Can someone please hurry the f** up and invent a time machine already??

Like sands through the hourglass... lol, just jokes.

I have just realised that Leah, my 9 year old, won't hold my hand anymore. Even when crossing the street. "Mum, I can see the cars...(eye roll, huffiness)".
What if its not for your safety , child, but mine!?? I hardly remember I am an adult half the time....

All the dolls are gone... slowly merging into a knotty mass of plastic limbs in the black hole of our storage room. Playgrounds??? Nah... lets go to a cafe Mum.

Tooth Fairy?.... hmmm the jury is out on that one. Leah asked some questions and gave a raised eye brow in response to how I am not sure why she thinks its me... But I think the tooth fairy has brown hair ....possibly carrying a few extra kilos...dressed in Pjs....ooops.

Santa is still safe ...mainly cos he is kick arse at giving gifts.

Photos? Not unless an out fit has been styled appropriately with "Rock star" hair and correct filter and I have promised not to put them on Facebook (yes, I lie...I'm a Mum)

Boyfriends...soon, all to frigging soon.

Sigh...  So as we hurtle towards Teenagerhood (shiver), I happily grab Brianna (Miss 8) and give her a big smoochy public kiss while skipping up the road.

Today, here in Perth, there has been a terrible story reported of the loss of innocence and childhood at the hands of a yet - to -be - caught monster for a little 5 year old boy and 4 year old girl. It makes me sick  and heartbroken and I don't, at all, want to make light of it. So while I am lamenting the fast pace of childhood, give them all an extra cuddle tonight.

Op Shop Fashionistas

Yes, they smell like old socks and Nana, yes there will be some "special" people also shopping but its a world of unlimited fashion imagination to my kids.

One of my girls likes to be slightly tom boyish and edgy, the other, girlie and pretty and sweet.
Shopping at Target or whatever is hard. 1. because they each have very strong opinions on the different styles they wear and also because they are in larger sizes than their age. Meaning my 8 year old wears a kids 12-14 and my 9 year old wears a 10-12.
The style of clothes in the regular shops aren't age appropriate. Tiny little shorts and midriff t-shirts with "All the boys want me" scrawled across it is not my idea of little girls wear.

So together we scour the treasures at our local three op shops. We are getting really good at finding cool, slightly unusual and fun clothes.

We have these rules:

Never buy underwear
Try everything on
Never go op shopping in a rush, two hours minimum
Don't Op shop in a swanky or funky area, the clothes will be heaps more expensive and the attitude way more annoying.

So use the school holidays as an excuse and go musty, dusty, op shop diving. Don't worry the smell washes out ;-)

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

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.

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!"

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 

I am a freezer, what are you?

I'm probably not the one you want standing next to you in an emergency. I'm just telling you, my friends, just so your standards are suitably low if we ever get into trouble.

I am a freezer. I know this because the couple of times where I have felt in serious danger, one time in a close call on the road and a few times where I have had random scary people approach me on the street, adrenaline locks my knees solid and my arms to my side.

I have never been in a situation of life or death, or where my kids are in that kind of danger. I am really, really thankful for this, but it means I have no idea of what I would do (other than freeze into a standing coma.... so helpful).

I know a  special lady. This amazing person knows , that if she needs to, she can whoop complete arse. She has recounted a couple of experiences she has had. She once witnessed a person be hit by a car, and without hesitation, helped and protected the injured person until help arrived. Another time, a bag snatcher, attempted to steal her hand bag, with her left hand she clocked him one in jaw, so hard he nearly bit off his own tongue... and she kept her bag! She also won an altercation between her and a group of youths who were intimidating people in the city. Grown men looked on, scared , while she taught them a lesson.
How cool is it to have that knowledge, that in an emergency, you can whack on your cape and all of a sudden you are a superhero.

Obviously I hope that none of us need to know how we react in danger. I want you all safe and sound. But there is a part of me that wishes I was a super hero, not a freezer.

Keys... Yes please

We are in the Hippo, our 30ft, 3 bed motorhome, a little dented and war wounded after having carted us from New Jersey to Niagra, through Pennsylvania, Carolina and Greogia  to Florida. We had a slight altercation with a metal safety barrier on a freeway in Jersey and we were all  a little worse for wear. Oh... And if anyone asks, it was a massive grizzly. 

We had been freezing our butts off in wintery Niagra, bored shirtless in the middle of "Camouflage, hunting and people of Walmart" America and we arrive in the Florida keys. It is a breath of salty fresh air and so quiet. There is only one place, one state park, you can stay in with a motor home.  It's in Long Key. It's not Key West, it's not restaurants and hotels, its not key lime pie and drunk girls. It's sandy car parks and beach, a throw back to 1960's motels with shell shaped little villas.  It's heaven. Quiet camp spots, right  on the beach. There is no wifi, no tv. We park up, get out our camp chairs, plonk them in the water and chiiiiiiiiilllllllll. Relax,the closest land mass is Mexico. 
Picture it, 
Warm, quiet beach, with no one really around and only a small threat of being stung and bitten from some small jelly fish. We are from Australia, you've got nothing that can kill us.
We are chilled. For 5 days, we do nothing. 
Wake up, coffee, sit on the beach. In the Hippo for nap when it's hot. After lunch we sit on our chairs in the water and stay there until after sunset. Naked frolicking children and the odd jelly fish and kayaker for entertainment followed by a spectacular sunset. 
The only negative was a thing called a "Noseeum" literally "no see them". A little invisible insect that bites like a Mozzie, But, the bite will keep itching days or weeks after you have been bitten every time you sweat or get hot. Resulting in head to toe redness and itchiness. So. God. Damn. Itchy. There is no repellent or cream that works. But it was worth it. We hadn't planned to visit the Florida keys and we saw nothing of the well known Florida keys, but we had our own private beach and our hippo and our family. Yes, I did sing the Beach Boys song "Kokimo" continuously for 5 days and we got to keep our "Noseeum" souvenirs. 



Oh and seriously, the rented camp chairs where already rusty and covered with seaweed, if anyone asks :)

We are screwed... Don't fight it, Embrace it

I am sitting on the bus, grappling with a stupid bout of Mothers guilt. As has become routine, I now drop the girls near school and I walk to my bus stop, leaving them to fend off the dangerous and evil of the world for a full 20 metres before they enter school grounds. Shock horror, how could I be so cruel. To add insult to injury, they also were in charge of placing their own canteen orders today, which was met with "But MUUUUUUUUUMMMMMMMMM, I don't know how to spell sushi???". That's OK, worse comes to worse they might end up with a meal beginning with "S".... so you know, Winning! 
So, while I am having day mares of my children sitting at the school gates crying because I left them without the correct spelling of their gourmet Japanese canteen lunch, I get a phone call.


"I just need to vent, seriously just let me get this out and then I'll be OK"

followed by

"F*n kids! seriously, how frigging hard is it???? I swear to god, I am ready to...."

Now I won't go into the details, we have ALL been there. What ever threat follows the "I swear to god, I'm ready to....." doesn't read well in print, and you're my friends, I don't want anyone arrested. 

No matter what age your kids are, or what type of parent you think you are or what type of kids you think you have, you're screwed anyway. Seriously, we are all screwed. Now is the time to accept that and go about your day. I mean this in the nicest possible way, let me explain.

When your baby is tiny and shiny and new, you know you know nothing. You make a few mistakes, you stupidly listen to some woman in your Mothers group who claimed to have had a pain free natural birth while sipping herbal tea in a spa bath and that her daughter smelled like Patchouli after coming out of her Vag and that parenting is soooooooo easy...., so you feel like a failure.

Move forward a few years and you've got screaming toddlers, who have just spent 45 minutes having a tantrum because you cut the sandwich into triangles, instead of squares and used the blue plate!! Or they wake you up four times a night because their blankets have moved and their sock came off. While you sit and cry and pick weetbix out of your cleavage, you wonder "what the hell am I doing ???"

Move forward a few more years, they are at school, they are learning! Yay, they can express their emotions and you can almost have a rational conversation. Then you over hear them having a conversation about another child or worse hear some children having a conversation about your child. "Is my child a bitch??? It sure sounds like it? Where are the manners and the sharing that we spent 4 years drumming into them?" or "Is my child making friends?, are they being bullied? why are they socially awkward??? Oh no Ive raised a cat lady..." 
Like I said screwed....

You can't win, you have to try though, that's our job. To be the bad guy, to be the boring one, to be the soother, the dictator, the lover, the fighter and ultimately in a lot of cases, the loser. They will fail, they will probably be a bitch at some point, they will probably be bullied, they will still have tantrums, but as adults they will call it stress, but they will have their Mums and one day.... long into the future, they will thank you for it, and then ask you to babysit the grand kids.





To my friend who was having a hard day.... don't fight it, there is always wine xxx

Same, same but different.

I have never questioned my decisions and myself more than in the last three weeks.
Everything I do or think of doing is scrutinised tortuously by my brain in an attempt to work out if i'm ok or if i'm, at least, understanding why I may not be ok.

Under normal circumstances the core belief that I subconsciously carry in my gut is i'm ok, things are good and all is ok. It might not be in the moment, but the foundations of my life are good.

Let me just clarify, I have a wonderful Father, who is also dealing with his own grief of losing a wife of 36 years, an amazing Husband, who loved my mother like his own, Two children, who are strong and a joy to be around but are also dealing, in their own way, with the loss of their beloved VoVo and Friends with their own lives, children and challenges who have volunteered their time or their ears to help me. I am not alone, I am not even unusual. Every face that passes through my work or that I see on the bus has been or will be floored by grief at some point in their lives. Do they handle things like I do? Do they want to share their thoughts and memories or do they retreat to deal in complete privacy?

I get sad at night, i'll sneak away from the action of the household and lie down. I have a chewbacca wookie teddy bear, that Dave and the girls gave me for my birthday in December. Mum was already in hospital and really sick. I have been hugging this thing every night, for about two months. This isn't healthy, I don't think, but it helps.

I didn't want to write this blog yesterday or last night, I am struggling a little to do it now. I can't get the flow, I am tired, I don't want to seem like I am trying to make my grief the spotlight. But I think this is good for me. I am a sharer and never have I written like this in my life. I have a slew of journals that have one entry on the shiny first page and were never touched again.

In a conversation with Dad yesterday, I said "The experience of Mum passing and the memories I have are now more like a ball or a sphere, in the first few days, the ball was shoved up right in front of my eyes, it was the colour red and it was all I could see, so the ball seemed as big as the world, now its a bit further away, I can hold the ball in my hand at arms length and turn it a little, look at different angles, sometimes, without my heart exploding in my chest". 
I think that is a healthy progression, but is it too soon?

But, life goes on, right? The clocks don't stop, the cracks I feel in my own heart aren't showing on the pavement outside. There is nothing new here. 
From now on, its same, same but different. 

Italy the land of food, booze and ATTITUDE

I realise that there is a chance that I'm going to sound like a wanker now when I say that we have a "Love / Hate relationship" with Italy, like "Oh you know darrrrling, I loved Sorrento but just couldn't staaaand the atmosphere in Positano".

I want you to know, My family and I are not pretentious wankers and over all we are up for any adventure being it 1 star "street food and sleeping bag" to 5 star "fragrant oils in the bath tub" experiences, but Italy for us was like a punch in the face with a beautiful satin glove, and very honestly, after about 10 rounds in the ring, Italy won by K.O and we never really recovered.

Our trip covered, Milan, Venice, Florence, Rome and Pisa with side trips to Sienna, Bologna, Napoli and Pompeii. A very well worn tourist route and for good reason. There is just so much history and amazing art to see, When we could we would tell the girls to "touch the history" because they had never even comprehended, let alone touched, anything that old before, and may not get to again. The richness of history and the beauty was evident in nearly everything,  but, it felt like we had to fight every step of the way in order to see these things. 

Firstly, there is the never ending construction and restoration. I am not arguing with the merit of these things , just our unlucky timing. Trevi fountain? nope, under construction and restoration. The Colosseum , half under scaffolding, The Spanish Steps, nope, restoration and scaffolding, Rialto Bridge? Nope under scaffolding. So OK, that's cool, lets enjoy some other sites.
Then we have the baffling and often intimidating rules and the guards that enforce them. When you deal with 100,000's of people a day, and priceless historical artifacts, I get it, you need to have security and rules, however it went a little something like this:

"Yes you may touch the water in the fountain and drink from it, NO! you may not do that if you are a child!"

"Yes you may sit on that patch of grass. NO! you may not sit on the identical patch of grass right next to it".

"Yes, you may lean on this railing. NO! you may not lean on the railing now, only after 3pm".

"Yes, this is the line for the such and such Museum. No! it's the line for the such and such pass holder, or for all people but only on Mondays and Fridays. No! there is no information on where you should line up but if you pay 200 Euro, Ill take you".

Look, this doesn't sound so bad, but when you are confronted by purple faced, whistle blowing and screaming officials, armed and in scary official uniforms and all you've done is perch your butt slightly to the right of where everyone else is perched, it gets a little confronting. So, OK, they are very busy and under stress, cool, lets catch some transport and see other things.

Italian bus drivers are interesting creatures. Firstly you must never assume that just because you found the correct bus stop, that it actually ever stops there. Secondly, you must never, ever talk directly to a bus driver, especially if that conversation is to do with the bus trip you are currently taking. If you do manage to get to your destination, you are then required to play a game of "guess which door you may exit the bus by". The buses have three doors, but they will only open 1 door for the exit and it is never the same one, forcing you to rugby tackle your way out of the bus. So, OK, lets take the train.

On some occasions, in a foreign country, you may need to ask for directions. We were polite, we smiled and asked in the best way we could, be  it in English or in broken Italian. This was met with eye rolling, some not subtle boob perving, followed by some pointing and general directions. "Thank you so much!" we say and off we toddle. After 4 attempts and 4 different answers, the best course of action was to preform a seance, call on the ghosts of our dead ancestors and allow them to guide us to the correct train platform. 

After all of this, we did stumble on a great solution. BOOZE, FOOD and MORE BOOZE! There is so much cheap and wonderful drinking options for your pleasure and there are no laws against public drinking, you are allowed to wonder down the street with a drink in hand, pretty much anywhere. Campari Spritzers in Milan, Prosseco in Florence, Wine and Limoncello in Rome and all of the above in Pisa. After we discovered this secret and with the edges nicely softened we were then able to be properly gob smacked and amazed, all be it a little head achy in the morning.

No, Venice lady, we didn't steal your TV and other tales from AirBnB

The only way we were able to afford to travel through Europe and America for 6 months was Airbnb.

The.Only.Way.

As a group of four, two of whom valued privacy from time to time and two who were exhausted parents who needed their beauty sleep, we made the rule of no more than AU $200 per night and where possible two bedrooms or at very least one seperate bedroom and a lounge room with sofa bed. Also, NO house shares (meaning staying with other people in the same place).

As luck and providence would have it, we stayed in some really awesome apartments, met some very nice people and were only accused of theft and vandalism once.

We stayed in a few homes that were much the same and passed by in a bit of blur. These were all mostly ok, one bedroom places with lumpy sofa beds in sizes ranging from tiny to small, no air con and some interesting design choices. Like a toilet next to the front door, a loft bedroom with a roof so low we had to kneel to get up the stairs and decapitated ourselves promptly in the morning, an elevator which only fitted one small suitcase at a time and never people, never ever people, Oh, and with no locks. 

Which brings me to Venice. A little one bedroom apartment in a quieter part overlooking canals. No security and no locks. We stayed four nights and had a very good time getting lost in tiny streets. At the end of our time, we cleaned up, packed up, shut the door and left, like instructed. On Airbnb, as a visitor, you can leave a review saying if you enjoyed your stay. The owner can also leave a review of you, as a visitor.

"You Stole My TV!" was the review we received, publicly. Now keep in mind we still had about 2 months worth of Europe trip to go and another 8 places to stay and Everyone can see that we are apparently thieves. My calm and well thought out response was something like "Ah, no, we didn't. We are a family of four travelling by TRAIN, with SUITCASES! Where the F* would we put your bloody TV? I am at the point where I am throwing out shoes because I can't be arsed carting them around, but now I have room for a TV???? your F*n nuts!". Airbnb graciously stepped in at that point and removed the post.

The vandalism part of our Airbnb story occurred in Pisa. The shittiest apartment of all the ones we stayed in and also the cheapest ($65 per night). Let that be a lesson to you all!

It was a basement conversion into a mouldy, mosquito infested, concrete sweat box. In our attempt to cool the room from boiling lava to the devils arm pit, we apparently damaged the fan thingy and somehow or another unplugged the fridge. This apparently caused major damage. So much damage in fact that he was able to rent it out to some other unsuspecting schmucks the very next day.

It really wasn't all bad, in fact, mostly it was brilliant.

In Paris, our first Airbnb, we had a small, old beautifully appointed apartment. We could just see the top of the Eiffel tower from the kitchen window and you could almost fit one person in the shower (but you had to do the limbo in order to wet your head). An attic apartment in a converted old theatre with ancient wooden beams in Montpellier. A huge apartment in the funkiest part of Rome, a decent apartment smack bang in the middle of the red light district of Milan, a renovated little beauty deep in the heart of Dominican Harlem, New York and lastly a beautiful, light filled, arty and comfy place in the Jewish Orthodox area of Beverly Hills, where we, ironically, celebrated Christmas.

I loved the adventure of discovering each new place and the pot luck that is Airbnb added to that sense of excitement. Things I learned were:

If its too cheap, Don't. Really Don't.

Stay as central as you can or at very least as close as you can to subways/metros and a supermarket.

Contact the owners of the different places you are staying as much as possible. If they don't want to talk with you about your upcoming stay, your in for a shit one probably.

It is possible to negotiate a better rate when staying for a week or more.

Treat each place with respect and clean up when you go, at least dishes, floors and rubbish.

You can get a decent price for a second hand TV, ;-)