Yet Another NYE post.

I didn't really want to do 'yet another New Year post', as I'm not the biggest fan of New Year's Eve, I find it over-hyped and feel a false pressure that I have to have an awesome night, or the whole year ahead will be ruined.

Having said that, a whole decade has passed, along with a couple of pretty tough years at the end there, and I think that deserves a look back, if only to stop me being so negative in my feelings about them.

In the Noughties, I...

... met the love of my life.

... married him.

... had 9 different jobs, not including temp assignments! I also learned I have commitment issues.

... lost weight, gained weight, misplaced weight and found it again (was down the back of the couch). Funnily enough, I remained the same person, and was no happier thin than fat. Go figure.

... moved house 4 times.

... finally learned how to straighten my hair.

... lost all four of my Grandparents. I pray they still watch over me, and I remember the lessons they taught me more and more as I grow older.

... gave up smoking.

... became a Mother. Not to sound like a cliche, but it was simply the best thing that has ever happened to me. I learned what it is like to see your heart live outside of your body; that I will never have a perfect, calm, orderly life, and that I don't want one anymore; and most importantly, I learned that we are all part of something bigger, and that the world does not revolve around me.

... went from being part of a yuppie couple with ready disposable income, to part of a suddenly cash-strapped couple after a series of incidents. I also learned just how flippant and disrespectful of money I had been. It forced me to grow up, get a clue and now I am a marvel at what I can do with $4 worth of beef mince!

... stopped trying to over-think everything, and learned to just let what will be, be.

... saw my beautiful sister married, and subsequently knocked up. I can't wait for my niece or nephew in 2010!

... met some amazing friends, and whether they are still in my circle or have moved though, learned lessons from all of them.

... saw dear friends welcome babies into the world, and farewell ones they never got to meet.

... rediscovered my passion for writing.

... saw triumph, terror, tragedy and trivia all have their turn at dominating the news.

... wished someone would come up with a better term for the past decade than the 'Noughties'.

Have a great New Year's everyone, I hope 2010 is a wonderful year for us all.

Tag! I'm it!!

Well, even though I was usually the bad girl hiding behind the tennis courts having a cigarette in High School, Alex at Whoa Mumma managed to find me and involve me in a game of Tag. This is much better than any playground game though, as it's a Happiness Tag. I am to write 10 thing that make me happy, then pass it on.


So here they are; some are deep and serious, some are flippant and trivial - just like my moods!


1. Being a Mum. I never thought I would be one, never thought I would even want to be a Mum, and then shortly after I was married, a little stirring happened. We decided to try, and lo and behold GG came along and grabbed my heart. I gave it willingly and she never let go, I hope she never does.


2. A good hair day. You know when you've had more than 3.5 seconds to have a shower and get a chance to actually wash and condition in one go; it's clean and shiny, bouncy and sitting just right. Not like, say, now, where it's 3 days since I last washed it, lank and dull, scraped back in a ponytail.


3. Creme brulee. Need I say more?


4. That rare moment when the planets align, the Gods smile upon us and hubby and I get time together, having more than 5 mins before he dashes off again where we simply trade dot points of things we need to remind each other of. When for once we don't let the stresses of the day make us snarky and snipey, and we get real quality time together, time to be funny and silly, or cosy and cuddly.


5. I know it's a little bit naughty, but I like to break the rules. Not big ones, and nothing immoral, but silly little ones that irritate you - it makes me feel like somewhere under the sensible, responsible Mum I've become, there's still a little bit of rebel in me. :o)


6. That exhausted but happy high you get after a great workout. Go endorphins, go!!!


7. A great book, and the time to sit and read it properly, getting swept up in the story and tuning out the outside world. A glass of wine sitting alongside me completes this picture.


8. Driving fast, with a kick-ass song blaring on the radio.


9. Going out to the veggie garden with my daughter, fussing around and seeing plants actually growing yummy food for us, and watching as she tenderly waters them, pats them, talks to them and eagerly eats the beautiful, organic veggies I have learned how to provide for my family.


10. And of course, last but by no means least... COMMENTS!!!


Now, I know I am supposed to pass this on, but see Rule 5. :oP
If you want to pick up the tag, feel free!

Post it Note Tuesday - Volume 1

Always one to jump on a popular bandwagon, I am joining some of my bloggy friends in the latest phenomonon, hosted by Supah Mommy.

So here goes...

Memoir Monday - The Honeymooon is Over

Alrighty, it's that time again, where I jump on Travis' bandwagon at I Like to Fish.

So this weeks Memoir comes from my honeymoon trip to Daydream Island, romantic paradise for starry eyed lovers. Well, except me of course, instead of ending up in a blissful loved-up state of newly wedded ecstacy, I ended up in hospital. Welcome to my life (and that of my long-suffering husband's!).

The trip started off well, the morning after our awesome wedding, we grabbed our pre-packed bags, left the luxury hotel and jetted off to our island paradise. Champagne on arrival, and minimal bitching to get moved from the room right over the kids pool to the suite overlooking the ocean. Score!

The first two days were spent pretty much as you imagine the first two days of a honeymoon might be. Then came DayThree.

Day three involved a catamaran cruise around the surrounding islands and reefs. Lovely. As we boarded, I was vaguely aware of an officious sounding girl warning us all to remember that sharks are bitey and to re-apply our sunscreen. Pfft! I thought, I'm not going anywhere near a scuba mask, and sure, those pasty Poms over there might need to worry about re-applying sunscreen every 10 minutes, but I'm a Gold Coast girl, I never burn!! I had put some 30+ on that morning, so decided I was covered. Tra la la.... where's my mimosa?

Now, had I stopped for just a second here to contemplate that reasoning, I may have saved myself a boat load of pain and suffering. But nope, I knew better. Sure, when I was 21 and living off the generosity of the Government, partying every night and cruising the beaches of the Gold Coast every day, I did indeed have a righteous tan, and never did burn, a lucky inheritance of my Dad's olive complexion. I had, however forgotten that in the interim, I wised up, got a job and spent the next 7 years inside an office. Problem.

But back to the catamaran. Mimosa in hand, I clambered out onto the big slingy thing made of trampoline material, assumed the "lady of luxury" pose, and began sunning myself. We then set off on the 2 hour trip to Whitehaven Beach, where, being the water-babe I am, I decided not to wait for the little dinghy to shuttle me to the beach, but to follow suit with all the other people who simply dived overboard and swam to shore.

For those who live in less sunny climes, water washes suncreen off. Especially salt water.

Tra la la... we frolicked on the beach for a while, then all swam back to the cat to resume the cruise. The cruise on which I spent the rest of the day with my legs hanging over the side, catching the sun and sights of the Whitsunday Islands.

When we got off the catamaran and headed for our room, I noticed my legs were a bit pink. I said to newly titled hubby, "No worries, I'll just slap some moisturiser on and they'll be lovely and golden by morning... just like the old days, watch and see."

Indeed....

Later that night, I awoke in agony. My legs were throbbing, searing hot and so sensitive that the cotton sheets moving over them felt like razor blades. I inched my way off the bed and sat up, putting my feet on the floor. OOOOWWWWWWWWWWW!!!!!!!!!!!!! I felt like my shins were going to split open. I tried to wake hubby, but those Crown Lagers may as well have been morphine, the guy was out to it. I hobbled to the bathroom, ran a lukewarm bath (the best temperature for treating sunburn, I remembered), and sat in it. No relief. Then I ran a cold bath. Nothing. Then, inspiration struck... I wet some towels, and put them in the bar fridge in the room, one even got wedged in the little baby freeezer in it. Then, I got back in the bath and after half an hour, added these towels to my about-to-self-immolate legs. By this stage, the rest of my body was shaking with chills.

So here I spent the night, the top half of me wrapped in towels to keep from shaking like a bloody Chihuahua, and the bottom half feeling like it was aflame. Glamourama, huh?

The next morning, hubby was dispatched to the island pharmacy, with strict instructions to bring back either something that would fix me, or a gun to shoot myself with. After buying nearly every sunburn treatment they offered, and applying them all, still nothing, I was in agony.

Poor hubby spent the remainder of his honeymoon nursing me through that day and the next night, til the ferry came to take us back to the mainland. Well, not so much nursing me as asking me why was I carrying on so much, it was only a bit of sunburn for goodness sake. In his defence, he's from New Zealand, and has very limited knowledge of the sun's effect on human skin. He honestly didn't get how much this hurt.

So we get to the mainland, pick up our rental car and before we set off on our road trip home, I convince him it might be worth popping into the local medical centre to see about my legs, which are still red raw, throbbing and feel like they are about to split open every time I get vertical. The woman at the medical centre takes one look at me and sends us to the nearby regional hospital. With much eye-rolling and comments about hysterical old nannas, hubby takes me.

We arrive at the hospital, and hooray for being out in the sticks, I am the only person in the ER. We get seen straight away. As the Doctor is fussing over my poor, swollen, lobster-red legs, hubby pipes up with a question about surely this can't be all that serious, it's just a sunburn for Heaven's sake.

The Doctor shoots him an incredulous look. "Tell me, would you be at all worried if she had tipped a pot of boiling water on herself?"

Hubby looks horrified, "Of course, that'd be, like, a major injury!"

"Well, this is just about as bad. Imagine the water was just about to boil instead. Your wife has second-degree burns on about 20 percent of her body. She is in extreme pain, has lost the ability to regulate her temperature, and, as the blisters worsen, is vunerable to infection."

"Holy shit!"

"Indeed."

"Does this mean I can get some some pain meds now?" This last comment is from me.

A few hours later, after an application of industrial-strength salve, the begged-for pain meds and a list of care instructions, we set off on the 3 day drive home. By this stage, I am laughing like a drain (the meds, remember) at my ability to un-romanticise any given occasion, even my own honeymoon. Hubby is shell-shocked and babbling apologies about not taking my melodrama seriously.

The trip home was actually pretty fun. I had my drugs and salve, and hubby and I have always been good at road trips. My legs healed quickly and I still have fond memories of sitting in a steamy shower in a motel in Bundaberg, peeling long strips of skin off my legs, completely grossing hubby out. Hee hee.

Gonna party like it's my....

This could be dangerous... been drinking wine since 3 this afternoon. Had a great time catching up with the whole family (like a re-run of the Chrissy I missed!!) at my Aunt's 60th birthday today.

But now, it's all about me!! Yup, hubby has been put on Daddy Duty, cause tomorrow is MY BIRTHDAY and we all know that it's totally okay, in fact it's compulsory, that you start acting like the centre of the universe for at least a day before and after your birthday. As if one piddly little 24-hour period is enough to contain all the spoiling required to celebrate my joining, and remaining in, the human race!!

Actually, I was really struggling to get any motivation up for this birthday, but now that hubby has organised a nice breakfast out and we are going to see that Avatar movie that I said looked awesome, I am starting to get excited. That, or the copious amounts of alcohol I've consumed this evening are beginning to kick in! Wow - breakfast and a movie! A few years ago that wouldn't have sounded very exciting, but now I'm perfectly happy just to be spending quality time with my man, plus I just like it when I don't have to be the one organising everything. A few drinks with some girlfriends to finish off the night, and I'm golden. Well, that, and the pressies of course!

Alrighty, I'll expect the champagne and little blue boxes to start arriving shortly, shall I??

Geoffrey? You're on the list!

You know what? Screw you Toys R Us.

You heard me.

Today, after an almost farcical amount of evidence that I shouldn't have bothered getting out of bed today, I dragged a tired 2 year old all through Pacific Fair (a shopping centre roughly the size of Albuquerque) to the only Toys R Us on the Gold Coast. They had been advertising a trampoline and safety net enclosure discounted from $460 to $199. Given that GG will jump and bounce on anything slightly springier than concrete (and even that at a pinch), this was an opportunity not to be missed. Given that we are still in our own personal Financial Crisis, as well as the Global one, the plan is to lay-by it, pay it off over the next few months and have it ready for her birthday.

So I fight the crowds and madness, find the right display, and grab a ticket. Then I look for the lay-by counter. And look. And look. I finally get the attention of an elusive staff member. Note I distinctly DO NOT say customer service member. I ask said staff member where I might arrange a lay-by. I am smugly informed "We don't do that", in the same tone as if I had asked him to crap on the floor.

"What?" My pithy reply.

"Nope".

"Seriously?"

"Yup".

"Why on earth not? Don't you enjoy business?"

"Sweety, (grrrrrrr) if you knew, you know that offering lay-by eats massively into your business. We haven't done lay-by since 6 years ago, when 70% of our items lay-by'd for Christmas weren't even picked up."

Now, my first thought was "Gee, if people are paying for stuff and then not collecting it, wouldn't you have MORE money? You know, since you could then go ahead and sell that same item?". But clearly, being female, I couldn't possibly have the slightest clue. But I'm still slightly stunned, so I just snap, "Oh, you only care about profit, not the increased revenue gained by greater patronage from offering customer service. Good to know." I may have also called him a wanker as I walked away.

So, another addition to "THE LIST", an irrefutable document of all persons, companies and yes, countries that have raised my ire. When I assume the throne, you will be the first to be annihilated.

I'm sure that in the golden reality of the decision-makers at Toys R Us, $200 is an amount easily accessed by parents of young children the week before Christmas. I'm also sure that to them, GFC stands for Greater Funds Coming. Who cares about offering a service that might actually help out those of us who try and be a bit financially responsible, and don't spend our grocery money on toys for the kids? If you just refuse to help, they'll find a way themselves (which I did) and then we won't have to pay for additional staff and storage costs. Money-grubbing bastards. I really wish I could have been proud enough to say "Screw you!! I'll pay another, more helpful company MORE money, just so I get the satisfaction of taking a sale away from you!". But of course, a great deal is a great deal, and money-tight parents don't have the luxury of principles. Which, of course, is exactly what they count on.

Oh, and by the way, the sass-fabulous Daffy at Batcrap Crazy, has decorated me with one of her very own Awards, the Blogger with Attitude Award. Haven't the foggiest as to why. :oP

Luckily, this award comes with no rules whatsoever, which is good, because I'm feeling rebellious anyway.

Hear no, See no, Speak no

Usually, I have pretty clear cut opinions on just about everything. From the Copenhagen summit (don't start) to the perfect flavour combination for my gelato (macadamia and honey, natch). But today, I heard about a situation, and I really don't know what the right thing to do is.

My mother lives in a sort of rural/suburban area, lots of acreage blocks, friendly neighbours, quite a community feel about the place. And yesterday, she witnessed something that really disturbed her. Made her blood run cold actually. There's a family in the area that are a bit infamous for letting their 4 young children play on their ride-on lawnmower, sometimes with the mower blades engaged, actually mowing the lawn, sometimes with them not engaged, just tooling around the house block (and the street!!). Okay, not my cup of tea, but it's obviously their decision to let them, no good letting the villagers and their pitchforks go forth just yet.

But yesterday, while the boy, probably around 8, was driving (read:hooning) around on the lawnmower, completely unsupervised, his young sister, maybe 3 or 4 was HANGING OFF THE FRONT OF IT BY HER HANDS, UPSET AND SCREAMING TO GET OFF. Mower blades engaged or not, had her hands slipped, the is no doubt she would have been run over. 4 or 5 young girls riding their horses past had stopped and were staring in confusion and shock. It wasn't til a car driving past stopped and beeped their horn, yelling for the boy to stop, that the boy did in fact stop, and let his terrified sister off.

While this incident was bad enough, others in the neighbourhood have noticed the same boy chasing his sister down the road, her on her bike, wobbly as hell after just having her training wheels removed, him not even looking as he chased her down on the mower, more concerned with yelling at his other brother.

The young girl has also been spotted riding her scooter down the middle of the road (steep hill and all), no adult or sibling in sight, about 200 metres from her home. This is a pretty isolated area, and apart from being smeared all over the road by one of the hoons who careen around the area, God knows what else could have happened to her: snakebite, abduction, indoctrination into the Liberal party...

Now, my immediate urge after hearing about this was to go visit this family, kick in the door, and bash the parents heads together until they saw fit to actually do something towards increasing their children's life expectancy, instead of apparently actively encouraging Darwinian theory.

Generally, I believe that the safety of all children is the business of everyone. It takes a village and all that. What's that quote? It is a greater sin to witness evil (or child endangerment) and do nothing, than do to the evil (or the endangering).

But when my Mum asked for advice as to whether she should say something to this family or not, I wavered. What would it actually achieve? A word from her, and they change their whole parenting style? She has to live in this neighbourhood, what if it started some sort of feudal retribution? Ths is my Mum, my sweet beautiful Mum, who is lovely and nuturing and caring and what if this dipshit parent starts screaming at her? Maybe I should go with her? Maybe we should send an anonymous letter? Call DOCS? Call Today Tonight? Call Jerry Springer?

I really am torn - what would you do?

Some observations...

Dear Robina Shopping Centre Management,

After visiting your fine mega-shopping complex in order to complete my Christmas shopping, I would like to offer the following observations.

1. Thank you for installing the snazzy little parks assist light dealies in the new parking lot. It certainly does make life easier. Especially when you zoom 3 aisles over 'cos you see a green "vacant" light, only to find a freakin motorcycle (which evidently does not set off the switch to "occupied") parked there.

2. I fail to see how me moving said motorcycle to a handy unobstrusive spot can be wrong. Or how say, after 2 hours of looking for a park, pushing it off the 3rd level balcony would also be wrong.

3. Compliments on the renovations and expansion. I'm sure the new Myer store will be awesome. One does wonder however, at the intelligence of closing a large and popular parking lot during construction of said Myer store, just in time for the holiday season.

4. Speaking of questionable intelligence, where do you find your holiday casual retail staff? Is there a bank of them somewhere, kept locked away the rest of the year, allowed out only to renew and multiply their piercings, audition for reality tv shows and attend court dates?

5. Surely it can't be illiegal to run down the middle aged blonde, so totally absorbed in texting on her mobile that she hasn't looked up for 2 full minutes, and making a beeline straight for your fully laden shopping trolley. Surely it's like shipping laws, the more manouverable vessel must yield? No??

6. Just to satisfy the conspiracy theorist in me... is it at all possible that you employed some Machiavellian retail-psychology based scheme in construction of your shopping centre, ensuring that every store most likely to be required a visit, must be located as far as humanly possible from each other, in order to have poor lemming-like shoppers walk past as many other, lesser stores, sales, promotional counters and leaflet hander-outers as possible? Also possibly ice cream stores?

I trust you will take these observations in the helpful spirit they are intended, and I look forward to seeing the changes you thus implement as a result on my next visit.

Thank you for your time,

To sleep, perchance to dream.

So, a quick update on the whole sleeping situation.

Well, not the whole sleeping situation of the world, just the bit of it going on at my house.

It's been 10 days now since I impulsively decided that I couldn't cope with 2 year old GG coming in to our bed in the middle of the night and spending the rest of the night kicking me in the back, putting her feet in my face and thrashing around so much she once gave me a black eye. For an account of precisely how much hell I unleashed upon myself that night, see here.

Well, I am so totally glad that we (well, I - hubby works most nights, so I am claiming this as my victory) stuck with it. After a few nights, GG seemed to realise there was a New World Order in place and was going down reasonably peacefully, A HUGE thank you to my Aunt who suggested I stand just outside her door, answering her occasionally so she didn't feel alone, but wasn't using me as a sleep prop. Genius. Of course, I spent the days running her ragged and didn't put her to bed til she couldn't have kept her eyes open had the entire Hi-5 troupe come through the door in all their multi-coloured warbling glory.

I should, of course, have realised that anyone sharing my DNA would not go quietly into that good night. About the 4th or 5th night in, she put up such a fight that by 1am I had totally thrown in the towel and was about to just haul her into the spare bed with me, already feeling the recrimination build up, but just too damn tired and emotionally spent to care. And here is why, despite all our ups and downs, I am still married... my husband, one the one night he was not working his second job, and having to be up in a few short hours, with perfect timing, got up from bed, came down to see how I was going right when I had admitted defeat - and took over. Knowing that I'd hate myself come the morning if I gave in, he sent me off to bed, and then lay on GG's tiny single bed with her til she fell asleep, whispering and crooning to her. I dug out the old monitor (which is still hooked up at her end for the nightlight) and fell asleep to the sound of his voice soothing away all our worries away. Bless him.

Anyway, after that night, she realised that she was no match for this team of parenters extraordinaire (shut up - is totally a word) and has progressed to going to bed easily and staying all night in her bed. I also inadvertently discovered the trick to a scream-free exit from the bedroom. I annoy her. tee hee. Just a little bit, honest! See, once I have sung her favourite song, I scooch over, give her a kiss on the forehead and whisper our special goodnight, staying right in her face. By this time, she's really tired and not into displays of affection, and just tells me to go wait outside. Score!! Apparently, like men, toddlers need to think everything is their idea. Whatever works.

So now my body is slowly getting used to getting actual sleep at night, and I am feeling more energised, although not particularly so when she comes bouncing into our room at an eye-wateringly early hour, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed and singing her own praises... "I leep AAAAWWWWWLLLLLL night in my bed!! Yay GG!"

"Yay GG" I echo - making a beeline for the coffee.

Memoir Monday

I've decided to join the Memoir Monday phenomonon, started by Travis at I Like to Fish.

Quite a few years ago, I worked for a large pharmacuetical company in Brisbane. I was their event co-ordinator, sales secretary and general office manager. Great job, I got to organise everyone's lives and boss them around. A good fit for me, you might say. :)

So we were having a general meeting for all the Sales Reps and Managers (about 100 or so) in our office, a big 2 story dealy with a glass walled lobby, and a massive staircase up to the top floor, where the conference room was. Usually the dress code was pretty casual, as I wasn't dealing with clients etc., but in honour of the day, I had dressed in my cute little black box-pleated flippy skirt, a darling little top and some seriously cute kitten-heeled slingback shoes. I had already worked my little butt off getting all the conference material sorted, packs out, catering organised, answering 100 or so stupid questions, so I was enjoying having everyone sequestered upstairs in the manner of all good reliable employees ; I was IMing my mates, bidding on eBay and generally mucking around on the internet.

Morning tea time, I go to the upstairs kitchen and set up tea and coffee in the outside area. The Reps and Managers descend, seagull-like, devastating my neat little buffet table and eating
absolutely everything. Lucky I kept two of the nicest muffins in the kitchen for me! haha!! Suckers!!

They all go back in, and I potter about clearing up, singing to myself because I am absolutely incapable of dealing with silence. I throw everything in the dishwasher, literally everything. I may have a deep mistrust and aversion to all things technical, but dishwashers are not encapsulated in this, I have an infallible devotion to these machines, believing they are capable of cleaning all manner of dishes, regardless of how haphazardly I throw them in. I mean, why esle would they be called a dishwasher if they didn't actually wash dishes??

I then return to my IM and eBay, sporadically doing actual work.

Later on, I go back up to empty the dishwasher and put everything away. Clearly this office fitout was designed by a man, because the upstairs kitchen has the dishwasher, but no storage, that's all downstairs. I load up all the coffee cups and plates onto these big plastic trays, like you get from a bakery (actually, exactly like you steal from behind a bakery). Hmm... it looks a little crowded, a little high and wobbly too. Hmm... maybe I should do two trips??? Pfft! What else am I going to the gym for if not to be able to lift a stupid tray? How hard can it be? Besides, that Tiffany braclet is ending on eBay soon, better get back down there.

Okay, pick it up, oh! It's not so heavy, this'll be a doddle.... oops! Little wobbly, better walk nice and carefully... there! la-de-dah-de-dah... oh, staircase now, careful, careful... there! Easy.

Cut to about 40 seconds later. Every. Single. Person. comes rushing out of the conference room, after hearing a deafening and never-ending crash. They actually though that a car had crashed through the glass lobby, it was that loud. Instead, they see me, surrounded by smashed crockery, smacked stupid and bleeding a little, flat on my ass on the stairs I had slid down after my stupid little cute strappy shoe decided to try and kill me. To make it even better, my cute little flippy skirt? Totally flipped UP around my waist! Hmm.. lucky I wore my nice knickers, as there's now a crowd of people checking them out. After a stunned moment of silence, some people rush down to help me, some piss themselves laughing. Lucky this was before the days of the obligatory camera-phone, or I'd still be regretting rating my ability to carry a tray of cups just a little too highly.

Honest Scrap Award

Oh my! A new follower of mine, E. over at Whinging at the World, has seen fit to award me the Honest Scrap award!

Notwithstanding I don't have the slightest clue what the heck it is, yay me!!! As a relatively new blogger, I do sincerely love getting feedback like this.

Now, as per the rules, I am supposed to share 10 little known things about myself and then pass on to seven lucky recipients.

However, given there is very little about myself I haven't already yakked about all over the interwebs, I have decided to list 10 little known things about well-known people:

1. King Henry VIII of England had a collection of 400 fipple flutes, including one shaped like a walking stick. Now you know.

2. Mahatma Gandhi spoke English with an Irish accent. Apparently one of his first teachers was Irish. Ah begorah!

3. General George Patton, old "Blood and Guts" of World War II, once commanded a school for cooks and bakers. Ten hut!

4. As a teenager, Johnny Depp fronted a KISS tribute band.Hmm, make-up, costumes, hello Jack Sparrow!

5. If Bill Gates drops a thousand-dollar bill, he needn’t even bother to pick it up because in the four seconds it would take him to pick it up, he would’ve already earned it back.

6. Comic actor Jack Black is the son of rocket scientists. His mother worked on the Hubble telescope. Maybe there's something to that whole "skips a generation" theory.

7. Abraham Lincoln's law office was notorious for it's clutter, much to the consternation of his assistants. On his desk, Lincoln kept one envelope marked "When you can't find it anywhere else, look into this." This is apparently the same technique my husband employs.

8. The legend of George Washington skipping a silver dollar across the Potomac River, an action undertaken mainly to appall Thomas Jefferson, who was mired deeply in debt at the time, was founded in accident. Washington was actually trying to kill a duck, but missed.

9. Grey's Anatomy star Patrick Dempsey began his career as a juggling unicycle-riding clown. McTricky.

10. Charles Lindbergh was the first person to develop an artificial heart. You know, when he wasn't flying solo over the Atlantic or anything.

There, don't you feel all edumacated?

As for the people I'd like to pass this on to, well, I have given out a couple of awards lately to my little bloggy enclave, so I want to spread the love a little to some new blogs I have discovered.

First, to Caitlyn Nicholas - a real, honest-to-goodness author, who also has a wicked sense of humour, is fully in touch with her inner grumpy old lady and who shares my love of growing things to eat. I promise, Caitlyn, I WILL get around to reading your books!

Next, to Daffy at Batcrap Crazy. Ever since I read the name of her blog, I've not been able to get enough of this wise-cracking sassy lady, and her tales as a sign-language interpret in an inner-city school.

Now, the only male blogger I follow (so he must be good!), Travis at I Like to Fish. Wicked funny, and an absolute goldmine into how the male mind ticks.

Next Cat at Wouldn't it be Loverly. You know when you get to know someone and your lives seem to mirror each others? Cat is that.

Now, Krissa at Halfasstic. Another woman who can really work up a great rant, whilst keeping the funny side of life foremost.

Next, Jacinta at Live Life Now. A road-trippin, funny, shoe-loving girl farm girl now living in Cairns. What's not to love?

And last, but certainly not least, Liss at Frills in the Hills. Single-handedly responsible for over-hauling our weekly meals, she has great, easy recipe ideas, funny mumma tales and all sorts of stuff that appeals to the "Suzie Homemaker" in me.

So please stop by and check out these great gals, and guy. Enjoy!

Bad Mummy Diaries - Part 1*

Today has been one of those days where the Stepford Wife in me took too much Xanax and passed out in the tub. I just haven't been able to muster up any concern for the state of my floors, the ever-growing laundry pile or the fact the people who live here might expect to be fed occasionally.

Part of it has to do with the fact I started reading Jen Lancaster's book, Bright Lights, Big Ass, and just couldn't stop. It's seriously funny, cuttingly honest and appallingly addictive.

Seriously, it's totally not my fault that her book is so fricking funny and addictive that I stayed in my pj's til 2 this afternoon reading it and letting GG destroy the house around me. More than once I choked as I tried to stop myself from snorting coffee out my nose. More than once GG would dart in from her playroom, asking "wha 'appened?" when I burst out laughing.

Then, I dragged myself off the couch to honour a promise to GG that we'd go to my Aunt's for a swim. Several times now my husband has reminded me I need to get petrol. Several times now I have rolled my eyes at him and said "FFS, stop treating me like an irresponsible child, I am perfectly capable of looking at a gauge in my own car, and looking after myself. I did manage quite nicely for the 26 years I walked this earth before I met you. Honestly!!"

So I get in the car and blithely head off. About a minute down the road I decide that we really should go back and get Scout the Loyal Hound, he loves running free range on her acreage property and playing with my Uncle's dog. On the way back, I glance at the pretty little orange light on my dash. "Hmm, has that always been there? I don't think I've noticed it before?" It is, of course, the fuel light. Fuck.

I check the cool whizz-bang gizmo that tells me how many k's I have left til I run out of petrol. 10. No drama, there's a service station just down the road. We continue home, pick up Scout and head off to said station. I pull up, pop the petrol cap thingy and am about to get out of the car when I realise I just threw towels and keys on the front seat, I didn't grab my bag, and I certainly didn't grab my purse. Fuckity fuck.

I slink out of the service station, go home and grab my purse. I check the whizz bang thingy again and it has gone down to 3 KILOMETRES!!! WTF!?!?! The servo is only a k at most down the road!! Stupid, lying whizz-bang thing!! Further avow my deep distrust of all thing technical. At this rate, I will run out of fuel imminently. I am NOT prepared to be stuck on the side of the road in my cossies, with an impatient child and boisterous dog in tow. Fuckity fuck fuck fuck.

We make it back to the service station and I am stuck with a dilemma. Hubby insists I use nothing but the super-expensive, high-performance, ultimate, this-is-what-you-put-in-your-Vanquish fuel. Sadly, I have only $15 in my account. This will be but a drop in the tank. Sorry honey, but I put the cheapest combustible liquid I can get my hands on in our spunky little sporty car, a leftover from our more financially secure days. Had I had a dishrag used to mop up metho, this is what I would've wrung out into the tank. Love you!!! Guess I can add Bad Wife Diary to the title.

After our swim, it occurs to me GG may become hungry soon. She ate a healthy lunch, but only because I had the forethought to freeze some meals for work next week. I am distinctly underwhelmed by the prospect of going home and constructing a meal, so I do what all independent, resourceful women do. I go next door to my Mums and invite ourselves for dinner. Luckily I have an awesome Mum who sees all my tricks but lets me get away with them anyway. Score!! I do however, wash up for her, as she is sadly sans-dishwasher. And very good at reminding her children how lucky we are, without actually saying anything.

Hubby arrived home from his work Christmas do, having been at Eagle Farm races all day, surprisingly more human and less shambling gorilla-like than I expected (he's a hilariously simian-like drunk) a while back, whereupon I feigned interest in his day long enough to warrant the decree that tomorrow is Daddy Day Care Day, and I shall be absconding to do some Christmas shopping. Or possibly catching up with friends for coffee. The less he knows the better, really.


* Cos I'm sure there'll be more!!

Gingerbread creations

So GG had her PlayGroup Christmas party this morning, and like the good little mamma I am, I decided to send her along with some gingerbread treats to share.

Cue a lot of mixing, kneading, GG spending 15 mins deciding what shapes we would use, only to have the reindeer and Santa's not turn out (too many little fiddly bits, gingerbread kept breaking). Most of this happened yesterday afternoon, whilst trying to get her and some snacks ready for her Kindy Christmas party. No pressure, no pressure, just relax, you've got a whole 3 minutes left...

The first batch cooling.

Then, at 6 this morning, we were baking the last 2 batches and icing the lot. Cue GG eating gingerbread cookies for breakfast, with an icing chaser. Luckily they had a jumping castle at PlayGroup, where she could bounce off all that sugar.

The last lot, iced and ready to go!

Ranting in a Winter Wonderland

OK, that's it! Having just had the latest Channel 9 "Have a wonderful Christmas" ad inflicted upon my good self, I am left to wonder if they actually live in Australia.

You know, Australia?? Land of 40 degree summers, Christmas dinners eaten in the pool and thongs as formal wear.

These kind of thongs, not the American kind.
Little tip: don't search "thongs" on Google Images,
unless you want to see a LOT of spring break asses.

So why the hell are we watching Natalie Gruzlewski (no offence, she's a top chick - we were in the same journalism class in High School) snuggle into a knitted scarf, sparkling snowflakes and whatsherface who reads the news holding ice-skates. ICE SKATES I ask of you!! I'm pretty sure if anyone had cause to use iceskates outdoors in Australia in December it would be a sign of the impending apocolypse.

And that's not to mention the countless other images we have in shopping centres, on greeting cards, decorations etc., that all seem to feature snow, sleighs, fireplaces ad nauseum. When are we going to stop clinging to this English/American version of the snow-covered Christmas, hot dinners and roasting chestnuts on an open fire? Are we really still so colonial that we need to celebrate Christmas just like "Mother England". Or that immersed in American TV and culture that we are morphing into them?

We are a PACIFIC country, we live in the hot part of the world, people. Christmas should involve prawns on a barbeque, pavlova, swimming, beach cricket (sometimes played in backyards) and the only fires we have here are bushfires, and not bloody welcome.

Merry Christmas everyone!

Loving myself sick right now!

Well, I’m a happy little camper tonight. Apart from the small part of me that’s waiting for the other shoe to drop. Or explode. Pride goeth before a fall and all that. It’s in my DNA that when everything is going swimmingly, there’s a part of me looking nervously over my shoulder, waiting for something to come slap the happy right off me.

I’m proud to report that it took a whole 4 minutes of standing outside GG’s door tonight for her to go to sleep. No histrionics, no screaming, no wailing (from either of us!), just a bit of low-level whinging (default setting for 2 year olds anyway right?). I am now waiting with baited breath to see how the rest of the night pans out. Last night was ok, a battle to get her to go to sleep, but standing outside the door seems to be the trick, she woke up twice during the night, but settled well using this way.

The other thing I’m SUPER proud of is that I survived Heartbreak Hill.

I joined a fitness group through the Council’s Active & Healthy Program (yes, the newbie yet again!), and today was my first day. It involves an hour of charging around a park, bursts of strength & balance work and a massive freakin hill, all while being cajoled and encouraged by a man far too perky for 6am. Or ever.

Being Day 1, my goal when I arrived was to just keep up with the herd. Then Heartbreak Hill was explained to me. I was given the choice to try and see how I went, or walk laps of the park at the bottom until the conquering heroes came back down. No freakin way was I lapping it with the oldies. My new goal was get my fat ass up that hill. And I did!!! Granted, I could barely breathe by the time I stood victorious at the top, but by God I loved the view, seasoned with my sense of achievement. You'll also be pleased to learn that I did NOT, despite strong temptation, trip up the skinny blonde goddess wo kept lapping me.

Remind me of that view when I can't walk tomorrow, please.

Also, on the way home from said personal achievement, I was thinking about this, and also GG and the new night-time routine I’m trying to do, when I saw a bird, flying along in front of my car, flirting with the wind current and just generally looking free and happy.

Then it occurred to me that it was white. .. sort of pigeon-y... oh my ever-loving God! It’s a dove!!!

Seriously, a real live dove!! Could it be my own little messenger of Peace, sent to tell me I’m onto a winner. Yes or no, I beamed the whole rest of the way home.

Shattered

I feel like a shipwreck survivor today. I (well, we all) had a shocking night last night. After a frustrating battle getting GG to go to sleep, I came to a point where I could not face one more night of her climbing into my bed and depriving me of any more sleep for the night.

It has been building up for a while, this resentment of my space, sleep and privacy. It is also tempered with the ever-present guilt of how have I let this happen? Am I a bad mother for letting it get this far? Am I a bad mother for not wanting her in my bed? GG used to be a good sleeper, after a shocking start as a baby, but then she moved to a big-girl bed and everything went pear-shaped. I persevered and got her going to bed at a reasonable hour (8pm, even though I'd prefer earlier), but once she realised she could climb out, we had problems. I tried the whole putting her back to bed again and again, but felt that her screaming the house down and keeping hubby awake was selfish, as he only gets about 4 or 5 hours to sleep most nights anyway, between his early morning starts with one job, and late finishes with the other. So I gave in, and would let her climb into bed with us, usually ending up with hubby relocating to the spare bed, and her shoving her feet up my nose for the rest of the night.

Last night kind of happened; without my usual over-analysing, building up nerve and planning for it. I just simply couldn't take it anymore. So when she woke up last night and padded down the hall to me, I was tired, frustrated and just couldn't face this going on and on, for God-know-how long. Would she be 3 and still doing this? 5? 8? 24?. I took her back to her room, laid her down , sang Puff the Magic Dragon about 17 times, and she still wasn't going - so I stood up, kissed her and said "Time to go to sleep now" and left... and unleashed hell. She wailed, begged, screamed, sobbed and shivered. Hubby and I tag teamed putting her back to bed. She cried, I cried. Hubby then chose this precise moment to question the wisdom of making her sleep on her own. I was already sobbing my heart out, feeling wretched and cruel and stupid for even letting it get this bad. Yeah, thanks for the moral support honey, love knowing you've got my back. I'm even starting to cry again just thinking back on last night, it felt horrible.

In the end, hubby ended up sitting with her until she feel asleep in her bed. Given that I was a sobbing wreck by this stage, he seemed the calmer influence, she only got more upset when she saw I was upset. I was so impressed by his ability to maintain a pleasant, calm voice, and patiently keep putting her back in bed, unperturbed by her screaming and hitting out at him.

She did end up staying in her bed the whole rest of the night, bouncing into my room this morning full of smiles and giggles and forgiveness. I told her how proud of her I was, staying in her own bed, and how I loved her sooo much. Her little chest puffed up and she beamed, face aglow. I told her I was sorry she got upset, but she's a big girl now and needs to sleep in her own bed. I told her again how much I loved her. I think I was actually afraid she would feel less for me, as though I had failed her, hurt her. She gave me a look about a hundred years too old for her actual age, held my face in her hands and said "Guess what? I love you too!" I think my heart broke.

So now I have set this train down the mountain, I guess I better hang on and see it out. Even though hubby will be at work tonight, and it will be just her and me. I will be strong, calm and patient. At least for as long as it takes, then I will be broken, crying and shaken, but I'll be broken, crying and shaken in a child-free bed. I know I need to get this issue sorted, especially as I want another baby soon, but I'm finding it hard to justify. I feel guilty, selfish and drained.

Wish me luck. Or vilify me, whatever...

Just another Manic Monday

You know those moments you experience that have a perfectly reasonable explanation, but frozen in time, would probably get you committed?

I had one this morning. I'm sure, had the Sanity Police come knocking this morning during the mad rush that is getting us all out the door on work/kindy days, they would've had cause for alarm. Possible arrests would've been made concerning the naked woman running around her house dripping wet, holding aloft a palm-full of conditioner.

Of course, I had a perfectly reasonable explanation. Basically, GG needed to use the potty, which had been accidentally shut in the bathroom, and she came back to me in the shower to inform me DOOR SHUT!!! HELP!!!, after I had just poured the conditioner in my hand. Not wanting to waste my ridiculously expensive and heavenly la-de-dah mango and grapefruit conditioner (seriously, you could drink this stuff!), I did what you do... perfectly reasonable, right?

The fact I got distracted on the way back to the shower and spent five minutes looking for library books is because they have been slipping my mind for a week now and the sight of the receipt on the kitchen bench made me think if I don't put them in the entryway NOW they'll probably end up being yet another week late. Perfectly reasonable... Right??

Guest Blogger

I've seen a few blogs of late featuring Guest Bloggers.

Due to an excess of alcohol consumption (and a cracking good time D&G!!) last night, I have decided that I too, am in need of a bright, fresh mind to offer some respite to my tired, seedy brain, who needs to switch off, sip tea and watch TV.

However, after a quick scan of my immediate surroundings, I realise there may perhaps be a shortage of Pulitzer-prize winning writers just waiting to help me out (besides, they'd just make me look bad!).

So without further ado, I would like to invite...

GG, my 2 year old daughter...

Hello people! Mummy bit tired, so me play on sacred GG-no-touch tonight! Yay!!! Me like talk to people, no like go sleep.

Me have fun today, me go swim. Mummy say somethin bout me too hyper, and she cranky at someone named Wine, say me need distracting. Don't know why she say this, me still no got a distracting, so why need one?

We go Ju-Ju's house, big swim, trampoline. Jump, jump. JUMP! Swing, WHEEEEE!!! Run, play ball with puppy.

Other kids there play Wii. Me no play Wii, Mummy say before me not allowed to play wee, it go in potty ONLY. Oh, Mummy say this Wii different, okay to play wif. Hmm, wonder will she say that tomorrow when I play wee at home?

Why Mummy's face green? Mummy looks tired, me think she need walk, so me sneak away so she come chase me. Hide n seek fun!!!

We all have take-way for dinner. Me pretend no hungry, then when get home make Mummy make dinner. Ha, ha. HA!!!

Oh-tay, me go now, Mummy look tired, maybe I make her lie in my bed, I have to look affer my Mummy, she good Mummy, I just about got her trained.

Buh-bye!!

Schadenfreude

A few months ago, I met a friend of a friend and her little girl, about 18 months old. I remember being instantly envious of this chick; she was attractive, slim and toned, had great hair, nice clothes etc.

I heard through my friend the other day that she's struggling a bit with motherhood. And do you know what my first reaction was? Sympathy? Nup. Wry empathy? Not even. It was smugness. "Oh, is little Miss Trendy Princess finding it hard with one kid, no job and a great hubby?"

As soon as I felt it, I squashed it, and then felt terribly guilty. I have railed before at how stupid it is for women and mothers to judge each other, and here I go doing exactly that. It's poisonous, and really pisses me off, so why the hell was that my first reaction?

Was it because I didn't really warm to her? Does that somehow mean she doesn't deserve any sympathy from the one group of people who know how hard it can be? That, however rewarding, motherhood can sometimes be sheer bloody hard graft, an endless stretch of sleep deprivation, drudgery, frustration and feeling lost at sea. What sort of bitch would feel some sort of sick schadenfreude that another woman was suffering?

Was it to make me feel better about the job I'm doing? If so, why can't I be proud of the job I'm doing as a Mum without feeling smug that someone else might not be. Believe me, I've struggled some days, and I was even told afterwards that my Mum had everyone on PND-watch with me, because I was the personality type most at risk of this; controlling, perfectionist, need to be good at everything and don't like asking for help type. The first couple of weeks of motherhood slapped that right outta me though, and I am actually pretty proud of the job I'm doing as a Mum. So why couldn't I feel the sympathy I feel for this woman straight off the bat? Am I really a nasty piece of work, or is this Mums-judging-Mums thing that I hate more part of our nature than I thought?

Frazzled

Today has been "one of those days". Hubby has been sick as the proverbial dog with the tummy bug that I just got over, my new job is good, but very complex and I'm feeling a bit slow on the uptake,although they assure me I'm doing fine. As a card-carrying member of Over-Achievers Anonymous, this makes me stressed and frustrated. Because I had Monday off sick, I have to be organised to front up and do it all over again tomorrow, as a make-up day.

GG is still blithely tearing around the place, unaffected by her parents exhaustion.Little ray of bloody sunshine...

Here's a list of things I have broken in the last 24 hours. One glass lightshade, the toenail the lightshade landed on when I stupidly put my foot out to break it's fall (honestly!??!) a glass while I was washing it up, 2 pens, my resolve not to let GG fall asleep on the couch with me and a promise to take the dog for a walk tonight.

In leiu of anything remotely entertaining or enlightening to offer, let me jump on the "Hey! Here's my Christmas Tree!" bandwagon.

We kept it very simple this year, and we are using our old fake tree. I loved our tree last year, I was worreid about fragile decorations and a curious 18mth GG, so I bought a young Norfolk Pine, stuck it in a galvanised bucket, and tied the red striped and solid ribbons you can see above all over it. That's it.. and it was gorgeous, so sweet. The tree is now planted at my Mum and Dad's place, and I had plans of getting another and adding to it, but frankly, I just don't have it in me this year.

Cougar vs Lioness

Okay. A confession. Even though I am a fully fledged, bona-fide grown-up, I still get a little intimidated by groups of teenage boys. Especially, like today, when I have to touch one of them up.

No. No Cougar Alert necessary.

So I'm walking with GG at the local swimming pool for our swimming lesson, and the place is SWARMING with high school kids, especially the man-boy variety. You know the type... practically full-grown, with 2 year old brains, full of bravado and braggadocio.

These are the ones that still make me nervous, a left-over from when I was hot and blonde, and had to be on my guard. Now of course, I'm a fatty-bow-batty and therefore, thankfully, invisible. Although maybe I really did become invisible today, because as we are walking along a passageway, one of these man-boys, fully engrossed in telling a story that seemed to mainly involve the words "and shit" and leading a pack of 5 or 6 similar man-boys, was walking along, back to us, and he was about to mow down little GG.

So I did the polite little, "Whoops, 'scuse us!"... didn't hear me. Then I did a louder "ExCuse Me!", he glanced over his shoulder, and kept going. Okay... Mummy hackles up.

Right before he is about to run over my 2 year old daughter, I shout "HEY!" and slam the heel of my hand right in the small of his back. This stops him in a big hurry, and he and his mates smack into each other, domino-style.

ohshitohshitohshitohshit

He spins around, all arked up and WTF'ed. I'm shitting myself, but I always give good front. He's embarrased, and his mates are laughing at him, not how man-boys like to be perceived. Makes them tetchy. I'm trying to go for light, but pretty sure I'm glaring, "Whoops, 'scuse us".

He mumbles something and moves to let us pass. Phew.

Fashion Faux-Ga

OK, so I'm feeling a bit better today, well enough to be sitting stuck at home, bored, grumpy and watching Ellen.

And who does she have on today? None other than my favourite fruit-loop, Lady Gaga. Now I know I have blogged before about little miss oh-no-I'm-an-artiste and I don't want to cover old ground... but I'm gunna!

So she whacked on some latex and sang whilst sitting astride some poor backup dancer stuck hanging upside down.

Poor lass. I hope she got paid in more than sequinned undies and latex formalwear.

Anyhoo, after this song, she sat with Ellen for her "interview". What a stunted, awkward thing that was. Can we get some PR training to table 5, pronto?!

During this chat, Ellen asked her about her outfits and what makes her choose such out-there looks for her performances. Lady Gaga said she felt like she didn't fit in at high school (as an aside, does anyone feel like they did? Isn't that the whole point of high school?) and felt like an outsider, a freak. So she wears these outfits to let her fans have a safe place to let their inner freak flags fly, to let them know it's okay to be different.

Uh-huh.

This is obviously what all the little misfits have been doing wrong. Instead of trying to copy the cool kids and not quite pulling it off, thus consigning themselves to the nuclear wasteland of uncooldom forever (well, at least a couple of years), they should instead be like Lady. Just superglue your entire body, pour the contents of your feather quilt over said self, grab some ornaments off your Christmas tree and suspend them from your genitalia and you're good to go!

Wait til the cool kids see you now!

"Wow, Abigail, we can totally like see now, that you are totally like just a tortured artist, and we like totally get that now. Please, oh please, oh PLEASE will you be our super-best friend?? By the way, we are totally like sorry about the whole gaffer-taping you naked to the flagpole thing, but hey, looking at you now, maybe that's your thing. Like okay?"

Yuh-huh, I'm sure that's totally how it would go. Gimme a break.

Sick

Sick, sick, sickety-sick.

So not pretty.

God I hate having to be looked after. But I am grateful I have people who will.

Lost contacts, early mornings and nature poos

I have had a day of disgusting things.


Possibly the most disgusting thing of all was being woken at 4.30am to help Hubby look for his contact lens that popped out while he was getting ready for work. After an hour of searching, dis-assembling sink pipes and generally cranky-pantsness on both sides, we deduced it had been washed down the sink and into God-knows-where. Fun.


So... hubby can't drive without the lens, and has super-important work-type stuff, needs to meet some guys out on site and get them started, yadda yadda yadda. Being the immeasurably good wife I am (and GG was on a sleepover anyway) I throw on some clothes and drive Hubby to Wacol. Yes, that's where the prison is, right next door to it we are in fact!! They even had to do police checks on the guys to make sure they hadn't been, or didn't have family or friends, serving time in there. Nothing like having a mate with a bulldozer on the other side of the razor wire!!


I must admit, it was actually quite nice to hang out with Hubby for the morning, I took him to a few others sites, then to an optician to get an emergency lens. It was the most time we had spent together in weeks!!


So, I get home around lunchtime, a very tired GG is dropped off by Grandma, all PlayGrouped out, and we both have a rest.


Then, this afternoon I was busy and filthy in the veggie garden when GG announced she needed to do wee. Rather than hose ourselves off to go inside, I decide to be all Earth Mumma about it, and whip her knickers off and tell her to go wee under the tree near the fence. Yes, yes, I expect my Mother of the Year Award to arrive any minute.


Well, I look over and she's decided to add another process, if you know what I mean. Yup, poos on the lawn. Lovely!


I sigh, kick myself and try to figure out how to clean THAT up. Turns out I needn't worry, the dog has got it covered. HE ATE IT!!!!!!! Stomach churning, I banish him, re-dress GG and wonder how my life got so glamourous. I still can't bring myself to let the dog in, I don't think I'll ever look at him the same way again.

Disgusting, disgusting day. Where's the wine?

Stressed Mum or Serial Killer??

I just did something I have NEVER done before. I just picked up a hitchiker.

Someone pick my mother up off the floor would you and I'll explain.

I was just down the road from our little local shops, and I saw a woman and her young daughter standing beside a car with bags of groceries at their feet and looking a bit desperate.

I actually just pulled over to see if they needed a phone to call RACQ or similar, but when I spoke to the woman, she was desperate to get home (she named a road 10 mins away) before her son got home from school on the bus.

So I did a quick mental run through of my likelihood of ending up in a shallow bush grave versus good karma points for helping out a Mum in need. Karma won.I'm usually a pretty good judge of character, and I'm also pretty intuitive, and a little voice was telling me to help this woman. It reminded me of someone once telling me that they believed God is not a big booming voice in the sky, He is that little quiet voice in your head. So I said a quick prayer of "I hope I'm right" and told them to hop in. Hey, I even had a car seat for her daughter, I must've been sent to them, right??? Right???

The woman was SOOO appreciative, I actually felt a little uncomfortable, but glad I had helped. Her daughter was hot and bothered initially, but calmed down in the cool car and said a very cute and polite "Thank you for 'elping us". I was even more glad I had helped when we got to her driveway, which was in a fairly rural area, big blocks with no houses visible from the street, and her son, about 7, was standing there in tears and looking quite scared. Apparently he had just got off the bus, and when she wasn't at the gate, walked up to the house to find her not home, so he had come back down to wait for her. A little thrill of fear went through me when I thought about who could have come along before we did. I'm sure it was more than that for her...

I wonder if this makes me an angel now, (insert Blue's Brothers voiceover here) "on a mission from God"??? I doubt it, but I am sure glad I listened to my little voice...

And the Award goes to...

The totally divine Six Divided by Two has awarded my lil' ol' blog this:

Yay me! Being relatively new to the blogging world, it's lovely to get feedback like this!! I am totally thrilled, as I really like Six's blog, she has amazing taste and style, as well as moxie to burn. She is uplifting and funny, and she and her equally amazing twin sister at Six in One Hand are facing a tough time at the moment, so I'm sure they'd appreciate some bloggy love.

Now, the idea is to pass this on to some worthy bloggers, and then share 10 things about myself. So, without further ado, the girls I'd like to award are:

Whoa Mumma - Alex always amuses me with her dry, funny humour and her 12 week fitness challenge has just about convinced me to do the same. Seriously, she looks awesome! After 4 kids!!

Chronicles of Sharnia - This cool, funny chick is also a newly minted blogger and mummy, and her tales of a former city girl adjusting to life in her One Horse Town often has me in stitches.

Three Little Birds - Darnonymous is the author of this truly lovely blog. She is funny (hmm.. I'm noticing a pattern here!), touching and, having taken out the last two Blog This challenges, a very clever writer.

OK - so now for the 10 things about me. Here we go:

1. I am completely addicted to cups of tea.

2. I am completely over reality TV. Though I did watch the final of Idol, and I'll watch MasterChef if they bring back real people. Oh, and I don't mind Amazing Race. And does the Choir of Hard Knocks guy's latest show in the women's prison count as reality? Probably huh? OK, I'm completely over the idea of reality TV.

3. I know I need to get off my butt and lose some weight, but now that I am big, there is no way I'll go to an aerobics class and humiliate myself. Catch 22 much??

4. I am scared of heights. Seriously. I am also scared of the monorail-death-trap-thingy that takes you between the casino and Broadbeach Mall. The fact that my 2 year old daughter dances blithley onto this does not help me feel like a grown up.

5. Some days, I don't feel remotely like a grown up.

6. I wish I had travelled the world after leaving school, instead of shacking up with my teenage romance. Who could of seen that that would never last!?!?!?!

7. I love old school Billy Joel songs. Oh, and White Snake's "Here I go Again" it's my personal "break up song" that I always used to play to amp me up after a failed romance, and still love for some bizarre reason. I have even driven past my house and round the block, just so I could keep singing it at the top of my lungs!!

8. I am a really bad singer.

9. I really wish I could get my hair to behave. I could live with it being curly, just not frizzy. And I could motivate myself to straighten it, if it didn't go so flat.

10. I know how to give a horse a manicure.

There you go! I hope you go visit my bloggy girls, and I look forward to reading their "10 Things".

One of the Gang

Don't you hate when you join a class and you're clearly the newbie? Everybody else knows all the moves, chats amongst themsleves and barely looks in your direction.

It doesn't seem to matter what sort of group it is, if I join it, guaranteed it's full of a tight knit group who've all been going for ages. Some are lovely and include me like I've been there the whole time, like my Mothers Group, some are clique-y and exclusive, like the book club where two people kept talking over the top of me . I started an aerobics class yonks ago, and the instructor didn't even bother announcing what they were doing next, the whole class moved like a school of fish, with me the bumbling Dory banging into everyone.

I joined a pilates class when GG was about 6 months old and left after a few months, because not only was it not helping my bad pelvis (thanks GG, you lump of a fetus to carry!), but not one woman had said anything other than a casual Hi to me, with no follow up anything.

Well, it appears this unfortunate talent is hereditary. GG started swimming lessons today, and because of a cock-up where the front desk woman sent me to the wrong place, we ended up having to join the next class. One that was, of course, full of kids who knew all the moves, sang all the songs, and left their Mums to go with the instructor with no dramas. Sigh.

Luckily, GG is happy and confident in the water, and I'm sure once she gets to know the instructor she'll be fine. The Mums seems nice and friendly and one little girl was holding GG's hand as they sat on the edge kicking their legs. Plus the instructor actually took time to explain to me what we needed to do for each section of the class.

Hopefully GG won't be a newbie for too much longer.

Heat, wind and windfalls

Phew! So today was the day of the car boot sale, 4am wake up call and all. Oh joy.

Hubby, GG, the loyal hound Scout and I all decamped to the school down the road at 5.15, thinking we'd be first and get our pick of the spots, only to see them streaming in the gate, having been parked all along the side of the road since God-knows-when!! And of course, we were on the wrong side of the road.

Cue some "assertive" driving and we were in!! Ta da!

It was hot as heck, even at 6am, but we were well prepared with an esky of water bottles and cool snacks for GG. I could've taken 1 minute away from slathering suncream all over GG to slap some on myself, however, as now I have a chest and shoulders the colour of a Christian Louboutin sole! I'm deciding to go with it and accessorise accordingly. :)

What I was not prepared for was how quickly the people decended! I was madly unpacking stuff (who knew I had a whole table's worth of cocktail glasses?!?!?) and it was being snapped up before I could line it all up nice and neat and pretty. I had also forgotten how much STUFF I had.

I had warned hubby that I intended to bring nothing home with me, even if it didn't sell, it was getting taken to a charity bin or the tip. And it was so!! We got rid of EVERYTHING! I feel so cleansed and de-cluttered, like my house has had a colonic irrigation!

Add to that we managed to make about $200, even with me practically giving stuff away at the end just to get rid of it, and I am rapt!! Of course, being the sensible, responsible person I am, I took the money straight to the bank. Then I walked past the bank and went to the shops! Hazzah!!! I now have gorgeous new knickers and a pair of snazzy trousers for my first day at work tomorrow. Don't ask me why, I feel more confident in nice undies, even though my days of flashing them are long gone...