefs.

Today, when we spoke, I told her that my Mum had passed away. Now, an interesting part of this particular religion is the belief that one day all the dead loved ones will be resurrected here on Earth.

...(Blink)...

I know what you're thinking "But, How? How on earth would all the ressurected loved ones of every person fit on this planet??". 

I am not criticising, honestly, I am very curious as how this could possibly be? Where is the cut off? Is it everyone who has ever died? Is it only loved relations? Is it only for believers? or is it the homeless guy that passed away and no one knew??? What age will they be??
Then what happens??? 
Well apparently we all live forever, in perfect health, no sickness and no death. Again... HOW? A never ending, hugely expanding population, here, on Earth?

This information was offered in kindness and I thank her for it. The lady was hoping it would give me solace and hope, that I would certainly see my Mum again, in perfect health, here in this life.

But would I really want that? I have dreamed about it. That all of a sudden Mum comes walking back through the door. 
Honestly, If we are talking impossible and fantastical, then I would rather visit her, where ever and however that may be. I would savour that extra time and be over joyed to see her again, but, this would be because It would end. It has to end. I would love some extra time, I am sure millions of people would.
I am desperately sad that the end of Mums life was now, but I understand that at some point it has to. I couldn't imagine living forever, nothing would be special, life is special because it is fleeting and finite, it ends, at least as we understand it.

Being an Adult is Stupid

Late last night I was thinking about the differences between being a Kid and being an Adult.

I came to the conclusion that the main non physical difference is the percentage of shit you don't want to do but have to do increases. The "Have - To's" just keep rolling in once you reach about 25 and grow exponentially until I don't know when.

Who spends their whole days off, their supposed "free time" checking off a list of "Have - Tos"? I know we call them errands and get a sense of accomplishment to have completed a full list, but did that mean spending 10 hours in your bloody car and another two in some sort of queue?

Or even worse than that, did you actually have some free time and spent it worrying about what you weren't doing in order to have this free time?

I watch my kids sometimes, they can spend a whole day doing what ever they please, interrupted only with requests for food. I am so happy they get to do that.
However, even their "Have - tos" list is growing. As school students and as family members, they have chores and homework and jobs to complete. They are learning every day about time limits and working within them. Adults in training. We as parents make them have the "Have - Tos".

Dont get me wrong, I want them to be contributing members of society, I want them to think of others and I want them to lead comfortable lives, so at some point they will need to work.
What I don't want for them is the stress and anxiety that comes from being the type of adult that forgets how to Kid. I want them to be safe in the knowledge that the "Want - Tos" are as equally important as the "Have - Tos".

I dont want this to be some kind of wanky "stop and smell the roses" post. But I think it might be....

Observations from the 72 Bus

Wear deodorant people! There was a guy with such a strong funk that I was seriously considering removing my earbuds and sticking them up my nose.

To the lady with the sensible shoes and white satin blouse, doing her eyeliner: How the. actual.Fuck. did you manage to not stab your eyeball on the end of that eyeliner pencil like a shish kebab? Its a talented lady who can apply perfect eyeliner and mascara in a moving bus....I salute you.

I think at bus driver school there is the following units "How to brake like the bus is on fire, EVERY SINGLE TIME or How to make all the passengers fall off their seats". I am surprised I don't have a permanent dent on my forehead from the seat in front.

Also catching the bus makes me feel old. The bus was packed this morning. I thought to myself :Oh, you had better stand up for an old person"........ I was the fucking oldest person on the bus.... the whole way!!!!

Dave hurry up and fix my scooter.... I am going bus crazy.

I am No Less Of A Woman and Neither are my Daughters, stop telling us how to be a Woman

I am a  tall, fairly low maintenance, average looking, over weight, funny, smart, empathetic, worried, happy, loving woman.

The fact that I sometimes love to dress up and look elegant but also love to not get out of PJ's.
The fact that sometimes I wear make up but mostly don't.
The fact I miss my Mum
The fact I pass by windows and see my reflection and audibly sigh
The fact that sometimes I want to cook, but mostly I find it a chore.
The fact that I do alot of the cleaning up in my house.
The fact that I like to write personal things, in a public space.
The fact that I use this blog to feel better about myself.
The fact that I feel I am smart but can be really dumb on occasion
The fact that the first word my kids use to describe me is "Weird...really weird"
The fact I like to eat good food and I don't really like to exercise.
The fact I love my children, but also love to have my own time.
The fact I like to shop, but only own one designer anything
The fact that I rely on my husband for a lot of things and miss him when he is not around.
The fact that we aren't married and probably never will
The fact that I am talented in drawing and painting and actually do those things about twice a year.
The fact I like to keep a lot of things to myself, but feel better when I don't.
The fact that one of my daughters is unapologetically loud and proud and the other worries she is getting fat at age 7.
The fact that sometimes I get really frustrated over nothing
The fact that I forget to shave my legs sometimes, and the other fact that most of the time I couldn't care less.
The fact that I don't care as much if people know the "real" me
The fact that I have never found a cause or know what I want to be when I grow up
The fact, that while I believe in equal opportunity and woman's rights, It's not my cause. I need men and I believe men need woman.
The fact that tomorrow I'll read this and have changed my mind on about 60% of it




The fact that the world is full of passive aggressive messages of how you aren't good enough, even to be the gender that you already are. I am no less of a woman for doing things my way and neither are you.

Shout Out to the Fellas

A shout out to the fellas on International Womans Day,

No I am not a doormat and no I haven't missed the point.

I read something the other day about Men and Woman and it resonated with me. 

I am paraphrasing but it went something like:

The quest for Woman to do everything a Man can is not only driving us nuts but eroding our uniqueness. We shouldn't be striving to do everything a man can, but to do everything a man can't.
 
A lot of the people I blog to are female, a lot of you have male significant others.

Sometimes they give you the shits, sometimes you give them the shits and sometimes you are a united front against others who give you both the shits (read kids)

I live with a bicycle in our bedroom, golf clubs and buggy in our living room, tools in the laundry, electronics in the fruit bowl and our most recent fight was about grain waves (yes the chips).

Dave has to live with me randomly throwing things out, messy cupboards, lots of books and candles and that cooking is not my forte.

I also get to live with a great dad, a funny guy, a strong man and a caring person.

I wouldn't have anyone else. We are a good case for the "opposites attract" rule. We stretch each other, we move each other from our "normal" into "new" on a regular basis just because we think differently.
 
Together, we are both our best and the result is more than 100%.

Don't steal imaginary Unicorns

What would you say to your childless self to prepare you for parenthood?

What piece of advice do you wish you had received, before the baby bomb hit?

and "Don't do it" doesn't count ok?

I have a couple of stories that best some up my parenting experience.

After giving birth to Leah (number 1 girl). We left the hospital, Dave was driving. Well he was trying. He was going so slowly and being so careful, like 45 kms. I think he may have even yelled out the window a couple times "I have my baby in the car!!!" to annoyed people flying past. The Dad responsibility hit him all at once, while driving. I was heart warmed and amused all at once. He now drives like he's trying to claim pole position, so it didn't last all that long.


Fast foward a couple of years and I stink. That sickly foul smell of baby vomit. It's on me somewhere, but I can't find the source. I've changed clothes, but it didn't help. Crap I need a shower. I put a 2 month old Brianna into the baby jail (playpen) for her own safety and protection from the craziness that is toddler Leah. I barricade Leah in the lounge room so she can't destroy more of the house. I jump in the shower for 5 minutes.
I come out of the shower to find Leah dropping steak knives onto her baby sisters head. Somehow she had escaped the barricade, opened a child proofed draw in the kitchen and decided to "give" them to her baby sister. I still stunk.


Another time, I was ready to go out with Mum, I didn't smell, I was wearing actual clothes and I think I may have even brushed my hair, so winning. Mum notices I have a brown mark on my hand. She points it out a little warily, asking "what is that???". "Im not sure....." I said and I licked it... 
"Oh, its cool, its vegemite".  Mum was looking at me horrified... "But what if it hadn't been???????". 

Mums of toddlers, Just. Don't. Care. 

Now that I've covered the gross part.

I think this next story is the best for explaining the futility and powerlessness that parenting can sometimes be.

The girls are about 6 and 7. They are screaming and crying, a full on fight. "What is it??" "whats the matter?" I enquire. 
Brianna, sobbing, says  "Leah, stole my imaginary unicorn and now I don't have one".   20 minutes, I tried to explain that she can have whatever imaginary things she wants. But No, she wanted that one....
How do you fix that? I was done. So, done. I made Leah give it back and told her off for stealing the imaginary Unicorn.

As they get older, it is easier sometimes. I can sit down and drink a coffee while observing them playing, hell, we travelled around the world with them and only had a couple of hair raising incidents and not too many "Please adopt my children" moments. 
But the problems we do have are bigger. We no longer have tantrums over which dress to wear, we have instead "Mum am I fat?" or "Why are people mean to me" or "Why can't I keep up with the rest of the class? Im so stupid", "Why did Vovo die?". These are less immediate but scarier problems, a kiss and cuddle doesn't fix this.

So what would I say to the clean smelling, bright eyed past me?

"Don't lick your hand woman...It could have been poo!"

I want a Tattoo for Mothers Day

I have always loved tattoos.

The ultimate art form to me. If I stuff up a drawing or painting, I start again, not possible when skin is the canvas. I love the colour and skill.

If it was more socially acceptable and I wouldn't have to live off the dole because I couldn't find work, I would have a lot more.

You guys know I have my "courage" tattoo on my arm. I got it when I most felt that I needed to grow a pair. I think I succeeded for the most part and it is one of my favourite things.

I have another tattoo. A BAD tattoo. If I was willing to show you all, I would be the poster child for never ever being allowed to get a tattoo before the age of 30.

It was a lion paw print, It is in such a stupid place, that now, post kids it resembles a blobby smudge of ink.
Once, along time ago, when I was getting out of the shower my kids saw it and asked me why I have a tattoo of a "Blues clue" :) (mum joke).

This still hasn't been enough to put me off though. I am going to ask that instead of perfume or pjs this Mothers day, that the family will give me money for new ink.

Yes, it will be dedicated to my Mum, No, it won't be a love heart draped with the word MUM on a banner with a sword going through it.

I won't ruin the surprise, but I promise to show it off when I get it OK?