Have You Seen This?

One of my all-time favourite friends gave me a copy of the BBC's 'Outnumbered'.

Have you seen it? If you haven't, I demand you RUSH, do not walk, or even run, I say RUSH out and get your filthy mitts on a copy because it is officially HILAIRE!

It's a British comedy about life with kids. It's largely improvised. It's wholly funny. It's spot on. It's ace of base. And I can watch it over and over again. And I command you do too if you know what's good for you.

E to the GADS! Day 29 of 30: Thank You Letters

Oh yowsers, you might be wondering how my thank you letters are going. Me too friends, me too.

I've made a list, and I'm checking off my numbers as I post. So far I am up to 10 posted, 13 in the works - I better get cracking since I only have 1 measly day to go to complete this 30 day challenge. And given my track record, I am going to do this one. It's achievable. It's not easy. I sometimes feel a little awkward, but being grateful is a good thing - and I love the written word.

It's a lovely ritual, to write a letter.

The actual writing of the letter. And a thank you note is particularly nice - because you can relive whatever you're thanking your thankee for, all over again. Of course, I need to write with a particular type of pen. My handwriting is horrible in ballpoint. Loathsome. So it must be a fine tip. Yes. It must.

The addressing of the envelope. Sometimes I get crazy and try and lavish some crazy loopy writing. Or make it look particularly beguiling. Sometimes I leave it classic.

The licking of the envelope. The sticking of the stamp.

And the physical posting of that envelope. My smalls take turns to post the letters into the oversized red boxes. Precision is needed to aim it through the slot. Imagining the route that little letter will take.

The arrival. Upon receiving the note, the thankee can tear into that envelope, or perhaps they're swanky and own a letter knife.

But back to more pressing matters. Do you have a preferred pen? Bics make my writing messy. I love an Artline Felt Tip. I am dedicated to the cause.

Speaking Of Which...

A dinner table conversation from a couple of nights ago:

Tiny: Mum, can you say 'beaver'?

Me: Beaver.

Tiny: Good girl!

Bush. Brazil. Beaver. Here's some music to mix things up.

image via Beaver Pond

Is Brazil Better Than The Bush?

I once had a Brazillian wax. It wasn't a high point in my life. In fact I remember lying there, a captive of the beautician, in a very unflattering position. I clearly remember wanting to punch her in the head and run away half waxed. But I stuck it out. Stuck being the operative word. Through her horror stories, her causing me pain, her telling me all about previous clients and their dedication to the Brazillian, I was stranded. Marooned at the hands of a waxer. I lay there and wondered why the heck I had decided that I needed to try this. And immediately I knew I'd never be back - either to her - or to Brazil. I didn't need to stamp my passport. I was happy to stay in the bush.

And then I went through the perfectly maintained landing strip phase. I'd routinely be waxed and maintain, maintain, maintain.

There's no way in the world I'd shave, employ electrolysis, use depilatories or any other hair removal scheme. Waxing it is for me.

But how to decide what's up in the land of bespoke bikini lines? Bikini line trends wax and wane just like fashion - it changes as does our skirt length.

As we have celebrities - and I use the term loosely, such as Britney Spears, Paris Hilton etc baring all to the world, so do the hordes follow. But not me. I stand defiant. I am not going back to the Brazillian. Not ever. It's Wrongtown. Post code unknown. I don't care who is going to Brazil, but I am not. Brazil is good for Havaianas and soccer. But not for bikini lines.

I read a great piece by SMH's Jacqueline Lunn recently about her good friend of many, many years, declaring that unless a woman had a Brazillian, he wasn't interested. She was outraged. So was I. Who the heck does this guy think he is dictating how a lady garden should be maintained? Does he subject himself to the Boyzillian? (Gosh I hope not, that's all sorts of wrong).

But that's not what I'm here to talk about today. Nope. What I want to talk about is whether the bush is better than Brazil. In my belief, yes. Yes it is. I'm not talking a forest. An unruly forest. I'm talking a bush. Not overtly cultivated, but a modicum of trimming required.

Kate Moss is allegedly a fan of the bush. In fact maybe we could rename her Kate Bush.

There's a whole market of lady trimmers out there. A growing market of hairy horticultural tools. What of you? Sitting there, reading this. What are your thoughts? Brazil or the Bush. Cast your vote and be heard.

Disturbing.

Check out Katy Perry's response to the Sesame Street hoo-har on SNL here.

Knot Sew Crafty Does It Again

I just saw a post from Alexis at Knot Sew Crafty pop into my reader. When I see them. I read them. She always finds some cool stuff. This one is so, so pretty - I had to link, and share. So clever. And if you want to see the making of - click over to Alexis and say hola and high five while you're there.

Oprah Autotuned

Have you seen this yet? It makes me laugh. The melodrama. The autotuning. And my favourite piece - Australia's biggest icon ever - not the Qantas plane - but Captain John Travolta coming down the stairs. He's Australian, right? Er.. No? Just everyone's favourite non-couching jumping Scientologist.

I'm thinking this will make a great ringtone. Just to really, really drive everyone stark raving bonkers.

Are you excited that Oprah and 300 of her best friends are going to be hitting our golden shores? I bet you are counting down the days.

Naturally Beautiful

Iconic model of the 60s, Veruschka, who once guest starred in the cult film - Blow Up, appeared on the runway for Giles at London's Fashion Week this week. She's a pretty wiggedy chick - not only is she a model, but an artist too. Check out this video to see some of her work - she's pretty fly. Ageless, poised, intelligent, beautiful at any age. I'd like to hang with Veruschka.

Sesame Street Hoiked It

So here's the clip for your viewing pleasure.

But What Do You Think?

Word on Sesame Street is that Katy Perry's clip got pulled because of her apparent 'risque' dress. I mean, it's not the most demure outfit - but seriously, parents have a problem with juggernauts? Juggernauts are the bearers of mama's milk, the life-juice for so many babies. Breasts are part of life. She's not wearing vinyl at least. I'm not a big Katy Perry advocate, but how is her outfit any more saucy than Wonder Woman.

However, Matt has just informed me that Lynda Carter is a heckovalotta hotter than Katy - well yes, that's true, but what's in an inch or two of cleavage. This is boobie racism in my book!

What four year old is going to say - 'Hey mama, that's a whole lotta hootie going on there?!' If they're saying that, there's something wrong in that per-ticular household. Capiche?

Peeps, this is grown-ups sexualising hooties. Plain and simple.

What say you mamas?

Life Is A Box Of Chocolates

It's just a shame that sometimes the box of chocolates are left in the car. In the full sun. Melted chocolate is good. Liquid chocolate, not so much.

But life is a cabaret old chum, except for when you get a hole in your fishnets, and your tap shoes run out of taps.

If you were to be author of one of these overused sayings, how would you end this:

Life is a...

Today, mine would read: life is a really fast rollercoaster, zipping up and around, upside down, sideways, backwards, and then a prompt stop. Whiplash never felt so good.

The Long Track

The Doctor and Tiny were busy busting each other's bubbles yesterday. Some days, they just wake up, and they hassle each other. Man it does my banana in.

I sent them outside. Such a splendiforous day. Who could be cranky in the sunshine? Who?! No one, that's who.

They got creative together and built an epic outdoor train track. Right down the side of the house, on a slope, so the trains just kept on a-chuggin'.

I love those sunny days when the bickering gets sorted out by themselves and they can play happily together. In the meantime I got to clean the floors and tidy the house a little. I would absolutely have preferred to be sitting in the sunshine playing trains today.

And I'm Not Apologising

Shocked to the core PottyMouthMama readers shunned her next couple of posts. But she stood her ground, she was not, no, she was NOT going to apologise for despising 'popular' music performing under the guise of U2, Abba and Crowded House. And INXs. And anything else that's lame to the power of lame. John Farnham. Dido. Ergh, PMM's list went on and on.

So only one person dared peak into the next post. And that is you.

Oh hello there my lone friend. I'm glad to have you back. Solidarity in the non-music love. We like quality, not quantity, right?

I'll tell you what else I don't like. Crushed velour. Just the thought of it makes my skin crawl and my hands feel itchy. EeeK!

Anyway, the Doctor has saved up for a new Lego game which we're playing as much as possible. We've had a few issues with this game, but I've just realised there are step by step rules on the website - so if you do happen to snaffle any of these Lego games (which in my opinion are all sorts of awesome - because you can continue to re-build the game and tweak the rules, which means STRATEGY STRATEGY STRATEGY!) you can check out the website - it's pretty darn nifty. The Lego Lava Dragon game is absolutely right up the Doctor's alley - because it's all about dragons right now.

It is totes about Lego here. Remember when Matt built me my very own dream home? Ahhh sweet love.

PS - Do yourself a favour and read this post by Jacqueline Pascarl. She is one of my favourite writers. She's intelligent, funny, and always writes interesting and relevant (to me) posts. Enjoy.

PPS - If you're a Big Footed Babe, then join Tali and my new Facebook page, aptly titled: Big Footed Babes.

I'm A Little Disappointed

The Brownlows have been and gone for another year. Sigh.

You may be wondering why the sigh. Why am I so enamoured with the Brownlows? After all, I'm no ravenous sports fan sitting on the couch with pom poms in hand. On the contrary, I detest sport!

No, the reason for my disappointment, my sad malaise? Hardly any trashy outfits this year. That's why. Boo to the hoo!

Since when did the Brownlow girls decide to actually get dressed before heading out?

Apparently 2010 is when.

Thankfully Brynne Edelstein appears not to have checked her emails and didn't get the memo.

Three cheers for Brynne!

images via SMH where you can view other outfits as you please. (I think Felicity Harley's is one of my favourites. Whoever she is.)

I'm Coming Out

It's time I came out and told the truth. I'm coming out.

I do not like Abba.

I do not like U2.

I do not like Crowded House.

I certainly do not.

The thought of having to listen to any of the above makes me fearful for my sanity. The thought of any of the above coming on the radio or the discotheque makes me shudder. If someone puts the CD on at their house, I have to leave immediately.

Surely I am not alone. I've sent Matt into a tailspin and he can't believe I didn't declare my disdain for U2 and Crowded House prior to our marriage vows. Apparently he's not so concerned about Agnetha.

Tell me you don't like them. You know it's the truth.

image via WizBang Blue

Hey Baby!

It's almost the weekend - yeah baby. This weekend I think I am going to get a hair cut - I'm rocking a shocking fright wig. I'm growing it out, and yet, I can't stand this in between stage. Do I stay or do I go?

We're going to rock some serious time in the outdoors and make the most of the sunshine, if it sticks around.

I'm thinking of re-reading this book. It's one of my all-time favourites.

I'm going to listen to this CD by Luluc. Matt gave it to me this week as a surprise, he knows I love love love them. And this CD is a knockout.

And I'm going to play catch up on my thank you notes. I am way behind, but I have managed to bang out a few here and there, and it's been fun.

What are you up this weekend?

Tiny Style Tips:: Styling Up A Storm

Tiny style tips are well overdue. Tiny de Bouvier is back. With a vengeance.

When heading out for an afternoon with some pals, or family, make sure you put an extra bit of effort into your outfit. It's the little things that count.

If you choose to wear a tutu dress, don't wear it as a dress, hitch it right up under your little botbot. But that's not the Tiny style tip of today. No siree.

The Tiny style tip du jour? Mix and match your shoes. There's no hard and fast rule that shoes should match. Mix them up ladiez! It's the hottest look not to hit the catwalks this season.

Manolo wishes he came up with it. Jimmy couldn't Choo-Choo-Choose. Christian Louboutin put his boots on and walked all over you.

But Tiny? Tiny encourages the pick and mix philosophy. Try it - don't deny it!

New Teeth!

A few weeks ago I was talking about my wonky, crooked teeth.

The good news is, that this weekend I embarked on a quick fix. I realised my perfect teeth dream.

I can hear you groaning. Worrying - oh no, PMM is a goner.

But fear not friends! I am so pleased with my new fangs, I'll share a new pic of my beautiful new pearly whites.

Not only was this treatment ridiculously swift, it was really cheap - and painless! Howzat!? And as a bonus, Dr. Allen threw in some teeth whitening while we were at it.

Just as an aside, Bonjela have just released a study which puts to bed Robin Barker's (who by the way is ordinarily my sometime homegirl) idea that teething does not cause pain. Robin dear, it does. When my teeth move, they hurt, baby getting new teeth = hurt. My babies had huge sad-ons when they were teething. I don't blame them.

Back to my teeth - if you want pearly whites like mine - and let's face it - who wouldn't head to your local supermarche and buy this. Seriously. Edible dental work? What's not to like?!

The End Is Nigh

My computer has been dying a long and slow and very ugly death.

It constantly blue screens me. Makes an alarm noise. It's crazy. But then I got it fixed. It was ok. We were back, friends in love. And now a just a few mere months down the track - it's latest affliction? Well the AC adaptor won't connect with the er, connection, and so I have to hold the cord in while I type one-handed. It stinks. Imagine blogging/working/paying bills/living la vida loca with one hand in some precarious position - oh and I can't move because it fritzes out and flatlines all over - while one-handed. It stinks.

I'm on Matt's computer because it does not have these same issues. Thank goodness.

I have a history of 'puters with afflictions. My last laptop died because the Doctor (at just 18 months of age) snuck over with his cup o' milk in hand and splashed the keyboard with a healthy dose of moo milk. I went into denial, left the computer to go to playgroup, returned and the screen was covered in pixelated computer speak. I freaked out and the computer dude made an emergency trip to my house, and had to literally drain the laptop of milk - and make a coffee with the score - and then thankfully rescued everything off the hard-drive for me. RIP Laptop.

Computers, sometimes you make me MAD!

If any computer companies wanted to send me a 'puter, I am totes happy to chat about how fabulous you are 'til the cow's come home. Milk companies need not apply.

Carousel Dreams: Ended By A Mean Carnie

See that top photo. My goodness. Tiny is hilaire. Seriously. Look at her face! I left her for one moment and she was horrified to be riding the ponies by herself. But holding her around the waist was not enough. So I sat on the back of her pony, and together we were going to gallop through green open fields, our horsie eating oaten hay, basking in the sunshine, trotting 'round the lakes, or even just going 'round and 'round in circles on the Carousel.

You see, I don't ever remember going on such a lavish Carousel. Look how pretty it is.

When Matt and I went to Paris - about two hundred light years ago - we visited Montmartre, and the darn Carousel was closed down for repairs. I mean, dudes - I want to ride the Carousel. I want some Amelie action. But it was not to be. *Cue Melancholy and the Infinite Sadness*

Saturday at Luna Park. It was bound to be different. Vive la difference!

So there we were, ready to ride, and the carny comes around to do his last check before sending us on our ride - and then the damn man told me that I couldn't ride with Tiny. That I had to stand next to her. That this was a one person pony ride. Clearly he didn't get the fact that Tiny is called Tiny for a reason - she's a featherweight.

Thanks carnie. For taking my dreams. Smashing them to the ground, then stomping on them. Then letting your mongrel dog pee on them. Thanks for nothing punk.

3-2-1: Welcome To The Weekend

We were relaxing into the weekend. Enjoying a wee sleep-in. And then were rudely awoken by a small child who thinks lipstick, bright red lipstick, all over her hands is a fab idea (note to all 2.5 year olds: it's not). Then spend half an hour removing the aptly named 'Stop Traffic'. It certainly did just that.

Saturday afternoon and we headed to Luna Park in the afternoon. I've never been. Not in the ten + years I've lived in Sydney. Clearly the smalls hadn't been either (unless they'd been sneaking out late to go ride the ferris wheel).

We didn't tell the smalls 'til half way there, and then they were excited. Well mainly the Doctor because Tiny wasn't in the Luna Park loop.

We only bought four tickets (Luna Park is not the most budget friendly activity), so we could ride the ferris wheel together and watch the sunset. We climbed into the cage and rode 'round and 'round, admiring the pretty city - while the Doctor and I clung to each other. We are two little fraidy cats.

We scored two bonus tickets and rode the carousel - which I have to say - is the most charming ride of all. Except for the fact I got booted off. Yeah thanks to the carny for that.

Well I Like It. And So Do The Bears.

I keep hearing this song on the radio and I love it. But I have to give credit, I spied it first over at Teddy Bear's Wednesday because that girl is the music zeitgeist. If you want hits on ace music, Jess is your girl Friday.

Oh Yes. I like that.

I Am Plum Shickered!

Just before I launch into my daily spiel, I just need to set something straight. I am not some big wig powerbroker in pinstripe. Oh my goodness. The thought of me in a suit? YIKES! The only suit I have ever owned is by Aussie designer Marnie Skillings - and it's all sorts of awesome. And it ain't pinstripe. Or even a suity suit. I look ridiculous in suiting and shirts. You will most likely never see me in a shirt because a) I hate ironing and b) I just look so silly in anything of that nature. I'm look a wolf in sheep's clothing. Like a wolf in grandma's nightdress. I just look stoopid. With a really hairy nose.

Anyway, I am just checking in to let you know that this week has been good. But hard. If I was single, it would be a breeze, but factor in two small children, my goodness, so hard - and particularly for them.

I don't leave the office until around 5:30pm and don't get to pick them up until past 6pm. It's such a long day for my little poppets. I feel bad. Really bad. But they have been really exceptional, and I feel so proud of my little family this week. We've kept everything really, really simple, and in a slow, tired kind of way, it's working.


We've only got to stumble through four weeks of life like this until - ta-dah! Matt is going to switch-a-roo with me and look after the smalls. Which is a massive relief for me as we all know how bad I am leaving the small fry with babysitters. Super bad.

I'll say it again just for kicks. Matt is going to be Mr Mum. That is such a dodgy title. Sorry Matt. I had to put something cheesy in here to keep my readers dosed up on proteiny-dairy goodness. Ya dig?!

Anyway - one more thing to report back - yesterday I realised something really, super great. Something life changing. Lego is right near my new work. I mean HELLO! All Christmases have come at once. Well they will once I get my forklift license and get the heck into that warehouse. HOLA!

Find Andrew

You know when things really resonate with you? My Dad told me a while ago about this father who was riding his bicycle through Europe looking for his small son who had been kidnapped by his former wife. A man who left his job as a fireman to scour the world for his son? Man, that just breaks my heart.

And then I saw SMH today and my heart leapt. Ken Thompson has finally had word that his son is in Amsterdam.

Louis des Bernieres talks about it his struggle to find fair ground here.

image via SMH

Yet Another Really Genius Idea

Work went well today. I was nervous. I almost cried when the Doctor told me, to allay my nerves, that "you will be ok Mummy. I felt nervous on my first day too, and then the next day I made some friends and I felt much better. You will be ok. Kids and grown-ups can feel nervous too!"

Man. I love that little dude.

And while on the drive to work, stuck in traffic, stuck in traffic so bad I read half the paper before I got there, I devised a super-fantastic idea.

Listen up. Listen up real good.

You know those T2 and T3 lanes? The ones that I never know if I can drive in if I have two children in the back? The ones I avoid because I worry the two smalls don't make up two people? Yes. (Well can I??) Those ones? Well I have a really super fantastic plan, and basically, you are going to totally dig it and when we next go to the polls, you can vote for me for PM because this is SOLID GOLD! Bobby Katt will make me Cat in the Hat-a-licious!

What if we made those lanes for parents commuting? They could be PC lanes. Parents Commuting lanes. I know. Controversial. I'll polarise you yet. Because what I am about to say is going to make you smash your fist on your keyboard, throw your laptop out the window and swear at me. But I am PottyMouthMama. Hear me roar. Grrr.

You can only use these lanes if your children are under school-age, or you have a wee little baby who won't stop wah-ing, or if you're in a rush to get to your child ie little Tommy won't eat his devon sandwiches because he has a piece of Lego stuffed up his nose. Or if your teenage child has set fire to the school oval and you have to stop drop and roll to put the damn thing out. He's naughty like that. You can not use this lane if your children are above a certain age.. Let's say 17. We don't want those lanes congested with 70+ year olds taking a leisurely drive two suburbs away to visit John-John Jnr, not when I need to get to work peeps!

Do tell me what you think, because I am expecting MENSA to back me up on this, to send me a little jaunty MENSA crown and to crown me a GENIUS. Or alternatively, I could stick to my day job. Now that I have one.

PS - I think I've linked to this clip before. But I lover it all up. So you'll just have to sit tight and suffer in your jocks.

Autopsy Of A Vacuum Cleaner

Do you ever have to autopsy your vacuum cleaner? I find more and more, that I am donning the dust mask and gloves, grabbing a scalpel, and trawling through its innards.

It's not pretty people. Not only is it stuffed full of dust, it has lots of hair (gag) and random objects. It's like running the gauntlet of dust disease.

I love CSI. But I do not love my own version of the autopsy. Emptying the vacuum bag is not high on my love-list. Actually it doesn't even rate. It's not glamorous. It's not even vaguely fun. It's just disgusting. The only reason I do it is because I seem to vacuum up every stray piece of Lego that belongs to a set, and then I have to retrieve it.

I love vacuuming. It's the only piece of housework I love. I do it with gay abandon. I love vacuuming so much that I have written about my love for it several times before on PMM. Need some expensive counselling?

My FIL has observed me before, rummaging through this dense gunk - and asked why I don't do it over a bin (as it is, I lay out a piece of newspaper and go through it with a fine tooth comb, or my fingers, whichever comes to hand first. Ok it's my fingers - but they are gloved!). Clearly he doesn't see the need for the autopsy, and maybe thinks that I do this sort of thing for kicks. It's cheap. It's not fun. But it's cheap. Could that make that a fun kick? Er, no.

Please tell me I'm not the only housewife performing the slightly unorthodox vacuum bag autopsy. Tell me you're doing it too. Even if you're lying.

image from i don't know where. eep!

Hip Hip!

It's Anna from Rummey Bears birthday today. It is! High fives to birthdays because they always make me so full of fun and silliness. She will probably knee cap me if she sees this post.

But Anna, let's have a big fat slab of cake when next we rendezvous. No more sharing a muesli biscuit. It's cake or nothing! Capiche?

As for me, I'm nervous about my first day at work tomorrow. I have a to-do list to get through tonight - squeak! What the heck was I thinking? I didn't even do the cooking I was planning to get through to do. Yowsers.

Anyway - back to Birthday Girl - say hi and wish her a very happy birthday - won't you?

image via Martha - Anna, maybe I'll make this for you?

Really Big Love:: The Peroxide Crop Chop

Cast your mind back to when I fell in love with Emma Watson's cropped 'do... Remember?

Well now I'm in a new coiffured state of frenzy, big love, heart palpitations, sweaty palms, finger on speed-dial to my trusty hairdresser.. Michelle Williams at the Venice Film Festival - phwoar. I love this style-oozing individual. She always looks tres fabu! I love her peroxide pixie-do. She is a stylish minx if ever I saw one.

And while I was tempted to chop it all off a la Watson, I refrained, and kept my tresses growing, ever so slowly. Some of you said YES PMM go the chop! But I've decided I need my long locks again, just for a wee while (if I can abstain from the snip-snip). I've shaved my head a couple of times before. Plus sported the gamine look, but I just can't go back. Not right now.

image via The Guardian

I Want To Do Some Clarke-ing

This morning I took the smalls to see Justine Clarke on her 'Great Big World' tour. Man that woman is all sorts of awesome.

We got there a little late and the hall was already pretty full. I found a little spot towards the back - and my two smalls, hand-in-hand went to the front of the stage. Thankfully it wasn't Pantera. They danced, cuddled, jumped and clapped. Uber cutesie.

Justine and the musicians had the smalls captivated, dancing, even the parents were singing and rocking out to the familiar repertoire.

If you get the chance, snaffle some tickets. This afternoon Tiny has asked to go back to Justine Clarke - as well as saying she wants to 'do some Clarke-ing'. I'm guessing this is dancing to JC? Well that's what we're going with at any rate.

And if you do go, check out the ace Beci Orpin artwork. LOVE! (and check out her collab with Gorman - LOVE!).

EEK!

The big news at PMM HQ is... I'm going back to work. Not that I haven't been working these past five years, but I've scored a great part-time role, and I'm excited, but totally petrified at the same time!

I have worked freelance for the past half-decade (man that sounds like forEVER), and have occasionally gone into the office when I needed to.

But starting this week, I go into the office three days a week. Eek! Pretty soon you'll see me devouring Wall Street Journal, wearing pinstripe and toting my laptop while I grocery shop. Yeah. It's going to totes happen.

Not only am I going to have to be painstakingly organised (no more lastminute.com dinners), but I have to shop for a new work wardrobe. Prior to being a mama, I enjoyed my vintage wardrobe. Sadly, I don't think a lot of those pieces are going to cut it. Or fit me.

My question for YOU is: if you work (as well as parent), what works for you? How do you keep all those juggling balls up in the air?

You may be wondering about the post and the photo? Mmm, well it's Anna Friel. She's a working mum too. Think her wardrobe might work for me?

Happy Days!

Today is Sunday. Day of Fathers. Well this particular Sunday is.

We woke to the Doctor at 6:15am shuffling in with his present, asking Daddy to open it immediately. We bought a bit of extra snooze-time, and he came back shortly after ready, ready, ready to unwrap. Tiny snuck in soon after and we've all been wide awake ever since. Yawn.

The Doctor's present was THE best. So cute. Preschool made a bound book of each child's drawing of their daddy, with a little blurb about why they love their daddy. Uber cute. UBER CUTE.

We juiced oranges. And celery. And apples. And made pikelets with a few stray raspberries tossed in for good measure.

We love our Daddy Cat!

You give good book time. You do good belly raspberries. You do great rumbles. You co-produce super ace little kidlets. ...Another?

----> Happy Father's Day to my great Dad too! I've left 43 messages for you. Maybe you can call me back?

Budget:: Lashes?

I have rosacea in my eye which means I have to be tricky with my eye cleaning. Weird, yep, I know, but every night I have to make sure my eyes are super duper clean or they get all gross and gammy. So I avoid wearing a lot of eye make up on most days because it's a pain in the hiney.

When we went to the wedding a few weeks ago, I bought my first tube of mascara in over a year. Whoa nelly, I am crazy like that, but I realised I had been missing the mascara.

I love make-up. I am a self-confessed lover of make-up. So when I went cold turkey with mascara and tossed it to the kerb, it was a sad day.

But lately I've been thinking of false lashes. I love the look of them. Really. Love. The. Look. While dying my lashes is dandy, I already have black lashes, so I don't really see any effect. But fake eyelashes, or extensions, my oh my, me likey! Alas and alack, I do not have even the faintest idea how to apply these suckers myself, and would be worried that half my eyelashes would fall off in the middle of a meeting, giving me a jaunty-eyed look. Or fall into my cup of coffee and then I'd drink them and then be left with a milky eyelashy mo. Hawt.

I really, really want eyelash extensions. But my budget does not.

I think this is a 'first-world problem'. Uh huh.

the beautiful Twiggy via Erin Ralph

Back Me Up Here

Whenever we go on holidays I seem to pack a lot of stuff. Matt hmphs and pmphs about it - but what could be worse than getting somewhere far away, and forgetting THE beloved softie, or some extra snacks for along the way?

Our car is always packed to the gills with lots of stuff. Portacot. Games. Books. Clothes for all sorts of whether. It's the nature of travelling with children. And even for myself, I like to pack some spare clothes in case someone *ahem* wants to take me out for a dry martini and a romp on the dance floor.

My tendency to overpack harks back to days of yore. I clearly remember my own mum being hassled by dad for packing so much 'stuff'. And now I've started our own version of this apparent family tradition. I even receive a few sly digs from my FIL about how full our car is.

Back me up here gals. It's a mama's perogative to overpack right? It's mandatory for road trips to not be able to move an inch because you'll disrupt the equilibrium of pillows, spare blankies, toys, books and a bit of crafty stuff just in case you get a chance.

To make myself feel inherently better - I found this website - Wheels Near U - which features a whole gallery of overpacked cars. At least I am not the only one.

2 Letters Down, 28 To Go

I am well into my thank you note writing. I've written two, they're addressed, they're stamped, they are ready to be posted whenever I next see that telltale pillarbox red. While I can write a letter a day, I can not get to the post office 30 days running. Sorry receivers!

I'm on the lookout for some cute new notelets to add to my collection. As ever, Lark carries such a great range of pretty/cute/funny/quirky that it's troublesome choosing! But how cute is the Able & Game card above? I met Anna of Able & Game fame at Finders Keepers a long time ago. I chat to her on the Twitternets now and then too. She's a swell gal.

Please vote for me and send me away!

Uh Huh

Yesterday I left it late to go and grab some fruit and vegetables. I've not discovered anyone really close to our new abode to buy really good produce, so I venture back to my old stomping ground - where everyone knows my name, but Ted Danson isn't around.

We quickly did the rounds of the butcher, the fruit and veg, and then drove to the supermarket. We were doing really well, whizzing around the aisles, Tiny clutching her 'things to pay for' tightly, Matt met us and the four of us traversed the supermarket together. How's that for solidarity?

We got to the check out and Tiny - out of the blue - starts saying top-of-lungs "You're 'gina. You're 'gina." Not just a couple of times. Not even quietly. But chanting it. TOP OF LUNGS. I don't know who was more embarrassed. Matt tried to change the subject and try to refocus Tiny on her new hair bands - NEW HAIR BANDS! The teenage checkout dude didn't make eye contact and scanned us through super fast. I took Tiny out of the trolley and sent her off to look at some 'flowlas' that were conveniently at her height. I was waiting for the reprise of "You're 'gina, you're 'gina," but it passed. Thank goodness. I need one of those trumpet mutes for Tiny to shove in her mouth whenever she feels the need to become a tiny chorister.

Despite how publically humiliating it is, it's a small (tiny) improvement on her standard: "I love you Mum" she tilts her head - then - "Mum... You're poo!"

Ah sweet toddlers.

30 Days Has September:: The Handwritten Letter

September is a big month. There's 30 Days of Fashion & Beauty. There's Ted Noffs 30 Days Has September. And it's the debut of Spring for 2010.

But beyond that, for me, it's 30 days of thank yous. Australia Post is going to love this.

I do love a good thank you note. In particular I really like writing them, but receiving them is also a joy. Who doesn't love a handwritten note? Much more exciting than a bill (actually, let's amend that, there's no excitement when it comes to bills, unless it's this bill - hmph!).

I also happen to love stationery. This pretty set is from Australian gals Poppies for Grace. I can personally vouch for their products, they're almost too pretty to use. But I will.

How better to exercise my gratitude and my handwriting than by penning a handwritten thank you note? I've emailed people before to tell them how rad I think they are (Sheila Kitzinger, please email me back - I love you), but my thank you notes are sorely lagging.

30 handwritten letters in 30 days?