How To Spend Special Days

Matt took yesterday off to spend the day with me. Swoon.

We had lunch with my sisters and just each of our little girls (all the boy cousins were off at school, pre-school or with their papas). Matt was clearly the odd one out (not that Matt's a cousin. I mean, I'm from the country - but we're not from that high up in the hills - can you hear the Bluegrass playing?).

I spent the day in my very favourite boots. Oldies but goodies.

It was my birthday. But oddly, it felt like any other day.

We're having a take-two later in the week. I'll try and jump out of my own birthday cake. Think it's possible?

Birthday Celebrations

It's my birthday tomorrow. Hip. Hip. We had a wee afternoon tea at Sparkle Cupcakery yesterday with some friends (more on SC later).

Here's Matt. He is just learning to smile. Here's me. Chin-chin!

Here's a half eaten cupcake.

When One Pom Pom Is Not Enough

I love pom poms. They're so cute. Who couldn't love a pom pom? I dare you!

You'll be big stylie pleased to know that I have finally FINALLY finished the Doctor's scarf. This is an achievement for me because I have never finished knitting something. I have many scarves in the process, and they're all still around my house somewhere, but incomplete. Maybe it has helped having a child asking and asking when it's finished...? Yes. I didn't want to let him down.

Special thanks to Sheeps Clothing and Uli Shoes @ Beyond My Control for giving me the confidence to cast off - so I wouldn't keep on knitting and knitting the world's longest scarf.

Discussions

image via

This weekend Matt and I have been discussing Michael Jackson. So many questions. But we got to chatting about the allegations - that were dismissed - about Michael and his young house guests. I didn't ever believe that MJ was guilty. I put it to Matt, that if either of our children were ever abused in such a way - would you really settle out of court? Would you? I know I wouldn't. I'd want that person put away. I'd want justice. There's no amount of money that would settle that.

Now I've just come across this. Jordan Chandler has confessed it was all a big sham concocted by his father - and now Jordan's apologised.

I've been trying to source some old MJ albums, but they're sold out everywhere. That's some kind of sweet poetic justice. Even if it is a small thing.

Go here to read more about Michael's style legacy.

So Long

When I was 9 or so I had a huge crush on Michael Jackson. AC 4 MJ. I had posters on my bedroom wall. I used to call him on an old phone my sister had painted gold. We'd go on dates. He'd sing songs to me. We'd go on more dates. Michael was my dream man.

I've always loved the guy. No matter what the media said. I couldn't be swayed. He did get a little kooky - but don't we all?

All morning I've been hoping all the media agencies would say 'oh no, we messed up, it's all been a big mistake', but alas, it's not to be.



You know I love a good robot dance, right?





The unrivalled and wickedly talented MJ. There's no one else like him. RIP.

Be Very Careful What You Wish For

The other day, when it was super chilly, I twittered about my lust for not only an ugg boot, but an ugg suit. Now friends, take this as a warning. Be very careful what you wish for.

I didn't verbalise this to anyone in my family. I did google it, but apparently no one makes ugg suits. But imagine how warm you'd be - however unsightly you may be. You might even look like a troll that skinned a sheep. How apt!

Anyhoo, my FIL brought me in something - very excitedly last week. A sheepskin jacket. My wordy, it weighs a ton. It's pretty darn cool, though I can't imagine I would wear it without 'baaing' at passers-by. But here it is. In all its glory. I think I might sell it on eBay (fear not, I have in-law permission). Or maybe I can start looking for the matching pants.

You Don't Know Unless You Ask

Remember when I was writing about good intentions, and the beautiful roses we walk past sometimes? Well today on our walk (this is a constant lately, yes?) Tiny and I happened upon the lady in the garden. So we started chatting. It's nice to chat to elderly people. I think so anyway. They hold such wisdom, experience and knowledge - that seems to come with age. Just last week I got chatting to a 92 year old war veteran who was blinded in Burma - told you I get chatting.

Back to the garden. She told me that she's not much of a rose gardener, but she keeps them going in her father's memory. He was an avid rose grower, and they had over 50 rose bushes one time. Now they're getting old, they're getting black spot, and she's afraid she doesn't really know how to grow them. But to me they still look beautiful, and my goodness, you've never smelt roses this rosey. She pointed out roses that were planted in 1921 and 1922.. I love learning little snippets of history, no matter how small, it paints a picture of people.

I'm enjoying getting out into the sunshine. When it's here. For the most part, I am bunkered down inside. I've been sewing a little, baking a little, sleeping very little, and watching Tiny do the zombie baby walk. It might be Winter but it's not for long.

So I'm An Old Troll Am I?

just a shot of me getting my make-up done, via

Following on from my previous post, someone kindly told me I was an old troll. Of course they're hiding behind the old anonymous shield. But I think they had a typo - I think they meant doll.

My previous post wasn't a - woe is me, I'm almost 30, it was a - hey look at the way society is evolving. It was about the fact that I have 26 year old friends doing 'preventative' Botox in the hope it will make them look younger. It was a - hey - I've heard if from beauty editor's mouths - girls are getting younger and younger, and are looking for ways to stop time itself.

It was about the fact that I have a daughter (and heck, while I'm at it, my son's vulnerable too) and I don't want them to feel like they need to meet any aesthetic standard except their own.

In essence, it makes me shudder to think about the length some people go to preserve their looks.

Where and when did things change? I can blame a whole lot of things. But then really, we all have to point our fingers at ourselves in some ways. Media deliver things you and I 'want'. Magazine sales go up when they show pictures featuring models and superstars sans make-up. The catwalks show impossibly thin beauties pony-stepping. Madonna is a work in herself. Oh and here comes another 14 year old front cover beauty - I can't ever live up to those standards. Not to mention the photoshopping. Oh and did I mention - Botox has become an adjective?

There is no magic potion that stops wrinkles from appearing. But by looking after yourself, you can look your best. And by reading, eating well, exercising, laughing, living, you can live the best life you can. Nurture yourself. Love yourself. So I think that's what I was talking about... So Anonymous, thanks for giving me the opportunity to expand on my previous post.

Embracing Ageing

I'm fast on the heels of 30, and to be honest, it doesn't worry me. I'm not losing sleep over it. I think I've done a lot in my short time, and I intend to do a lot more.

I intend to collect a few more wrinkles. Grab a few more lines. I like the look of those that are comfy in their own skin and their face can tell a story.

A few months ago I remember being transfixed by this woman's face. I just wanted to keep looking at her. For-all-the-wrong-reasons. There was something odd about her face. And after a couple of days, I finally realised what it was. Her face had no line. No wrinkles. Nothing. Her lips were overtly perky. And I couldn't take my eyes off her. She was some sort of fem-bot.

I'm fighting the fem-bot look. I'm embracing ageing. I'm going to fit my skin and own it. I'm going to get fit for my thirties. I remember when I felt my best, when my body was strong. I'm going back to that place. I'm going to love the crinkly laugh lines that find new homes on my face.

Because after all, there are so many people in the world that never get the chance to age - for whatever reason, so for them, for me, and as a role model for my little family, I am going to age gracefully.

Being 30. Bring it.

Life Rolls

It was just this morning when Tiny and I were on our morning walk that I spyed a fattened bee. It made me think about the minutiae of life. About how no matter what, life will continue, in whatever guise.

The bees will still visit the flowers.

The sun will still peek through the cracks in the curtains.

The grass will slowly make it's way through the dirt.

The birds will still make songs.

Life continues. And it's kind of comforting.

And it's just this afternoon that I've discovered that one of Matt's great colleagues died yesterday, after a long battle. I'm thinking of her and her family. And all the great stories Matt told me of her. She was a buoyant, vivacious lady. I know she will be missed, and fondly remembered by many.

If you can, please give money to Lifehouse. Maybe this way we can help those who need it, in whatever small way it is.

Sunday Rolls Around Again

I am completely shattered today. We did a lot of running around yesterday and my poor little body is definitely feeling it. Everything's sore.. Getting sick? No, not me, I'm a beefcake.

It's one of those cold Wintery days when you, by law, should be curled up on the couch watching DVDs. Jeeves - I feel like a hot chocolate. Nanny will take the kids out rugged up for a run on the grass. But it's not to be, and family life stops for no man. Or mama. Onward we shall go.

It's a little over a week 'til my birthday and I'm already feeling as though I own a 70 year old's body. I think I'll take a leaf out of this woman's book and kick-start a new me by going running. Sounds frightening. Walking is easing me into it.

I drew the winners of the Little Innoscents giveaway too:

Winner of the complete set of Little Innoscents products is lucky seven 7. Linda from Two Pink Possums.

And the five lucky ducky runners up are:
Coming of age - 18. Perempuan
Duck and dive - 25. Josephine Tale Peddler
Legs eleven - 11. Julia
Sweet sixteen - 16. Bronwyn
One little duck - 2. Mama Mogantosh

If you can email me your postal address, I can then pass it on and your prizes can be sent out. Thanks to everyone who entered.

Passion Killers

image via

My husband has a pair of brown socks. But they're not a rich chocolate-y brown. They're an ugly, brown. They make his feet look like a dead person's feet. Like a dead person who's walked 5kms to get to their grave. They are - to be frank - bonafide passion killers.

I've asked him if anything in my wardrobe could be classified as 'passion killing' and his response was my ugg boots. Or as the Doctor calls them, my 'ugg-ly' boots. And he means no pun either.

However I think Matt will find that they're not really part of my wardrobe. They're just part of my strictly at-home-apparel. I would never wear them out (except last week when I went to the library in them because it was so darn cold and my toes would have snapped off without them). So that cancels that out then and that means that my wardrobe is pretty darn perfect. Just like me.

What's a passion killer for you? Clearly, mine is 'dead person brown' socks. (By the way - if Dulux wants to use that as a new name for a brown - please do, I'll take the royalty cheques, I'm sure there are a lot of people wanting to paint their house dead person brown).

Want more passion killing inspiration? Click here.

When Steam Comes Out My Ears

Would you believe that I get mad? I do. I do get mad sometimes. Today is one of those times. Particularly when I realised that the Doctor had shoved so much toilet paper into the toilet that it looked like a whole roll had fallen in. Like the moment when I flushed the toilet and it just kept filling up. Even when I turned the tap off. Or the exact moment when the toilet started overflowing. And these are the days of our lives.

Fear not, there was not a coin slot in sight. PottyMouthPlumber has made a house call. And charged nuttin'. Go me.

Dad Jokes

the cringiest Dad of all. Danny Tanner. Even remembering his name makes me nauseous.

Almost as soon as the Doctor was born, Matt started cracking Dad jokes. It must be something programmed into the human psyche. I've been counting, and each time he cracks a Dad joke I tally up the score: Dad Joke Number 167.

These are excruciatingly painful jokes. Painful because, they're just plain silly, and painful because you have to force a couple of chuckles to verify that at least you've heard the joke. And that you don't want a repeat. Otherwise your ears may start bleeding.

I can't even remember one single example because I think out of kindness - my brain has deleted them.

However, I don't ever remember my own Dad cracking Dad Jokes. I still don't think he cracks Dad Jokes.

I do however know that my FIL has a whole cache of Dad Jokes. And these are even worse than Matt's Dad Jokes. I don't think I have any bias, I just think my FIL has more of a talent for bad Dad Jokes. That he likes to share over and over and over again. And then once more to make sure you've heard it. Uh huh.

Does your Dad, partner, husband, boyfriend or friend crack corny Dad Jokes? Is there a support group?

Scrap Dancing

While I've been telling you I haven't found any discarded goodness recently, I've realised I have unwittingly lied. I have found discarded goodness of another kind.

Recently, while visiting a fabric shop, I discovered a garbage bin full of scrap fabric. Just strips. Tossed away without a second thought.

By now you should absolutely know that I know no shame. Waste not want not, right?! So I dutifully retrieved all the decent sized strips and even some smaller ones. And I've been adding them to the Doctor's cushion which is slowly, slowly, ever so slowly coming together. See here?

The smaller scraps are for the Doctor's crafting. To stick on cards. Or wherever he wants.

Now I can stop whining about not finding any garbage. Here ends my blog for today.

Stuff That Mummies Do

It was a cold and blustery Winter morning. The rain was coming in steadily. It was cold. It was blustery. It was bunkering down weather. It was toe-freezing weather. Certainly not the time to be galavanting around town. Absolutely not the time to go swimming. But as a dedicated Mama, she packed all the stuff ready to roll and arrived, for once, promptly at 9am.

And there starts my story for today. Swimming. In Winter. Yuck. Walking into that aquatic centre is humid and stinky and - it's cold outside, and there's the mother who wants to tell me her daughter's at home quarantined with swine flu. And there's me steadily sliding down the bench away from her, a metre per minute - I'd give Thorpey a run for his money.

The Doctor went swimming. Tiny sat sidelined and ate yet another banana. Another sandwich. Everything in sight. Then we went home. In the rain. Quel surprise!

We then went to the Doctor. I know how to have a good time. Four year old immunisations. Yeeehaaaaar. Told you I knew how to have a good time.

And then home again, home again jiggedy jig. Do I have anything of interest to share with you? Do I? Do I? Ergh. In case you're interested, I mopped the floors. This is no mean feat. You can now eat off them. But anything of interest?

Well I was interested in building a gold mine with the Doctor while Tiny slept. We built some platforms, we shunted the trains around the track. We brought the animals out for a walk. It was fun to spend that time with him. Shut away from the computer, the TV, the phone - everything, and just hang. I love when we do that.

Ahem.

Before you start reading, please open this in a separate window/tab. Mood music, if you will.

I've been going on walks with Tiny. Once we get the Doctor off to pre-school we pack up the pram, a number of food items (for Tiny, not me, because damn fool, that girl sure likes to eat) and head off into the big chill.

I won't lie. I have ulterior motives. I've been circling houses like a shark, looking for garbage. I'm looking for a kill. I'll toss anyone out of my way in order to get it. Tiny and I. We're rebel garbage looters. It's always on my mind. When's my next big score.

And yet, here's the problem, again. There is no garbage. Council clean up is monthly around here. And nothing except - gasp - garbage is being tossed.

Feeling totally despondent we walked up to the library instead. Three overdue books clasped sweatily in our little hands. The librarians have taken to calling us at home to retrieve their books. Guilty.

We snuck out of the library and back to the icy air. Lucky Tiny is rugged up and merrily munching on banana.

Part of keeping our walks enjoyable is exploring different areas of our 'hood. Yawn! We walk back through a large park - and to the playground for an impromptu swing. It's about as spontaneous as life gets at the moment, so we grab the swing by the horns and both Tiny and I enjoy some time looking back at the grey sky above.

Have you been walking? Exploring? Adventuring?

Oh - Tiny started walking last week too. Muchos excitement here at Chez PottyMouth.

God Can Be Funny

Regina Spektor's new album comes out at the end of this week (23rd). This holds great excitement for me. I think she's brilliant. Here's her new clip.



And while we're here, this song made me think about times when God must be giggling at me.

- When I was 19 walking up Oxford St wearing a skirt just above my knee with a split in it. Nothing outrageous, trust me. This slightly nutty dude yelled in the middle of the lunch time crowd at the top of his voice, 'I can see your f*nny'. The letter I've bleeped out is not a 'u' either. And he didn't say it just once. It was twice. I went scarlet red and hurried back to the office.

- Or when I'd just had all my wisdom teeth yanked out. It was a Friday and I decided to go to the movies by myself. I came out, it was still mid-afternoon. Oxford Street again. Harry, a slightly nutty guy who frequents Oxford Street - perhaps you know him? Calls out - top of his voice 'Hey spaghetti legs, spaghetti legs'. Everyone turned to look at me. Me with the slightly sore mouth. Thanks Harry.

- Or the time when I woke up in my little Paddington apartment to find a hand reaching through the window and pulling things out. Looking at them. And then returning them. I stood up on the bed, and said in a deep, gutteral voice 'Get the **** outta here'. Hand and body scurried away. I was freaked. I told my flatmate I was calling the police - straight after I had spotted her stuff out the window. And to cut a long story short, they found this dude in our roof. With a pile of our clothes at the bottom of the man-hole. Oh and did I mention he disconnected the electricity?

- Or the time I went out to meet some friends, they didn't turn up and I wound up at the bar waiting for said friends only to be forced to hang out with a short jockey-esque dude who came up to my shoulder and kept telling everyone he was my boyfriend. Wrong-goes.

God can be funny. But sometimes I don't see the funny side until much, much later.

Sunday, Sunday

Do you ever have those weekends when you feel like your a leaf blowing in the breeze, blowing this way and that way? That's this weekend for me. Not time to stop, can't be late, can't be late, must keep going.

Peace at last, peace at last, the Doctor and I are lying on the couch snuggled up together. I'm drinking lots of tea. We're both eating freckles and grissini. Strange combo. But it works. Watching Charlie & Lola.

Tiny's fast asleep, growing. Matt's studying. The world is spinning, slowly, so we don't all fall off.

Sunday afternoons. Life in the fast lane can wait. Sundays are or stretching, snuggling and snoozing.

Small Babes & Runny Noses:: Giveaway

Recently I purged a whole heap of my beauty products. I know what's in some of these products is bad, bad bad, and then some. So I tossed them. The petro-chemicals, parabens, they put in them - wowsers, I don't understand how they manage to get away with it.

Breathe!

I know you probably already know that there are loads of products out there containing petro-chemicals and parabens. Nasty things they are, so it's nice to come across products that steer clear of such things. Particularly when it comes to the smalls.

Since Winter is promptly upon us, here comes cold and flu season. The only thing worse than having a blocked, snuffly nose, is a wee one suffering the same, with very little relief.

Little Innoscents has an easily absorbed vapour balm that brings warmth to the body and helps with breathing and the alleviation of nasal congestion (no more snuffles for your snuggly). It's safe for babies and is fresh and natural - got to be a winner!

Made by a Melbourne mama it's been made with beautiful natural essential oils such as lemon, spearmint, eucalyptus, lavender, peppermint and rosemary, combined with caressing and natural beeswax and shea butter. Mmm, we likey!

There should be a tub in every family medicine cabinet.. A natural organic alternative to Vicks. It contains no turpentine.

I am lucky to be able to give away to five lucky readers a tub of Little Innoscents Vapour Rub Balm (RRP $10.99) and to ONE lucky winner a complete set of the Little Innoscents range (RRP $69).

To enter, visit the Little Innoscents website, then come back and tell me ONE THING that Little Innoscents does not contain... It's very simple my friends. Go forth and conquer!

You have 'til next Friday to enter. Australians only - sorry dudes.

The Paps Are Following: Less Talking, More Walking

Yesterday, before the sun left the sky, before my breath froze in the air, before my blood froze because oh-yeah-it's-really-bloody-cold, the Doctor, Tiny and I went for our afternoon walk. I've written before about my own personal cheer squad. It being - the Doctor. Well yesterday, he came out in force and told me that I looked like a rockstar. Kudos to you small man. Then he grabbed a few *secret* things and we walked out the door.

I urge you to enlist your own ego-leader, after the Doctor gave me my pep talk I could barely get out the front door because my head was so inflated. I just awaited the flashbulbs, alas they never came, so we just went walking. BUT - not before the Doctor quickly transformed himself with his *secret* sunnies and *secret* 'train-driver' hat and told me he was now a rockstar too.

Together we were going to rock the world.

Instead we went to the nursery, bought some seeds. And then it happened. The Doctor scammed me.

Feigning fatigue (we'd walked a grand total of 100 metres) he told me he was feeling very hot.

Impossible I say - yesterday was close to blizzard temperatures (ok not really, but it might as well have been). If I had left the Doctor outside too long yesterday he would have turned into a snowman. The Doctor then informed me that if we were to continue walking, he really would need an ice cream to cool himself down.

I say just stick your tongue out and you'll grow your own icicles, but that didn't cut it. So the Doctor scammed me. Tiny had a pink fit and wanted a bite. Lucky for Tiny, our little Doctor is a good sharer and loves sharing with Tiny. She scored too.

On our walk the Doctor crunched in the carpet of Autumn leaves. We looked and admired our long Wintery shadows. Tiny called the neighbourhood dogs. We played with the 'helicopter' seed pods for a while (I was still walking!). We admired two small boys taking out the garbage. Well, we lauded them at least. For me, walking is a nice way to end the day, talk about what we're going to do the next day. A sort of reconnection. And then whizz home and get dinner on the hob.

No paps, but some pretty snaps.

Stuff

image via

When I was in high school my friends and I used to sing well known songs (such as Pearl Jam's 'Alive) opera style. It was the cause of much amusement and made lessons pass a little quicker (not that I wasn't listening up Mum & Dad, it was just sometimes a slow day). Try it. When you're in a bad mood, pick a well known song, and sing it mezzo soprano and try and stay in that bad mood. Bet you can't.

Anyway, I have no idea why I remembered this when really what I wanted to say is, I've been walking a la Move It Like Mike.

I been moving baby. We've been taking in the neighbourhood. Checking out the Autumn leaves. Checking out this and that. Yeah, baby. We all been movin'! But more on this tomorrow.

If you need some motivation to move, listen to this. Gets me every time. I lurve a little bit of Andre 3000. (I've linked to this before, but I can't get enough Andre 3000). Did you ever see Class of 3000? Was it good?

And last but not least, there's a super giveaway (two uber cute softies are up for grabs) taking place over at Pepper Stitches. Check it out.

Romancing.. The PMM

I love a good romantic flick. And since Matt is wildly studying and writing an essay, I've taken romance into my own hands and have been settling down into the couch for some evening romance.

If you're a Jane Austen fan (I am! I am! Look at me madly waving my hand - I AM!), the 2007 production of 'Persuasion' is positively dreamy. I say Captain Wentworth - be still my beating heart - ba-boom! Being a late bloomer, I've just discovered that Rupert Penry-Jones is in 'Spooks'. Now I'm going to have to watch that.


I was captive to this film, and if you're in for a bit of old-school Austen romance, I definitely recommend it. Especially Penry-Jones for the eye candy. Swooning!

I am on particularly good terms with our local video store (should I be calling it the DVD store - they don't do videos anymore), just in case you were wondering. It's like going to the Cheers bar - though they don't really know my name, we know each others faces, and we recommend films to one another. I'm very friendly like that. Nice, innit?

'ello Geezers

For a long time I've been a big fan of Chip Chop(this instantly makes me cool by association). Do you know it? If not, you really ought to. It's an uber cute, uber witty Australian label that's cute to boot.

The latest range 'London Calling' draws on all your very favourite geezer phrases. If you're a long time PMM reader, you'll know I love launching myself into geezer speak. Cool. Innit?

But the above design is my long-time love. It reminds me of this boy I went to school with, he was a little crazy. When we were about 9 he told everyone to look out - he knows 'origami'. Yep. Uh huh.

Anyway, if you're looking for info on this cool collection of bags, tees and berets click here. For stockists click here!

Lifehouse: Professor Christopher O'Brien

Last week one of Australia's most respected and gifted cancer specialists died. Professor Christopher O'Brien battled with brain cancer for three years. He was only 57. A humble, intelligent and compassionate gentleman.

There's not a lot that I can say that hasn't been said already, so I'll keep it simple.

If you can, please donate to his Lifehouse at RPA. Lifehouse is a world-class cancer treatment and research facility providing holistic care for patients and carers. You can read more about it here. You can visit their website or call 1300 852 500 to make a donation. Please do.

Donations over $2 are tax deductible.

It's Plain To Me, It's Pretty!

The other day when I scored a whole lotta goodness, I neglected to include these beautiful belt buckles. They're definitely not bakelite, but I'm thinking they could be celluloid. I'm not sure what I am going to do with these beauties, but it better be something special. You don't come across beauties like these all the time. Reminds me of...

In other breaking news, I've been walking. I find I do my best walking when I work it in with 'incidental' activities. Such as walking to the post office. Or today it was walking to the post office via a pile of someone's rubbish (which was fruitless, damn it). Exercise seems less painful when I have a destination in mind, and Tiny and I wound up out in the fresh air for an hour of power.

After such a beautiful weekend full of family catch ups, and the wedding, we're back to the anti-climatic routine. I must start planning things weekly so we have something to look forward to, because anticipating washing the floor just doesn't cut it these days. I might even go so far as to say I have the eight bar blues.

Never fear, I've continued with the Doctor's scarf, and it's almost to the length he wants. Yipeeee! PMM knows how to have a great time. Don't let anyone tell you otherwise.

The Queen's Birthday: Long Weekend

I love a long weekend. Particularly when it involves family dos. Today we had a picker nicker at Balmoral. Another incredible Winter day. Playing on the beach. Digging in the sand. First tastes of fish and chips. Coffees from the hole in the wall. Hours in the sunshine. Catching up with cousins.

I am pooped to the max. After the picker nicker we quickly whizzed off to our friend's fourth birthday, and then home again, home again - jiggety jig. I am pooped. Bed - here I come.

Regular PMM programming will resume tomorrow. Until then.

PottyMouthPirates: I'll Be Sea-ing You

We've been out sailing the high seas today. It's treacherous out there. Watch out for pirates on the harbour. They're rampant. It's been raining in Sydney non-stop for three weeks - and today - fortuitously timed for my cousin's wedding, the sun blitzed us for a pearler of a day out on the water. How lucky we were not to walk the plank and instead enjoy a tipple of bubbles and cruisy conversation. A wedding on the water. Swell, huh?

This is me doing my best sea dog impersonation.

Why are pirates called pirates?

Because they arrrrrrrrrrrgh.

I'm In A Competition: A Relay. By. My. Self.

via

This thing is tough. I'm throwing water on myself. Puffing. Panting. I'm wearing my tracky daks and feeling like I need to tear them off. I am getting that sweaty (and now you know why there's a sweaty man above - that's what I searched for - but I'm not a man - you know?). I can't even talk. I can't even type. I'm bent over, half breathing, half dying.

Here's the question ladies (and any gents that happen to be innocent bystanders): Is blogging a competitive sport?

I feel like I am back at high school and I am trailing way behind. Let it be known, I never excelled at school sport. In fact, during one PE lesson, we were playing la crosse, I cricked my neck and couldn't continue to play. I told my English teacher that my neck hurt and I felt sick. She thought (well she knew I was such a scammer) that I was just trying to get out of the debate I was involved in. Truth be, as soon as that debate was over, I went home, was promptly booked in to the GP who referred me to the physio, who promptly prescribed me bed rest and Valium. Valium does not equal me faking it methinks. It hurt like heck and my muscles were spasming. The moral here is folks, don't punish the PottyMouth.

Anyway, blogging. Competitive sports. Playing games. Sometimes I feel like, you know, are you guys for real? I mean, anonymous nasty commenters - they're just trying to make themselves feel better by taking an OD of nasssty.

I need to tell you now, I am no good at competitive sports. I played netball when I was younger. I was always muchos taller than the other gals, and always got pulled up because of my height. It caused great frustration. And then I just quit.

So some days are diamonds, some days I think.. Why am I doing this? What is this for? It's like the meaning of life. WHY?

One of my bloggy mates questioned this the other day, and I summed it up for myself. I've got nothing to sell. I blog because I like writing. I love writing in fact. I need my blog as a discipline, otherwise I don't write. That makes for very sad, very savage PMM.

Even if you do have something to sell, doesn't mean it takes anything away from your blog. It's about you writing for you. For the record I was wearing short shorts and my favourite pair of spikes, plus a fluoro pink sweatband.

No matter what, you can't deny, there is competition in the blogging world. I for one have to tell you, I find it a little strange. Everyone has an opinion, it's not a popularity competition peeps. There's room for everyone. Write what you want. Write when you want. Don't worry about whether you have a cheer squad. Don't worry if you don't have the right gear. Just write. Post photos. Talk about your favourite music. If you have an opinion, no matter what it is, someone will dig it, somewhere in the world, someone else feels the same way.

Another reason I blog is because when I had my first child I never joined a Mother's Group. My Mother's Group was hideous. And then some. That too was competitive. I didn't dig on it. I stepped back and stayed at home. I was already insecure. I'd just had a baby at 25. My body had completely changed. My boyfriend (now husband) - what was he thinking of me? I was sleep deprived, cranky, my body had changed, I had changed, we had a baby. There is enough insecurity from the every day without having to survive the petri dish that was the Mother's Group. I am still Mother's Group-less 'til this day. So blogging for me, was kind of like being part of a community, but more so like my own little journal. Something. Just. For. Me.

So sweaty girls. And guys. No need to sweat the small stuff. Blog or no blog. You are loved. By someone somewhere. You are great. You do ace things. Believe it. It's not a race to the finish line.

It's not a competition. It's my blog.

A Little Junk In Yer Trunk?

In the interests of getting a little less Fatty, and a little more Boombastic I am signed up sisters.

While I've been super busy contemplating my navel, hiding my chocolate stash from my husband, and looking out the window at the rain, my muffin tops they runneth over.

It's official gang. I'm hooking up with Move It Like Mike. I am getting un-muffin topped. I am going to recharge my batts and get out there and get walking.

And here's just the inspiration I've been looking for. Ready. Set.



Wiggle it. Move it. If you've got it, shake it.

You Know. I Know. We All Know. I Love Pretty Songs.

Remember

Remember holding a new babe in your arms. The way she looks at you adoringly. Remember this. Etch it into your memory. Hold tight, it won't be long before she's crawling away discovering, but she'll always remember your voice. Your calm touch. The way you look lovingly at her. She'll remember the way you always wanted to be close. Remember that life changing moment when she just smiles. Grasp it firmly, never let it go. Those coos. The way she's happiest just to be close and listen to your heartbeat. Remember the smell of a newborn. That milky, sweet goodness, just at the top of their head. At the nape of their neck.

....clucky much?

Remember to hit this link to visit more...rememberers.

Careful (He Might Hear You)

One of my great secret joys. Spying on my smalls. I love watching them when they think they are going unwatched. I love listening to their conversations. I love seeing them interact. Discover. What joy!

Lately I seem to be sitting at my desk and the Doctor is immersed in some TV show or another. No Mummy of the year awards here, but when work has to be done, there are some small concessions. It's not like I'm letting him watch Boogie Nights.

It gives me a sweet thrill to creep up on my smalls (in a very uncreepy manner) and watch from afar. I love these stolen moments. But one must be careful one is not caught (please say that last line in your very best English-speak).

Want to experience more care?

I Don't Get Out Much Pt 2

It's been months since I last scavenged some rubbish from the side of the road. Some readers may think I've gone into rehab, but I'm just starting to get the cold sweats. Hallucinations (is that a Parker sideboard in the park?!). I'm wearing tracksuits twenty-four-seven. I haven't washed my hair in weeks. Make-up..? What's that?

The cold hard facts are people, that even the rubbish has been hit by the recession.

No one is throwing anything out these days. Not even the rich people. Not even the people who inherit stuff. They're just shoving all the excess up their un-used chimney flues. They're sewing their old teddy bears into clothing. Pretty soon previously fashion-savvy business men are going to start wearing teddy bear couture as opposed to Zegna. And what about the crockery? I used to find mountain loads tossed out. Now what are they doing with it? I hate to think they're... using it. I'm blocking my ears at the very thought.

Times are tough, and you know who's feeling it the most. Me.

People. I need your rubbish. It gives me unexpected excitement. Cast your mind back to the days when I'd wait for rubbish night to go rummaging through the bin. Baying at the moon. Those were the days my friends, I thought they'd never end.

I'm like a wild hyena sniffing around in the bushes with no fresh furniture carcasses to haul back home. What's going down? What's a gal to do for fun?

I've been continuing my decluttering phase and taking some of the bin paraphernalia to the op shop. Maybe this will set things right again in the world and I will stumble across the next big haul.

PS - Image totally unrelated. Since so many of you* have been asking about the Doctor's scarf I started six years ago, here it is. Getting more scarf like by the minute. Oh and a small vintage belt buckle that I found (in a shop - doesn't count) a few weeks ago. You can't see here but a tiny, tiny, dainty diamante is in the middle. Love that inky blue.

* Read... no one. Ok ok, no one has asked about the scarf. I shake my fist!