Exciting News: Mama’s Getting Published.


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What I’ve Learned… (A Roundup)


       

Today I want to share with you my last two weeks’ weekly columns at BonBon Break Magazine. In a series called, “What I’ve Learned…”, I explore the little lessons motherhood throws at me each week. I hope you’ll enjoy them!

Original Badge aTwo weeks ago, I wrote about how we speak to our kids using accidental metaphors and pretty insane descriptors… and how they take us literally:

What-Ive-learned-She-Takes-Me-Literally Read the rest of this entry

The Day I Became a Mother


       

The Day I Became a Mother

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What I Said When My Son Asked Me To Explain The Meaning Of Life.


       

Today’s post is the second in my weekly column at BonBon Break Magazine called, “What I’ve Learned…”

What I Said When My Son Asked Me To Explain The Meaning Of Life

After a Boys Only shopping trip, Little Man and Darren arrived home, clearly up to something. Little Man disappeared into the study and came out a few minutes later holding a gift-wrapped present in his hand.

“Mum, you do so much for us and nobody ever even pays you! (He was outraged.) I asked Daddy if we could buy you this present because I know it’s one of your favourite things.”

He held out his hand and presented me with my gift. I unwrapped it as he bounced beside me, gleefully.

Inside was a dragon fruit  – a fruit we first tasted on a holiday in Singapore and that I fell in love with. From time to time, we see dragon fruit at our local shops but I never buy it because it’s expensive and frivolous. He had seen it and decided that I deserved something expensive and frivolous. He saw me as someone who deserves recognition and a little spoiling. The enormity of this, coming from my eight year old son, totally floored me. He demanded that I cut it open right then and there and eat it. I savoured every mouthful, we enthusiastically discussed the cool colours and textures and I thoroughly enjoyed the delicious experience of sharing this treat with the kids.

Later that afternoon, Little Man very solemnly and seriously requested that Darren and I go to his bedroom together at bedtime because “there are some important things we need to discuss”. I wondered what on earth was so serious in his life that it would warrant a meeting, so I nervously asked.

He replied, “I want to know what life is all about… you know. Why are we alive?”

To continue reading this post, visit BonBon Break by clicking the icon below:

The Naughty Spot @ BonBon Break

 If you liked this, please 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).

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The Naughty Spot


       

Today’s post is the first in a weekly column I’ll be writing at BonBon Break Magazine called, “What I’ve Learned…” I hope you’ll enjoy this hilarious story featuring Little Man, the Terrible Threes and the infamous Naughty Spot. You will laugh and hopefully learn from mine and Darren’s misfortunes…

To read this post, visit BonBon Break by clicking the icon below:

The Naughty Spot @ BonBon Break

If you liked this, please 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).

____________________________________________
Facebook recently announced it’s going to make fan pages
 (including this blog) PAY if we want our fans to read what we post.
 That’s not something bloggers like me can do.
 So if you want to know when I post, please subscribe to my blog, below.
Thanks and I hope you’ll join me!

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

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A letter to YOU.


       
This post was syndicated at Bonbon Break Magazine.

This post was syndicated at Bonbon Break Magazine.

I see YOU

Hey, you! (Yes, YOU.)

I see you, you know.

I see you in those moments when you think nobody’s looking, those moments when you’re not sucking in your tummy, when you’re yelling at your kids, when you’re serving McDonalds for dinner because you’re too tired to manage anything else. I see your panic when you realise you let down your guard for a while and showed your vulnerabilities. I see the judgement in your eyes as you assess yourself and find yourself lacking. I see your sadness. I see it through your smile, a smile so pretty that I’m left mystified by your inability to see how beautiful you are.  Read the rest of this entry

Big announcement!


Let me start by telling you a little about my childhood. My mother was, amongst other things, a writer. I would spend hours poring over her scrapbook with clippings of all the pieces she’d written for various magazines, voraciously lapping up her success and revelling in it. I’d stare at her byline under the picture of The Most Beautiful Woman In The Whole World and I couldn’t believe that this talented writer  - who was published – was my mother.

As I grew up, I watched as my mother tore up rule books and wrote two books and a slew of TV series. Never mind that she was an ex-school teacher who was now a stay at home mom. I couldn’t have kept count of the times I heard her say “Where is the rule book that says I can’t do (insert giant, insane feat here)?” and then watch the world stare, open-mouthed, as she succeeded wildly in her crazy ventures.

If you want to achieve something, don't ever listen to anyone who says you can't. You can.

If you want to achieve something, don’t ever listen to anyone who says you can’t. You can.

You see, my mother was an adventurer. She didn’t ask the world for permission to be fabulous. She went out and granted her own permission slips with wild abandon. She dived head first into her passions and often landed spread-eagled, face-first, skirt over head. Did she cry? No, sirree. My mom laughed. Read the rest of this entry

The Day My Jewish Kids Met Santa Claus.


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It was a regular day at the local shopping centre. Being December, the centre was decorated with tinsel and holly and all things Christmas. Carols were creating jolly white noise and the atmosphere was festive as we went about our business.

My kids know about Christmas and we give presents to our Christian friends (we’ve also been known to sneak next door to help decorate our neighbours’ tree) but, as practicing Jews, we don’t celebrate Christmas. We don’t have a tree. We don’t receive presents. We don’t do Santa. (I do sing Christmas carols, though, can’t help myself. Really, who doesn’t love a red-nosed reindeer?) Chanukah happens to coincide with Christmas, as calendars go, but there’s really no competition – lighting a candle and spinning a dreidel don’t have a hope of matching up to the excitement that Christmas brings.

We were talking about Christmas and what it means to our friends when we walked past Santa Claus. This red-tracksuited, red-faced (no doubt, from boiling in that red tracksuit in an Australian heatwave) man grinned at my kids and cheerily declared, “Ho ho ho! Merry Christmas!” They shyly smiled back and we carried on, leaving Santa scratching his head and wondering about these weird kids, not enthralled by him.

We needed to go to the supermarket to pick up a few odds and ends and while we were in there, the kids huddled together and had a “private chat”. I was not allowed to listen but I could see, from their expressions, that whatever it was they were discussing was S E R I O U S. Read the rest of this entry

Six Lessons I Learned from Nelson Mandela


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Today’s post is syndicated at Bonbon Break – a stunning portal to the internet’s best blogs and fast becoming a second home to me. I hope you’ll take the time to click over and read about my childhood in Apartheid South Africa, my family’s struggle to fight the system and my tribute to Nelson Mandela.

Rest in peace, Tata Madiba, your long walk is over. 

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If you want to see Val Curtis (Editor in Chief of Bonbon Break) and I in yesterday’s episode of Bonbon Break LIVE, click HERE.

Bonbon Break LIVE

It was 2am for me, so you’ll find me in my pyjamas, clutching my daughter’s Nelson Mandela doll and discussing parenting and perceptions of beauty. I also did a live reading of “Damn you, Barbie!” Much to my amazement, I seemed reasonably coherent. Enjoy!

This post was syndicated at Bonbon Break Magazine.
This post was syndicated at Bonbon Break Magazine.
If you liked this, please 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).
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Facebook recently announced it’s going to make fan pages (including blogs like They Call Me Mummy) PAY if we want our fans to read what we post. That’s not something bloggers like me can do. So if you want to know when I post, please subscribe to my blog, below. Thanks and I hope you’ll join me!

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A Thank You Letter to my daughter’s Kindergarten Teacher.


       

A Letter to my Child's Kindergarten Teacher

To my daughter’s Kindy teacher,

How do I begin to thank you for what you’ve done for Baby G this year? 

You welcomed my little girl into your classroom in the beginning of the year with your arms wide open. No booboo wasn’t worth a cuddle and a band-aid and, likewise, no achievement wasn’t worth a mighty celebration. It didn’t matter that the achievement was ‘not crying’ when it was goodbye Mummy time – you recognised the gravity of each and every moment in her year and respected her right to be little for as long as she needed to be. As a result, Baby G dances into your classroom, runs to you for cuddles and declares you to be the prettiest of all fairy princesses. How do I thank you for that?

You start every morning with a song and dance Read the rest of this entry

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