Category Archives: Family
The Ugly Beautifuls
On a recent family trip away to breathtakingly beautiful Kalbarri, a small coastal town on the West Australian coast, we spent a lot of time walking the seemingly endless length of the untouched beaches and collecting shells. In the evenings, we’d lay them all out and sort through the treasures we’d found.
Kids love to sort and categorise and this was especially true for Baby G. Long after the bigger kids had gone off to do what big kids do, she could be found inspecting each and every shell and carefully considering where it belonged.
She had very specific piles. She explained that The Curlies were the shells that she could hold to her ear and listen to the sea. They had curly insides and that was the part that she thought was special. Eyes glinting, she proudly showed me The Pretties, named because they were pearlescent and lovely. Seriously, she held up one of the group that looked like mini volcanoes and declared that they were called, logically, The Volcanoes. Next to these were The Interestings, named so because they couldn’t be categorised but were cool and needed to be picked up and kept, nonetheless. Finally, with a solemn face, she showed me the last of her groups and, with reverence, she declared them to be The Ugly Beautifuls.
I looked down at this group of shells and inwardly giggled. They really weren’t beautiful, but she sure was accurate when it came to the “Ugly” descriptor. They looked like little brains… small whitish blobs of shell, shaped like pieces of brain.
I asked her, “Baby G, why do you call these The Ugly Beautifuls?” Read the rest of this entry
In case you’re new here, and aren’t familiar with the MOMfessional, I’ll explain. We all have secrets, don’t we? I certainly do – in fact I have so much dirty laundry, I have no choice but to air it. As bloggers, we hang it all out, every day and most of us have a strong network of friends and family who support us incredibly. This comes at a price – there are just some things that we don’t necessarily want to share with our nearest and dearest, plus the school mums, plus our work colleagues… you get the drift.
Out of this situation, the MOMfessional was lovingly born to proud parents, Chris from Life Your Way and I. Without any further waffling on, welcome to the MOMfessional - a space where other parenting bloggers can let it all hang out.
Some advice: Get comfortable.
Today, Molley Mills from the hilarious blog, A Mother Life, is in the MOMfessional, talking about something that will (most likely) ruffle a few feathers. You see, Molley was ‘the other woman’. Read the rest of this entry
(How a doll from 1984 taught me a lesson last week.)
I walked along the aisle, staring intently at box after box. Peeking at me through each cellophane window was a hopeful face that quietly implored, “Me! Me! Choose me!”
I was as stressed out as an eight year old could be, torn between the one with blue eyes and blonde pigtails and the one with brown hair, dimples and green eyes. I could not believe this day had come. I was going to become a Mommy!
It was 1984 and to celebrate my eighth birthday, I was adopting a Cabbage Patch Kid.
This was serious business. Cabbage Patch Kids were not simply dolls, you know. They were orphans who needed mommies (orphans grown in a cabbage patch, which was slightly weird, but details…) and I felt the full weight of this immense responsibility on my little shoulders.
How was I going to choose the right one? Oh, the agony of indecision. There were endless choices and combinations – dimples on one cheek or both, blonde hair in a ponytail or pigtails. Green, grey or blue eyes. This would be a decision of epic proportions.
Having narrowed my choice down to pretty blonde and cute-as-a-button brunette, I decided to walk another lap and clear my mind.
That’s when I saw The One. Read the rest of this entry
Rude words and why Baby G thinks we can’t say them at school.
Last week, my big kids each had a friend over to play. Baby G was feeling left out because the big girls wanted alone time sans little sister, so I suggested she go play with the boys, who are good-natured and would probably include her.
She happily skipped off to Little Man’s room and I got busy cooking dinner, enjoying this peaceful moment to myself and patting myself on the back for engineering it. After a while, I realised she hadn’t come back so I went to check up on her and the boys. I peeped around the doorway to Little Man’s bedroom and saw him and his little mate jumping of the bed and shouting rude words at the top of their lungs (as 8 year old boys do) followed by raucous laughter. Baby G, of course, was howling with laughter and joining in.
I’ve been in a funk for the past few
months weeks and didn’t much feel like writing about my baggage and bringing you all down with me. After all, I’m the happy face. I’m the positive one, the Pollyanna. That’s why you come here, right? So what’s Pollyanna to do when she’s got nothing funny to say and no energy to inspire anyone? I didn’t know the answer, so I hid. No Facebook, no phone, no coffee with friends. Just me and my baggage.
Have you been reading Baking in a Tornado? You should be (but I warn you, don’t read when hungry…) Well, Karen from Baking in a Tornado, hosts Secret Subject Swaps and today I’m crazy excited to be taking part in Take One of May’s Secret Subject Swaps. My subject (“If I could make any kiddie show character disappear forever, it would be ________, because _________.”) was submitted by Akashic Aisles: The Basement View.
Deep breaths, Michelle… Okay, you gorgeous people, here it is:
If I could make any kiddie show character disappear forever, it would be Dora the Explorer (who is only in the forest because nobody in the city will play with her.)
I spend approximately a sqillion hours per week reminding my kids to use their inside voices. They nod agreeably and promptly continue their conversation at a volume that has the ability to pierce through my skin and directly hit my nerves. Guess who taught them that yelling in each other’s faces is socially acceptable. Yep – friggin’ Dora.
She doesn’t stop there, though. No sirree. Not even close. Read the rest of this entry