Stop the world...I want to get off

Stop the world... I want to get off.

Not forever, just for a little while. I think a fortnight would do.

All the balls I had up in the air have fallen on my head and now I am flailing around in a ball pit like a drunken seal.

A fortnight, to start at one end of my world and spring clean through the bitch until I come out of the other side like a beautiful "I've got my shit together" butterfly.

I know I am not the only one. Everyone has problems and a lot of you wonderful people handle them with a hell of a lot more finesse than I can muster.

It shouldn't take me 20 minutes to decide to take a shower and I shouldn't wonder around aimless for two hours because its my day off and I would normally have met Mum.

I can't pack up and live here, I know.

I had to visit here in order to get where I am heading....but in the mean time, can someone just handle all the adult stuff for me?

I'll be in the corner, writing my blog and facebooking about cats. Cheers

P.S I just read a news article about a person who was arrested after floating down a river in their wheelie bin, drinking a bottle of wine. I swear it wasn't me....today anyway

How do you know its true love??

I arrived home from work today and found Dad sad.
He had been reading his old letters to Mum. There was a lovely poem in one.
It was true love between my Mum and Dad, but not because of the poetry.

It wasn't perfect, it wasn't sudden. It required a lot, like heaps, of work and compromise.
Mum was a young Portuguese woman, who had been ill, marrying a widowed older man with a son...In a different country. But I know from the stories and I can see in the photos that there was always laughter and friendship. There was also a solid 12 months of serious wooing on my Dads part :)

I am not sure what it felt like from their point of view...but I can give my own perspective, a kids perspective, on why I knew it was love.

Nick names, they had many and varied nick names for each other, a constantly evolving list, some serious and some funny. Like "Nudibranch". It was the nickname Dad used for Mum when she "streaked" to the bathroom. She did this a lot.

Every morning and every evening they greeted each other with a kiss, every morning Dad made mum breakfast or at least coffee.

They laughed at each other. Mum did many funny and crazy things.
Dad also copped his fair share from Mum. When Dad was younger and rocked an awesome moustache, he looked a lot like John Cleese. Mum and Dad went to see "A fish called Wanda" in the cinema. Apparently Mum spent most of the time pointing at Dad and then pointing at the screen and losing it with laughter, so much so that Dad got up and left the cinema. They were real.

They knew each other, faults and all. Dad would never stop Mum, no one could anyway. But right or wrong, Dad would let Mum go and do her own things and was always there to pick up any pieces. Mum, conversely supported Dad and through all the ups and downs they were always, always on the same team.

Compromise. Mum liked to eat chinese take away from the Fremantle markets on the weekend. Dad loved to listen to classical music and read the paper. The result was that every Saturday we would get takeaway and sit in the car at the South Mole in freo, listening to Dads music and watching the ocean, while he read the paper. One of my favourite memories, is sitting in the backseat with the calvin and hobbes comics and a whopper.....

Mum once said that Dad was her "safe". No matter what she had done or how ill she became, she knew that Dad would be there for her and help her. Nobody knew her better.

I didn't realise how lucky I was to have them as my example of marriage.
Now I am sad. This weekend is Mothers Day and also My Mums Birthday. This is for the lady who taught me what love is.

Success Vs Failure and the Average Jane

Success is the accomplishment of an aim or purpose. Failure is the lack of success.

Heston Blumenthal admitted that in his pursuit of a successful cooking empire and world famous restaurant, he lost his marriage and it severely impacted his relationship with his children, he wasn't "much of a dad". Is that success? Has he won at life? His bank balance would say so, I guess.

On paper, my failures well out way any successes. By 25 I was bankrupt, divorced, unemployed and living back at home. I think I hurt a lot of people, mostly I learned that I was hopelessly unequipped to handle all of the above at the time.

My aim or purpose since then, while fleetingly getting distracted by delusions of grandeur like owning multiple holiday houses and a jet while having gold plated lattes, has been happiness. That experience, while traumatic, was really useful to point out to me at a really young age that work, career, business and money are really fleeting and while necessary do not wholly offer fulfilment. I needed to relearn this lesson recently after my 5 years in real estate, I didn't say I was a fast learner.

Don't allow set backs to kill your dreams but conversely don't allow your dreams to define you or your happiness.

I'm not about to renounce my worldly possessions and live in a yurt (they don't get good wi-fi and I like showering), I am not saying don't have a plan or work hard,  I am just glad to have this current perspective.

Success, right this moment, is on a micro level.

Writing this blog (while a little hungover)?...Winning

Lamingtons for afternoon tea?...Boo Yah!

Date night with Dave?.....High five

A good, busy day at work?....Bonus

Being organised enough to bring left overs to work for lunch?...Genius

Laughing so hard that I can't form coherent sentences for 15  minutes?...Priceless

Failure allows you to move the goal posts to where ever the hell you like or for a short time, it allows you to take your bat and ball and go home.


Don't let your business card be your autobiography. The world needs people like Steve Jobs and Heston Blumenthal with stubborn single minded purpose and vision, but it also needs its Average Janes who can rock the shit out of their everyday.

The Universe is Laughing...Parents edition

F...U....2...Universe.

Murphy's Law...Parent edition

If there is a chance of showers and you are ready to pick up or drop off your child from school it will rain cats and dogs for exactly 6.8 minutes, the time it takes to get from the car to under cover.

If you, the parent are busting for the loo, all the children will automatically fill their bladders and bowels and NEEEEEEED to go before you.

The more you talk about or "Hype" up an exciting event with the children, the more shit it will be. So, for Disney land, we kidnapped our children in the middle of the night with black hoods over their heads and said we were going to the dentist.

If your husband and you are trying to have an important conversation, that will be the exact moment your little sweetheart will want to explain, in very in depth detail, their leaf collection.

The more important the day ahead, the higher the chances of the children having no clean underwear. No joke, first day of school this week, no clean underwear in the house.... Dave was ironing wet underwear that had just been washed at 7:30am.....they own, like, 50 pairs.....

The longer into the school year it is... the less F*** given. "We have a tin of sardines and a pappadum for your lunch box today....yummmmmmy".

The childs need to vomit and get violently ill correlates directly with the moment you fall most deeply and comfortably asleep. Also the more tired you are the higher the chances of this happening.

Finally, the more love you feel, the more guilt, fear and wine you experience xx

I am not the only one...an insight for the ones left behind.

For those that came before me, I salute you.
For those who are to come after me, this is for you.

Watching a loved one die is very hard. It is, however, easier than watching your loved one suffer or be in a state of being that you know they never ever wanted. By the time we came to the day before and the day of, we were wishing for her to be free and happy and to not have to see her little body fighting anymore.

Mum was in hospital for 5 weeks and twice was on the verge of being well enough to go home and twice was admitted to ICU, she died from complications from Pancreatitis which lead to organ failure. My dad was at the hospital every day of those 5 weeks, me, I got 15 days, for which I am extremely grateful.

You might not be so lucky, you might have a day, an hour or you may not know until after. To those who suffer that fate, I am sorry. I don't have words for that, I am not sure how that works. But I am going to say that somehow we survive, you may not even realise that you are, but you do.

On of the hardest parts for me and I think for Mum too, actually happened a lot earlier. While they were still talking recovery. The Dr visited that morning and explained that Mums donor kidney was shutting down. This kidney was donated by my Uncle, her brother. It was her proudest possession. To hear this news was devastating. Dialysis was a "no go" with Mum. Having endured it for many years she was adamant that she would never have it again. True to her fighting spirit, she said to me "It's ok. stay positive" and went on to have 3-4 days of dialysis because she had to try.

I learnt that while we are going through this, normal life still exists. In my case, there was still humour, like when mum called Dad an "arsehole" and the doctor a "young punk lawyer" because we were all a little slow to recognise that she was in fact dying and had had enough of ICU, dialysis etc, or when she sat in up in bed and said "You can't nibble Dads nuts!", after I had mentioned I had brought a snack of nuts for Dad.

There was also the joke about the pink hammer. Years ago Mum had bought a pink "ladies" tool set. Inside this set was a small pink hammer. As a joke she had made her best friend Liz promise to hit her over the head with the hammer if it looked like she was going loopy or comatose.
Later in the hospital, closer to the last days, we joked that when Liz visited we would have to frisk her and search for the pink hammer. Mum thought it was very funny. Humour is still there, it might be darker, it might lead to tears but it sure is nice to hear them laugh, even for a little while.

There is still boredom, there is tiredness, there is selfishness, there is compassion and love and fear.

Are they really ok when the morphine is making them sleep but they make strange noises? Are you sure that its not hurting? What will happen?  Again I don't have the words, it just happens. I was very worried we hadn't done enough to make her comfortable or that it had taken too long and she had suffered. I don't think this was actually the case, but I felt bad about it for days.

I was very lucky to a have a level headed nurse as a friend. Who, even though I didn't want to know, sat me down and explained that really, this is the end. This was about a day or two before everyone else realised. A little part still flickered with hope, but I was also very grateful for the extra time to steel myself.

At the very least have someone who will let you get quite drunk and cry and ask lots of crazy questions.

Some times the only thing you can do in the face of such crap is to accept just that. This is crap, this is fucked, I am sorry that you are dying, its shit, but I can hold your hand, we can chat, I can get you water, I can paint your nails, I can try to read to you, with a massive lump in my throat. The practical and the normal and the everyday still are there and are a welcome distraction.


DO, help, be and talk. Recount funny stories, allow people to visit if that suits. Even sneak a glass of wine together.. lets face it..it's not going to hurt now.

Every time I said goodbye in the last three days, I said it as if it was the last time. I got about 8 different goodbyes.

I hope this helps anyone who may need it right now.

I thank my lucky stars

Today I was sad. Its ok, it is what it is. It just felt a little like a headache but in my chest.

I was just looking through photos of our 6 month trip.  I know I don't talk about it much. It seems surreal now.

Actually thats not true, I just have trouble conjuring up the feelings from the trip because of what happened after.

We were so lucky, so so lucky to have been able to do what we did. To just "upticks and go" and 6 months and 1 week of adventure, pure freedom and fun.

I am really grateful for all of what we experienced but I am most grateful for WHEN it happened. Consider this, If we had gone when I had proposed we go, January, we wouldn't have been able to go at all. Mum passed on January 21st, just two weeks after we got back.

As it happens our trip went off without a hitch, we escaped not only unscathed but completely ready to do it all over again. It was like we got given the universal green light.

Dont get me wrong it wasn't all sunshine and roses, there was the time that Leah got onto a crowded peak hour Paris subway train and I got caught in the doors, trying desperately to open them before it whisked away my eldest child...on her own. There was the great Blood nose of Milan, when I had to practically bathe Brianna in a public fountain, which then turned a worrying shade of Pink. There was the stroll through the "red light" district in Montmarte, where my children learned that "Pussy" has two meanings, there was the time I got drunk on Baileys and decided I could ride Leahs scooter... I ate gravel, there was the sprained ankle in the Grand canyon which we told Leah to "shake off" (great parenting moment 2015), there was the gastro outbreak in L.A which resulted in spewing out the window of the rental car...semi successfully, there was poisoned snails in Barcelona which along with the gin is a night I would rather forget, there was the Toga party in Las vegas, we didn't attend but it happened around our motorhome for about 5 hours, it feels weirdly exposing when people party right outside where you are sleeping.... Oh and there was "Dick and Balls" in Louisiana. A state park so grungy and dodgy and swamp like, that I was expecting squirrel and moonshine for dinner... It also was shaped like a dick and balls on the map....

It wasn't sunshine and roses but it was perfect and I thank my lucky stars.

DICK AND BALLS, LOUISIANA

Jesus H Christ... Its just an iPad

Its just an iPad not a bloody strangling, spanking, choke hazard, assault bomb.

The way people are carrying on at the moment you would be forgiven for thinking your precious child is going to turn feral and murder everyone at the sight of one "you - know -what".

Its an iPad and much like its bulkier older cousins the TV and the xbox, it is a great, sometimes educational mostly recreational baby sitter. It is... There I said it. Yes, the iPad entertains my children when I have other things I need to do.

No i'm not advocating propping up your 1 year old in front of one while you head out to the club to down tequila shooters. No I am not saying that 16 hours straight is going to have a positive effect on your childs development. What I am saying that used in moderation along with the other tools in my Mummy arsenal,  it can be a bit of a saviour and no I am not bloody timing their "screen time" down to seconds.  These kids are more adept at navigating on an iPad than anyone I know over the age of 30. It is NORMAL to them, just like rollerskating and blue eye shadow was to us.
Its so normal that its not a big deal. Sometimes my kids want to play on it sometimes they don't. The more of a HOO HAAA these medical types make about the damn things the more they will think its something special.

Remember when people thought Rock music was the devil?? This is the price of progress people. You don't have to like it, whole groups of people don't, they complain loudly about the danger of iPads and iPhones... on their blogs.

To be really honest, after 6 months travelling with the kids, even if they discovered that iPads were hidden portals to hell... I would still have to give it some serious consideration.

So roll into the chaos and mayhem of the school holidays and joyfully embrace the iPad and a glass of wine. Cheers

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.

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?

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.

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.

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.

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?

Put down the Heavy load

Guilt, it's every where. 

Anything can make you feel bad. 

Put down the heavy load. 

The extra 15 minutes sleep in, the cupcake for breakfast, the secret new shoes. 

These are nothing. Don't feel bad. 

The left behind library books, the crappy school lunch with a shriveled carrot and dry sandwich, the third night of noodles in a row, the un-ironed everything.

These are nothing. Don't feel bad.

The forgotten gym membership, the extra wine, the sticky floors and dust bunny pets. 

The late nights, the missed appointment, the not done work. 

These are nothing. Don't feel bad. 

The could I have done more, could I have helped more? Could I be more, should I change? 

This is something but still nothing. Don't feel bad 

Put down the heavy load 

The crazy... It's the best part

We have been back almost 3 months. I have had my world turned upside down.

I am currently watering the roses out the front of my house, no bra, no pants and a nice glass of red in hand.
Every 10 minutes or so the 72 bus goes pass, I toast them with my glass :-).

We try to go to the beach once a week. The kids aren't enrolled into any after school activities. It is so nice to just chill at home, with time to cook, time to do homework and relax. We are eating better as a family and are no where near as rushed.

I am trying to retain the magic. As much as possible, the whimsical, the beautiful. I light the nice smelly candles all the time. I put the fairy lights on in our bedroom, I am writing and creating. I haven't done this for years. The spark inside me for beauty and quirky and thoughtfulness has been ignited.

For the first time , in a long time, I am being led by my heart. Dave will come home and find me baking, sitting out the back watching the sun set, crocheting my blanket or hugging my wookie. I'm crazy and not even trying to hide it.

I now have time to look in op shops, to find something that makes me happy.
I like colour.

For the first time in 5 years we had friends over for a meal. We made the best of our awkward little house and entertained.

If I feel like talking, I talk. Feel like writing, I write. Feel like standing around the front yard in my knickers, I do it. I am drinking more than I used too, but I am allowing myself some grace in this department. Yay ... Wine.

I feel free. Sometimes at a loss, but certainly free. My time is mine, it is rich with opportunity as well as grief. "Cheers people on the bus, I'm in my underwear and I couldn't give a shit!"