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

Funfairs are not always fun. Or fair.

Little Man was always a cautious child. He didn’t start walking until 17 months – and then he did it perfectly. It was as if he practiced at night in his cot when nobody was looking and didn’t reveal his skills until he’d nailed it. That’s my boy – not a huge risk-taker. He has never really been one to climb every (okay, any) tree or jump into rough-housing with the boys. He was always terrified of open staircases, high platforms and long slides at the playground. Riding a bike was not something to even begin contemplating until he turned seven and even then, it was – how do I put this delicately? – interesting. My gentle boy was always far more at home with his feet firmly rooted to the ground, building genius constructions with Lego, blocks and Zoobs.

An intergalactic Zoob creature – one of many creations by Little Man.

Every time we’ve ever gone to a fun fair, he’s politely, yet strongly declined offers to go on the scary rides (and by scary, I mean the kiddie-coaster) and been more than happy to watch as we’ve put our lives on the line. In stark contrast, Hubby and I are scaryrideaholics. We even went to Disneyworld on honeymoon (romantic sunsets on deserted beaches are so overrated, people). So, you can imagine our delight when this week, at the Perth Royal Show, Little Man suddenly (and out of nowhere) expressed the desire to go on his first ever scary  ride. I had to stay on the ground (grumble) with Baby G while Hubby, Miss M and Little Man got on the ride and this allowed for some excellent photographic opportunities. We probably should have known better and rather initiated Little Man into the world of scary rides with something tamer, but he did choose this and you know what they say to do when opportunity knocks… Read the rest of this entry

I don’t love all my children the same.

I don't love all of my children the same I have  a confession. When I was expecting Little Man, I suffered terrible, unspeakable guilt. You see, I knew that there was no way I could possibly love this new baby as much as I loved Miss M.  Miss M was so beautiful, so clever, so funny. She was my baby girl and I adored her with every cell in my body. Sure I understood, on a logical level, that parents love all their kids the same (hadn’t my own parents told my siblings and I that all the time, like a mantra?) but in my heart…in my gut, I was certain that it simply wouldn’t be possible for me. Miss M was the light of my life and I couldn’t fathom how on earth another child could inspire the love in me that she had. So I cried. I beat myself up. I knew I must be a bad mother. Read the rest of this entry

Baking a batch of memories

New Bonbon Break header If you knew today was the last day of your life, would you still do what you’re going to do? This is a question that was posed to me today and it really got me thinking. I so often get lost in the details of running my home and my family that I find myself so immersed in laundry, dishes, writing, bills, making lunches, checking homework, running to after-school activities that it’s only late at night that I realise I missed out on so many opportunities to spend time – real time – with my family. Our lives consist of endless rushing from the time we wake up until we get to bed that there are hardly gaps to breathe and notice one another. It’s hard! And I don’t know how to slow down. There is no give. Life is just crazy right now. This weekend, I found a gap and boy, did I grab hold. The big kids had play-dates and Baby G and I were blissfully alone with nothing to do. Sure, my laundry was (correction – still is) piled to the sky but I decided that it could wait. We were going to bake. 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

Read the rest of this entry

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