Jean Genie

If you're like me, then your jeans are a favourite item in your wardrobe, nay - they could even be the item du jour. Every. Single. Day. I love that familiar softness that just eases you in. That denim - it has the capacity to woo me. And is wildly utilitarian. I can go from playing on the floor with the smalls, wipe some random baby food and have it camouflaged in the denim. Then commando roll out the door to go out dinner (ok ok, like that ever happens - the dinner out thing).

Jeans are an old comfort to me. I keep a few old pairs (just in case I ever revert back to my pre-baby body anytime soon - or maybe they're just in the wardrobe to haunt me, taunt me), but I definitely have my favourites. Lately my they're a pair of Wranglers. Old school cool. None-of-that-ridiculous-mortgage-your- children-to-buy-one-pair-of-denims for me.

Considering denim jeans started life as the hard wearing, low cost fabric in the 18th century, why have the prices spiralled out of control - and more importantly - why do designers think it's ok to charge a Bombfunk MC for this favourite of gold miners and cowboys. Yeeehaw!

Giddy up! I don't think so. I'm not going to be duped. The most expensive pair I own doesn't even fit me properly - it gapes at my derriere (I'm sure they're not the only ones gaping at my derri) and borders on being quite rude! The cheaper ones - like a glove, baby.

So in the interests of recession busting, you can always go to the op shops. That's if you are one heck of a cool kid and love high waisted and/or acid wash and have the cool factor to rock 'em like they oughta be rocked. I myself have never been lucky enough to score a good fitting pair of denims at the oppy. I have to go fresh off the rack. But some people have all the luck. So worth a shot.

But what I'm wanting to tell you about is this. Finally - hooray - she's here at the crux of her denim essay. Cheap Monday. You probably already know about them. If you do, I'm reminding you. If you don't, listen up.

Seriously good quality denims for next to nix. We likey! (Plus they're also doing a mean range of cool sneakers too.) They created a range of denim to sit comfortably amidst a range of higher priced fashion. It works people, it really does.

Here's a great vid about the gang behind the label (Swedishly cool). Here's their website.

Looking to hook yourself up with some new denim delights? Stockists include:

Sydney's Tuchuzy stores, Melbourne's Fat stores. Or you can buy online from Tobi.

More Colours

Apparently some small people residing in our house decided that sprinkling confetti around the living room was a great idea. Given we don't have any Oompa Loompas currently in residence, I think I've got a pretty good idea who it may have been.

I May Be Sporting A Wee Hangover

So instead of banging on about anything, I'm going to send you off to other people. I'm tucked up under a quilt, sipping on lemonade, a box of tissues keeping me company. I'm sad like that.

Looking for an international man of mystery? Nan has some spectacular insights into French lurve.

Feel like a weekend trip to Tasmania? Fancy a seat on the fanciest red tractor? Go visit Michelle. She's been checking out the auctions.

Pip has a genius feline in her presence. As well as a piece in The Age (for some reason I can't link but definitely worth a read! - click over here).

Cindy's asking the big question - Why Do You Blog? My answer - because it's like my online diary, I am bollocks at keeping a written journal; and because I love to write.

And last of all, I'm sending you off to listen to some music. Put your feet up toots, sit back and enjoy one of my all time favourite songs. Have I shared this before?

Ahem. Image is yet another shameless hint for Matt. Pink Schwinn makes me go schawing!

Good Intentions

These days, my hours are full of good intentions. I make lists of things I need to tick off. I get some done, I tick some off, and some sit for the next day, or the next. Or sometimes they stay on there for weeks.

I lose time doing things that just eat time. Hanging the washing out. Sitting down for a session of puzzles. Chasing a wandering baby. Good intentions.

Lately I've been thinking about my grandmother a lot. There's a house I like walking past in our neighbourhood. It reminds me of her house. A bounty of fat roses. And my goodness, you wouldn't believe the beautiful delicacy of these roses. The Doctor and I breathe in their sweetness. It takes me back to when I was small. And I miss her. I remember when we were small and she'd ask us to empty the tea leaves onto her beloved roses. I miss her.

It's like my brain switches off - and I think - yeah I'd like to ring Nonny and chat with her. And then I remember I can't. So I switch back to when I could chat with her.

I remember one conversation in particular - I was studying at uni and had an assignment on sati. I was, as usual, winging it with my lastminute.com assignment, and had no idea what I was going to write my essay about. Lo and behold, my grandmother had a wealth of knowledge. And when I say wealth, she was like a vault - but she was willing to share. She chatted to me about everything she knew about sati, and after that conversation I went away feeling more confident I could do it. She had a knack for that.

She loved words. She loved roses. She loved tea. And she was wickedly good at cryptic crosswords. I remember being small and when my parents went out, Nonny and Patty used to babysit me. We'd sit up on Friday nights and watch the proms on ABC. Does anyone else remember those? Afterwards I'd go to bed in the guest room, snuggled under a pink silk feather duvet, listening to the TV.

But my most favourite latest memory of her is of her and the Doctor. He'd lie on her bed. I know he can't remember her. But I will always remember what joy she had for her great-grandchildren.

Thankfully my house is blissfully disorganised. From time to time I find birthday cards, or Christmas cards strewn around in different places. Hidden in tea cups. In the ribbon cupboard. Next to my bed. I love opening them up and finding her familiar handwriting.

I know these photos are crazy bad. Taken in half-light, half-rush; but the thing is, this garden's lush and blooming with my memories. I can't go past without taking a deep inhale of these roses.

And with good intentions, I'm going to say it out loud. I'd like to start my own rose garden.

Doing An Oprah

Once upon a time in a galaxy, far, far away I read that Oprah put all her kitchen utensils in a box. Ground breaking I know. Oprah has a box? Who woulda thunk it?

Well it gets better.

Over the next month, when she was cooking (she cooks!) whatever utensil, tool, gadget etc that she used, it got put back into the drawer.

If, by the end of the month, certain utensils weren't used, they were given away to an op shop.

Sounds good. Yes?

What's good enough for Oprah is good enough for me. She hasn't married Stedman. Neither have I. She has her own talk show. I sometimes like watching it (preferably when they're doing makeovers). She appears on the cover of her own magazine. And so could I if I was rolling in money and had my own magazine. Well if it's good enough for Oprah, it's good enough for me. Will you join me in evicting errant cutlery and utensils cluttering up your drawers? Let's face it friends, I am kerrrr-azy.

image via (clearly not mine, I'm not that organised... or bored)

Beezus and Ramona: The Film

When I was small I used to love reading. A-novel-a-weekend sort of book lovin'.

I was pretty stoked to discover that one of my all time favourites is being made into a film. Beezus and Ramona - set for release March 2010 - gives you plenty of time to pop your corn.

Beverley Cleary was one of my favourite authors.

Another of my favourite childhood books was 'Bridge to Terabithia' - and given my love for Zooey Deschanel, I loved watching this film as well. It's one of those books that stays with you.

What other books did you read when you were small that you loved?

I really loved 'Are You There God? It's Me, Margaret' by Judy Blume - and all of her other books.

Colours

I'm feeling a little under the weather. Sore throat. Head achey. Congested. My body feels... Oinky. But we're not here to talk about me. Are we?

So while I'm sitting here ironing the Mt Everest of ironing that's been collecting - and spilling over the basket, the Doctor is madly painting with his new watercolours.

He's making loads of paintings. He's prolific like Picasso. I try and hang up most his art works, but we're rapidly running out of walls. I've even dedicated a certain corner to being the Doctor's art gallery. It's full and we'll need a few sales before we can hang the next show.

The image above is a wiggly sea worm. POA.

As for Tiny, well. These days she's performing her own stunts. Won't walk. Will climb. What a massive punkrat. Yesterday I found her scaling the small ladder in her bedroom (excuse the mess - again - this time she created it herself - she's more into installations than paintings).

We're in a difficult limbo with Miss Tiny. She's decided not to go for two sleeps, which is what I call - a massive bummer. She gets herself ridiculously tired by the end of the day, in a filthy mood and consequently head butts the floor*.

If you don't have any children or would like to have another, now's the perfect time to add to start your collection. POA.

* Told you she did her own stunts.

I Don't Get Out Much

I used to spend a lot of spare time at the movies. In particular I loved going to the cinema by myself. No one to interrupt. No one to rustle chip packets. No one sobbing uncontrollably asking for some tissues.

If I owned my own cinema I would have a number of rules to ensure it was a good experience for all movie-goers:

1. No noisy packets of anything
2. No crunchy food (particularly not consumed by those who like to eat with their mouths open)
3. No slurpy beverages
4. No canoodling
5. No mid-movie conversations
6. No tall people sitting in front of short people
7. No people sitting too close to one another
8. Extra arm rests so there's no awkward tussle over who gets to rest their elbows
9. No one with hacking coughs, incessant sneezing or sniffles (these people would be confined to the 'Cone of Silence' - see rule 11b)
10. No one dressed in anything that smells like moth balls
11a. No one to move seats once the movie has started (this includes movie trailers)
11b. Anyone who wishes to 'talk storylines' mid-movie must be confined to the cone of silence which is a sound-proof room with minimal seating

These days, I'm bringing the cinema-at-home back. I'm not talking flat screens. Heck no.

I'm telling you, I am well versed in DVDs. I love a good DVD.

My latest and greatest picks are:

The Wackness



Man on Wire




And Burn After Reading. A Coen Brothers film, Brad Pitt looks ridiculously silly with a slimey, sweaty mo. George Clooney is just plain silly. And funny. Have I ever told you how much I love Frances McDormand?



Here ends my movie session for the day. Goodbye.

The Radioactive Child

I'm like some kind of baking zombie at the moment. I don't remember ever making quite so many cakes in such a short period of time. I'm pretending to loathe it, but really, it makes me happy making sweeties. So much icing sugar. So much...colour!

Today I'm whipping up a batch of little cupcakes for all the darlings (and would be thugs and fairies) at the Doctor's pre-school so they can woo him with a rousing rendition of Happy Birthday.

What to do with the leftover icing? I can't just eat it. Or can I?

PS - When should one expect the other mothers at pre-school to make some eye contact with me and say hi? I thought second term they might be able to. Apparently not.

There's Always Time For Thrifting

Even though the house was a mess, even though I was still to do a little baking, even though I still had a tiger tail to stitch, I still had to go and do a quick spot of thrifting. Duty calls!

Duty calls and booty spoils!

There was a lot of elbows in my way this weekend when searching through the goodies. People -there's plenty to go 'round. Did you leave your manners at home??

Beautiful old crockery. Check.

A matching tiny teacup and saucer with beautiful crazing. Check.

Beautiful hand covered coathangers. Check.

A knitting thingie where all my knitting as gone to...die. Check.

Some small sewing baskets. Check.

Some other old stuff. Check.

Change from a 20 dollar note. Check.

And then home in time to get it started. A party awaited.

A Problem As Old As Time Itself

Would you believe, my camera batteries ran out in the middle of the party? Hmph. Big, fat, HMPH! It is dear friends, a problem older than time itself. No wonder there's no photos of dinosaurs, they always were running out of batteries themselves.

However, I have managed to snaffle just four frames from my camera before it decided it was outtie.

My Mum and Dad came as King of the Jungle (a funny little lion) and Queen of the Hive (a fab bumblebee). So cute. And it was a surprise, not even the bigs knew about it, so big and small were all surprised when they buzzed and roared in. This is what memories are made of. My Mum and Dad are super good!

The Doctor had an ace time. I searched high and low for a tiger costume for him, to no avail. We then downgraded to looking for a tiger, but only came up with adult versions (hello, hole in the market??), so I made him his very own tiger tail. Photo will come later as no photos available. Double hmph.

I think we're all still recovering from the party. I certainly am. But it was a wonderful, fun and memorable weekend for all the right reasons. And the smalls had super fun.

Oh and here's the cake we finally settled on. A dinosaur attacking a train. Super.

Blogger - please stop flipping my photos around. Tres annoying.

There's A Disclaimer For This One

I am only telling you this because I was once blonde.

Stamina

What happened to me? Once upon a time I used to go dancing on tables, night after night. Eat pizza lying on the couch with my best friend. Drink a cup of conversation for lunch. And be ready to do it all over again. Week after week after week. I like to think I was party personified.

But please note, all of the above is written in past tense.

I have to tell you - I am completely knackered. My back aches. My head is tired. I just want to curl up in bed. Is this normal after two birthdays in three days? Or am I just going soft? I'm not even thirty yet.

We spent yesterday morning at the aquarium, and then raced home so I could bake.

And bake I did. Oh and I haven't even told you about how I picked up a baking dish that had been in the oven for 20 minutes at 230 degrees. With. My. Bare. Hands. I didn't mean to bake my own damn hands. That's for shiz. Needless to say, I am sporting some very, very achey breaky sore hands today.

Please get out the world's smallest violin and play a little solo for me.

The worst thing is, I still am not even remotely organised for the par-tay on Saturday. I've barely done a scratch. Someone, send me Martha Stewart. Someone, send me my old stamina.

I've vaguely worked out the menu (thankfully the party is in the afternoon so I have a little more time up my sleeve).

In fact, gulp, I am madly looking for a tiger costume for the Doctor to wear, because his party theme is party animals. Talk about lastminute.com. Straitjacket? Sedatives? Gurney? All sounds good right about now.

Nevertheless, cake was consumed last night, and the Doctor decorated his own. A highlight of the day to be sure, to be sure.

PS - How cool is she? Going to any Sydney Writer's Festival events? Do tell!

When The Doctor Was Born

My firstborn. My heart. I remember waking with a sore back. I knew the sign. Matt had long gone to work. I had a plan to meet my sister for shopping. I knew I was in pre-labour, but who knew how long that would last? And as if birth was going to get between me and a cash register. No way Jose.

I drove off to meet my sister, all the while my back pain increasing, a sneaky contraction here and there. I sent Matt an SMS "It's a nice day for a baby" to which he didn't reply (I later learnt his battery was almost dead).

My sister and I shopped. Things were ramping up. I could feel that baby was coming. I went back to my sister's house to watch some waterbirth movies. I'd heard that watching these can bring things on a little quicker. After my movie time was over, I drove home. I don't really remember that drive, but I do remember pulling into our driveway and my father-in-law and a handyman telling me that they were doing some jobs around the house. Fabulous timing because all I wanted to do was crawl into a steamy hot bath and say vamoose to the sore back. I did. I threw caution to the wind. I got in that bath. Then got out. Dressed. Decided to go for a walk to get some things to make Labour Aid. Clearly I was delusional. I walked the two kilometres and all the while my contractions were coming on stronger, more rhythmically.

I stopped off at our local Blockbuster and as any reasonable labouring woman would do, I hired Sex and the City. I remember standing in the store experiencing a contraction. Breathing. Hmmm. Hoping no one would notice a heavily pregnant, heavily breathing woman.

When I checked out the DVDs the guy said a cheery 'see you on Sunday' - and I thought - no buster, you won't. I'm about to have a baby. Overdues - I'll see you sooner.

I don't know how I got home on that long walk, but I know I had to stop here and there to rest. Breathe. Breathe. Open.

I walked home. Made Labour Aid. Got lemon juice all over the floor. Bottled my Labour Aid. Rested. Another bath?

Matt finally come home and I remember my aching body being held in his arms. Ah relief!

We had a quiet dinner together (hey - things can get a little rowdy around here), and went off to bed. I slept until around 1am when things started really ramping. And I vomited (there's an ongoing theme of vomit here lately, isn't there?). I had all the lights off. I hate lights when I feel unwell. I am an animal in the dark. I sit in the bath again. I feel my contractions. I feel them grow ever stronger. I get out because the bath isn't hot enough. Matt's still sleeping. How ever do men sleep through such a mad racket?

Finally, around 2am Matt came out to find me labouring away, I think by this stage I was back in the bath. We decided to call my sister who was coming with us, driving us to the hospital and who would be with us throughout the birth.

I sat in the darkest room in our house. Matt kept turning lights on. I kept turning them off. Breathe. We were in touch with the midwife, and we knew we had a 40 minute drive ahead. The midwife tried to stave us off, but I knew we had to go. I was ready to go. We clambered into the car. My fashion sense clearly thrown out the window. Me in Matt's old paint splattered tracksuit pants, a very worn, almost transparent t-shirt of a Chinese woman smoking an opium pipe (?), Birkos and a quilted cotton Chinese jacket. Very continental. I'm sure the world has never seen such haphazard styling before.

My sister drove like the clappers. Down the highway, I felt every bump. Every single bump in my bump. In my heaving body. Breathe. Hold the seatbelt away. Drive behind a garbage truck. Thankfully it was 3:30am by this time. Traffic was clear. This baby had good timing. And then the Labour Aid exploded all over my foot. Excellent.

We arrived at the hospital and the guy at the front desk insisted we fill out the forms before going up to the Birth Centre. Then I, leaning over the reception desk let out an almighty moan and he realised I was in labour, so reluctantly let us go up. We went up and went into our room. Dark. Quiet. The midwife expected me to be 3cm dialated. Instead I was 8.

Briskly (as brisk as any labouring woman can) I tore off my clothes (I couldn't bear my fashion genius any longer - truth be, I can't stand being dressed when feeling ill either - must be dark, must be naked - how wrong does that sound when typed?) and got into that bath. Oh that bath. That gloriously deep, seductive and calming bath. Hot! Hot! Hot! I laboured away for the next couple of hours in that bath.

Matt had a sleep. MATT HAD A SLEEP! --- Apparently just another day in the office for him. Meanwhile...

My contractions became more and more fierce, I rode them out, but I was growing tired. I held Matt's and my sister's hands. And then my contractions. My contractions - they damn well stopped! I had to get out of the bath because apparently I was too relaxed. Damn it. There goes my water birth. All throughout the birth our wonderful ante-natal teacher had been calling us to see how things were doing. That woman is a guru.

I got comfy on that birthing ball and cushions, propped up.

And after two hours of puuuuuuushing, (and me going, I can't do it, I can't do it - and everyone else saying - you ARE doing it, you ARE doing it, and then me going - COME ON! Lleyton Hewitt stylie) that big-headed, cone-headed, Mohawk-ed baby finally, finally came out.

That there friends is how the Doctor arrived. 10:02am on the 20th May.

The Never Ending Story: My Secret Quest For Rocky

Hello Party People - it's me coming at ya straight from Party Central. Only one more sleep friends! One more sleep until we're the proud parents of a very talkative, very imaginative, very funny four year old. Up there - we're proud parents of a minute old baby. Lucky for you friends you can only see a thin sliver of me.

Speaking of sleeping - both of ours are sound asleep. Last night was a fiasco that I was not keen to repeat. Tiny rudely interrupted my Masterchef viewing by vomiting all over me. Bon appetit people!

Matt and I are madly wrapping presents. Well Matt's wrapping. I'm blowing up balloons, placing party blowers about the house and streamers too. Some of the Doctor's birthday wishes granted!

One particular birthday wish however is not going to be granted. The Doctor has been asking for Rocky (TTTE afficionados need no intro, but if you do, see here!) for six months. Six months is a long time in anyone's books. Particularly a little person. But guess what?! Rocky is no longer being made.

Unfortunately for us, Rocky was amongst three things on the Doctor's list. Ouch. I don't remember ever being scarred by anything that I didn't get for my birthday - so we're hoping the Doctor won't notice. Or need any expensive counselling.

I had hoped to finish the Doctor's scarf in time for his birthday, but I am really a slow knitter. Matt thinks I might have it finished by next birthday (thanks for the confidence boost toots), as for the cushion, it's coming along. But slowly too.

Thanks for all the birthday tips yesterday, we're going for a home-stylie party, very simple, but high on fun. So I'm armed with all these insider tips. Merci beaucoup to you!

Anyway, must head off to bed because I know someone small who is going to wake up at the crack of dawn for present opening. I know this because he told me before he trotted off to bed. At least I get a heads up, right?

The Big Question: Cake O'Clock

The Doctor's birthday is in just two sleeps. Two sleeps 'til I am the mama of a four year old. Sheesh.

The big question is, what cake does he want? I have to make two. One for his actual birthday. Another for the birthday party. He's already told me he wants lotsa lotsa cakes.

I'm consulting everyone's favourite just to be safe. But there's still loads to choose from.

I've been looking on Flickr for inspiration. The problem is, there's too much inspiration.

And party bags? Party games? Talk about party pressure. Experienced mamas - and any inspired creatures, gimme some tips, gimme some inspiration. Gimme me, gimme me, gimme.

In other breaking news, Tiny has been punking me up a storm of late (Ashton watch out). She's teething with the best of them - I think there's four teeth coming through at once including two eye teeth - yowsers). So she's been super grumpy - and for good reason. Here's one glimmer of the usual Tiny. One of my friends gave her the greatest little red coat. Tiny is obsessed with it and seeks it out at every opportunity. She finds it, tries to put it on, can't, cries out, and I pop it on and she's happy. She found its little red hood today - and wanted that on. That made for one happy Tiny. ('scuse the wee mess in the background - didn't see that did you, you were blinded by Tiny's cheeky smile).

Sunrises & Sunsets

Lately, the Doctor has taken to waking up around 5:30am. I'm not the best morning person, I try, I really do, but really I think I am just a big grump. If only I were a morning person, things would be sweet. I wouldn't detest seeing so many sunrises. Or just the crack of sunlight stealing through the curtains at least (between my half-open eyes when I'm feigning sleep and telling the Doctor to go back to bed - ne'ermind, never works).

Would someone tell that kid to go back to bed already?

Since when is it even legal to be awake that early?

Are you feeling my morning grumpiness yet?

But sunsets? Sunsets are a different kettle of fish. I can get with a sunsets. Is there anything more spectacular, or even more different from night to night? How many shades can the sky shift in a matter of minutes?

This weekend? I hear you ask.

It's all been a whirlwind of preparation and celebrating Matt's birthday. Breakfast out and about. That Bill Granger sure is one clever boy. Sweetcorn fritters, scrambled eggs, bacon.. Sunrise drink anyone? Mmm.

The Doctor's birthday in three sleeps. You've no idea of the countdown. Or do you?

Lesson Learnt: Reading Can Make Me Sick

Mother's Day and my charming, thoughtful husband presents me with a new book. A book written by someone around our age. I ask him about it and he's surprised I've not seen reviews. He's seen it reviewed all around the traps, but me, nope, but I'm interested. I like reading things that are by our generation's writers. Jonathon Safran Foer's 'Extremely Loud & Incredibly Close' is absolutely in my top reads. You dream a dream, the dream comes true, that must be an amazing feeling.

I got stuck into reading 'Wetlands' by Charlotte Roche.

If you've read it, please tell me - tell me someone else has read it. I need a support group.

After a few pages I asked Matt if he'd read any of it. Nope. I was a little shocked, I must say. But I kept reading, intrigued.

I'm no prude, but my wordy, it very nearly made me faint this morning with its graphic detail. I wish I was kidding (I still feel a little off-colour now), but all of a sudden I felt that tell-tale nausea, started seeing stars, sweating, and had to sit down very quickly. My lips drained of any colour, I hoped Matt would magically reappear from work and take care of the smalls while I convalesced.

The graphic nature of the book - well my dear husband had no clue! My children had to fend for themselves while I sat on the cool of the tiles. I've never had my stomach turned by any reading matter. Even now I don't know if I can go back to it.

You can read the Times review here. The Australian review here. Or another here.

Have you ever had an adverse effects to reading?

...Remember?

It's painful to think back. It almost gives me anxiety. But here, I'll confess it. When I was a teenager I was so tall and lanky that I'd always wear baggy clothes to disguise the fact. Keppers (gulp). Malcolm X tee shirts. Arrested Development tees. And bandanas. Apparently I was the one and only member of my posse. In deepest darkest regional NSW. So 90s it aches.

I visited my sisters in Sydney during the school holidays and returned home with a VERY Beatles-esque hair cut. I remember my art teacher actually laughing in my face. Ouch. Thankfully my sister (who was responsible for putting me in that hairdressers chair) and I can laugh about it now. But during those days of growing that painful hair cut out, I endured some harsh words. Teenagers can be criminal with their honesty.

Thinking back now, I rue some of the ridiculous things we did as teenagers. While we thought we were ridiculously cool, others probably saw us as awkward. Remember?

As a special treat, here's one of my favourite loveable, huggable type of guys. Some of them try to rhyme but they can't rhyme like this. Some of them try to rhyme but they can't rhyme like this. You'll be relieved to know I never wore my jeans backwards.






More words and pictures . Just remember to hit that link. Awwwwright.

Like A Bike

Amy at Badskirt has been talking a whole lotta bike lately. A while back I mentioned I was gunning for a bike for my 30th. A sweet little cruiser. Though my choice of bike must be practical. I have to dinky the smalls around town too. What about this sweet lady? Look at her curves. Look at those classic lines. With a twist! A twist people. It's in the twist! It's not just a bicycle built for two, it's got two seatbelts in the back! You see that Matt?

(via the delectable Mrs. French)

Autumnal Afternoon Walks

The smalls and I have been enjoying afternoon walks. We make our way, late afternoon, down to the park, in time for the smalls to play for a while, the Doctor scoots around the path on his scooter, Tiny goes crawling off into the crisp leaves. It's clear from her expression that she's having a hoot.

Tiny loves the swing, and it's usually at this time that Matt rolls in fresh off the train.

We've been enjoying the fresh Autumn air on our faces, watching the trees shift from greens into golds, reds, leaves crunchy underfoot. Sometimes the smell of someone's fire, the Doctor asks me why they have a fire. Conversations transpire, conversations evolve. The Doctor shows us his break dancing, begs to go and play leaf races. Alas, there's been no rain lately, so leaf racing is off the walking menu. But we make our way through the second park and watch the dogs prance around on their evenings walks. We greet strangers. And those who divert their eyes - as though we're imaginary - I make sure I say an extra jovial hello. What am I, cellophane??

I don't think I've ever enjoyed Autumn as much as I do now that I have children. It's like rediscovering each of the seasons all over again.

Danger Mouse

Remember that show from when you were small? Amazing! Astounding! Danger Mouse! What kind of mouse couldn't be cool wearing an eye patch?

Well today my cheeky little mouse decided to be Danger Mouse. Tiny has taken to, with great aplomb, going into rooms and closing doors. She thinks it's a super great joke. This morning she was in the bathroom, and was calling out, 'til her Mama dutifully rescued her.

Shortly after she went into her room. Disappeared for a while, didn't she? Uh-huh.

Then she started calling out sounding a little distressed. Fear not, I wasn't far away. She was testing out her independence. I knew she'd closed her bedroom door and snuck in there to get into mischief. Hand on the door knob, turn, and the door does not open. What does one do in this situation? Just what does one do? Try the door knob again. No cigar. Clearly the door knob has fallen off (as it has become prone to do) and now I can't open it. Ergh.

Start breathing a little heavier. What to do, what to do. Window is closed. Not skinny enough to slide down a small space between staircase and room. Thankfully at this time my father-in-law walked in.

I had by this called Matt (on the phone) and subsequently hung up on him when my FIL walked in. I cried out for help.

He came to the rescue with a hammer and smashed a window to release Tiny. Phew. We smashed the window MacGyver stylie. (Did you watch Lawrence Leung 'Choose Your Own Adventure' on the ABC? GOLD!)

Tiny's foray into locking herself into rooms. Hmm. That's certainly not the injection of excitement I've been looking for.

PS - I quit my sewing classes today. Ole!

Happy Mother's Day

Here's to all the mummies, the mamas, the mothers and the grandmamas - all of you, all of us. I hope you've had a wonderful day and that you've been cherished.

To my own precious Mum, I hope you had a super dooper day, and we all can't wait to see you soon!

Do You Goop?

A while ago I posted about making goop with the Doctor. Well today, it's a different type of goop. It's Gwynnie's Goop.

I've always had a soft spot for Gwynnie. Even when she went macrobiotic on us. I forgave her for 'Sliding Doors' (truth be, there were no exceptions, I secretly loved that movie - just don't tell anyone). Even when she stole my secret boyfriend and had his babies. Even now when she exercises like some sort of maniac for four hours a day, I still adore the gal. She knows her flaws, and I salute her for that.

Back to Goop. It's an interesting and useful hub of Gwyneth's finds and thoughts. Take her thoughts on fashion after children for example. I can see myself in that mirror too.

Or some quick beauty tips that won't cost a bomb and then some. Or exercise (and health). Bane of my existence.

And even some top film tips on the classics from a cast of stellar directors.

And off the subject off Goop check out this link via Kollektor. Something special for Mother's Day perhaps??

Birthdays On The Rise

Matt's birthday is in just nine sleeps. Egads. I am not even close to being organised. I hate last minute birthday shopping. I like to get things months in advance so that I have time to forget what I've bought. I love choosing things that I think the recipient will lurve. But yikes. Matt's birthday. I had good intentions. Such good intentions.

I was going to make him a cushion (apparently it's all about the cushion for me at the moment, but what else can you make a man when you're a novice stitcher?!). I'd better get my skates on and start a-stitching otherwise this cushion train is about to depart. Initially I had thought I'd use some of the doilies I bought, but then I took a long hard look at myself and thought - what type of man wants a doily cushion? Probably not my man is the answer to that one folks. Matt + doilies is a little bit weird methinks. But Matt plus linen and stitching = ace of base.

Luckily for me, one of my good friends gave me this gorgeous Japanese embroidery book yesterday. Jam packed full of beautiful images and ideas. I would be hard-pressed to walk away from this book unenthused for embroidery. So this weekend imagine me stitching in secret. Commando rolling while couching, it's going to be a hard task, but I think I'm up to it. If all else fails it will just have to be one of those un-secret birthday presents.

What Did You Expect?

I met Nicole Kidman once. I was awestruck because she had that 'movie star' glamour that not many stars have. This was about ten years ago. Her face still moved then, enough to give my friend and I a kiss on the cheek for finding her jacket after many failed attempts. I was pretty well awestruck. I think I floated through the next couple of days, I was a fan of our Nic. But now, notsomuch. We've lost that lovin' feeling (how was that for a segue?).

Have you seen Nicole's latest hoorah in the Schweppes India ad?




What did I expect Nicole? For one thing, I expected your face to move, that's for starters. Secondly, after all the hullabaloo, I expected this ad to be good or at least interesting. What the heck? What did I expect? A heck of a lot more than was delivered, that's for shizzle.

Nicole, you're a beautiful woman. But these days we don't know if you're sad, mad or we've just been had. Bring back the emotion. Bring back the facial movement. We miss it.

Yo Yo Yo It's Mother's Day

Well not yet, but Sunday it will be. And just by the skin of my teeth, I got to the post office on time and posted off my Mum's present (the Doctor and I crafted together for the card).

What are your doing to celebrate Mother's Day?

I'll be leaving the recipe for Bills ricotta hotcakes out somewhere very in plain view. Ahem.

Marvellous May

The Doctor had swimming lessons this morning. I love the way these two smalls look like little old men waiting to jump into the pool. Mini-Icebergs.

I enjoyed some knitting time while cheering him on. It's getting longer and longer, slowly but surely!

I just need to confirm - I have nothing else to report. Though I do like this song. What muzak is rocking your world right now?

Merci Beaucoup - From Me To You

Hey Gang!

Thanks for the confidence boost yesterday. It made me realise that sewing shouldn't be about symmetry, but sewing for the fun, for the creation, and for the experience.

So while I didn't resume sewing yesterday, I was still a little tainted by the whole evening, I did think more about my objective. Today, I just thought - heck, both smalls are a-sleeping, I'm going to throw caution to the wind and get into it.

I finally decided on a sort of (very, very) vague 'log cabin'. Now don't get your knickers in a knot, I know it's not traditional stylie. Nor do I even suggest you can see this interpretation. It's just going to be a little hotch-potch pulled together cushion. I'm not terribly good at the construction part (or any part to be honest), but it's my first one and I'm flying solo. However, my favourite cheer squad leader has been telling me 'you're doing great sewing Mummy', and 'you're sewing really fast, aren't you Mama?'. I mean, who wouldn't want to make something for someone who encourages you with such positive affirmations? I could be convinced to make him anything if he keeps that up. Even a Percy cushion.

Spider Hunter

Lately we've been enjoying getting out and about and feeling the crisp Autumn air on our fresh little faces. The smalls and I have been going walking and park-ing (not to be confused with parkour). When those to-do lists are getting to hideous to conquer, it's so good to be out and.. spider hunting!

Have you noticed the spiders wrapping up their food parcels? The big fat spiders are all about the place around our 'hood. We look for the biggest to point out on our walks. Sounds a little boring. Perhaps a little weird? Trust me, those webs are magical. When caught in the sunlight, incredible.

We've also been enjoying crunching the Autumn leaves underfoot. Tiny's been learning to listen for the birds. The Doctor's been mastering the fine art of scootering. I've been enjoying some greenery and some thinking time (don't worry, it's not been hurting too much).

Please note: The Doctor doesn't usually wear a helmet on the swing. Only for extreme stunt purposes.

PottyMouthMama of The Symmetrical Sewing

I had grand plans for sewing class last night. Grand plans. I thought I'd be coming back here today and showing you at least the front of my cushion for the Doctor.

Instead I came home early and ate cake.

It all started when I turned up with my fabric, and my idea in my head. It's a no-brainer for me. I have the idea, I just don't have the expertise to execute it. But given my sewing teacher's wealth of knowledge, I thought we'd whizz up the cush in under no time.

She pulled out her special folder of pattern ideas. Here's where I should have seen trouble. Trouble with a capital T. Maybe even underlined. There was nothing in this folder that replicated even closely what I had in my head.

I got a piece of paper, drew what she was proposing and realised it definitely wasn't compatible with what I wanted. So when she went away, I started cutting, and as I cut I fiddled around with the layout. I spent quite a hefty amount of time moving things around. Everyone else was a little concerned that I hadn't done anything except move fabric around - but you know peeps, it ain't a competition, and I'm just here to do my own thing.

So I finally got to a layout I started to like. My sewing teacher was on the approach. Her deft hands swiftly rearranged the entire layout, while telling me that "unless it was symmetrical it wasn't going to work". Dots in the corners. Animal prints in the middle. Block colours to break it up. Here's me having a nervous breakdown of sorts.

I'm not assertive. Gosh, I know I need to learn to be, but sometimes I don't want to offend. So in my gentle way, I tried to back out from this arrangement with an - 'I've left some of my fabrics at home so maybe I'll just wait 'til next week to go further'.

Would she have a bar of it? Uh uh.

She started pulling fabrics out of her stash to go with mine. These included a hideous egg yolk yellow that made my head hurt. Some other random bits. And a block of Percy the engine.

I knew someone small (ie the Doctor) would LOVE that block. But really, it wasn't working with the aesthetic I had in mind. I have saved all my bits of fabric. My Japanese buys. My naughty little purchases. I've saved them for something special. Percy - sorry - but it wasn't working. My sewing teacher was shocked.

It was at this point I realised what I needed.

Cake. (And more to the point Stephanie Alexander's Orange cake. Who knew 250g of butter and 1.5 cups of caster sugar could taste so darn good? Ok I did.)

I packed up, feigned tiredness and left. In a jiffy. Before any more of my fabrics could be tainted with Percy-ness. So this is what I have done. Or rather, haven't done. Cut up some fabric. Ta-dah!

Just like Cinderella, I wish a Fairy Godmother would come and tap her magic wand over my head and make me a stellar seamstress. A supreme stitcher. Or maybe I could just dive in and remember, it's just fabric, innit?

A Crazy Outta Control To-Do List

Do you ever have days where your to-do list is just not going to-get-done? Today is one of those days.

- Wake up

- Prep morning tea & lunch for the Doctor

- Drop the Doctor off to pre-school

- Fruit & veg shopping
- Vaccuum

- Mop

- Breathe

- Get a flat tyre fixed

- Fruit & veg still sitting on floor in kitchen - unpack it now girlfriend!

- Cook dinner (for tomorrow night)
- Tidy the Doctor's room

- Change bed linen

- Washing

- Somewhere in here, get some work done

- Play with Tiny

- I won't continue in case you click away

Do you ever feel as though you agree to take on too much, and then feel like you're suffering in order to make everyone happy? Well that's me right now. I think I need to cut back and learn to say no. I think if I did that, the boulder currently resting on my shoulders could roll off. And that would be an ace thing indeedy.

And tonight friends, sewing restarts. I decided to go back. It's a good excuse for me to ensure I have some 'me time'. And I'm not going to stress about it this term. It's going to be easy sewing. Just learning some techniques me thinks. And my teacher promised she'd teach me how to smock. Coolio. I think tonight I might start work on a cushion for the Doctor. I promised him yonks ago, but never got to it. I've been trawling my copy of 'Bend the Rules' for inspiration. Inspiration-a-go-go.

Today for your viewing pleasure, a little bit of eye candy in the form of the Doctor's scarf I've been working on. And some fabrics I'm thinking of including in his cush.

Things

I've been mixing things up a little here at PottyMouthMama Headquarters. I'm crazy like that.

I'm making dinners the night before (casseroles and curries are my friends, beef vindaloo tonight for tomorrow). This is saving me time (and a serious case of dishpan hands).

I'm trying to tidy up small parts of the house all the time, in an effort to keep it tidy (Mum are you reading this?!).

I'm rewarding the Doctor via a star chart for tidying up his bedroom and packing up his toys.

I've become hooked on Masterchef.

I've found new compact fluorescent light bulbs that don't cast a blue light and make me feel like I'm in one of those anti-shooting up rooms (you know when you're out somewhere and they have that blue light). This is particularly big news for me, because although I use these bulbs, I've been really cranky about them. Welcome me into 2009 with this revelation.

I'm turning 30 in about eight weeks and still haven't completed my list. Better get my skates on, huh?

But before my birthday there is a little someone turning the big four. I can barely believe it. I've spent much of today reminiscing about my firstborn. Taking a walk down memory lane via our photo albums. Those first days with a newborn in my arms. Not to mention the pain and thrill of labour. The struggle to learn how to breastfeed. The incredibly steep learning curve. The fear of coming home with babe in arms. Watching our newborn unfurl as the days went on. And of course, that wonderful newborn smell. My big boy is turning four. I know this may sound strange, but I could always imagine myself with a baby, but I'd never foreseen a small person. Evolving. Developing his own likes. His own dislikes. So my thoughts are turning to the soon-to-be little birthday dude. A mixture of sadness, happiness and great, great joy.

Above Average April, Roll On May

I don't know if April really was above average. In fact, it was kind of pretty darn boring. I don't need fireworks in my life ever day. I don't need razzle dazzle all the time. But just some of the time, it would be nice to inject the everyday with some pomp. Some sparkle.

Instead May. May!! While we don't really celebrate here in the land of Aus, happy belated May Day to those who do. Break out the maracas.

For me, I'm trying to hit some kind of work/home-life balance. While I know I am lucky to be able to work from home, it's difficult to compartmentalize those sections of the day. I answer phone calls with the troops in the background. My son sometimes sits on my lap while I type. My daughter usually snoozes while I tap out some emails. But it's hard.

I'm putting out a May Day. If you're a work at home Mum, how do you make things work? Do you have a routine? Are you a multi-tasking master?

Above is a shot of the Doctor and Tiny getting into facepaints just before we were leaving to go out. I am one of those mothers who doesn't bother washing off this face 'graf' - I don't want to hinder their creativity, and being completely honest, we were in such a hurry I didn't have a chance. That stuff is hard work to remove, dang!

Knit-Picker

Last night I decided to cast on the Doctor's scarf. He wanted blue, and since I have a mean addiction to Debbie Bliss cashmerino aran (all thanks to Alexis at Knot Sew Crafty), so I sourced this pale blue. I like to think of it soft as a snowflake (and in fact, I think I will throw in some Winter white to mix things up a bit).

Lo and behold, I had completely forgotten how to cast on. Well I thought I remembered. Did it, cast on 40 stitches, started knitting - and uh oh - it all went wobbly. So I had to pull it all off the needles and start again. And again. And again. I googled a few casting on videos but man, do they think I am Inspector Gadget with go-go gadget fingers?! I can't cast on that quick - that's why I am watching a video via the interwebs peeps! Slooooow down.

And then I came across this pearler. Super simple, easy to follow, I didn't even need to watch the whole thing because I got it. So easy!

New knitters, come, watch this video and cast on without shame!