Got my shit together??????

So, what does it take to feel like you have your shit together?

Leaving the house with knickers that match your bra or  just leaving the house with knickers.........

Is it having your nails done? clean sheets on your bed? picking up your floordrobe so that all the dust bunnies are set free??

I had a day of forced organisation today. My grandmother has relocated back to Portugal. Today I transported a car full of 27 years worth of kitchen goods, jars, tupperware, cookware etc.

My pantry has never contained a labelled jar, my tupperware has always bred lids for no containers and my pots go where they fit, anytime, anywhere.

Not anymore, I have tupperware up the wazoo, labelled glass jars, I have cooked ahead meals for the week and made layered salads for my lunches, I even have a labelled jar of smoked paprika for christs sake.


I think this classifies as having my shit together... I just have to invite everyone to my kitchen to prove it...

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.

How I ended up Aussie

I wasn't born here. I am an Australian citizen. I can throw on an Aussie accent that would make Steve Irwin, Slim Dusty and Pauline Hanson shed a tear of pride. My kids are the first generation of my family to be born here. So what does it mean to me to be "Australian"?

Firstly, it means to be funny. We walk the line of irreverent shit giving and good natured self depreciation that makes us some of the funniest people in the world, second only to the Scottish...they just sound funny without having to try.

We are honest. Call a spade a spade or a dickhead a dickhead, as the case may be.

After travelling a bit and seeing a lot, I can also say that we are in the enviable position  of being able take all our luck, safety, isolation, beauty and richness for granted. Apart from days like today.

The story of why my parents decided to immigrate from Zimbabwe, is a small example of the things we don't ever need to think about.

My Mum was pregnant with me. At the time there was civil unrest and armed guerrilla militia were becoming a common sight. My mum was walking on the foot path in a shopping precinct. The foot path was blocked by some militia walking with machine guns towards Mum. Rather than allowing Mum to pass, they pushed her over into the road and traffic. That night, bruised and scared my parents decided to get out of Africa.

Apparently we had the choice to move to Australia or Canada. I am really glad this isn't a blog about the virtues of Maple syrup and snow.

Cheers to being Aussie.

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.

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.

Things I said that I deserved a punch in the head for.... A tribute to Mothers Day

As Mothers Day fast approaches, the following statements were my pearls of wisdom prior to having kids....


I'm never giving my future child junk food. I could make a much better "Happy meal" at home.

I am going to take my baby with me everywhere. I'll strap them onto my chest and we will travel the world. We will be best friends.

I think I could probably home school my kids... they will be geniuses.

My kids won't be "Like That".

Being at home with the baby will be easy, I can study and start a whole new career.

I will make sure my child has started an instrument at 3. Its very good for their future development.

Treat them like adults, take them to fancy restaurants and cultural events and they will learn to behave correctly in these places.

I don't see how there can be that much difference between a cloth nappy and Huggies?

I dont think time out is necessary, surely you can just calm them down and explain?



BWHHAAAHAHAHAA.... aw I crack myself up.....

Reality was a very different thing. I honestly felt like I needed a standing ovation, trophy and a friggen scratch and sniff sticker every time we all left the house not covered in food /snot, with brushed teeth and pants.

There was a time, shortly after birth, alone in the dark pit of the very very early morning... when I realised just what a twat I had been.

If you haven't had kids yet but think you will... Shut up, just shut up and to all the Parents, Here is a trophy and applause!

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

What do you want to be when you grow up?

Puppy Trainer, rock star and skateboarding fashion designer are my Kids current career choices and I hope the list is still the same when they are 45. I want them to stay open, stay free, because you sure as hell don't know whats right for your life at 17.

I firmly believe the fact that I have no particular direction when it comes to career has led me into the most interesting roles. Yes I am poorer, no I won't be a secure self funded pensioner, but I have life skills up the wazoo.




I am easily distracted when it comes to work/ job ideas and could easily apply for the role of Segway tour guide, dental receptionist and cake decorator all in one day.

I know without a doubt that I would make a kick-arse lady of leisure. You know, the pearl wearing do - lunch lady who volunteers once a month at some charity for rich dyslexic puppies and who's idea of housework is to write a note for the cleaning lady.

or maybe a tortured writer?, small cabin in the country, polo neck jumper, a goat and 4 dozen half written novels and a borderline addiction of some sort?

In all seriousness though, if my fairy god mother was to grant me the opportunity to win any job I wanted in the world, I would choose to be the "Colour trend forecaster" for Pantone (the world famous experts in all things colour). I am not even sure this role exists, but I dream that it goes something like this. I travel the world with a camera and photograph colours and colour combinations both in natural and urban settings. I find inspirational colours.

or win lotto, you know, I am easy.

Poke... yep still hurts

When you find a bruise on your body, do you poke it? Do you continue to poke it every 10 - 15 minutes throughout the day just to see wether it still hurts?

Yeah, me too. Like some weird sadist and masochist rolled into one.

Carrying the grief over Mums death, like a bruise.

I know its there and every so often it gets poked to see how raw it is.  Poke... yep still hurts.

I found some video of mum dancing on Facebook. My brain wanted to know weather I was strong enough to with stand this punch to the bruise, my heart wanted to hear her laugh. I am strong enough. I will continue to be strong enough.

Poke... yep still hurts.

For all those perhaps going through something similar... its now a bruise... thats progress. Take heart.

Judgy McJudgerson and Judginess of the Judgers

This literally just happened. I am writing it down now so the scar isn't burned to deeply into my psych.

So, this weekend is turning out to be a bit of a pisser. I am working a lot of it and today is the school fete. Which involves volunteering and baking and a DUNK TANK etc etc Ugh. Don't think badly of me. Its just not something I do well, but the things we do for our kids, hey?

So this morning, I have been icing, cleaning the kitchen putting on some washing and getting whined at for breakfast by my youngest daughter. The straw that broke this mummy camel's spine came in the form of one last whiney shout across the house "I'MMMMM HUUUUUNNNNGGGGRRRYYYYYY, wheres breakfast?????????".

It didn't go down to well. "Get your BUTT into the kitchen RIGHT NOW!". I won't bore you with the details but it involved the sayings "I am not your slave", "Things are going to change around here" and the classic "Are you arms painted on?".

After all the shoutiness, I hear a little wrap at the front door. Leah tells me "Its the lady who gives you those magazines".

AWWWW crap, the Jehovah Witness lady (from my earlier blog) and her two young daughters had just been witness to my Mummy tantrum in full volume and all its glory.

I could feel the "Parenting Judginess" through the brick walls and I know they heard the whole thing because from the looks on their faces when I came to the door, I am pretty sure they think I am possessed.

Its ok though, I am guessing this is karma for my "slightly" judgy earlier post. At least the Jehovahs
don't believe in Karma :P

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.

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?

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.

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.

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.

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!"