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Oh, my nuts!


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.

Of course.

Read the rest of this entry

Kissing Hands


Baby G has had a hard time saying goodbye in the mornings (here’s the full Diva recount).  Little Miss Independent has turned into a  cling-on of grand proportions and I’ve accepted that we’ve entered the OMG-I-need-to-get-back-into-that-womb-NOW phase. After a few mornings of tears and trauma, her beautiful teacher sent the classroom copy of The Kissing Hand, by Audrey Penn home with her for us to read (wonderful book, by the way). She also sent home the Kindy‘s plush “Chester” doll for a sleepover.

Chester

In this book, Chester doesn’t want to go to school, so his mother gives him the reassurance he needs in the form of The Kissing Hand. I don’t want to give away too much, but suffice to say, it is beautiful and wuzzy (warm AND fuzzy) and an absolute must for children whose umbilical cords are still attached, bungee-like, to their mothers.

If you have ever had a four year old, you can imagine the ENORMITY of this honour. Not every kid gets to take Chester home, you must understand. Chester, in case you’re wondering, is the raccoon in the book. See the sweet little heart in his paw? That’s the love that his mama raccoon left when she kissed his hand.

All together now: Awwwww. Read the rest of this entry

The Not Very Nice Day.


The Not Very Nice Day

After waking up from a horrible nightmare and simultaneously realising I had overslept, I woke up my three sleeping children (because they only wake up at Sparrow’s Fart on weekends, of course) and BEGGED them to PLEASE get ready as quickly as possible so we wouldn’t be late for school.

Miss M dawdled and danced in front of the mirror, then stood in the middle of the kitchen NOT eating breakfast NOR brushing teeth NOR doing her hair, causing me to turn into a screaming banshee with the parenting skills of a toad.

Little Man did everything I asked at the pace of a snail on Rohypnol and simply refused point-blank to hurry up. He was so slow, in fact, that I had to remind him to chew his food after he put it in his mouth. Oh yes. Read the rest of this entry

Kid-versations


Kidversations

Living with my kids is like house-sharing with a comedy trio. The conversations in my house make me routinely shoot coffee out of my nose. I’m pretty sure their comic dialogue is some kind of evolutionary survival instinct thing…it certainly saves our sanity on those “Mama is losing her mind” days. (Let’s be honest – that’s most days because getting my kids to listen and follow instructions is a parenting skill I am yet to master.)

Just last week, this conversation took place while I was driving the girls to dancing. It led to me nearly crashing into a tree:

Baby G: Muuuum, do i come from China?

Me: No, you’re Australian, Sweetie.

Baby G: But Miss M says I come from China!

Miss M: I did not say she comes from China… I said she came out of your VAGINA! Read the rest of this entry

An Open Letter to Jessica Simpson


Dear Jessica, 

I heard your exciting news on the radio this morning and I want to congratulate you. Apparently, you’re expecting a massive weight gain! I was under the impression that you were expecting a baby, but that ridiculous assumption was cleared up right away by those lovely DJs. I am obviously misguided in my (warped?) impression that pregnancy was all about creating a baby and growing a family. How silly of me. Read the rest of this entry

I’m Not The Favourite.


Hanging out our dirty laundry

Today’s post is a MOMfession by Tracy @ Momaical Blog

What’s the MOMfessional? It’s a place where Parenting Bloggers can come to write about something that they usually keep hidden. It’s a place where we let our skeletons out of the closet and let ‘em dance! Welcome to the MOMfessional – a space where other parenting bloggers can let it all hang out.  Read the rest of this entry

Directions to Fairyland.


Today’s post was written by my mother, and it explains one hundred percent how I am who I am today and why I try so hard every day to live up to the job description of Mom as set out by her. I was so blessed to be brought up by this remarkable woman. I hope you enjoy it, give it a thumbs-up and share it with your friends. C’mon, give my mama some love!

Fairyland does exist

Directions to Fairyland. 
by Gill Katz

I climbed my first tree when I was four years old. It was a gnarled old Jacaranda which bordered our pretty little suburban home in Khumalo, Bulawayo in a then sane kind of Zimbabwe, and the reason for my climb was not altogether my own idea.

“If you climb up the tree..” said older sister Vivien – an very mature and grown-up 10 year old with red curls and a temperament to match – “you will be able to see Fairyland.” Read the rest of this entry

Our Dirty Weekend.


My mother gave me a piece of brilliant advice when I was expecting my first child. She likened me to a jug and explained that from that jug, I’d be expected to pour love, nurturing, teaching and compassion into the little vessel that would be my child. She used this analogy to illustrate that if the jug is empty, there will be nothing to pour into that precious little vessel. Lesson: As a mother, it is vital that I always make sure my own jug is full.

This little lesson has been one I have had to learn and relearn many times. Those days I’ve snapped at the kids, lost patience with their questions, been too tired to play puzzles – those are the days I’ve realised my jug is empty and it’s time for a refill.

What do I do to refill? I paint, I run, I write, I catch up with a friend over a coffee and sometimes I get to do really cool stuff, like this past weekend.

This past Sunday, hubby and I got down and dirty. We behaved badly. It was fun.

Oh, and we took pictures.

Wanna see? Read the rest of this entry

I’m being bullied.


There’s this girl I know. She hates me. She watches my life with avid fascination…every little thing I do. Mostly, I’m able to avoid her, but every now and again, she finds me.

Yesterday, I was having one of ‘those’ days. You know the kind – when life seems too much and nothing goes according to plan? I was feeling like a failure because other people seem to manage the juggle so well and I was just.not.managing. Well, I bumped into The Girl. She looked at me and smirked. She looked at my disheveled appearance and her satisfaction was palpable.

Without a care in the world, she said, “You’re pathetic. Your husband deserves better. Your kids deserve better. You are a failure, Michelle.” Just like that.

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Sometimes, being Mummy ain’t all that.


When I was a little girl, all I ever wanted was to be a mum. Not a pilot, a scientist, a doctor. Not a farmer, a dancer, a teacher. A mum. Yes, I studied and built an extremely successful career as a Copywriter and yes, I loved it. I’d be lying, however, if I told you I was devastated to drop it all and become a stay-at-home mum when Little Miss was born.

Fast forward 9 years. Now I am mum to Little Miss (9), Little Man (7) and Baby G (3). I am still a stay-at-home mum, while running my (tiny) one-man business on the side. Here’s the thing: this stay-at-home mum thing is killing me. There, I said it.

What’s more, I suck at it.

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