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

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 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???

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.

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.

What a bunch of whacky f** weirdos we are

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It doesn't rain it hails a fiery shit storm

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

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

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

And Finally...

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

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


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

Who needs a holiday?

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

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

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

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



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

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

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

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

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

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


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

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


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

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

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

Oh God. I am boring myself already

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

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

Is that sausage roll I can smell?

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

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

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

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

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

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

This Chamomile tea tastes like mouse pee

How can fruit salad be so unsatisfying?

I am still NOT eating kale... just no


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

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

Getting to Know My Dad Again

I have always had my Dad.

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

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

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

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

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

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

The weirdest of the weird...

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



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

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

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

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

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

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

Girls Can Be So Mean!

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

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

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

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

I am facing an annoying and unwanted choice.

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


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

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

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

How dare they?