Monthly Archives: June 2012

Where did I come from? (How not to answer the question.)


Little Man: Where did I come from, Mummy?

Gulp.

This conversation had been threatening to ambush me for weeks. I could feel it. This was my moment and I had only one chance not to stuff it up. I remembered the advice I’d been given by a much wiser mum-friend to give just enough enformation, but not too much. Age appropriate, Michelle, age appropriate. I sat him down with me, put my arm around his shoulders and began to explain how Mummy and Daddy had decided that after we got married, were decided that even though we were so happy (carefree, spontaneous, able to sleep-in and did I mention spontaneous?) we really wanted a family. I went on to explain that, if two people reeeeallly love each other, they can use that love to make a baby. I (confidently, forthrightly and not-at-all-struggling-for-words like a bumbling idiot, not at all…) described how Daddy has special teeny tiny seeds called Sperm and Mummy has an Egg and that when we cuddled really tight, with love in our hearts, he gave me some seeds to join with my egg, and that would grow into a baby.

Little Man: Where does Daddy keep his seeds?

Me: (Dear Lord, what is this obsession with details?) Oh, um…well, you know that sac you both have under your penises? That’s where the seeds are kept.

Solemn nod. huge eyes.

Little Man: But why doesn’t he have a picture of us kids on that sac?

(My turn to look bewildered.)

Read the rest of this entry

Open letter to the parents of “The Bully”


Image borrowed from weheartit.com

Dear parents of “The Bully”,

Let me start by saying, you seem like really lovely people. This makes me feel a little awkward because if I wasn’t writing this letter to you, I’d probably be trying to befriend you. How do I put this? I suppose I’ll just come out with it – your child is a bully.

Read the rest of this entry

Why the happy face?


This post was featured in Bonbon Break Magazine.

This post was featured in Bonbon Break Magazine.

Today, someone said to me , “You’re always smiling, always so happy.” She went on to imply that if only she had a life as perfect as mine, she would also be happy all the time. It got me thinking. I really don’t think I have more reasons than the next person to be smiling and happy. Know why? We are all in this life. We all have blessings and we all have terrible burdens.

Read the rest of this entry

Hide-and-seek.


Baby G is undoubtedly the worst hide-and-seeker in the history of, well, ever. She is still at that delicious age where she believes with absolute certainty that if she can’t see you, you can’t see her. Without further ado, I present Baby G in hiding.

If you look reeeeally hard, you might spot her.

Read the rest of this entry

You suck!


BlogHer Voices of the Year committees have selected "You Suck!" to be honored at the 5th annual Voices of the Year Community Keynote.    Out of over 2,000 submissions, the committee has chosen "You Suck!" to be among the 25 Honorees in the Inspiration category.

Out of over 2,000 submissions, the BlogHer Voices of the Year Committee has chosen “You Suck!” to be among the 25 Honorees in the Inspiration category. “You Suck!” will be honored at the 5th annual Voices of the Year Community Keynote at the BlogHer ’13 Conference in Chicago.

“You suck!”

Are you aware that you tell your kids this all the time? I did once. I would tell them, “You’re fat, unattractive, unloveable. You are not good enough. I wish you looked like that prettier person over there.”

Shocked? I’ll bet that you do the same. Every day. And you don’t even know it.

Let me explain.

That child of yours looks at you like you’re a superhero, right? To her, you’re the most beautiful, cleverest, strongest person in the whole wide world. EVER. She wants to be just like you because, to her, you are everything.  From the time she was little, she mimicked you. She wore bejeweled necklaces and tottered around in your high heels. She painted your lipstick all over her face and looked at herself in the mirror, admiring just how like you she was. She speaks like you, she walks like you. And, as she grows up, she’ll look to you for advice. YOU ARE HER EVERYTHING.

She watches you even when you think she isn’t – especially when you think she isn’t.

She sees you looking in the mirror, grimacing and muttering about your cellulite. She hears you discussing how fat you think you are and how disgusting you think you look in your jeans. She watches you as you eat a piece of chocolate and then admonish yourself for being naughty. She is hyper-aware of the ugly names you call yourself when you make a mistake.

Here’s the thing. She thinks you’re perfect and she aspires to be just like you. If you call yourself – her hero - fat, stupid, ugly and worthless, you’re telling her that even if she manages to reach the pinnacle of perfection that you, in her eyes, are, you will think these things about her. She will learn from you that she will never be good enough. Because you don’t think you are good enough.

I used to be that person – the one who would say horrendous things to myself that I would never say to my worst enemy. Things that I would never let someone say to anyone I love. But somehow, it was okay to say these things to myself. Until, one day, when I was standing in front of the mirror, looking hatefully at myself and my little girl happened to walk in. She saw me looking at myself and said “Mum, why do you look so cross?” She gazed at me like I was an angel. Her eyes were filled with absolute love and admiration. She looked at me like I was the most exquisite person she had ever seen. A light bulb switched on in my head. Why not at least try to start seeing myself the way she sees me? Why not look in the mirror and see myself through kinder eyes.

Things changed after that day. Of course I still see my (multitude of) flaws. Oh, boy, do I see them! But I try my best to eat well, exercise and dress well. I even make it out of the house most days not covered in Vegemite. The difference is that when I look in the mirror, I see someone who has had three kids, who is a devoted mum and wife, who works really hard, who has her own unique talents. I see kind eyes. I see a generous heart. And when my little girl walks in and catches me eyeing out my saggy spectacular bum, I look at her, smile and say “Don’t I look lovely today?” And, do you know what? She does a cheerful twirl in front of the mirror, smiles a gappy grin and says, “Yes! And I look beautiful, too!”

They don’t always listen to what we say, but they absolutely learn from what we do.

Do you want your child to love herself? Don’t tell her she’s worth it. Tell her you are. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

If you liked this post, please share it with your friends using the icons below, and I’ll love you intensely if you click the thumbs-up button at the bottom of this post. I’d really love to hear your comments, so please don’t be shy (comments make me do a happy dance). You can also join the fun on FacebookPinterest and Twitter

Enter your email address to follow this blog and receive notifications of new posts by email.

You can also follow my blog with Bloglovin.

You may also want to read:

Confessions of a Tooth Fairy.



Today was the day
your moment of truth.
You’ve been waiting and hoping
to lose this loose tooth.

You could hardly believe it,
you cried (with joy…)
you danced round the garden
screaming “Oh boy!”

In front of the mirror
you examined your teeth,
some gaps on the top
and some underneath.

And then you got busy
writing a note
so that the tooth fairy
would give you her vote.

Read the rest of this entry

My house is messy.


The number one reason I yell at my kids is mess. They generate mess at a fascinating rate and it infuriates me. I seem to spend all day, every day cleaning up after them.

Today, I paused. I looked around with a fresh eye, and for a minute I didn’t see the mess at all. I saw joy.

The blocks all over the floor held hours and hours of my son’s learning and success. The dress-ups strewn all over the carpet carried my toddler’s giggles and fairy princess dreams. The books, haphazardly stacked in the corner housed cuddles and quiet time, fast running out as my nine year old steamrolls towards adolescence.

Today I didn’t yell.

Today I giggled and cuddled and reveled in the fleeting childhood of my three amazing children.

Dishes can wait.

 

If you liked this post, please share and I’ll really love you if you click the thumbs-up button below.

10 Ways to Rock at Motherhood.


Dear Mom,

I realise more and more that I am the Mum I am because of the mother you were. Here are some of the valuable lessons you’ve taught me along the way.

1. Believe in magic

From the time I was born, magic existed in my life. It was first revealed to me when you magically appeared from behind a fluffy blanket in peek-a-boo. I discovered it again in the tiny, glitter-encrusted note from the tooth fairy and the equally glittery trail that she left to the window. (Even when I realized you were the Tooth Fairy, I continued the pretense for the sheer magic it created in my life.) Magic was in the tree at the bottom of the garden, where the tree elves would enjoy the feast my siblings and I had painstakingly set up for them (they left crumbs and a very polite thank you note, suspiciously in your handwriting). I discovered that I could magically make people smile, just by smiling myself. Together, we discovered my inner-magic – my ability to do things I never knew I could, from traversing monkey bars to speaking solo in front of my entire school. I learnt the magic of envisioning something and making it happen. As I grew up, you showed it to me in more sophisticated ways. You showed be by achieving unachievable things yourself. My stay-at-home mom wrote books, plays, television shows and got them published – you showed me by your actions that I, too, could one day make obstacles disappear. Your mantra was always “Show me where it is written that I cant do this.”

2. Don’t follow the herd.


I am a passionate person. So are you. You taught be to stand by what I believe, whether it makes me popular or not. I can’t count the number of times I sat on your lap, howling and crying crocodile tears because I had been ostracized for not doing what the cool kids expected of me. You gave me comfort, let me cry and always told me you were proud that I’d chosen the high road that led to your lap, rather than going against my conscience in order to fit in. I learned that sometimes the cool crowd aren’t that cool…sometimes the cool crowd are really the cowardly crowd. You taught me that not only is it okay to be me, it is, in fact, the most important thing in the world. You were never part of a herd and you are fabulous. I learned that my quirks make me fabulous too. Read the rest of this entry

This is what makes it worth it.


Baby G: Mum, wake up!
Me: (incoherent grumbling)
Baby G: pleeeeease!
Me: grumble grumble….sun is still sleeping….grumble grumble.
Baby G: C’mon mummy! Lets snuggle and wake up the sun togevuh!

Best invitation ever. We snuggled, drank OJ and with one squinty eye open, I watched the sun ‘wake up’ with my little princess’ hand wrapped tightly around my index finger.

Being woken when it’s still dark. Not so cool. Being told how much you are loved at 5:15am…delicious. 

Click here for the cutest little I love you.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

If you liked this post, please share it with your friends using the icons below, and I’ll love you intensely if you click the thumbs-up button at the bottom of this post. I’d really love to hear your comments, so please don’t be shy (comments make me do a happy dance). You can also join the fun on FacebookPinterest and Twitter

Enter your email address to follow this blog and receive notifications of new posts by email.

You can also follow my blog with Bloglovin.

You may also want to read:

Kiddy Quips


After 21 months of pregnancy (collectively…although each one did feel approximately that long), haemorrhoids, nausea, varicose veins, false labour (doesn’t get more fun than that), real labour (a whole other post), cracked nipples, repeated public boob exposures and The Battle With The Scale, there is a bright and magnificent light. There is! It makes all the hard work and humiliation worth it. I present to you Kiddy Quips.

You see, those sweet-smelling, exhausting and delicious babies one day start talking. And their perspective on the world is presented to you daily in delicious little conversational nuggets. Even on those days when they have well and truly beaten you, when the day ends and you’re covered in bodily fluids and bits of congealed breakfast – even on those days, just one of these nuggets has the magical power of wiping the slate clean. Today, I will share with you a sampling of my favourite quips gathered over the 400 years (give or take) I have been mum to Miss M, Little Man and Baby G.

Miss M’s nose was running, so she came to me and said: “Mum, can I have a tissue because my nose is sweating”

   *

Miss M: Mom, what’s a vegetarian?

Me: Someone that eats vegetables.

Miss M: Oh, so we are vegetarians because we eat vegetables.

Me: No – we eat vegetables AND meat. There’s a different name for what we are.

Miss M: I know! We’re Australians!

   *

Read the rest of this entry

Follow

Get every new post delivered to your Inbox.

Join 4,918 other followers