Some More Pretty

I've found even more pretty in my tidy up. These are certainly not things that I would ordinarily buy. In fact, I bought a 'lot' at an auction. I only bidded on this 'lot' because no one else was and I felt sorry for it (am I the only one who takes pity on inanimate objects?). But in that lot I got a whole lot of treasure. For $20, I couldn't be happier. There was a bunch of Villeroy & Boch vintage goodies, and just a whole lot of random stuff (such as the plates from yesterday). And while they're not designs that I would see myself buying knowingly, I love how they all just go together. Those florals meshing with the worn-down turquoise design, that dainty rose sitting with the Potter-esque flowers. Perfectly feminine and destined for great things this Summer. Girlfriends, I'm ready for tea parties a-go-go.

Drawings:: China Heights Gallery

Tidying

I've been tidying. When aren't I tidying? When aren't you tidying? It seems to be my mission statement.

PottyMouthMama: tidying.

Not exactly the aspirations I had when I was ten. I wanted to be a lawyer. Then I found out it was six years of uni, so I ditched that idea.

But anyway, back to tidying.

I found these plates and saucers that I bought nine months ago. I told my sister six months, then realised what a big fat lie that was. They've been sitting on our floor in a box, neglected for nine fat months. Oops. They could have had a baby by now. Oh and then good luck to them shifting that baby fat (I didn't mean to write that, my brain said no, my hands said yes).

I like that some have seen quite a large social life, while the others are happy still sitting on the shelf. No matter, they're all treasure to me.

And inspired by this lady, I've started using my vintage crockery. I've been too scared up 'til now, but we might as well enjoy them, instead of hiding them away, it's not like Hunca Munca lives here, right?

As an aside, I made Bills banana and choc chip bread. My goodness, I make it quite a lot and each and every time, it sucks me right in. I'm sure I've gained 2kgs just by inhaling it fresh from the oven.

History Never Repeats?

Yeah you tell yourself that buddy. Because apparently you don't know Tiny. Or apparently Tiny hasn't heard your song.

Here today we find ourselves back at this place. We were just here a few months ago (but I can't for the life of me find the post).

Beads everywhere. Not once. Not twice. But three times. I call it trust. Others might call (me) just plain stoopid. Whatever it is, it's a big colourful mess.

Travel Tips?

My sister is about to jet off to the US for some serious fun and frivolity. Do you have any ace, just gotta know travel tips about San Francisco, Texas or NYC? If so, please share! Any secret holes in the walls that she must visit? Anywhere she's just got to check out? Anything she definitely just has to do?

image via

Possibly The Best Invention Ever

This week, not only was I hemmed in by the red dust storm that landed upon Sydney, I thought we'd 'get out' by going fruit and veg shopping. Strapped Tiny in, went around to strap the Doctor in, and then I saw it, just above Tiny's head. A very non-tiny huntsman. In my mind probably as big as my hand (in reality probably half that). In my mind as hirsute as a Greek man's back (in reality probably correcto mondo). And so there ended any outings for that day. The spider went missing and I could not possibly go into the car for the rest of the day. Or night for that matter.

And tonight, I saw a huntsman hunting around near the smalls bedrooms. Usually I run the opposite way, but I was feeling unusually brave and grabbed the Doctor's favourite gadget. The Spider Catcher. I can catch the hairy blighters, keep them at arms length, and toss them outside. No harm done.

Have I blogged about this before? Well maybe, I don't know, tonight I'm too lazy to check. But given I have a hunch 'tis the season for hairy spiders, I thought I'd report back and let you know, the Spider Catcher comes highly recommended. Tell 'em PottyMouthMama sent you.

Don't Stop The Inner Nerd

I have fast become a Glee addict. I didn't think I would. I fought it, I fought it hard, but I've been sucked in and now I am scouring the interwebs for traces of Glee. Have you watched it? Do you love it? I love geeks shining.

When The Chips Are Down

I'd like to just fast-forward straight to the weekend if I may. I'm sure no one would protest?

This is one of those weeks when Mamas should be paid danger money (for all the stinky nap-naps, snotty noses, late nights, co-sleeping with legs askew and just plain gross things we have to do). I'm sick of this week and am saying so long suckaz to it.

If I had to come up with a highlight I'd be totes scraping the barrel at saying I've really enjoyed the discount on Lindt chocolate at my local IGA ($2.99 a block -yeeehaaaw!). I mean, if that's the best this week has to offer, then something's definitely wrong.

So in a bid to oust the sickness, boring-ness, and just plain fuddiness, the Doctor, Tiny and I visited the nursery to bring a little green into our grey-ness.

I've been blatantly snaffling cuttings of neighbour's geraniums (a la Cath at Chunky Chooky). I know geraniums are not for everyone, but when I think of Paris, I think of looking up at those high apartments with the flower pots in the windows, with colour oozing out. And that's what I want in our home. Except we're not in Paris. And we're not living in an apartment.

So I've doused the stems in hormone powder and bunged them in a pot. This is a no-brainer. A confidence builder.

The Doctor and I also bought some cherry tomatoes. My Mum told me that they were pretty simple to grow, so we're having a go at those too. And some basil. Anyone for some bruschetta in a few months?

The Source

As opposed to hitting the sauce, I have been coming up with some ace ideas. So ace in fact that I am going to share one here.

I haven't mentioned that for the past few weeks the Doctor has been suffering from a double middle ear infection along with tonsillitis. Thrills a minute, let me tell you, and now he's on to his third round of antibiotics. YAWN!

And Tiny has been sick too. Triple YAAAWN! She's been cranky-ing up a storm. The Doctor and I are sporting some ace bite and scratch marks.

Besides the time we've clocked up in the doctor's waiting rooms, we've really clocked up some bills go back and forth. And I have come up with quite an ingenious plan.

It works like this: each time you visit the doctor, you get a stamp on your little 'loyalty' card. After nine stamps you get the tenth visit FREE! Sound familiar? Yes well it is, if you frequent a cafe, then I'm sure you've done similar, but I am definitely the first person in the world to ever come up with this awesome idea for visiting the doctor. So good we should bottle it. Perhaps I should get it patented?

The image above is from here. It's a chocolate bar loyalty, but wouldn't it be super for the dentist? Buy nine fillings, get the tenth free!! What a treat.

Stupid Things I Do In My Spare* Time

I am punching myself in the head as I type. I just did something really, super incredibly stoopid.

I am the proud and lucky owner of three Phalaenopsis orchids. I am a lucky gal. And by no means a green thumb. My Mum and sisters can attest to this.And so can each of the orchids because none of them are flowering. NONE OF THEM! But I try and look after them (the orchids, not my family - though I do try and look after them too), and they are very leafy, lush and green. But no flowers = no cigar.

I visited my local nursery today, gleaned some tips, came home, inspected them, struck a few geraniums in the meantime and then I set to my orchids.

Firstly, word on the street, I had been using the wrong fertiliser. Which is for certs not my fault because someone at said nursery sold it to me. HMPH! So I got the right fertiliser.

I checked the stems and saw a nice little bud on one stem. I was excited. Like I said, no flowers for yonks. And then I bloody well cut it off in a stupid, distracted moment. ERGH! What an idiot. I need Peter Cundall.

Please tell me something stupid you've done. Just to make me feel better. Feel free to make something up.

image via - where there are some good tips!

* I use the term 'spare' loosely

The Myrtle & Eunice Road To Enlightenment: In Just Ten Minutes

Our house is tidy. This in itself is no mean feat. It took me hours of dedication (not to mention boxes) but it's tidy. Regular visitors will not recognise it because now - well you can actually see we have a floor. We have a FLOOR CAN YOU BELIEVE IT?!

But then comes 'the creep'. I call it the creep because before you know it, mess has crept back in, and all my hours of sorting, swatting silverfish and tidying are down the drain, and in my book, that ain't cool.

So we've taken to day one of the Myrtle & Eunice Road To Enlightenment with great aplomb. Well I have, and everyone else has just been swept up into it. Anything to fight off the creep.

Straight after dinner, I set the alarm clock and we were off. However, given my slow starters (particularly the largest male in our roost) I added an extra five minutes to the tab (15 minute tidy up - high fives all 'round) - no one else need ever know of this, and he won't because he only ever visits my blog to look at the pictures.

For weeks I have been whinging saying, 'I didn't make all of this mess, so why should I have to clean it all up?' - and now I don't have to. The smalls are excited. There's a timer. There's excitement. And there's the dreaded red zone.

The red zone is like no-man's land. This is where things that are consistently left out are put into a box, and heading straight to charity. This incites fear. Excitement. Dread. And, at the risk of sounding like I work with Brand Power, it really works.

PottyMouthMama on the road to enlightenment courtesy of Myrtle & Eunice, and together - fighting the creep.

image stolen from Housekeepers for Homemakers. However I do love to wear a maid's outfit during my days at home. And carry a feather duster at all times.

Stuff That

Here's a little something I've been working on for le husbande. He keeps using our couch cushions in bed for reading. I keep taking them back. He keeps taking them. And that's how the story goes folks. So in the interests of non-family warring, I'm making him a cush. Because you know how I like cush's. The centre is a vintage napkin I found at a church sale, onceuponatime.

Hopefully later this week I will take it over to my sister and she can put the back on upside down again.

Roadside Thrills

After the unfortunate cat incident from last week, it was heart-quickening to see another pile of junk in the same street. I had to drop the Doctor off to pre-school, take Tiny to the real doctor, and then I drove back past ye olde pile-o-junk to take my pickings. Everything was as it should be. No tails protruding from boxes. Phew.

Today I scored this cute little beauty case, smells totes musty, but it's in awesome condition.

And this little card table that I think we might make into an outdoor table.

The beauty of finding such.. finds is that if we don't like them, we can just put them back out on the street and someone else might dig them. I don't need a receipt to return them, and that's always a bonus.

Have you scored any roadside thrills lately?

When Garbage Is

I know I haven't really blogged much about garbage finds lately. Not for a while. Not since the Doctor found that old skool skateboard with the handle. I found something too, but I have still been too lazy to photograph it. It's really not that exciting.

But there are other things I must report back to headquarters. Paperwork is always a drag, and so I've been putting off logging it. But no more.

The other day when I was driving by myself, I was driving down a road frequented by myself when I saw a bunch of boxes on the footpath. I slowed, rolled past, then realised there was no one behind me. I had at this point thought I'd seen something of interest. So I reversed as any good garbage hunter will do.

Now's the time for you to leave the 'puter if you have a queasy stomach.

As I was rolling the car back, the boxes came into clearer view. I saw something dark and I thought, hmm, that looks interesting. And then I saw it. Three limbs, three dark furry limbs, a long sleek tail. I have a queasy stomach, and the rest obscured by a piece of paper. I don't even think I have told anyone this (except maybe Matt, but he would have forgotten for shiz), and each time I think of it, my stomach flips. And it kind of goes without saying that I burned rubber to get the hey outta there.

So there is yet another moral here. Be careful when rifling through other people's garbage. Apparently it's now kosher to dump deceased pets on the footpath. Apparently burying them is passe.

In other cat related news, here's one of my favourite children's books. I love me some cats.

When Creme de la Mer Just Won't Do

Here at PMM HQ we have yet another round of ace tips that have come from our editor-in-chief Tiny Superstar. You may remember that she helpfully doled out some very handy style tips, well this time around it's all about beauty. If you're looking to bop the recession on its head and looking for ways to pretty-up on a shoestring, Tiny Superstar has the answers.

Tip Number 1: If served yoghurt, why bother eating it? Healthy digestion is over-rated. Smear it all over your alabaster skin and let it soak in. It's best if you also go crazy so no one can get near you with a face washer to wipe it off. Just so it gets sticky. It works better that way.

Tip Number 2: If you're served pear, just keep sticking your finger into the soft flesh. This is an age-old cuticle treatment. Again, definitely don't eat it, you wouldn't want to waste that fruit on your digestion. Would you?

Tip Number 3: Every single morning, without fail, go into your Mama's bedroom find her very much loved organic lip balm, stick your finger in it and smear it all over your body. Do this every morning and you will definitely shine (who cares if it's from all the olive oil you can perhaps batter some fish on your skin later - remember the recession folks!).

Tip Number 4: You are what you eat. So if you're at the beach or in the sand pit, do eat a little sand. It's nutritionally sound and besides that it's gritty on the tooth - and any chance you can to have a crack at whitening your own teeth, take it. Sea salt and pearly whites - perfect.

Tip Number 5: Don't ever brush your hair. Enjoy the big-hair-day look. Then everyone can tell your Mama that she should be brushing your hair more often. But if she comes within 5ft of you with a hairbrush, go berko, flat cat, scratch at her, and then run away. Works a treat. Who needs a hair stylist and who can afford them? Mother Nature is best.

And there ends today's beauty tips a la Tiny. Feel free to email any questions to Tiny. She'll do her best to bang out an answer on the keyboard).

There's A Moral Here

I don't have any tales of small people meandering through the woods and finding their way to a gingerbread house. Nor do I know of a small red-hooded girl and a very hairy grandmother. I don't even know a Jack with a certain green bean. But I do have a moral for all would-be domestic goddesses.

This morning while in some sort of cleaning frenzy not recognised by man (certainly not my husband at any rate), I tripped down the stairs with Tiny in hand (you see I was trying to get her to come downstairs so we could get the heck outta here) when I entangled myself in the vacuum cleaner cord, trod on the actual plug thing, then twisted my ankle and now I have a very sore, very bruised, very don'teventhinkabouttouchingitorbendingit toe. Thankfully not the big one.

But in case the moral here is not transparent enough, here it is: housecleaning is dangerous. Do it at your own peril. And remember to wear a stack hat, knee pads, mouth guard, steel cap shoes and - actually if you're wearing that, then well, you probably kind of look a bit like a dork, and you know me, I'd rather just leave it.

I'd show you a picture of my toe, but I think it's too ugly to share. Therefore, I deem this a picture-less post.

The New Digs

In the past I have tricked PMM readers. Shamelessly so. I have learnt from my mistakes and am willing to move on. Are you? I hope so, because I have something ridiculously exciting to share. After a lengthy live-in with my in-laws, we have a new abode. This would explain the lengthy tidy ups, chuck outs, eBay flirtations that have been plaguing me the last few months, wouldn't it? Uh huh.

My needs in a home are relatively modest. I don't want anything fancy-pants. I've no need for marble throughout, a butler, or even a bidet, but I am totally thrilled with this romantic new home of ours. THRILLED! It's small, and things will be a little bit of a squeeze (Matt, I promise to keep selling my whole life on eBay), but I am willing.

It's been a long-ish time in the works, and Matt worked tirelessly to keep it a secret, but this weekend he did the big unveil.

Here it is. Who cares if it's made of Lego? And who cares if it only has one wall? Matt made it, and he made it to cheer me up. I can't wait to get the door mat down on this place.

A Boy And (Not) His Bunny

We're chuffed to let you know that we're bunny-sitting for my nephew. The most chuffed of all, of course, are the Doctor and Tiny.

Tiny circles the cage at night like a crazed bunny chaser. She cries when she has to go to bed saying 'Bun, bun.' We appease her with news that 'bun bun' will still be here in the morning. She loves sitting next to him. Delights in him. Almost squashes the life out of him. This is bunny love.

The Doctor had a whole countdown going on to when we were bunny-sitting. Now he's on top of the world and poor 'bun bun' doesn't get a break. Unless of course Mama intervenes, which she has been quite regularly, to give buns a chance. Bunny has been fed only the sweetest of grass, patted non-stop, the Doctor could soon be the Vet?

And there was I last night watching a DVD (more on that later) thinking after a long pet hiatus how nice it was, curled up on the couch, patting the softest fur of 'bun bun' when I felt an even warmer feeling. On my stomach. Mmm. Warm. Straight through the blanket, my hoodie, and my t-shirt. Bun Bun clearly felt warmed too.

The Movies I Don't Talk About

There are a lot of movies that I don't talk about. I watch a lot. Matt and I, we love a good movie. And we hate a bad one. I don't really talk about the bad ones. It's like I want to delete them from my mind. But then I think, well I should put up a lighthouse around them, alert the innocent to stay away - stay away. Don't waste your time! Watch a classic instead!

So here they are, just two of the movies I don't rate:

Made of Honour. No matter how desperate you are to see Patrick Dempsey, it ain't worth it. Matt wouldn't stay in the same room, and I fast forwarded. So bad. Unless you like a lot of cheese. But this is so cheesey it might well give you a heart attack. No amount of Patrick Dempsey viewing can redeem this atrocious waste of film.

He's Just Not That Into You. Scarlett Johanssen sends alarm bells ringing for me. That might mean I wind up being pelted with tomatoes, but really, she has huge hooties and acts the same in every. single. film. I mean she looks great, but she is a dud actress. Go on, throw a rotten tomato. I don't care. I'll stand by that. You go watch any of her films and you could mix and match her and you'd never notice a thing. NEVER!

And if I were Margaret and David, well I would absolutely give them a star rating, so here we go:

Made of Honour - * (that's one star)

He's Just Not That Into You - ** (that's two stars, only marginally better)

Mutton Vs Lamb

You know, last night I did one of those last minute mercy dashes to the supermarket. Well, really, I went to do the fruit and veg (because all we had were some oily granny smiths and an ignored navel orange) and then thought that I best go to the supermarket for a few bits and pieces. My trolley was full of fresh goodies, I headed to the supermarket, got my things, and then headed to the check out. Just to make it clear, I went to the express check out.

I stood there while the woman in front of me and the woman behind me chatted. They knew each other. They were tight. The woman in front of me had a trolley full of fruit and veg too, and had done the same as me. Grabbed a few supermarche items and gone express.

The woman behind me had a basket full to the brim.

I know you're probably right now twiddling your thumbs thinking dear PMM please get to the crux of it. Stop rabbitting on.

So the woman in front, she went and got served - bye bye friend.

I stood at the front of the queue, with trolley in firm grip ready to pounce, when the woman behind me piped up, "You do realise this is the express aisle, don't you." I thought I'd misheard her and said, "pardon" - then realised what she said and said, "Yes I do, and I have seven items, thank you."

There we parted ways.

But man oh man, I had steam steadily pouring out my ears. I was fuming. Why is it that people think it's their right to try and bring you down? I had seven items. The aisle was for 12 items or less. You do the math.

It was one of those cases I wished I had a faster brain. Afterwards in the car I was hoping to drive past her, cool as cucumber I could roll down the window and give her the community service, "You do realise you look like mutton dressed as lamb, don't you?" Then squeal off in a blaze of burnt rubber*.

I wish my brain worked faster. Have you ever wished your brain worked faster (as opposed to wishing Brian worked faster?)?

* I am a safe driver.

totally irrelevant image via

The Doctor & His Cush

Something spectacular happened today. Something out of the ordinary. Something so exciting I almost feel like singing songs very much out of tune. Are you ready? Are you perched on the edge of your seat?

Today I went to see my sister about a cush. Not just any cush. The cush that has been in the works for a couple of months. It was looming over me, and the Doctor had mentioned it and I just needed to finish it. Well actually, I just needed her to finish it.

So here 'tis. The Doctor will arrive home from pre-school and I'll not spill a word. I like it best when he notices small things such as these himself. Or else I get too excited and just tell him. I'm like that you know.

Please note Boombastic and Ned are the best of friends and are hanging out on the bed waiting ever so patiently for bedtime.

But here's a warning for sisters of the world. When stitching, it's a good thing to pay attention and not commence nattering. In the latter picture the cush is upside down. Can you tell what's wrong with this here dear cush?

Lying Under The Trees, On The Grass

Lying on the grass, underneath a huge old oak tree, listening to the smalls playing. The Doctor and Matt climbing the branches, negotiating each carefully, and Tiny, she just runs away, to the bandstand, back she goes, climbing those stairs. And I lie on the grassy green, enjoying a spectacular Spring-ish day. This is life. This is living.

(An Incredible and Yet) True Story

For weeks now I've been finding piles of sand at our front door and wondering where they are coming from. At first, I thought it was just stray sand that had made its way back from the beach to our house in clothes, shoes or sand toys. I swept it up and continued with my day.

However, the next day, another small pile of sand would have taken its place. I swept it up again thinking that perhaps after all it was a small creature that was setting up home near our front door, making its own sandy mansion (a la Cleopatra) and nesting. I swept it up and continued with my day.

And then we come to today. Today is when I had an incredible epiphany. And remember folks, this is a true story. Brace yourselves for the truth is about to unfold.

I discovered where this sand pile was coming from.

Not from cheeky sand sneaking home from the beach. Oh no.

Not a sneaky little ant or bug of some sort setting up digs. Oh no.

Would you believe it came from this vicious (door) snake (well not this one because this one is not mine - mine is just boring, but this one, this one is cute)? This snake has been spilling sand all over my freshly swept floors and it's only taken me more than a couple of weeks to discover this. Sherlock Holmes I am not, Steve Irwin I am not. Homestyle detective buster, yes. Yes I am.

Dear Matt, book me in for my lobotomy pronto. x

I'm (Not) A Celebrity (But) Get Me Out of Here (Anyway)

'We're not in Kansas anymore Toto. And I'm expecting a tornado through these parts any moment now. Oh wait, it looks like it's already been.' - (not) from the Wizard of Oz

Seriously folks, I am tidying up our house. I've been selling stuff on eBay. I have a boot full of goodies for the op shop. I am recycling like a maniac. And yet, our house looks as though a paper/clothes/toy bomb has exploded. Where oh where have I gone wrong?

I've lost my tidying mojo and am willing to live in this cesspit of debris because there are no homes for all this stuff. I've even discovered a box that hasn't been opened since we moved here four and a half years ago.

In times of mess and more mess, what's a gal to do? How do you deal with the clutter and paper traps?

Crafting with the Smalls

Today at PMM we've been keeping busy by getting our hands dirty. We were going to come at you and talk kiddie craft, and yet - it would seem highly hypocritical given that a certain someone started eating the freshly made playdough. And not one to be put off by a high salt content, she then went on to taste test the red watercolour paint.

Therefore our crafty content of the day resulted in me trying to get as much of the paint out of a certain someone's mouth without a) being bitten and b) causing a certain someone to gag and thus vomit. And then one did what one could only be expected to do in such a situation, one called the Poisons Information Line just to be certain that a certain someone was not going to sprout an additional head or start talking in tongues (when a certain someone's tongue was already bright red due to a certain someone's desire to digest some red pigments).

And then I spoke to Matt and mentioned the incident whereby a certain someone ate a certain paint product to which he replied, 'well I wouldn't eat it', and I replied 'yes, well you're not 20 months old, are you?'

So it is that our kiddie craft went wayward, the Doctor curled up on the couch with a suspected ear infection, and a certain someone whisked off to downtown lunch-ville and then to bed to sleep off any red pigment related craziness.

And, well you may wonder why in tarnation one PMM would have this image on her blog? I wonder the same, but in keeping with craziness and paint pigments, I present this. And you can click through here to see more Dogue than Vogue images.