Do You Ever Take Pets Shopping?

Tiny and I went grocery shopping today. I had been putting it off for almost a fortnight. We'd been living on rice and red beans. Not really, but it was beginning to feel that way. I managed to pry myself off the couch and go where no trolley had been before. Ok they've been there plenty of times. Let's face it. Those trolleys are dirty, heinous little creatures that stay out late and get... trollied.

Tiny and I conquering the aisles. Look at us shop. Woohooo! We're like Thelma and Louise of the supermarket. Watch us ride over the edge of the frozen section.

It was only when we got to the checkout that I realised I had inadvertently brought one of our pets with us. I saw a silverfish scuttle from one of our green bags under the scales. Yuck. I pretended I didn't see him, though he was a rather over-sized little blighter. Double yuck. Anyone got any cures for silverfish? I keep bringing them up here because they keep appearing - right here. Right in my little home. I don't dig 'em.

On a brighter note, the Doctor stayed home and hung out with my parents in law. He came back into our house hauling some mean loot. One of which was this delectable box - how gorg is that? Now I'm just figuring out how many Thomas trains it will take to switch it out and make it mine. Mwhahahaha.

Blog Burn Out

Sheesh, who knew Blogtoberfest was going to send me reeling? I am really feeling a little weary from all this blogging. Can I have a wee break? Or am I committed to forging onwards, regardless of blog burn out?

I did wind up sneaking out to the bin last night. At 10:30pm. Matt was on his way to bed. And I was watching my movie, though my mind was wandering to my bin. At least I am faithful to my bin, right?

Well, I should have followed my gut instinct. It's never really failed me. Last night's bin contents - a banana skin (really! these people don't even recycle, let alone compost), a used paper coffee cup (recycling) and a whole bunch of other garbage (recycling!) that I didn't feel the urge to document, let alone sift through.

I braved the elements. Surely this earns me a day off blogging? Please Big Cat?

And just before I pop off out into the long-awaited sunshine, Drewzel of Blog Portion played in a nameless meme, that originated from here, so I'm playing too. Otherwise this post would be forever known as the post with no photo (kind of like the street with no name).

Here are the rules.

Instructions:

Take a picture of yourself right now.

Don’t change your clothes, don’t fix your hair - just take a picture.

Post that picture with NO editing.

Post these instructions with the picture.

Here's me and Tiny. The world's tiredest baby. Clearly no photo-shopping has occurred.

PottyMouthMama: Bin-Raider

Last night I set off at 8:30pm. I left it late so that all the neighbours would be tucked up in their little houses doing what all neighbours do. Eating dinner, watching re-runs of Wheel of Fortune and listening to their children crying on and off until they finally succumb to sleep. Oh that's just me that does that, well hmph!

I drove up again, just in case it was another large stash and I needed the boot space (amidst some prams, green bags and a smattering of sand toys) to hide the haul. I got out of my car. Firstly, here's my mistake. I didn't check to see who was around. When I hopped out, I was holding a torch. I was wearing a hoodie. There was a man, 60 or so putting his bins out, who stopped to watch me. Checking out what this hoodlum was doing. I was like some crazed deer stuck in the headlights. What could I do to meld with the 'hood? I looked at my mobile. Hindsight tells me this probably looked even dodgier. I then popped the boot - I was freaking out because he was standing there watching me (I hadn't even gotten close to my bin yet), touched a few things in the boot and popped my torch in there. I don't need to explain that right then, my brain stopped working. I then walked down the road, away from the bin, away from my car, and away from the staring man. What was I going to do? Who knows. I waited 'til he walked up his driveway then I returned to the car and drove off home. My heart was pounding a little too hard.

Matt was surprised I came home so quickly. So empty-handed. I recounted the story. I watched the end of my movie (watch it, but the book is brilliant, and you'll read it in half a day and never, ever forget it, I've read it a number of times, and it's amazing each read) and then went back out at 10:10pm.

I figured by this time the driveaway dude would be tucked up in bed watching his stocks plummet while his wife ironed his socks.

I decided to make a quick kill. Bin number 1 - paper recycling - full, but my friends, I just couldn't be bothered. If the treasures hadn't floated to the top, I just wasn't going to get into it. Call it tiredness, call it laziness, or call it lack of mojo, whatever - I seem to be losing my will to dive. Bin number 2 - glass/metal/plastic recycling - some cut glass...in amidst poison bottles. There was no way my un-gloved hands were going that-a-way.

And then there was the cherry. Another gleaming white skip in the driveaway. A big 'un. I stood in the street wondering if I should chance it. It's now that I realise I have forgotten to tell you one important point. There was a light on in the kitchen. A booby trap? Were they peering out from their windows just waiting for me? I figure that because it's just the kitchen light, that perhaps it was accidentally left on. I sidle down the driveaway a wee bit, comfortable that my mother-in-law (who recently received honours in law) has told me it's not trespassing until you get to the front door (I may have that wrong - so don't blame me if you get busted). Peer into the bin. It was dark outside. Oh so dark. But with a full moon rising, I could see the skip was completely empty.

I might tell you now that this was a relief. I know. You're probably shaking your head at me. Relief that there was nothing? Yes, it's true. How much excitement can one take? Not much more! The adventures of me and my bin are adrenaline pumping, but is my wee heart going to give out one day because I find... vintage tea towels, pillowcases, costume jewellery, oversized Jackie O style sunglasses still in their box and a yellow bedside table (these are on my wish list to find, ok??), who knows. I'm not sure how much longer I can keep this up.

To be honest, I am more than a little peeved with these people. How many people have had enjoyment from reading about my escapades, me with my torch riding into the sunset? Lotsa lotsa. My family ring me the next day to find out what I found. It's a given. But these people, emptying this house, a room at a time - well they could have given all this stuff to charity stores and as well as making some collectors very happy, they could have helped a charity along the way. But instead - they've tossed everything in a massive skip and sent it to landfill.

Don't get me wrong. I am very grateful. But all that crockery that they've tossed, someone would have loved it. Me, probably.

Hearing me?

Anyway, in the event that I didn't find anything, I went op shopping* beforehand. I will have to photograph a few more things, but here are two (albeit crummy photos) for tonight.

This crazy looking sugar bowl that Matt finds mildly disturbing.

And this pink creamer. That funny little vase in the background was another thing that the bin provided me in an earlier loot.

* Op shops = opportunity shops - charity shops - money you spend goes to the charity.

You Know What Night It Is

And I still haven't gotten 'round to showing you all of my loot. Here's the rest of it. The round up.

Lucky for Matt our wedding anniversary wasn't tonight, otherwise instead of wining and dining with him, I would have been diving into a bin. Romantic? Not so much.

So tonight. Bin night. I have a hunch there's not going to be much. Maybe some empty chip packets. Maybe an old takeaway container. But gosh. I really hope I'm wrong.

But just in case I am wrong, I went to the op shop and picked up a couple of beauties. I'll show and tell tomorrow.

I Do Like To Be Beside The Seaside

Today we went to a birthday picnic for one of my friends at Nielsen Park. If you live in Sydney and have never been, it's a beautiful spot - small beach that's perfect for kids, plenty of space to play and picnic. We had such a great afternoon. It was a shame that I forgot my swimmers, but the boys didn't and made up for my lack of splashing.

If you visit Sydney between 16 October - 2 November, make sure you get to check out Sculpture by the Sea. It's one of my favourite art festivals and has grown and grown and grown to become a real drawcard to Bondi-Tamarama. Not only is it a beautiful view of the ocean, but art thrown into the mix, well it could leave you breathless.

I read today about this artist's piece and can't wait to see it - wow!

But that's not all folks! Perth residents are lucky enough to host their own Sculpture by the Sea, and for the fifth year at Cottesloe (5-24 March) you can check out the beachside 'gallery'.

And if that wasn't enough - well this is like the steak knives! Denmark is going to host the first Sculpture by the Sea outside of Australia. To all the scores of Danish readers - you heard it here first.

Unrelated reading:

- about midwife care here

- can't wait for this

- interesting piece about mamas working from home here

Tomorrow I promise I'll photograph my loot from the skip... I'm a little slack - but the booty shall be worth it (not my J-Lo-esque derriere dear reader - the stash!!).

Uh Oh

If you've never been to pottymouthmama before - welcome. But might I suggest you do some back reading before you proceed. I suggest you start here.

Otherwise:

The Night Hunter Skips

Will you bail me out? Pitch black. Skip bin. Full. Delights. Tins. Crockery. Suitcases. Stuff. Things. Cushions. Placemats. In. Their Yard.

Trespassing?

Postcards From My Garbage Bin

a postcard - hmm, the Stardust Travelodge. Beam me up!

Rest assured, I did not forget that last night was garbage night. You might have. I certainly did not. I've got it etched into my memory. And you know what that means. The good stuff.

While the smalls and I were out for a walk, we went past the house and I got a chance to check out the bin early. Every time we walk in this street, a teenage boy (a different one each time) sans helmet rides past on a small 'toy' motorcycle. Weird, huh? Comical - yes. Rich kids and their toys.

Back to the bin - I think those people are playing games with me. Last week the world's fattest huntsman. This week, a bin full of sticks. I think they're watching me from the bushes, waiting for the crazy lady to come rummage through their bin, and then poking and lstifling laughter while I fend off a spider, and try and hide my disappointment at... sticks.

Fear not. It was also tin/glass recycling night, and paper recycling. Three birds. One night to stone them. I had already stoned the garbage/stick bin. I just had two others to check out.

The tin/glass bin - well that was an old computer and a crummy old sports bag. Ba-bong.

But game not over!

Paper recycling was full to the brink. I had my torch. I had my gloves. I was set to go through the bin. But I had two kids and a husband at home too. So I just did a wee bit of digging. And really, I am getting paranoid about someone pouncing on me and telling me to get out of their bin.

So just a quick bin dive and then home to my adoring fans (read: two sleeping children and my husband doing uni readings who barely even looked up when I walked in the front door, let alone asked me what my search and rescue yielded. HMPH!).
A small concertina book for bills.. It could almost be credited with making bill-paying fun - and who knew monkeys had such an array of bills to pay. I thought they'd just be making out cheques for bananas. Boom boom!

some stuff. it looked more exciting in darkness.

Someone Was Already There - Chronicles of a Garbage Bin

stool stylist's own

So when I arrived to see my beloved bin last night, I had come ill-prepared. I had forgotten my torch. I had a quick look at the bin but couldn't see anything by the dim moonlight, so I drove home and decided to wait an hour or so to darken up the night sky and go a little more incognito, and also to be a little more prepared. I jumped back in the car and drove* home.

When I got home my husband was surprised to see me empty-handed. I quickly explained that I did have to go back out, the deed was not yet done. I think he was secretly relieved when I returned empty-handed, those thoughts were quickly turned on their head.

At around 8:08pm I set out. Please note it's here that I feel all CSI-like, you have no idea how much this thrills me. Being a little more prepared I had packed some gloves and my torch. I could have taken a brush to take some prints off that bin and look for any epithelials. Get the feeling now I watch Grissom a little too closely? Hmm, if you knew that I called Sunday evening CSI Sunday you may be a little concerned. But you don't know that, so you don't have to worry.

When I got back to the bin - someone else was already there. I had just flipped open the lid and removed one black plastic garbage bag full of loot. I was about to reach in and retrieve a most fantastic 'Air India' suitcase when I saw him. I was more than a little startled. It was pitch dark. I had nothing more than my torch, a pair of latex gloves and my mobile in a pocket. For a moment I contemplated calling my husband. He was only two minutes away. I was feeling really, really anxious. I actually think I can say, that is a complete understatement. It was dark, there was just me, the garbage bin and him.

The biggest, fattest, hairiest huntsman ever. And then some. Eight hairy legs. Two beady eyes. Oh it just sends chills down my spine. And he wouldn't move.

If you're a long time reader of pottymouthmama you might already know that I am a little more than afraid of these. This week, we've already had one in our bedroom that Matt failed to evict, only for me to find hiding in the curtains the next day. Deeee-lightful.

Anyway. Fat huntsman. Me. Garbage bin. Suitcase. Metal things. Darkness. Can't see properly. I try and flick the huntsman off. Nope. Not budging. He was fat, seriously fat (probably a female). I really should be presented with a very large, very shiny bravery award. There was just no way I was leaving that suitcase for a spider. No way. So I flicked it a bit more* and then it finally retreated. To the other side of the suitcase. I grabbed the handle and threw the suitcase onto the footpath. I was about to pick up the suitcase and pop it into the car - when who should I spy right next to it? Yes, you guessed it - the fat hunstman.

By this stage I already had the garbage bag in the boot. I had torn it open to ensure I wasn't taking home someone's dentures, enema kits etc, and to my great surprise I found this cute little eggcup. Not that I use eggcups, but he's definitely cute - and has a very old David Jones sticker on his derriere. And the little pup with chipped off ears - dogfight anyone?


Once in the safety and light of my own home, I tore into the bag. I found this old cat clock - his eyes move - so cute. This little shelf that I've cleaned up, along with some vials of sand, an old Indian, this creepy little dolly in the bag - Laura Palmer?!
This little tribal doll. With real fur. Hmm. Must be pretty old the fur is disintegrating. Tasty.
If you fancy that little doll in the zip bag (a keyring!) please let me know. It's yours.

Who knew a bin could make someone so happy? Will it continue to rain gifts on me? Will the relationship with the bin last? Or is it just a fling? And just why did the people tossing all this stuff out ignore pottymouthmama's note she left in the mailbox? Find out next week when you tune into pottymouthmama.


* No spiders were harmed during the looting of this bin.

Postman Pat

I am notorious (in my own head) for never finishing things. Take for example the day I posted about letter writing with my biggie small. I did mean to get back to you if you commented.. But I just didn't. So here I am to make amends.

If you'd still like to play Postman Pat with us, please email me your postal address. We'll work on something over the weekend, and hopefully, if all goes to plan - your little ones (or you!) might receive something in the mail other than a bunch of bills. Now doesn't that sound like the sweetest plan?

Just a small thing. My biggest little one is 3 and a bit. So we'll be abstracting it up. Don't expect some kind of Picasso wizardry. Simple is key people!

Also, later this week I'll be posting a giveaway.. Excitement to the max people.. Stay tuned.

And finally, the photo that I posted yesterday - well it wasn't the bin.. I put you off the scent though, didn't I? Now you're madly going around all the number 33 houses ripping open the lid only to discover old tins of Snappy Tom (which BTW - are recyclable!) and hairballs, maybe even the missing silverfish.. Who knows.

One More Sleep

'Til I discover whether the bin is full of dust or diamonds..

Dust or diamonds people.. That's what it's down to.

I don't think I'll be able to sleep tonight. I'm the one on the corner wearing some leaves in my hair and some camoflage, commando rolling around the neighbourhood.

PS - Hi Mum! Happy Birthday!

Those Who Thrift Together, Stay Together (How to Manage a Husband When Op Shopping)

So our first full day here. What did it hold in store for us? For me? Well, given I missed the bin, I decided to hit the oppies hard. I left the kidlins with their adoring Ollie (my Mum) which was rare. I love being able to go op shopping without the smalls, for the simple reason, it's easier to go fast without going crazy!

First stop and before midday, I sent the cash registers spinning with a grand total of $11 spent. Whoa Nelly. I am a crazy cat. Two awesome blouses for $2 each - and they both fit perfectly. Totally, absolutely, 100% perfectly. Can you feel the joy? Two small water karafes for a phenomenal $3. Some pillowcases. A chocolate brown clutch.. Oh gosh, it was like opening Pandora's Box if she'd been into vintage goodies instead of wreaking havoc on people.

After lunch I hit the shops again. This time I had my husband in tow. What kind of husband wants to come to the op-shops? Mine! I had to manage this, so I gave us a maximum of five minutes in each shop. I didn't feel the heat. No siree. I'm a seasoned op shopper and know which sections will hold the most fruit. So many vintage sheets, pillowcases, and aprons to pick up.

Matt came out empty handed, disbelieving that I had managed to pick up so much in such a short amount of time. He was also scoffing out how we were actually going to get all this stuff home, in light of the fact that our car was completely chockers driving up.

Am I the only one talented enough to completely fill the car with absolutely everything before heading off? I'm guessing it's a Mum thing. Gosh I am hoping it is, otherwise I have no explanation (other than it must be hereditary). Every trip away I can guarantee I get hassled by Matt for how much stuff we're taking. Hmph.

Third op shop and this one is usually the banana in Carmen Miranda's hat. While I did find a cool piece of fabric and a sweet little crochet piece, there wasn't that much fruit to be eaten here. Maybe it had been harvested already. Who knows, but it wasn't like I was disappointed. We still had one to go - so off we trot, Matt still hoping he was going to find something exciting.

We rolled up to the final oppy for the day. We got out. I still was optimistic. There's nothing like the quiet thrill of country op shops. No. Nothing. All that pre-loved goodness just waiting to go to a new home. Hmm. We walk up to the door - and boooooom! A big fat sign tells us they close at 2:50pm. A big fat reminder that we're not in the city anymore Toto. We had arrived at 3:05pm. Oh the pain. The heart ache. It was almost as bad as fretting for my bin.

Fear not. It's open at 8:30am tomorrow. And guess who's going to be staking it out.

Tomorrow more pics of the loot.

I Have A Big Problem

We're supposed to be going away tomorrow to visit my parents. I say supposed to be because I have a large problem. I've already started feeling tense, I've got a sore jaw from grinding my teeth and I feel a wee bit stressed. It's a five hour drive with two little ones, but that's not the reason I am feeling tense, I'm down with the drive. The reason I am feeling a little tense about this trip... It's garbage night tomorrow night, and I am going to miss my date with my favourite bin.

I've been thinking of saying to my mum and dad that we can't come. Something's come up. We'll drive up on Friday instead.

But really, I should just book a lobotomy. What's wrong with me? Why am I so enamoured with this bin? It's because of the presents it ALWAYS brings me.

This is how wrong I have become. I've been trying to think of someone I could ask to go through it for me tomorrow night. The only person I know around here is my mother-in-law and I don't think she'd be up for scrummaging through the wheelie bin. So no go there. The only other people around here that know me work in shops. I can't imagine saying, 'Hi can I get a kilo of mince and can you please stake out this bin for me?'. Not going to work.

If I asked my friends that don't live close by, they'd have to drive at least 40 minutes - and even then - they would probably book me in for some electric shock treatment for even considering asking them.

What can I do? Stake out that bin before we drive off? Pack the car, go park outside 'the house' until they put out the garbage and then drive? (Don't worry - I have thought of this, and buying doughnuts and playing out my favourite cop shows).

Last night, just before Matt and I sat down for dinner I told him I had to go out for ten minutes. I didn't tell him where I was going. Later he asked me how my walk had been. I said 'what walk?' (I did my walk earlier in the day so was puzzled why he was asking me this), he said the one you went on when you went out for ten minutes..

Oops. Yes well at that time, I wasn't walking. I was doing a quick drive-by of 'the house' to check out if it was council pick up day (it wasn't) in their street.

Now this is where I get really twisted. My sister Choc was chatting to a woman who lives in my suburb. Choc was telling this woman about my pot of gold at the end of the rainbow (read - my garbage bin). Then Choc rang me and asked me what street 'the house' is in. I wouldn't tell her. Nope. Not telling. Still not telling. No. No. No. Not telling! I even made up a street name. I really am a junk junkie if I am going to lie about this.

What did I think was going to happen? This woman would find out where 'the house' is and next time I turned up for garbage day, there'd be somoene selling tickets to the garbage bin, first in first serve. That garbage bin is so good the line would be wrapped around the block, everyone vying for their chance to stick their head in it, get up close and personal with it, it might need bodyguards.

So I am missing my bin tomorrow. (Did I ever think I'd be missing a bin? No, never.) That's my big problem.

PS - Formatting isseeeews c/- blogger.

Day 21: A Hot Date With A Garbage Bin

So Day 21 arrived fast on my doorstep. Inadvertently it coincided with our garbage day. And you know what that means? Pop the champagne people. It means combining two great things - a cause for celebration! You know what I am going to say already, don't you? You've probably already liaised with the police to throw me in the clink, after all I am a hardened criminal looking through other people's garbage. They might as well throw away the keys, I'm not ever going to stop. Not. Ever.

I even planned my walk so that the home stretch would wind up outside my favourite garbage bin. I never thought I'd say I have a favourite garbage bin, but folks, anything's possible these days!

I also neglected to mention that I did go over to this house during daylight hours to introduce myself (along with my two trusty sidekicks - my babies), but no one answered. This further convinced me that the house is a deceased estate and they just want to get rid of everything. So I fashioned a little note and left it in their mailbox, stating that I was totally available to help with their 'garbage' (please note use of inverted commas there). No call! Not a peep!

I started concocting all sorts of ideas in my head. Maybe these people had seen me rifling through their rubbish, and had called the police so that while I have my head in their wheelie bin, they could come and handcuff me. Thank goodness I have an overactive imagination and no one thinks of me, or else I could be writing from the penitentiary. Phew!

Opening that garbage bin lid is like opening a treasure chest. I just never know what I am going to find. A garbage bin of enema kits or a bin full of bounty? What's it to be?

For all you enema kit fans, no cigar. But what I did find this week were old tins. Charming. One had old Christmas ribbons and drawing pins, not very exciting, so much so, I didn't bother photographing the contents. But the tins, well oh lala!

Has my habit stuck? Gosh I think so. I'm already planning my walk for today, as well as my weekend walks. Mission accomplished! Thanks to Mikes for hooking me up with the good habits!

Day 13:: Meeting The Fatherload (or Lightning Does Strike Twice or Close Your Eyes If You Just Don't Want To Know What This Girl Found Next)

Day 13: We've been thrust back into wintery weather. It's cold. It's grey. It's raining. Not exactly enticing for an evening walk unless you're a slug or a snail. Given I am neither, I was thinking of skipping out on Day 13. You'd never know the difference.

But I knew there was a cat in Melbourne that I had told I was doing this 21 days thing. If I didn't go, he might go off his Snappy Tom, and that would never do. A promise is a promise, and so I walked. Just a short 20 minutes, I couldn't get too cold in that time. Off I trotted with my seeds hidden in my pocket.

I scouted for patches of dirt that would make a nice home for some new flowers. I picked up a stick to help me in my venture. But every spot I saw didn't seem to suit. I finally came down a hill, found a quiet little alley and roughed up the earth, sowed a few seeds, covered them back up and resumed my walk.

It's in this street that I discovered the motherload. I hadn't really thought much of that place. I was trying to go cold turkey. I didn't have that ache in my bones telling me to go back, and my husband is averse to me collecting any more 'things'. But something drew me back.

I still held my seed packet tightly in my hand, my stick in the other. I noticed that outside that house there was a wheelie bin. Just a small one, standing guard at the end of the driveway. Surely not. No, there'd be nothing in it but a few old wrappers, a few dustballs, maybe even a hairball if I was super unlucky.

Obviously, I was feeling lucky punk. I flicked open the lid with my seed planting stick. Lo and behold what met my eyes was like gold! If I had found the motherload last week, then surely this was the fatherload. Is there such a thing? Well there certainly is now.

Piles and piles of old crockery. Strangely, I have been wanting for a very long time, a mix 'n' matched, hotch potch of crockery for everyday use. And only this week I'd been thinking that our dinnerset was pretty well over red rover. It's all chipped. It's all marked. It's just ugly and it's not a joy - but Matt uses that stuff for mixing paints - so it's not like I was going to ever just boom toss it out.

So I picked out a pile of this crockery. Lovely old patterns. Not a chip. No siree not a chip. I hot footed it home with about six plates in my hot little hand, to be greeted by my husband with a quizzical look plastered on his face.

"Where did you get those?"

"Someone's garbage bin."

- He screws his face up. I go put them straight into the sink. Can you feel the love tonight?

I had dinner, got the kiddlies into the bath, and headed out (see a theme here?) - again with torch in hand. I went through as much as I could. I probably should have worn gloves - but in all my flustered excitement, I just didn't bother.

If there's anyone living there - they're now thinking - my goodness, this crazy hobo lady is back. With a washing basket. Emptying our bin into her car.

Sadly a fair bit below the plates was smashed. So I didn't go beyond that. I couldn't very well upend the bin on the road. I was tempted to bring the whole bin home with me, and return it when I had gone through everything under the pale light of our garage. Now wouldn't that be a sight?

So this is it. Close your eyes. Hold your breath. The fatherload.

Do the mother and the fatherload have children? We can only hope.

PS - I know it's illegal - but have you ever heard of anyone being arrested for stealing garbage? Not me. Can you imagine my mug shot? I'd be the most excited person in history having found this loot.

PPS - Curlypops, go hard this weekend. The garbage is your oyster - now found the pearls.