Nit Patrol: You are under arrest

Tiny lay in my bed on Friday morning and then started scratching her head vigorously. She then proclaimed, "Mum, my head is so itchy."

Alarm bells rang. Well not really, but in my mind, alarm bells were ringing, lights were flashing, there was no ticker tape parade, I was in a state of emergency. 

I grabbed Matt's phone for the torch, and shone it bright. I couldn't see anything. But only because I needed my glasses - so grabbed them too. And then I grabbed Matt's torch again, and started the search - which didn't actually take long because I found Tiny's hair pets within a matter of seconds. 

"Quick Tiny, into the bathroom."

And then nit patrol started.

She was in the shower before you could say, heads, shoulders, nits and towels, nits and towels. 

Thankfully, because of my glamorous life as a non-mummy blogger mummy blogger I had been sent some nit stuff, some time ago - and had held onto the comb, fearing this day would come. 

I worked that conditioner through her hair like sands through the hourglass. And then I worked that comb through her locks like... Like a tight steel-toothed comb through a kilo of nots in a ball of wire. Not easy. Oh dears. 

Tiny was patient. Wrapped in layers of towels. We ruled that nit patrol. We combed and combed, and wow, I don't know if I have ever written about how much I hate parasitic creatures (does anyone love them? Does their own mother even love them?), but yuck. We got so many of those disgusting hair pets out, it was impossible to count. 

Four days later and we've done two more nit patrols. Last night's nit patrol we counted each as we got it out, gave it a name and wrote it down, before we sent it off to a water resort. A dark and hot water resort. 

Tiny in subsequent patrols was particularly wiggly 

Sayonara Kevin, Jen and Ben (they were twins), Sheneke, Trevor, Carrie, Larry, all of you. So long and farewell, and no thanks for coming, and don't return. 

Met Gala Ball 2014:: Emma Stone, And A Bunch Of Others - As Commentated By Tiny

So tonight I showed Tiny all the photos from the ball. This may have been an error because she then asked me if I was going to give the celebrities her feedback. 

I told her no, I didn't have their number. 

She replied, 'Maybe try and get their dial.'

Without further ado I give you Tiny's (abbreviated) style commentary. Honestly. She wanted to keep doing all of them. But I sent her to bed. 

 Blake Lively: Beautiful mermaid, love the bit on the ground like a mermaid tail. 

Emma Stone: Beautiful, like a stunning little flower.  

 Charlize Theron: Beautiful because it has two stripes and I do like loops a lot. 

 Gisele Bundchen: She looks like slime. And I like it. 

 Kristen Stewart: Like a rockstar that's on stage, her face is like a red shining fish (!)

Rosie Huntington-Whiteley: I think she is a golden chest of money.

The Doctor got interested in commentating too:

I like the dress, but not the wearer. 

Stuff I Do

This weekend was wildly exciting. WILDLY! 

You will never, ever in a million years guess what I did this weekend. And you're going to be insanely jealous when you find out.

Because guess what.

I cleaned out my kitchen cupboards.

I know. I am wild. I am a party animal. I have such a compelling social life. 

But to be completely honest, it was quite satisfying. 

We live in a small rented house. It's actually no bigger than a Kleenex tissue box. When we moved in, in order to be able to move around, we just put things away - thinking "We'll come back to that and organise it once everything's unpacked."

And it's been four years. And we never did. Until this weekend. 

I sorted out my vintage vases. Yes. I have a collection. I found all this old paperwork, warranties etc, I find little pieces of family history. I tossed out some things. Like vitamins dating back to 2009. I made a few cupboards look pretty, yet I am still not finished. 

BUT on the way home from doing a little family walk, I saw an antiques store closing down. This is basically like walking a cat past an open tin of sardines. I had to have a look around, though the words from Matt rang in my ears. "Lexi, we're meant to be decluttering. You can look, but you can't buy anything. AND we don't have any money."

Well that bit was true. And yes the other bit was true too. But vintage things are my weakness. I love other people's old stuff. This is well documented from my bin diving days. 

So Tiny and I went for a quick snoop around, and in just 35 minutes I fell madly in love with these vintage shelves. Well I knew we barely had any money in the bank. But they were pulling at my heart strings. 

Everyone got really mad at me (everyone in my family, not the shop) so I took everyone home. Then (shamefully) asked Tiny if I could borrow some money from her money box, and pay her back with interest. That little dolly let me. 

So I snaffled one row of those tin shelves. And yes, Matt told me they were dysfunctional, nothing fits in them properly, but I got them. I know I am ridiculous. 

But I really love them. 

Croup is Poop

I asked on Facebook the other night for people to finish this sentence:

Croup is…

There was an assortment of answers, with the majority - in short, responding that croup is poop.

It totally is.

Tiny went to bed on Wednesday feeling a bit under the weather, a sore throat, a sniffly nose, but in good spirits. She came into our bed in the middle of the night and got in between us. I felt her cheek and she had a good old-fashioned fever sizzling up inside of her. I took her temp and it was around 40.

We wound up later in the night in the steam room, aka the bathroom, where all good croup activities take you.

Matt wound up sleeping in Tiny's room and she slept with me where I could keep a wet flannel on her head and keep an eye on her. And that's how it's been for the past three days, and how I am guessing tonight is going to pan out. You can of course probably detect my excitement levels charting off the richter scale. 

Croup is an arsehole.

It's stressful, scary, and Tiny keeps getting panicky because she couldn't breathe. Fair play. 

I remember watching 'Anne of Green Gables' when Minnie May has the croup, and Anne Shirley comes to the rescue by puncturing the child's throat. Seriously dudes, croup is not to be messed with.

Over the years we've had many trips to ER due to the Doctor being afflicted with it at least a couple of times every year when he was small. I can vouch for it, it always sucks.

For the last few nights we've had broken nights sleeps. Well me mainly because Matt would sleep through a lion eating his head off. Me? I wake at the sound of a piece of paper floating to the floor. Tiny's been my bed buddy, and by now, we're kind of getting sick of each other.

We sit in the steamy bathroom until she can bare it no more (which is about 2-3 minutes after we walk in). 

I'm tired. She's tired.

So croup, this is a message to you, you suck. Move along because I am sick of you. And so is Tiny. 

The Week That Was. Actually. The Fortnight. Let's Go With The Fortnight

Dudes. What happens to the end of the year where it just wants to give you a good whipping and upset your applecart? 

First Tiny had her big tumble and that poor little face just made me want to cry. It was bad enough not being with her and being stuck at work. But when Matt told me it looked like someone had just punched her in the face, ugh. People. So sad. My poor wee babe.

And then two nights later she woke vomiting. Delayed concussion? Nope. Gastro. With a vengeance.

I thought it was all the cherries she hoovered down pre-bed. Turns out some violent bug had invaded her wee body and wanted to shake things up. And it wasn't a swift recovery, but she got over it. Then we went up to see my Mum and Dad for a couple of days, came back, the Doctor played basketball, got home - oh hey Mum, I think I'm going to vomit. Oh and we spread the Gastro to my Dad too. Sorry Dad.

And so started a week long bout of gastro for the Doctor. I wish I was making this shizz up. 

Every night I'd go to bed thinking - please let us crack it tonight. And in the morning I'd see his pale face and go - nope. We're still in down town Gastro-land.

So. Many. Sleep. Deprived. Nights.

If you had a newborn I'd offer to look after them - except they'd get gastro too. I was up and down that many times, washing bed linen like Gustavo Fring's laundromat. Someone reimburse me my sleepytimes.

I came home from work on Friday and Matt was fast asleep in bed. And he stayed that way until Saturday morning - because oh, let's see - did the GastroFairy visit? Yes. Yes she did. 

Saturday afternoon was Tiny's party - and Matt and the Doctor were quarantined. I had to do all my prep solo. Including bleaching the whole damn house because who wants to spread gastro? Not I said the Little Red Hen. 

Saturday afternoon I was what is officially known as: POOPED. 

I went to bed - and would you believe on Sunday morning I woke up with such a sore throat Schick and Gilette might as well have gone head to head doing a demo saying 'well whose blade is the sharpest'? 

I know. I have hit delirium and I might never return. 

This was the fortnight that was. Someone send me a freaking medal. And a chest to pin it on.

It's Been Quiet Here

But not quiet on the home front.

For example - Tiny slipped over in the bathtub last night. Matt took her up to ER with a nice little gash in her chin. I sat waiting for news. They sat waiting for five hours. She finally came home with her chin glued. Poor sausage.

I'm back into exercise. I know. Stop the press. I got sick and had to cut my C25K short momentarily. Instead of exercising I began pinning exercise motivation. I became obsessed. This served only to make myself feel even sicker, annoyed, sad I wasn't exercising, and to motivate others. Well it's not all bad, right?

In other ground breaking news, the house is a mess, I need to start organising a birthday party for Tiny, and Christmas is now only 99 sleeps until Christmas.

Just saying. 

Please send help. SOS. 

Poo. And Other Fabulous Words.

I'm diarising poo here. 

Tiny is romping ahead with her reading and writing and it's all starting to click.

Which means numerous times daily, she tells me she can spell poo. P- double O. POO! She thinks it's hilarious. I think it's hilarious. And it now means we're both on poo watch. 

Which is why I took a photo of this awesome graffiti - the best of street art really. No pseudo-pumped-up tag. It's just POO. 

You might screw your nose up and think "PMM, don't encourage the poo talk."

Well I will. And I can! Because anything that encourages Tiny to read and write, and anything she can conquer - well it's WINNING! And poo is a funny word. I don't care who you are. 

I Did Reading Groups. It Was Good.

Due to work, I've never been to volunteer to do stuff at school. It kind of sucks because I know my smalls would love to see me in the canteen - and nothing would warm the cockles, even the sub-cockles, of my heart more than seeing their smiley little faces and giving all of their friends ice creams.

However this year, the tides have turned, and I was delighted (not exaggerating) so discover that Tiny's class had reading groups on my day off. Never has the school received a note so quickly from me, signed with my time and my availability. Boom! I am in!

Except last week I forgot I had committed to reading groups. The teacher came up to me in the playground to remind me that I was doing reading groups - and my face fell. To the ground. On the asphalt. I have the memory of a colander. With added drill holes.

I had pre-arranged to go sniff my friend's newborn. Nothing. NOTHING. Not anything was getting in the way of me sniffing in that newborn's sweet milkiness. Not even reading groups. I had been daydreaming about that wee babe for weeks. It was just hours from being a reality: me drinking in that newborn smell - I sound like such a creep - but I just love them. (NB: Matt, I really, really want another baby. Our family is not complete. And NO! A cat or dog will not fill the void. And PS we're not even allowed to have a cat or dog due to our charming landlord - THANK YOU OVERLORD).

Generously the teacher said I could start this week. I have to tell you, I was a bit nervous, never having being involved in reading groups.

And so it is, I found myself ecstatic to be sitting in a cosy classroom with about 23 small people, a few other mums and one teacher.

Tiny was overjoyed and clinging to my leg. Sidling over to me when she was meant to be at her teacher's attention. Blowing me kisses. She always slays me, that cuddly girl of mine.

I got the rundown on what to do - and away we went! Reading about... chairs! I work in furniture retail - there's only so much furniture chat one can do. Thankfully the books are short.

And then our group got in trouble for being too rowdy! Scandal!

Between you and I - I was delighted our little group had some joie de vivre! Better than being a group of wet fish talking about chairs!

It was SO fun - not dancing on tables fun (not that I've done that in about 10 years), but heartwarming fun. I am wholeheartedly so excited to be able to sit in with Tiny's class and do reading groups with them.

After school, to celebrate life (and reading groups) we went to the cafe for a round of caramel milkshakes and hot chips. Living large. Yep. That's me. Coyote Ugly stylie. 

Good Cop//Bad Cop:: The Disciplining Dilemma

Tiny is one of the most feisty little tornadoes you'll ever meet. 

She's a real fireball. 

One minute she's full of cuddles, snuggling into you, the next a wildcat. 

This last couple of weeks has left the Doctor scratched, crying and sore due to Tiny's feisty outbursts. 

It might sound funny - but the reality? It makes me sad and cranky - the Doctor wears these scars because his little sister can be a real brute. He, on the other hand, is Mr Placid. At almost eight years old he's the cuddliest, warmest, chattiest little boy. 

So tonight, when I was in a separate room, I heard a little outburst - came out to the living room to discover the Doctor crying and Tiny standing beside him looking nonchalant. 

I promise, you would have seen steam coming out my ears. 

Just yesterday I had spoken with Tiny (with my Mum) about how she wasn't to hurt her brother, and how it made everyone sad that she kept scratching him. I'm not talking little scratches, I'm talking cheetah scratch marks down one side of his face, or the long scratch that went shoulder to the middle of his chest. 

I sent Tiny to her room and tended to the Doctor. She'd pulled his ear - and hard - because she said he was annoying her. Tears streamed down his little reddened face. 

Yesterday we'd told Tiny that if she continued, we'd have to punish her. And that would mean taking her Barbies and her Monster High dolls away. I've tried other ways of disciplining her, but the little punk doesn't give two hoots. She smirks, does this lame apology and then re-offends a few days later. 

I sat her down and talked to her about hurting the Doctor. About how sad it made us. And that her dolls were going. 

She smirked and said "Well at least you're not taking my Trashies."

I snapped. And she cracked. Here started hysteria in the household. For over an hour there was sobbing, uncontrollable sobbing. But it wasn't just Tiny crying her heart out. The Doctor sobbed because he felt guilty.

I am the bad cop. But I didn't feel bad (I am SUCH a hard ass). It was hard to punish Tiny, but ultimately, I know this is what she needs. Boundaries. 

image via here

Tiny At School

I realised I hadn't shared an update on Tiny and school when I received an email asking how she was going. 

I think we're six weeks in (?) and it's better. Definitely better than those first couple of weeks.

Tiny actually told Matt that she LOVES school and had had her best ever day earlier this week.

We have our ups and downs, and there's a bit of confusion when she comes out mid-week in normal clothes, and we have to let her know it's a school day, but she's cool. 

She's still shy, but she's warming up. 

We do readers every afternoon during the week, which, let's be honest, can be a bit of a drag, but when it comes down to it, it takes just a few minutes - and it's helping her. I can see her growing in confidence, and starting to blossom. 

It's easier on the heart now, much easier. 


image: Original 1957 Press Photo 2x2 Negative Lincoln School Bubble Gum Blowing

Tiny's First Day of School

Tiny was so freaking excited about starting Kindergarten. She was pumped. 

She rose early in the morning, got dressed, we brushed her hair to get the world's biggest knot out, did cute pigtails, packed morning tea and lunch, and then off we went. 

She was so excited she ran the length of the block to the school gate. 

Once we passed the school gate, a look of worry clouded her little face. I could see the nerves kick in, and I felt them too. I spotted some familiar faces and quickly pointed them out to her. Immediately the tension dissipated and she relaxed a little.

We walked hand in hand to her classroom (which was the Doctor's Kindy classroom) and despite the crowd of parents, found a spot at a table. The girl sitting next to her was playing and we discovered her name was Lily - Tiny's favourite name. I started chatting to her mum and the girls played, cautiously. Tiny spotted someone from daycare - and then declared: "You can go now."

De javu. I think this happened when the Doctor started school. 

So I left, after standing at the classroom door and spying on Tiny for a wee while. I didn't want to leave my wee Tiny. It hurt my heart. Finally I walked down the stairs and off into the playground where I ran into a friend, broke down - and told her not to talk to me and not to be nice to me.

I chatted a bit with some other mums, and then left the playground for the day.

In the afternoon I arrived early, got the world's best park (there's a lot of world's best here, right?), and mentally prepared myself for seeing my tiny Tiny walk out for the first time. I gathered with the other parents, and out they came - schoolbags bigger than their bodies, hats covering their faces rendering them unrecognisable unless you crouched down really low. 

I could see Tiny's shoulders. Slumped. She looked down. Once the bell rang, and she spotted me, she lit up, but only temporarily. We held hands, collected the Doctor and then she said: "This didn't turn out how I expected it."

We talked a bit and she concluded that her teacher had been cranky at the class because some children had gone missing. We talked about it a bit, I told her the first day is always the hardest and that I hoped the second day was better for her. She was so depleted. Poor Tiny.  

After devoutly wearing her school uniform all holidays, I had hopes Kindy would be amazing for her. She'd be a duck to water. 

I know it's early days, but I feel sad for my babe. Why was that teacher cranky? Why on the first day of 13 years of school? 

Second day of school and Tiny told me "it was better, but not much". 

Whoa. First Day. Year Two. Whirlwind Alert.

What happened to me? 

Happily blogging one minute - all quiet on the Western Front the next. 

Tiny starts school tomorrow. In equal parts (maybe) I'm happy because she is SO flipping excited, and then struck by grief that my babe is growing up all too quickly. I remember the day she was born. How did we get to first day jitters already? 

On her first birthday she commando crawled through the grass at the park to get her mitts (and teeny tiny new baby teeth) into a juicy nectarine. She was so full of glee. And this is how Tiny is. Keen for the next adventure.

Over the weekend she climbed into my wardrobe - which is no mean feat, it's a mess and it's small, and there's quite a bit crammed in there. I asked her to get out to no avail. Then I told her to get out, to which she replied bluntly "Mum, you're always trying to ruin my adventures."

So tomorrow will be another big adventure with tissues in hand. For me. Not for her.

And then there is the Doctor. BOOM! Straight into year two without so much as a look back. He's happy, he's confident, and in some way - this is how we want our kids. Independent. But my goodness, it definitely hurts. 

Are your smalls starting school this year? How's it going?

PS - Have you seen Moonrise Kingdom? You should. It's SUPER GREAT. Wes Anderson. SUPER GREAT!

School Shoe Shopping

This is a sponsored post

Nothing beats a well fitted pair of shoes. I can testify to this - I have an unusually narrow and long foot, so much so, that when I buy shoes, people question whether I really am a 12. For the record, I am. And when it was time to get fitted for back-to-school shoes, every year it saw my parents talking me to Clarks to get the best fitting shoes. I wore them almost every day of my school life. 

My Mum always taught us that it's better to invest in good quality, well fitted shoes, and it's something that's always stuck with me. It makes sense, doesn't it? Your feet carry the weight of your body, and have the power to make you feel great if your comfortable, or downright cranky if they're not fitted correctly. 

Last week the Doctor and Tiny visited Clarks to get fitted for their new sparkly school shoes. Tiny loves hers so much she wore hers home. 

Clarks gave me the opportunity to interview Brenden Brown, a practicing podiatrist and spokesperson for the Australian Podiatry Council - who filled me in on why well-fitted shoes make a sound investment for small feet (and any feet for that matter). 

PMM: Why is it important to get school shoes fitted?

Brenden Brown: Research from the Clarks back-to-school 2012 report revealed that at any point in time, 41% of Australian children are wearing the wrong size school shoes, contributing to issues such as childhood obesity, clumsiness and back pain.

The average Australian school child spends 82 days of the 200-day school year in ill-fitting
shoes. With over 3.5 million school children in Australia, podiatrists estimate that our kids
are spending 2.3 billion hours in the wrong size school shoes each year.

Blisters, flat feet and cramped toes are not the only consequences of narrow or
unsupportive shoes with more than 3 in 5 surveyed podiatrists stating children who wear
the wrong size shoes are less active at school (from feeing uncoordinated / having sore
feet), and 38% believing ill-fitting shoes contribute towards childhood obesity.

I wore Clark's throughout my school career - Kindy to Year 12. What's
changed since then? (Since that was *gulp* almost 15 years ago.)

BB: Shoes are now designed for both comfort and support. We’re now aware of what’s
required for our children’s school shoes, and they’re designed around the anatomy of the
foot. An example of this would be the fact our feet aren't designed to bend in the middle,
which is why Clarks school shoes are rigid through the middle of the sole, whilst flexible at the toe, allowing the shoe to move with a child's foot

I heard it's a good idea to 'break in' your school shoes before school starts. Why is that?

BB: We all want the first day back at school to be as trouble free as possible, so giving your kids a chance to break their shoes in beforehand will make sure their growing feet are completely comfortable in their new shoes from day one.

Velcro vs laces. What’s your verdict?

BB: I would always recommend laces if possible, they cradle your children’s feet and allow the school shoe to move and work with the foot. Laces are a good indicator of how well your child’s shoes fit. Clarks has an expert fitting process, called the 10-step Check and one of the stages includes checking that the lacing gap on your child’s shoes should be no wider than the width of you finger (approx.15mm) for a good width fitting. Velcro is a good alternative for children who are unable to fasten their laces.

Is there any good news for people with narrow or wide feet?

BB: Yes, Clarks is your answer! Clarks offers 18 styles, 184 sizes and 6 different width fittings. Recommended by more than nine out of ten (92%) podiatrists for a child with healthy feet, Clarks has trained fitters around the country dedicated to helping you find the perfect fit.

Any tips on how to teach my seven-year-old son how to tie his laces?

BB: Clarks has a great and colourful ‘Learn to Lace’ card which you can pick-up for free instore. The age-old bunny ear technique has worked well with my daughters too.

Any extra tips for back-to-school shopping?

BB: I would recommend that you do it when the children are tired, so that they’re more likely to sit still when being fitted. I would also do it when they’re starting to get a little hungry, so that you can give them a little fun snack to keep them preoccupied during the fitting.

About Clarks 10 Step Check:

Clarks has trained fitters around the country offering advice on the following 10-step expert fitting process:

1) Heel Grip: with the child seated, pull firmly to ensure no heel slip;
2) Width: with the child standing, make sure the shoe shape suits the foot shape.
Feel for excess pressure on the little toe;
3) Depth: make sure there is enough depth. Remember that too many creases
equal too much depth;
4) Length: make sure the child is standing correctly. Feel for the longest toe. There
should be approx. 15mm growing room (the width of your thumb);
5) Arch: make sure the shoe cradles the arch;
6) Toplines: the ankle bone must be clear of the topline. This may not be
necessary if the topline is padded. Make sure the shoe fits neatly against the foot;
7) Back: the shoe must fit snugly around the heel;
8) Instep Bars: ensure enough holes for adjustment or velcro must grip firmly;
9) Walking: the age-old walking test around the shoe store is still a valid method
for reviewing the shoe’s fit If you know what you’re looking for, check to see how
well your child’s walking, if they feel comfortable and make sure there’s no heel
slip;
10) Laces: when fastened correctly, the lacing gap on your child’s shoes should be no wider than the width of you finger (approx.15mm)

Are your smalls ready to head back to school? Are you?

Getting Ready For School:: 11 Tips

Tiny is starting school this year. My little Tiny starts Kindergarten in just over a week. 

Oh how it hits me with a mixture of feelings. I know I am going to feel the eight bar blues when my little girl walks through the gates, and even moreso when I have to turn and leave her there. Unbearable. I know. I'm a complete sap. 

But joyfully, Tiny is so beside-herself-happy that she's been wearing her school uniform most days - and embraces anything to do with starting school. Sneaker shopping? Yes please! New lunchbox? Awesome. It's pretty darn endearing to see her so excited. 

I've been thinking about things I did to make the start of school transition for the Doctor a little easier. It's a big change going from the cloistered and loving environment of preschool, to the oversized playground of primary school. 

Below I've created a little list of things that helped us when the Doctor started school - maybe they might help you and your little people too?

• Velcro. Velcro. Velcro. As much as I detest velcro, I learnt to embrace velcro. It saves the stress of learning to tie shoelaces. And - on a gross front, shoelaces - when in the bathrooms, can get wet with wee. No teacher - nor any child - wants to touch wee-sodden shoelaces. Plus, teachers tend not to want to tie shoelaces these days. Funny that. 

• Wear in the lunchbox. We have those Tupperware lunch boxes - but the clips on them are quite stiff if they're brand new. As our preschool teacher once told us, when you're sitting in front of the TV, open and close that sucker to make it easier to open. And then get your child to see if they can open it. If they can't - job well done. If they can't - keep going. Teachers are scarce in the playground. If they can't open the lunchbox, there's a good chance they won't get any lunch.

• Don't pack too much. There's something in us mums that means we turn into that crazy woman that thinks our child is going to starve at school. They're not. And they won't. Do not put too much food in your child's lunchbox - for two reasons. 
• Generally there's an eat before play rule, but if you pack so much in that lunchbox, your kid is going to be sitting on the bench trying to wolf down that massive picnic you packed - before they can get a chance to play. Which means not only less downtime, it means less time being able to play with their new school mates. 
• If you pack too much - chances are, it will also start to come home. In tact. And destined for the bin. Keep things simple - and it's a good idea to pack something you know they like. There's nothing like food for comfort.
  
• Spare undies. Spare socks. If your little person has an accident at school - there's a good chance the school will have spare uniforms to wear (if you can pack a spare uniform, sweet. If not, don't stress.). However - who wants to wear random communal undies? No one. And if you wet your pants, there's a high probability that your socks will be wet too. Pack some spares for the first term at least.

• Tissues. Call me crazy, but the toilets sometimes run out of toilet paper. To you, your little Kindergarten kid might be big and independent, but at school - it's daunting - and who do you call out to when there's no toilet paper? I packed tissues into the Doctor's pockets just-in-case. Trust me. 

• Send a ball. Or a skipping rope. In the first few weeks, it's tough. Your child might not know anyone, it's hard to remember names - and the playground is biiiiig. It's hard to find your friends, so if you pack a ball - like a rubber handball - they have something to play with, and chances are, other kids will want in on the sweet handball action (or skipping rope). 

• Don't ask about the day as soon as you get in the car. Don't even think about it. Those little Kindy kids are so zonked, so, so zonked, and it's hard to remember what you did during that buzz of the first day, week, month. I know you want to know what happened, but be patient, let them have some downtime, then ask specific questions - like "Did you go to the library today?"

• No extra-curricular. Like I said, those little people are so worn out by the new routine, new faces, new names - by the time they get to 3pm - they are 100% exhausted. Minimise stress and simplify things by cutting down on extra-curricular activities. It will make everyone's life easier. 

• Bathrooms: Ensure your small knows where the bathrooms are. Very important! Show them which toilet to use, what sign to look for. And also prep them on what to do if the toilet cubicle is in a state of disarray (check the other cubicles if they are free, particularly if you have a girl and there's wee on the seat). 

• Drop Off and Pick Up: Try to make sure you're not too rushed in the morning so you have a few minutes in the playground before bell time, and make sure you tell your child where you will meet them. Kindergarten teachers generally have to wait with their class until each of the parents turn up, so try and arrive before the bell rings to keep everyone happy and stress free. 

• Pack Your Own Tissues: You might just need them.

PS - The 'Starting School' book by Janet and John Ahlberg is pretty good. Reading about school if helpful too, your local library might have some titles that are worth checking out.

Have you got any getting ready for school tips to share? 

Why Hello There

Thank you for all your kind comments over the weekend - it really touched me. I always think of that adage - a problem shared is a problem halved (is that right?) and think it absolutely applies when you're grieving. You feel less alone. Blogging is good like that. 

This last week, losing my Aunty so suddenly, has made me study life more closely. Re-assess what's important. And think about my own mortality. 

Sally was someone who touched the lives of many people within the community. I am buoyed by the thought that so many people will remember her effervescence and warmth. 
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It's a crazy time of year and I feel like I'm spreading myself thin. We're all in the same boat. 

I'm rushing around the city and feeling like I'm not getting any time to myself - but it will happen. I'm taking some time off over Christmas and I can. not. wait. 

Tiny had her Christmas concert at preschool today. I had to employ my tips to help myself from crying. Because right now, if I leak one tear, I'll soon be sitting in a puddle. It was bittersweet - Tiny's starting school next year - I can't quite fathom how we got here so soon. One minute she's a mermaid swimming into the world, the next she's been wearing her school uniform almost all week. She's so excited. 

My Tiny turns five on Sunday. My funny, smart, thoughtful, kind, cheeky Tiny turns five. She's almost not tiny anymore. 

We were going to have a party for her this week, but it felt like too much right now. Emotionally I just can't do it. So we've postponed until January. Someone tell me that's ok. I knew I should have organised it back in September. December babies totally luck out.
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Four weeks ago my sister and I started group personal training. I wasn't sure what to expect, but I've really loved having a reason to get up in the morning - to meet with my sister and get our heartbeats up underneath the gum trees before most people have even switched their alarms off. 

Personally it's meant more changes - not just with diet (less alcohol, less sugar, less crap), but it's meant I feel like I get time to spend on me. I think as a mum it's super important. It's valuable to feel valued and it feels good to look after myself. 

What about you? What are you up to? 

image via here

Dancing On The Inside:: When Tiny Got Her Groove Back

When Tiny told me she didn't want to go to dancing anymore, I thought about how to handle it - and then decided it was best if we didn't force it. Like many of you commented (thank you) - there's plenty of time to go back to it if she wanted to. 

Tiny wasn't keen to be part of the concert, and I think she'd found it difficult with some of the other little girls - so we stopped going. But I did ask if she'd like to go to the end of year concert so she could see her cohorts in action. She said yes, and this weekend we were in the audience to watch them dance their little hearts out.

She really, really loved watching the concert - as did I. I think Tiny's favourite thing was the amount of sparkles and the heart costumes - she kept talking about them so much.And then she said she wanted to go back to dancing next year. 

I am such a dork - my daughter wasn't even in the concert and I got tears in my eyes - actually no - it's pollen! Those sweet, enthusiastic children are only small for such a brief amount of time - it made me think about how brief childhood is - and how in the matter of a few short years - things change completely. 

I am going to do my darndest to make this Christmas super smashingly fun to the max. I'm going to get my Christmas craft on ASAP - and get a tree this week. You heard it here first. 

I've been saving up to buy the smalls a trampoline - I can't wait to bounce on it with them. When Tiny got her groove back - and when Lexi threw caution to the wind and re-discovered the fun. Boom! We're in business. 

Day 15:: Frocktober - Is That Wedding Bells I Hear?

Oh sweet love! Tiny proposed to me today. Almost newd, on the footpath, with a cigar box and a vintage diamante necklace. She's a little bit avant garde, a little bit cray cray - but my Lord. I love that girl like there's no tomorrow. 

Rather than donning my wedding dress today (I couldn't bear full length all day - sorry to disappoint) I went a little bit bridal with this vintage number I picked up at the Bondi markets approximately 203 years ago. 

The woman in the know, Kelly Doust, tells me it's an 80s rehash of a 20s shape. And who am I to argue. 

And my oh my, I love this frock. So floaty and feminine. Much like the nightie I wore as a veil ( Does my bun look big in this?), and then Tiny wore as her frock. 

Today's outfit:
- vintage frock from Bondi markets
- Country Road cropped cardi
- vintage diamante necklace
- my wedding earrings
- Trenery heels (I've told you once, I've told you a thousand times, the only company to make shoes that fit me)
- And Tiny is wearing a vintage nightie that I do believe once was worn by my Mum (thanks Mum!)

Thank you to ALL OF MY AMAZING sponsors. I am so stoked that we have hit over $1800 - and we're only half way. I am truly chuffed and will stay away from my jeans! It's hard work! It truly is! 

Can you spare $5 and help me stay out of jeans for Frocktober? All funds go towards ovarian cancer research. 

Tiny Style Posts: How To Get The Look

I've been inundated with emails, phone calls, faxes, tweets, SMSes, skywriters and pigeon couriers asking, nay - demanding - "Just how in tarnation do I steal her style?"

Yes you saw it on Instagram, and now you want to rock the get up a la Tiny de Bouvier. 

Well here is the lowdown for your fashion showdown.

How to get the look, Tiny style:

- wear a t-shirt as a skirt - we like to call it a t-skirt. It's even better if it keeps sliding off throughout the day so everyone sees your knickers. Multiple times. 

- Converse hi-tops are not optional. They're standard. Wear them.

- A fur jacket is not so much about warmth as it is about looking like a Wookie. Wookie's are the epitome of style. It's only so long before Carine Roitfield starts to tap that

- want to dress your outfit up in a snap? Add a bow tie! Don't have a bow tie? Add a hairband with a bow on it. And make it snappy

Day 6:: Frocktober - Land HO!

Arrrgh - ye filthy skurvy loving plankers, where've you been all day? Me I've been hopping around with me sea dogs, emptied me flagon and searched high and low for me parrot. 

We've been looking for the X that marks the spot - we think we found it - GOLD! JEWELS! And rain. 

Our friendly photographer - aka the Doctor would only give us 3 frames today because he didn't want his shoes to get wet. 

Kids. We need to talk. 

Tiny clearly was conjuring some other kind of supermodel pirate in that top pick. Then second pick she got back to looking for yer land lovers. Arrgh. 

Today's outfit: 
- Lee Mathews smock dress
- Lee Mathews tights
- I have a Lee Mathews problem. 
- er... that belt again
- vintage scarf 
- empty decanter - my husband's

Sponsor me here. Go on! You can do it! 

Day 3:: Frocktober - South Pacific Silliness

With only 28 days of Frocktober to go, I knew I had to step things up. Shake them from the very core. I'm so rock 'n' roll sometimes it hurts me late at night. I know you know how I feel. Especially because when you had studs added to your favourite biker boots, you had the studs put on the inner of your shoe. Yeah. Me too.

So here's me: South Pacific Stylie. I'm about to wash that man right out of my hair and dance around with Honey Bun. I'm cray cray like that. 

But before I give you the lowdown and the scoop de la scoop on this particular frockie, let me tell you a little ditty about a Tiny girl in the city.

This morning when Tiny saw me getting dressed in this little number she said: "Mum... You look a bit fat... Not a bit thin in that dress."

And that's when the belt was added. I made friends with my belt today.

Might you consider sponsor me? Sponsor me! Do it! Go on, do it! I promise I have even more special frocks to share. And did you know Tiny is doing Frocktober too? Day 3 and she's still into it. Together we are going to help slay ovarian cancer. 

Today's outfit:   
- vintage handmade numbermade from some unnatural fabric - picked up for fiddy cents at a flea market
- belt - my Mum's vintay-ge
- scarf - vintage

Gold star, top of the class.