The dangers of being a "fun mum".

I have been walking around for the past two days with bicycle-riders bum.

I went for a bike ride with Jasper a couple of nights ago, and we ended up at the BMX track.

So, I automatically slip into "fun mum" mode, and proceeded to follow Jasper over the jumps, even got a little bit of "air" as I was jumping (are you visualising a voluptuous mumma on her little black retro bike, with a roller derby helmet, trying to jump her bike (and her own weight) over the BMX jumps after her 5 year old son? You know it! I'm cool! P)

But Cadel Evans I'm not, and the next day I woke up very saddle sore.

As I walked around like a cowboy with hemorrhoids, gingerly sitting down, alternating cheeks, I wondered, "Why do I keep doing this to myself?"

Is being a "fun-mum" worth it?

I thought of all the other scenarios that I had gotten myself into lately:

- Art angst: When you spend three days trying to get paint out of your hair after you used acrylic paint, not poster paint, for the afternoon painting session.

- Trampoline tight spot: It's not really a great idea for a woman who has had two children and is a little neglectful of her pelvic floor exercises, to jump on the trampoline with her kids.

- Cubby house collapse: Why do I keep crawling into these hazardous buildings my children and I make? My kids can get in and out of there no problems, but when I enter, I take out one (or more) of the supporting chairs and end up garroting myself on the roof sheet!

- Hide and seek heart attack: When your child finds a really good hiding spot, and you get more and more anxious as the time ticks by and you still haven't found them. You're about to start screaming hysterically, "WHERE ARE YOU!?" When they pop out of the dirty clothes basket gleefully yelling, "You couldn't find me mummy!!"

- Sparkle psychosis: The slow and degenerative madness you find yourself spiraling into as you keep finding glitter around the house, on the cat, on your face, in your cereal after a moment of craft weakness, where you caved in and let the kids use glitter.

So, I ask again ... Is being a "fun mum" worth it?

Of course it is! I may be a little masochistic and slightly mad, but all of my fun-mum follies are definitely worth it!



Are you a "fun mum"? Do you get yourself into these situations?

Dear Santa (A mums wish list)

Dear Santa,

I believe I have been a very good girl this year.

I have tried to be a good, kind and patient mum (with the kids, I never promised anything about being patient with grown -ups).

I have not embarrassed myself in public very much this year (I think you should turn a blind eye at wine-o-clock at BBQ's and get togethers).

And I generally have been polite to my fellow human beings (with just some scowling and pouting, as opposed to tourettes laden tirades, when waiting in the supermarket queue behind someone who parks their trolley in the checkout and then leaves it to go do all of their shopping!)

So Santa, since I have been good, I have my own little wish list I have compiled for you.

Can you please, please, please NOT bring my children any of the following:

A) Toys that need 852 batteries to run them, then run out once they've been operating for 36 seconds (unless you bring me shares in Duracell as well).

B) Lollies. A few are okay, and I know they make good stocking fillers, but you don't actually need to fill the whole stocking with them. I think last year Jasper was creating his own mini vortex in the backyard, when he rode his bike around, and around, and around in increasingly faster, lolly-and-sugar-induced circles, and nearly got sucked into another dimension. So, maybe just a handful this year.

C) Cheap $2 Shop toys that break when you touch them lightly with your pinky finger, or breathe heavily on them.

D) Toys with sounds that exceed 85 decibels. I don't think toy companies realise that any noises over 85 decibels actually cause noise-induced hearing loss, so toys get louder and louder as the years progress and my kids (and my) hearing deteriorates. Besides, they compete with the stereo, so I end up with some kind of extended remix version of Led Zeppelin's "Stairway to Heaven ... in two police cars and a firetruck".

Yours Sincerely,

Lyndell

P.S. What was that Santa? I can only assume you have said "Yes" to all of the above and are complying with my list, as I can't hear you, I have noise induced hearing loss from last year's presents!

Do you have a parents wish list for Santa this year?

The thing that came home in the lunchbox

I happily packed off my preppy, Jasper, at the start of the week with his readers, his hat and his lunchbox.

Monday night his reader, hat, but not his lunch box, made it home.
Worrying about the poor psyche of his lunchbox (all alone at night in the big dark school) I asked Jasper, "Can you please bring your lunchbox home tomorrow?"

Tuesday afternoon came, and Jasper had bought home his lunchbox! But not his sandwich container.

"Did you actually eat your sandwich?" I asked him.

"Yeeeeeeeeessssss" he replied, his eyes looking around the room like a nervous squirrel.

"OK matey. You'd better bring it home tomorrow then!" I was nervously wondering about what wonderous new life sprouts from the crusts of a light rye, cheese and relish sandwich? And whether that life would be intelligent enough I could train it to remind Jasper to bring home his lunchbox!!

Wednesday evening remained sandwich containerless still.
Thursday I started to wonder if the teachers could smell anything coming from Jasper's pigeon-hole. Did they walk past and wonder "Hmmm? What child brings a parmesan and dead badger sandwich to school for lunch?"

Friday afternoon I picked up Jasper from the school gate and asked him then-and-there, "Did you remember your sandwich container?"

Jasper smiled his huge I'm-so-awesome-give-me-a-prize smile and blurted "YEP!"

As we drove home I was anxiously thinking about what I was going to confront as I opened his bag. Glow in the dark toxic sludge that formed the shapes of the planets of our solar system? Colonies of mould singing a rousing rendition of "The Wild Colonial Boy"? Strange, tiny, light sensitive creatures that peer up at me as I open the sandwich container, blinking, they ask, "Got any more sandwiches?"

I popped on a pair of latex gloves and opened his bag with utmost care, grabbed the offending sandwich container and had a look at it ...

It was empty! Jasper HAD eaten his sandwich! All that remained was the smell of old bread and a few cry crumbs.

As I sighed with relief I felt a slight pang of remorse that I didn't get a chance to train a new creature to sit on Jasper's shoulder and whisper to him when the home time bell rings, "Don't forget your lunch box!"




Do your kids forget to bring things home from school? Do they eat all of their lunch, or do you find special gifts of squashed sandwiches waiting for you at the end of the day?

MUM! I gotta go!... NOW!!

When you're really busy running your errands,
Down the street, with a thousand things to do.
You hear a tiny little voice pipe up,
"Mummy! I need to do a poo!"


I don't have time for this, I'm too busy!
I've got to pick up that script by 2!
But those little eyes just look up at you, repeating,
"Mummy! I need to do a poo!!"


Can you hold on for 5 more minutes?
We're at the checkout, so shopping's nearly through,
But he's banging on the trolley, getting louder now,
"Mummy! I need to do a poo!!!"


Why won't this transaction hurry up!
It's taking forever for the EFTPOS to go through!
The checkout chick is getting grossed-out from him chanting,
"Mummy! I need to do a poo!!!!"


So you run around searching frantically.
Somewhere there HAS to be a public loo!
He's started jumping and clutching his bum, yelling,
"Mummy! I need to do a poo!!!!!"


Finally! You make it to the parents room.
Unfortunately, there's a bit of a queue.
But they let you go ahead when they hear him screaming,
"MUMMY! I NEED TO DO A POO!!!!!!"


Quick! Take down your pants and your undies.
No! Please don't take off your shoe!
I know you're busting, but take your time honey,
"Mummy! I need to do a poo!!!!!"


As he sits there smiling contentedly,
With a stench that is way off the charts!
He grins sheepishly, and says very quietly,
"It wasn't poo mum. It's just farts".

Kids always pick the worst times to go to the toilet! Have you been stuck somewhere with a child that needed to go?

B.U.I (Buying Under the Influence)

It's Friday night, the kids are in bed, hubby is watching football, or cricket, or goldfish tossing on the TV, and I have a lovely bottle of wine...

I open the bottle and stumble across Ebay. "Ooh! I just needed to look for a new pair of sunglasses", I say. Then am sucked into some kind of time-space vortex for the next two hours.

I come to with an empty bottle of wine beside me and am having happy thoughts of my new sunglasses which will arrive some time next week...

Along with all the other impulse purchases I made!

The week after a B.U.I (Buying Under the Influence of alcohol) session is like Christmas! Strange surprise packages appear at your door. You were like your own personal Kris Kringle!

Some of the items you buy are great (like those sunglasses), but other purchases just may have been helped along by that cheeky little bottle of red!

It's a week long extravaganza of parcels arriving via post. Almost like a surreal version of "The 12 Days Of Christmas" (feel free to sing along with me, you know the tune):


In the mail on the Monday, my postie gave to me...
A macrame owl hanging off half a dead tree.

In the mail on the Tuesday, my postie gave to me...
2 bright shades of eyeshadow, and a macrame owl hanging off half a dead tree.

In the mail on the Wednesday, my postie gave to me...
3 novelty purses, 2 bright shades of eyeshadow, and a macrame owl hanging off half a dead tree.

In the mail on the Thursday, my postie gave to me...
4 Snuggies snuggling, 3 novelty purses, 2 bright shades of eyeshadow, and a macrame owl hanging off half a dead tree.

In the mail on the Friday, my postie gave to me...
A 5 disc set of Barry Mannilow siiiiiiiiiiiiings....! (the 80's)

..and so on...

I'm just relieved that it didn't go as far as the 12 pink Flamingos!

Have you ever bought under the influence? Or have you ever experienced any kind of buyers remorse?

Whoops! I just killed Dora!

It's not that I'm psychotic (well, not really). But some days I just get so sick of the characters on Children's TV, that I would really like to see them killed off.

They kill off characters on TV shows all the time! Neighbours, The Bold and The Beautiful, Home and Away... Why not kids shows too?
So rather than put my foot through my TV screen, I've decided to kill them off in prose.

Just imagine that annoying little Dora,
The one who explores at great pace.
If her purple backpack contained no oxygen,
and her map sent her exploring deep space!

Then there's those helium filled rodents,
Who go by the name "Chipmunks".
If they were hired to sing on an arctic cruise,
And an evil iceberg got them all sunk!

The ballet dancing, tutu wearing mouse,
The one they call Angelina Ballerina,
Disappears when pirouetting past Swan Lake,
... and since then nobody's seen her.

Pat was the eternally chirpy postman,
But Jess his black and white cat,
didn't guess where the bomb was hidden,
Now he's called Roastman Pat.

(Roastman Pat, Roastman Pat, Roastman Pat and his BBQ'd cat)



Poor old Dorothy the Dinosaur,
She was the last of her kind you see,
But now she's extinct like the rest of them.
Someone had poisoned her rosy tea.



Lastly those pyjama clad brothers,
Known as B1 and B2,
Were last seen running away from,
some gorillas who'd escaped from the zoo.




Do you have a kids TV character that you don't like that you'd like to see killed off? Or do you like all the characters on children's TV?

I confess. I still miss you!

It's been four years, but I still miss you.


You were there with me for so many years, but now you're gone. Some may call me crazy, but I do miss you.


You were there with me though all kinds of crazy times.


In my 20s, when I suffered from horrible panic attacks, you were there with me in the middle of the night when I thought I was going to die.


You were there when my heart was broken by silly boys.


My best friend, you and I all shared our ups and downs together. Staying up all night chatting and laughing until we cried. We were all never far away from each other.


You were also there for all the good times. The times we'd stay out all night, catching the first tram of the morning home, walking through the front door all crumpled and dishevilled. I'd sleep for the rest of the day, get up eventually, and we'd watch the sunset from the back porch. Sitting in silence together, amazed at the beauty of nature, and hungover as hell!


You were there when I used to visit my Nanna, Nan Fras. Nan also loved your company. We would sit there for hours of a weekend afternoon, eating a lunch of Mars Bars and instant coffee while she talked of her wonderful life. You were also there for me when she died. You sat with me on her grave as we talked to her. I'm sure she would have felt your presence as much as mine.


But my relationship with you had to end, and you had to go away.


I miss cigarettes. I miss smoking.


I think there are two types of ex-smokers. The anti-smoking kind who will rant against the evils of tobacco. And then there's those like me. Those who loved smoking, and as much as they know how bad it is for themselves and others, they'll understand when someone lights up, smile ... and then go stand next to them and inhale deeply.


Have you ever smoked? Do you miss it at all, or do you hate it?

Not tonight honey... We're being invaded by aliens!

Ahh, the joys of sex, there are many, many many joys! :P

But there are also the days where you are completely exhausted from lack of sleep, you have a pile of dishes in the sink, you haven't shaved your legs in three weeks, and would rather just use the bed for sleeping thank-you-very-much!

So I have come up with some tips for getting out of getting it on!

1. The Cleaning Cover-up:

Ask hubby to give you a hand with the housework before you hit the sheets. If de-grouting the bathroom doesn't turn him off, next get him to clean out the fridge crisper... If he's still in the mood...start worrying about his sanity!

2.The Fake Footy Feint:

"OMG! Aren't the South Chinkapook Goldfish playing the Fraser Island Fuzzy Bunnies? You'd better go watch it! I hear it will be the match of the year!" (Feel free to replace football with your sport of choice, Bog snorkeling, Cheese rolling...)

3. The Pain Pretext:

Forget the old "Not tonight honey, I've got a headache", they'll only tell you that it's good for headaches. Instead, pull out the big guns, a double whammy of ouchy and cringy, "Not tonight honey, I have a urinary tract infection."

4. The Boys-are-awake Bluff:

Pretend you just heard the kids coming down the hallway... and they'll be here any second!!!!

5. The Sexy Stalling Strategy:

"Just let me slip into something more comfortable". Tell hubby you'll just go freshen up, head to the bathroom and slip into something more comfortable...like a deep sleep on the bath mat!



If all else fails, you're still not in the mood and hubby is still trying to get amorous... Then there's nothing left but to fake your own death and go start a new life in Mexico selling coconuts that make sounds like horses galloping...



Are you always up for it? Or do you have some good "avoidance" techniques you can share with us?

Come dry with me... Let's dry away...

Ohhh! Look at me!

I'm ever so environmentally conscious, with my laundry-in-the-lounge!

On rainy days I have rows of clothes spread over my indoor lines like deflated kookaburras sittin' on the 'lectric wires (That's not even a good simile Lyndell! Gosh!)

My drying room is redolent of the fabric softener of the day, "Mountain Breeze", "Ocean Mist", "Woodland Glade" or "Sulphuric Lava Flow", and I get to be ever-so-gently brushed by my garments as I walk through them.

I like that we are saving energy as well, since we don't have a dryer our clothes are left to dry as we heat the rest of the house...

Who am I kidding? I'd KILL for dryer!

It's the dead of Winter. It's cold, it's wet, it's miserable and I just want dry, fluffy clothes! I want to burn a hole in the ozone layer above my house in the shape of that porthole that opens into the magical appliance that removes the dankness from my dresses, the sogginess from my socks and unsaturates my underwear.

Don't get me wrong! It's great to have ethics, and go about living your life without harming the environment. But when It's the middle of the night, and you have two kids vomiting all over their beds, and you're using the last of your moth eaten tablecloths as bedding, ethics don't dry your clothes!

I think tax time I'll be buying a dryer.


Could you live without your dryer during the Winter months? Or are you quite happy with a drying room inside?

Renovations, Elvis and The Hustle

As I glanced up at the clock on the mantle I was surprised that it was gone...Even more I was surprised that it had been replaced with Elvis.

"You should really get rid of those brown woollen curtains and replace them with a nice damask curtain with voile backing and a waved valance..." he mumbled in the general direction of my windows.

"Fuck off Elvis!" I yelled, "No one wants your fucking curtain advice!!"

As the ghost of the long dead rock star disappeared with a poof and a gelationous smear, I was left pondering... Those curtains really are hideous! And... I'd kill for a deep fried cheeseburger right now, extra pickles.

I have been living in my house for 5 years now and our renovations are coming along very slowly.

My partner and I are kind of like one of those revovation shows gone wrong. We've ripped up the carpet in the whole house, and only the lounge room floor has been done...
So the lounge looks nice, except for the half finished mantle piece.

(Whenever I walk into our lounge I see this sign and get this song in my head:

Do the Hustle (or in my case, Do the Mantle)

But back to my offending office curtains, (which the Olsen twins have been fighting over for that bag-lady chic look, ever since the town homeless guy turned them down as bedding) they really are awful, brown, itchy, wool curtains, which I will get around to replacing one day...

So until I have my house fully renovated, I think I'll be left with my imaginary smarmy dead rockstar friend giving me bad renovation advice.

Are you a renovator or a D.I Y queen? I'm not...

If MacGuyver was a Stay At Home Mum...

The other day, my family and I went grocery shopping at our local IGA, as we generally do on a weekly basis.

As we’d finished, my other half remembered and item that we’d forgotten, and quickly ran back inside the supermarket to get it.
To keep my 2 boys amused while he was gone, I decided to treat them to that grabby-claw-machine-thing-that-grabs-dodgy-prizes.

This one is actually a good one. Not one of those machines with a really limp claw that couldn’t get a grip on a magnetically charged, super-glue covered, velcro ball.

Therefore, in the end, our machine booty consisted of: 1 very ugly teddy bear key ring, 1 plastic spinning top that lights up (which broke on its second use), and 1 bubble blowing tube of bubbly funstuffs!
I passed my eldest, Jasper, the plastic top, my youngest, Atticus, the tube of bubbles, and popped the ugly teddy bear keyring into my bag (where I have a rapidly growing ugly teddy bear keyring collection! Please don't spill water in my handbag, or feed my handbag after midnight) and we headed to the car.

As we were loading our groceries into the car, Jasper was inside the car and Atti was standing very close to us as to not run around the car park, or so I thought...

He had been shoving the tube of bubbles up the exhaust pipe! By the time we noticed what he was doing, the tube was stuck up there. My partner tried to get it out with the car keys and was getting completely frustrated. So I told him to get Atti in the car, and I’d deal with the exhaust.

I searched my handbag, found a bobby pin and channelled MacGuyver. I made the bobby pin into a claw shape, manoeuvred the ends in around the tube, and “hey presto”, easily pulled the tube out. I had saved the day!

Although I am slightly disappointed that we didn’t get to drive down the main street of town, leaving a trail of bubbles blown behind the car.

Look out for next week's installment of MacVoluptacon when I endevour to toilet train using polypiping, tree bark and orange juice. Will teach the kids to eat vegies with the aid of PVA glue ,a roll of butcher's paper and a map of Wisconsin. And will retrieve foreign objects from the ear canal using a spatula, the backlog of Reader's Digests from 1984 and a broken Soda Stream.

I don't think MacGuyver could cut it as a stay at home mum!

Pillow Talk

At the end of the day my partner and I like to relax and chat about the important issues in life and the world:

Adoption:
-"What If we adopted a child from Mongolia? A girl! I’d like to call her Genghis Larry and teach her traditional Mongolian throat singing".

Travelling:
-"I wonder if you could use alpacas like you can use horses? I wonder if you could harness them up to a gypsy caravan and go on holidays? How long would it take to get to Queensland you think?"

Death and funeral arrangements:
-"When I die, I want you to throw yourself onto my burning coffin like a hysterically grieving widow".
-"Ok then, but only if I can roll myself in the stuff that they coat Sparklers with first, then do it!".
-"Sure. Works for me!"



These are just a few examples of the conversations my partner and I have had once we get into bed after a long day.
Ok, Ok, we also we like to talk about the serious stuff and everyday stuff too, like work, the kiddies and whether we could turn our wheelie bins into robots and they can take themselves out (but only if that didn’t lead them to them running riot through the streets doing donuts, drag racing and generally being hoons. Can you imagine the scourge of wheelie bin hoons?)

But I seem to find that we talk better in the comfort of our own bed, like we are more relaxed and the lines of communication are more open.

I was wondering, do you and your partner talk at the end of the day? A basic daily round up? Talks about Life, the Universe and Everything? Primal grunting?
Where do you like to chat? In bed, on the couch, at the dinner table... or on a banana lounge drinking Fluffy Duck...?

Bribery for under 5's 101

So, after a long period of study, completing my Master's in Clinical Psychology as well as a Degree in Physics, to particularly study Quantum Mechanics. I think I may just have learned what it takes to bribe my two children to clean up after themselves.
I have learned that the thing they begged me for yesterday, may not neccessarily hold any fascination today, ie:

Thursday:

-"Mum! Mum! Can we buy some chocolate donuts with chocolate sprinkles?!"
-"No!"
-"Please Mum. I'll DIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIE if I don't have one!"
-"No!"

Friday:

(After asking, threatening and cajoling for 3 hours)

-"If you guys pick up all the blocks that you've strewn around the loungeroom, and even scrape the melted ones off the heater, I'll buy you a chocolate donut with chocolate sprinkles".
-"*sigh*.... nah..."

So instead of folding and accepting the old adage "If you can beat them, join them (together with a roll of gaffa tap)", have finally learned to offer them something they never thought they wanted.

The equation goes a little something like this...

They may not have realised that they wanted to go to the park this afternoon, but now, thanks to many years of studying the human mind, quantum mechanics, rocket science, Oprah, and with a bit of blind luck and mother's inutition- they do!
Chalk another one up to Mum!

Does bribery work with your kids all the time?

My brother the chef

My brother is a chef. He should be a celebrity chef.

He should have a show called, "How to fatten up your relatives whenever they visit your restaurant, because they obviously have no idea what food is, they've never eaten before, so you MUST give them all the nourishment your kitchen can provide. And that means finding your largest serving platters to use as plates and pile them high with every item on the menu".

He fries up the contents of his kitchen freezer whenever my children go to dine at his salubrious establishment... Have you ever seen an 3 and 5 year old trying to eat a wheelbarrow full of chicken nuggets? Or 3 milk crates worth of calamari rings? Or a 44 gallon drum full of cocktail franks? He has no children of his own, so assumes they eat as much as a growing teenager with worms, a double jointed esophagus and a 3 metre long duodenum.

His adult servings are really special too. I actually think there are some smaller religions that worship the cathedral that is his Porterhouse with garlic mash (the red wine jus, used in their baptisms).

I'm just saying he is a very generous man, generous to a fault, and could take on any other celeb chef in the world in generosity of the plate and spirit!

My brother, the chef (who, according to my youngest son, looks like Kanye West...must be the oversized sunnies and the goatee... and the awesome RnB sound!)

Surreal Sunday

This morning I woke up and decided to take the kiddies for a walk. I got dressed in my favourite jogging gear of roman sandals, headdress from Rio De Janero, footy socks, my Nanna's best chenille dressing gown, and I merrily jogged off down the street... I remembered then that I don’t jog (due to an old snorkelling injury, and I also don't possess a correctly fitted jogging bra... just an old training bra, 4 elastoplast bandaids, a coathanger and packet of frozen peas shoved down my top) and settled into a leisurely stroll (plus jogging was dislodging my Mardi Gras style head attire, and it had nearly perforated my left eyeball).

Perambulating further on down the track I was merrily greeting passers by screeching “Bake me a cake!” at them like a fish wife and painting a green stripe down their back (with my handy dulux tin I carry everywhere), then following them back to their house, making myself cinnamon sugar on toast and then leaving (stealing their junk mail).

We arrived at the park and Jasper told me he was hungry, so while the kids were on the swings, I tracked and hunted some Grouse and roasted it in my portable grouse roaster (luckily I had it on me as I wasn’t going to bring it. I was going to bring my portable Icypole freezer, just incase I wanted to pick some Icypoles for my Icypole arranging class)(Icypole is a good word isn’t it? I like the word Icypole).

We were all a bit tired by this stage, so we headed home, singing all the national anthems of the countries of Africa, with Jasper accompanying me on the ukulele and Atticus on the nose flute.

T'was a lovely stroll, will try to go for another tomorrow. I Will keep you posted of the events of that one.

Movies about Merkins! So hot right now!

Inspired by Mrs Woog's Marvelous Merkins along with some red wine and trying to make #merkins trend on Twitter. Merkin inspired films were all the rage last night, not just in Paris and Milan, but in Australia.

So, today I got out my patented dodgy photoshopping gear, and decided to make...

MERKIN MOVIE POSTERS!

Gentlemen Prefer Merkins:



Good Merkin Hunting:

Men Who Stare at Merkins:

My Big Fat Greek Merkin:

Daydreaming!

Daydreaming...

It’s a great past time of mine, I partake in it whenever I have the chance.

Today the other half was home looking after the boys, so I decided to take a stroll, on my lonesome, down to the supermarket to get the papers.

On the way, today’s daydream of choice was saying celebrity’s names, in my head, in a pirate voice. I was doing ok, having a little chuckle to myself, until I got to Miley Cyrus.

Miley Cyrus sounds great in pirate speak...MOILEY SOYRUS.
I started to say this over and over (all still in my own head of course) until I got louder and louder, and realised I was actually doing actions to it too!

So If anyone was in my area today, and there was a crazy lady walking down the street, pulling championship bodybuilder moves, don’t worry, it was only me getting a little carried away with my daydreaming...and Moiley Soyrus...

Give the good stuff this Mother's Day

Your Mum had you, she gave you the gift of life, all she wanted was for you to be happy and healthy. Imagine how happy she'd be knowing that she was able to give that gift to another mother, that her child be happy and healthy too.



Unicef Australia have launched their "Inspired Gifts" range, that aims to help children survive and thrive in the 155 countries that Unicef does it's wonderful work.
Sometimes it's hard to figure out what to give your Mum for Mother's Day, so why not Buy Charity Gifts For Mother' Day


Like this Mozzie net. In Africa, Malaria claims a child’s life every 30 seconds, using these nets can reduce infection rates by half.









A Water Kit. Whenever a water supply is contaminated, this kit will treat and store the water.









For even as little as $26 you can buy these High Energy biscuits to give a child's nutrition a boost quickly.









But the gift I will be giving my Mum this year is the Mother Baby pack.

More than 1000 children will be infected with HIV every day during pregnancy and childbirth.
Mother to child transmission of the disease is treatable, but logistically not always possible. With the Mother Baby pack, they are given a take home pack with everything nescessary to prevent a HIV positive mother transferring the virus to her baby.

New mum, Tara Moss, explains one young mum's hope to not pass on this disease to the baby she is carrying. Watch Tselane's heartfelt story of discovering she was both HIV positive and pregnant. (Click the picture to watch her story)



So give back to your mum the gift she gave you this Mother's Day. The Gift of life, with Unicef's range of truely Inspired Gifts.

He's ready, but am I?

The night before the big event. My first child at school, Jasper's first day of Prep. He's has been talking about it all week, and is so excited about going to big school. He's all ready and set to GO.

But I'm not ready! I have a nagging paranoia that I haven't done everything!

Am I going to send my child to school without everything he needs? What if I am missing a pink pencil somewhere? What if I haven't correctly labelled ALL of his things, and he gets into a fight on his first day over the ownership of a glue stick? What if his library bag isn't the exact right one, and I am arrested under the School Code 37, Section 576 for providing inappropriate book carrying paraphernalia? ("I'm sorry Maam, but we specifically asked you to provide a satchel, what you have here is a haversack!").

I have meticulously gone over his list a thousand times.

I have ironed on name tags to anything that has a material surface ( I knew I'd find a use for that thing one day!), have written his name on everything that has gone into his pencil case and school bag, and found that I had to pull myself together with a sharp slap to the face when I was trying to embroider his name onto his ham sandwich!

So, finally, I think I am ready. I will probably go through the list and his bag another 17 times before I go to bed tonight. I will have nightmares tonight about him showing up at school in another school's uniform. And I will probably awake tomorrow morning to find that I have sleep-walked in the middle of the night, and have ironed on name tags to the curtains, the bedding, the tea towels, the fridge, the cat...




How were you with your back to school preparation? Were you confident in your abilities to organise your little one off to school? Or are you a slightly paranoid mumma like me?

Where's my award that says "Slack Blogger" ?

I'm afraid I have been rather remiss in my blogging efforts over the holiday season, so It's high time I got back to it.
And what a better way to return than by being showered with awards!

The Almightily lovely and overly generous Toushka over at (where else but) "...from Toushka" has bestowed apon me the versatile and stylish blogger awards.

Now, I'm one of these people who don't continue on chain mail letters, emails, blogs... whatever.

Therefore, so far I have had 7 years bad luck because of this:

My home has been taken over by insurgent senior citizens who use my lounge room to play their Ninja Bingo. I can't go out in public for fear that the colony of spiders living in my hair may embarrass me somewhat. Every goldfish I have ever owned has died (and I'm pretty sure it isnt from the fact that I hold my ukelele and kazoo lessons right next to their tank). Whenever I'm out the front of my house people drive by and randomly throw things at me, like lamingtons, half used mosquito coils and Christmas hams. And the only good hair cut I have had in that 7 years was when a pack of rabid goats chewed it in my sleep.

However I would be willing to endure this all over again if i was asked to once more continue on a chain letter-blog-thing.

Thankfully Toushka hasnt asked that of me, she has kindly given me this award without any strings attatched, so I may now try and live my life in peace.
Free from the tyranny of the mushrooms that grow in my hallway, free from the pirates who live in my attic and come down on Fridays demanding doubloons, free from the neighbours with halitosis who invite themselves around for scoooooones and aaaaaaaafternoon tea, and free from bad luck in general.

Thank you for not wishing that upon me. Stay classy Toushka.