Blog Archives

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

The Wiggles made me cry.

Yesterday morning we took Baby G to a Wiggles concert. She was so excited, she could hardly contain herself. The night before, she hand-made roses for Dorothy the Dinosaur out of patty-pans, pipe cleaners and play-doh and then she sang her little heart out in bed until she fell asleep, so huge was her anticipation.
It was the original Wiggles’ last show before they retire and hand over to the new Wiggles and it was quite moving, really. I managed to get us press passes (ooh la la) in to the meet and greet before the show, so we got to see the Wiggles (old and new) face to face – or as Baby G put it when she told her big sister, “We saw the REAL Wiggles – with SKIN!” Baby G was UTTERLY star-struck and went completely mute. Let it be known that shy and star-struck looks to the outside world like demon-possesssed. She was the most miserable-looking child at the meet and greet and gave her heroes a giant snub. Not embarrassing AT ALL. Now to the part where I cried. Read the rest of this entry

The Sting Of The Spelling Bee

Can you spell A-N-X-I-E-T-Y?

This evening Miss M competed in the Year Four Spelling Bee at school. She has been studying a word list that, quite frankly, would make most adults tremble and ask for Mummy. Miss M worked her little butt off and I am a very proud mama bear. I am also devastated for my little girl, who worked so hard, can spell ridiculous words like paroxysm, vehemence, exhilarate and harangue and still got knocked out tonight in the semi-final round. Boy, oh boy, did she cry.

After lots of cuddles and a big chat, she is fine. I explained that it’s okay to feel disappointed, as long as she also makes space next to ‘disappointed’ for ‘proud’ and ‘brave. I think she gets it. I hope so. It’s so important for her to learn to fail and then to get up, brush off and try again.

I have decided to share with you some of the words from her Spelling Bee list. The definitions may or may not be accurate. Read the rest of this entry


If you were asked what the most important thing you could give your child is, what would your answer be? I asked a few mums I know this very question and the answer was unanimous: love.  My knee-jerk answer was love, too. After some thought, I have a different answer. I think the most important thing I could give my children is respect.
Enough respect to admit I am sometimes wrong.
A week ago, I was a really horrible mother to Miss M. I was unreasonably impatient, I yelled when she didn’t deserve it and it ended with her in tears. I lay in bed that night feeling like a terrible parent. I had absolutely failed in the mommy department – really, you would have agreed if, heaven-forbid, there was a hidden camera. Read the rest of this entry

A Princess, Pull-Ups and Puddles.

You know when you make a really stupid parenting decision, and then (for reasons of parental consistency) decide to stick with it? And you know sticking with it is irrational and a mistake but you do it anyway? And then it bites you in the bum, really hard? This is one of those stories. 

Toilet training pull-ups baby girl

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Octomom: To judge or not to judge?

A couple of weeks ago, I posted The Story of A High Horse after reading a seriously judgmental blog post by another parenting blogger. Earlier this week, I read a piece on Mamapedia by Nadia Suleman – aka Octomom – on her parenting theories. As I expected, the comments after her piece were emotionally-driven, fiercely opinionated and far from supportive (the words hate, abuse and Hitler were bandied about liberally). In fact, the comments were so negative that Mamapedia pulled the piece. I’ll admit, at this point, that my own initial reaction to someone with her reputation giving parenting advice was not kind, not charitable and certainly not supportive.
To judge or not to judge? That is the question.

To judge or not to judge? That is the question.

Well, aren’t I a hypocrite? Read the rest of this entry

The Guilt Sandwich.

Miss M is in Year 4. Add Kindy and Pre-School to the mix and she’s been a school-going kid for 6 years. This means that I have been a school lunch making mama for six years. For most mums, this is par for the course. For me – this has been divine torture.  You see, Miss M is the world’s pickiest eater. She has been this way since food was introduced to her at 6 months. She absolutely refused solids – by refused, I mean she karate-chopped the spoon-pretending-to-be-an-aeroplane out of my hands with ninja precision. Let me be clear – the mushy food stage was entirely deflected by Miss M. I watched all my friends’ babies gobble down pumpkin mush while I wore pumpkin mush. I witnessed their babies guzzling mashed avocado while I got a bonus (all be it, unexpected) avocado face-mask. You get the picture. Then came the chewy-food phase. This looked promising. Miss M would happily crawl around on the grass and pick up leaves and beetles and eat them with relish. The cheese pieces, apple cubes, mini sandwiches I made her? Didn’t get touched. My desperation to feed this baby got so out of control that I resorted one day to breaking her sandwich up into tiny pieces and scattering them in the grass, hoping she would mistake them for beetles. Yes, you read right. And don’t judge. Read the rest of this entry

C is for Cheating.

Today’s announcement that Samsung has been ordered to pay Apple upwards of a billion dollars (I can’t help but picture Dr Evil from Austen Powers, but I digress) has got me thinking. How do we make sure our children grow up and don’t become the kind of people who think plagiarism is okay? I have a confession.  Read the rest of this entry

The Story of a High Horse.

Last week a blogger, Issa Waters, posted No Excuses: Parenting Isn’t Hard on BlogHer. I love the premise of her piece, but her judgemental stance was pretty confronting and she used some strong language that got a few people pretty wound up. Including me. She called parents who shout at their children, drag their children, punish their children and so forth, abusive. A pretty powerful word, you have to agree. I was quite angry, until I realised that the reaction her article really should have generated in me was empathy. You see, she is me. She is me ten years and two children ago. Back, when it was just hubby, one baby and I, I was very comfortably perched on that very same high-horse she is on now. I looked at that little, miraculous person in my arms and couldn’t fathom ever raising my voice at her, let alone feeling angry or frustrated. Resentful? Never ever. Just like Issa, right now.

Image borrowed from the talented Naked Pastor. Visit

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Four years old. Still my baby.

My baby is turning four tomorrow and I am in denial. Four is not a baby. Four is not even a toddler. Four is a child. A child! Where did my baby go and why did time run away so fast? Today, she had a Fairy Princess High Tea for eight little girls (and two highly unimpressed little boys) and as I watched them all playing together, I was reminded that she really is a little person all of her own. She has opinions (lots of them), ideas and a really spunky little personality. I have the massive, incredible task of helping her to continue just as she is and guide her in the right direction so that she can grow up to be the beautiful young woman she has the enormous potential to become.

The little fairy princesses were served naked cupcakes with sides of colourful icing and sprinkles. They iced, decorated and ate their fairy cupcakes with gusto. After sipping on pink champagne (pink cordial, same thing right?), they chased bubbles, danced and then sat down to tea. Who doesn’t like a good tea party?

My Baby G, you are just four, but you have learned a lot more than I have in the last four years:
  • You have learned to speak a whole language fluently. And colourfully. Yesterday, while playing doctor with me, you looked at the thermometer and proclaimed seriously and with great authority, “Patient, I’m sorry to tell you, but it’s twenty past six.” Read the rest of this entry