There once was a girl who wrote blogs

January 2014, WTF?

So, I once was a person who wrote blog posts. December whizzed by without me managing a single word. Not really so somehow, I guess, with the concerts and daughters being singing trees and the working full-time and the present buying online (I am still feeling smug smug smuggety-smug) and the enforced drinking and merriment (yep, hated that). I couldn’t face talking about Christmas to myself, let alone put it into words here. Anyway, ’tis done. All’s well. See?

Making Christmas merry and stuff. With schnapps of course.

Making Christmas merry and stuff. With schnapps of course.

Now it’s 2014, and I resolve NOTHING. A pox on all New Years’ Resolutions. They are cruel torture instruments designed to set people up to fail. I hate failing. Do as I say, and not as I do, my sweet daughters. Oh, and try your best and stuff.

On holidays in Terrigal, with the gorgeous view of the skillion (if you’re confused – it’s a big hill) was marred by the little ants running up and down it every day like some kind of contest to make it on to The Biggest Loser. If my water pistol was sufficiently long range, I would have taken them all out. And on NEW YEARS’ DAY? Seriously. That’s just SO. VERY. OBVIOUS. It shows such a lack of imagination. Why is nobody deciding to learn archery? Start adult fingerpainting? Take a millinery course so they can create their own fascinator by next Melbourne Cup Day and have an excuse to actually ATTEND instead of toasting your kids with sparkling apple cider while holding ride-on pony races around the living room TV?

Freaks. Just lie down and give up already. STOP RUNNING

Freaks. Just lie down and give up already. STOP RUNNING

I’m too embarrassed to go to my gym until next week in case anybody thinks I’m one of THEM. Besides, exercise and walking was put on the backburner after a couple of days with so much beach telling me to make like a starfish and sprawl. I’m wearing an extra kilo as decoration around my belly button, but it’s ok for now. I ordered it for Christmas, with my ham.

Don’t think I’m writing this post as some kind of resolution either. Turns out I need some kind of splendid isolation or quiet to write, and throughout December I wasn’t even allowed to shower alone. There was always a small person in my thinking room, wanting to hang out some more. Hmph. It’s quiet as hell now though. THEY’VE LEFT ME. 


Bye bye family

Bye bye family

Terrifyingly, the girls have just left this morning to go up north for a week with That Man, the uncles, and my MIL, but WITHOUT ME, cos I have to go back to work. That Man has it under control, and they’ll have a ball, but my inner control freak is freaking. I’m scared of the missing, and I’m scared of the diabetes misbehaving. I’ll probably go to bed each night under a pile of second-best soft toys, and my 40 kg dog. Waaaaaaaah.

There is one thing I would like to do this year. It’s not a resolution. I just want to. You’ve heard of the whole mindfulness blah blah movement where you think really hard about every thing so you can be more grateful about everything and live in the moment? Well… I don’t think it’s for me. When the kids are fighting like there’s no tomorrow, I’m mindful that it sux. Being very mindful of the fact I’m eating a lot of peanut butter on my toast kind of takes the joy out of eating it.

My thing is going to be MINDLESSNESS. You can try it with me and report back. It’s pretty simple. You just practice thinking about nothing at all. I’m quite good at it already. I’m completely disorganised and have no idea when appointments are on. I sometimes miss them. I sometimes wake up and forget where I am. I often have no idea what day it is. On that note, what day is it?

In true feral holiday mode, I even forgot to have a shower yesterday. Can you smell me? Mindlessness. Winning.

Finally – to a special person who needs some reading fodder on the 6th January while she waits for the IV to drain – a 2014 toast to eating, drinking, being merry, and mindlessness. I hope this gives you between 1-3 minutes of reading material – the average time taken to read a blog post. Thinking of you.


New year, in clover.

Smashing photograhy by yours truly. Of course

I’m baaaaaaack! Well, sort of. It appears I’ve taken some kind of accidental bloggy break. Apologies, friends. 2012 was a ball-buster of a year, or, to put it more politely (in the Queen’s English), an Annus Horribilus. She won’t mind me adopting her vernacular. We’re close. I’ve been to her place and stuff.

When it came to the time for reflective posts on the year that was had, I started at January, then decided that would do and switched off my trusty Mac. I decided to eat an apple instead. When it came time for Christmas, I saw craft and tinsel and gritted my teeth while I decked my halls with boughs of festive shizzle on ma nizzle. I had a blissful beach break up north, and then New Years’ Eve rolled around with all its resolute resolution-ness. I don’t do those. In all, 2012 left me feeling somewhat like a crash test dummy who’s been allowed to drive a car. Who decided that’s a good idea? They don’t have eyes OR opposable thumbs. In any case. Last year. It sucked. Details, shmetails. I did a bit of that in the last post and I’m wearing my clothes now. But let’s just say, if you were playdough and I was the carpet, we’re making sweet, sweet love, and no butter knife can tear us apart. I felt flat out and thoroughly squished.

HOWEVER. Yes, capitals. NEW YEARS EVE was just loverly. Loverly, loverly. LOOOOVerly. Loverly. (Have any of you seen My Fair Lady or am I singing this in my head all by myself? Don’t leave me hanging.) We’d had a call that morning about a death in my husband’s family, and will be flying to Brisbane tomorrow morning for the funeral. This New Years Eve was a sweet bit of hope and distraction through the kids’ eyes. There was no big party, no champagne. There was, however, a very special invitation to Little L and her family (that would be us) to the Lord Mayor’s picnic, extended by JDRF (thank you!) held by the City of Sydney and Clover Moore each year in the Botanic Gardens for children with disabilities. The girls were treated like stars, and given gifts and VIP passes on arrival, before being glammed up with face paint. I’m not sure that many stars queue for portaloos, but that’s a minor detail my mini-divas are willing to overlook.

Pop princess

Diva in miniature


There was a stage with live performances, event tents with activities, free food, and this was all a precursor to the privileged position we’d be given to a section of the gardens for the 9pm fireworks. Not only that, but there was KYLIE. My kids were hugely underwhelmed, like most of the audience under the age of 15, but the adults made a rush for the stage with their iPhones. Fine. Yep. Ok. I did too. She didn’t sing, but she said we were all stars. I didn’t really believe her. Little L looked at her just long enough to say she was pretty.


MUCH more exciting was the kid who climbed to the top of the event tent and tried to kill himself. OK – perhaps that was not his intention, but it was a superb circus act and I had to withhold my applause at the end, but then I let loose and told myself it was the rescue team I was applauding. (Don’t tell anyone – I was applauding the kid). It was spectacular, and all the parents and adults were terrified. I was supposed to be one of them, but the rescue team looked very in-control and had his escape hatches covered, so I had to instead suppress a pang of jealousy, since bouncing around up there looked REALLY fun. That little boy has a bright future ahead of him, on the trapeze I suspect.

Death-defying feats! Oooh! Aaaah!

When it was fireworks time we snuck into the bushes of the gardens for a prime vantage point (old rebels die hard) and stared defiantly at the rovers who tried to scare us out with flashlights. You looking at me? Punk? I felt a bit bad since the volunteer rovers and scouts that night did an awesome job and I did a lot of extra smiling on the way back to the gate. I’m sure they appreciated the crazy lady smiling at them with leaves and twigs in her hair.

Home by 10, we popped our first champagne, and glued our eyeballs open watching 80s music videos until midnight. Strangely entrancing. Welcome, new year. I’m prepared to be entranced. Or, at least, pleasantly surprised.

Bring it. xx