The Scariest Thing

Waiting for the subway in Paris. The train arrives and it is packed. Leah gets on and before anyone else can get on, the doors start to shut. The look of horror on her face is burnt into my memory. With some serious hulk strength and help from other people on the train we managed to pull her back through the doors. Leah was shaking. The thought of her trundling off into the distance on her own had us all freaked.

But that is not the scariest thing.

Other things can happen to children.


Is crime, particularly abuse and assault, against children getting worse? It seems like it. Everyone I talk to about this says the same thing "The world is different now...". Is it though? or is it just that we can't escape it anymore?

Shopping centres, schools, day care centres, movie theatres and public toilets...all places kids are targeted.

But what do we do?  Kids need to learn how to navigate people and public spaces independently, for their own confidence and life skills. We as parents have to trust...a bit.

Yes I allow the girls to fetch things from other aisles when we are shopping, go to the bathroom at restaurants and scooter to school. They are together, but not with me. Should I stop it? Am I playing Russian roulette? I want them to do these things, but...

I am writing this because it seems like uncharted territory. You can't do what your parents did. Apparently that is too dangerous now. How do you walk the line of encouraging your children to be confident and to grow up believing that the world is, at its core, a wonderful place and not only protect them but also teach them to protect themselves from potential harm.

I don't live in fear and I won't limit my kids because of a faceless threat. But that is easy for me to say, it's never happened to us.

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

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.

Drop bears and Meatballs

Recently, I read about the Swedish national phone number. Basically, anyone in the world can ring this one number and talk to a Swedish person and ask them questions about living in Sweden. I don't know how many meatball and  coffee table related questions there are, but I would like to ask them.

Its an interesting concept, one that wouldn't translate to Australia. It just wouldn't. We can't be trusted. "Don't be so harsh" you say? I got two words for you...Drop bear.

Imagine, every poor trusting person from Kentucky to Iceland would hear all about our Kangaroo stables and emu pulled carriages and most importantly about the Drop bears. I have to admit that I gleefully participate in the upholding



of this Australian Myth. We have the Common Drop bear and the more deadly Mammoth Drop bear which can reach 5m in height and even the special reflective and protective helmets that all Australians wear.

Come to think of it, maybe Ikea is the Drop bear of Sweden???

Are they selling us these awkwardly shaped, boxed pieces of flat pack furniture and laughing and laughing, all the while sitting in their solid, hand crafted wooden armchairs and just shaking their heads in disbelief??? What if they don't even eat meatballs???

Don't be scared of the Overshare or the Over, Over Share :)

For that matter, don't be scared to say how you feel, how your day is really going or if you may have just set your world on fire and are now officially screwed.

I am not saying this because I want to know your secrets. I say this because each time you share, really share,
 some one else is thinking "Thank fuck for you, I am not the only one!".

Every time I write a personal story or crap fest on my blog, I cringe and then I think "good, if i am embarrassed or worried, It means it is real, I am not pretending."

Take it a step further, be real on social media. I don't care what filter, what brand, or what colour code the horse shit is... its still horse shit.

I dont give a shit about the latest meme, I care that you are ok.  I care that I am not so ok and maybe one of you is the same and we can talk and laugh and be a bit better. I care that I feel like since I have shared more of myself, more people have my back.

Thank you.

Here is a list of things I am happy/proud about.

Please share things you are happy/proud about too. One day I will get the balls to share things I am not proud of, but today is not that day.

1. My kids, They aren't perfect, but they are pretty cool and a lot weird which make me happy.
2. This blog. I can write, never realised I wanted too until recently
3. I am a pretty good problem solver. Not the paper quiz type but the "how do we pay our mortgage this month", "we only have $20 bucks till payday" kind of problem solver.
4. I am easy going. If Dave wants to play golf every weekend, if the kids want to stay in their pyjamas all day doing interpretive dance, I'm ok with it. I do go pyscho and think "what the F**" but not all the time, maybe not even some of the time.
5. I am strong. Stronger than I seem, stronger than I can show. This last couple of months has proven that to me. I may one day still face a tougher time than I have recently, but I have gotten through this, I can get through that. It will all be ok. I really believe that now.
6, I am middle of the road. Being the "Jack of all trades" and the master of none is something I wear with pride. Bring on the next chapter, the next adventure, the next choice. I am free to choose randomly. The better and more extreme you are about something, the smaller your choices.
7. I have good boobs ... :-)

Share and Over share alike people.

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.

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.

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!"

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?

Know Your Neighbours?

I'm all for a quick "hello, hows it going?" with my neighbours, but I have to be honest. I don't really want to take it any further than that.

That makes me a shitty neighbour,  But I like my home time, quiet time, walking around in my crappy t'shirt and wine time. You guys know this. To do these crazy "me time" things requires a little privacy.

Im also pritty sure that they have heard me when I've lost my shit and yelled at the girls, so they may treat me like a wild bear and avoid me outright anywway.

They are a mixed bag. Our neighbourhood is a mixed bag.

One of our neighbours is a sweet old 90 year old lady, who I do like to chat with.

A few houses down we have the local druggie house. In the 7 years we have lived in our house, we have had about a dozen drunken incidents. One time a guy ran down the street brandishing a machete, another time a young woman jumped our fence to avoid her raging boyfriend. Another time we have had people swearing at us through our front door becuse we wouldnt call them a taxi. We know when they have gone to jail because it gets really peacefull.

One Christmas, a neighbour arrived on our doorstep. Swaying and slurring, she explained that she had made us cookies. I reluctantly let her in. While she was in the hallway, she tried to toungue kiss Dave, my husband. He no longer does yard work shirtless :)

Funnily enough, I think that neighbour
enjoys her crappy t'shirt and wine time too.

We avoid eye contact when taking out our bins.....

I've jumped.... now what?

I surrounded myself with family and friends all weekend.

During the week, I am keeping myself busy with work.

I am in a funk. I know I am. Normally I would phone Mum.

Mum, who knew what was bothering me before I did. Mum, who would clear the funk just by talking with me on the phone, about nothing special. Who could hit the bullseye of me, without me ever needing to explain.

I am so sad, but it doesn't come out right. I don't cry and then feel better. I fight and hide and run away from it  and then try not to cry and then pretend it didn't happen. If I could call Mum, she would talk about something and the perspective would shift.


I am 35 and I can't clear my own funk. I have never had to. I always knew that if I didn't feel right, If the outside world felt off centre, Mum made it straight again. I don't even know if she knew she did it.

Mum was my litmus test to the world. No idea, no event, no change occurred before it got passed by Mum. I didn't even realise how much I did this.

But NOW I DO. Now I do.

It feels like, for the first time ever, I have jumped without my parachute.

Why your Bucket list should become your Fuck it list.

I have always had a bit of an issue with goal setting. I hated the idea of planning out my days and weeks for years at a time in order to reach certain goals even life (fun) goals, not just career goals.

I understand the concept, I also understand that it is formula for success that works. I get that.
What I have a problem with is the single mindedness of it. That while you are tirelessly striving towards the goal ahead, what opportunities in the left - field have you missed? The best things I have ever done in my life have actually come as the result of little or no planning and had a momentum of there own. I love the fact that these great things then led to the next unexpected great thing.

There is NO WAY I could have planned out the last ten years on paper, even the idea of it. I would never, ever have had the mental forethought to see what I have done or where I have been or what I have had to do. My true capabilities lie in the unknown and untested. I like the idea that in a years time, I'm not sure what I'll be doing.

Ah, but are you thinking, this is why you aren't rich Caroline? This is why you don't have a career?

Possibly, but I love the list of things I have done, failures and success's. I love the diversity of my experience. It won't make me rich, but then again, who knows.

Currently I am enjoying being able to completely enjoy my free time. In my previous incarnation as a real estate agent, I could never feel completely at ease. I always felt "on" or like I should be doing more. It is the sort of industry that if you aren't a million dollar success story, you are failure, with little to no in-between.

I realise a "bucket list" is not necessarily career or goal oriented. It can be about life experiences, what I am trying to explain is that the best life experiences just happen and you can't plan for it or wish for it because you have no idea what it is yet. I believe the saying about being careful what you wish for, because what you think you want versus what you actually get can be very different things.

Let life lead you a little. The more you have to force the situation and bend life to fit with your detailed goal list, the more life will fight back. Have you ever been trying very hard to get somewhere or do something and everything in life is just against you? Stop, stop trying, say fuck it. Something else will happen, I promise and it will be what life was trying to get you to see, over in left field and it might just be the best thing that you ever do.

That little voice that needs a punch in the head

I don't have just one little voice in my head, I have two.

This morning I forgot my work keys, and there fore was late opening the shop. Luckily for me I work with some very understanding people. But what pisses me off, is that yesterday as I was leaving a little voice in my head said "you better check if you have your keys". Then the other "arsehole" voice said "no, it's ok, of course you have them!".

This is the same arsehole voice that says things like "don't worry about writing that vital piece of information down, you'll remember it!" Or "you look as big as the side of a house this morning, make up isn't going to help you" or "or geez you're a bit crap at (insert thing) how have you managed to get this far?" Or "how dare you laugh and have fun in the world, you're grieving!".

If the arsehole voice was a person I would punch it in the head. Unfortunately it's my head.

The other quiet little voice that warns you of something just out of sight or wants you check something or gives you many opportunities to right something that you know you should, this is the champion. Sometimes it's so quiet that it's not even words.

How many times have I been swayed by the arsehole voice,