It was the night before work

And all through the house, everyone was stirring, but thankfully - no mouse. 

It's universal, right? 

On the eve of  your holidays being done and dusted, there's an anxiety about the year ahead. 

Who wouldn't love to run off to Majorca and spend their days swimming laps at their leisure, keeping up to date with best-selling books, and with the only problem in life being a tan line. 

GAH! 

I have had such beautiful, long, lazy weeks at home since Christmas. Nothing too decadent. Instead I've been making piles of stuff around the house:

- charity
- hand-me-downs
- garbage
- tidy away
- craft drawer

It might not look like it, but I have spent many hours sorting through stuff. Trying not to be sentimental. I've been ruthless with artworks, but kids clothes and books is what I find difficult. I am attached to my children's old clothes and books. 

It's ridiculous I know. I try and just keep a couple of bits, but it's hard. I don't know how to do better. 

Anyway, hi ho, hi ho, back to work I go - tomorrow, so game over with my tidy town. But in the meantime, if you've got any ruthless, low-down, dirty tactics I can apply to my downsizing attempt at decluttering - I am all ears (and my husband will thank you!).

How can I do better? 

Sadness and Flowers

As soon as I had finished raking up these jacaranda flowers, I felt some kind of sadness. 

Every morning I look out the kitchen window holding my first coffee of the day, and gaze out to the carpet of purple. There's a branch that taps at the window, abundant with flowers, tap-tap-tap, a gentle reminder that spring is here, but not for long. 

The purple against the bright green of the lawn. The yellow of the hibiscus that's flowers drop before they've fully unfurled. When I find those flowers I wonder what happened to them, though they're still pretty as yellow petal-balls whose secrets will never spill into the world. 

Each time I walked out the door I could smell the sweet decay of the flowers, and it took me back to childhood. There's something nice about it returning back to the earth, comforting. 

But I swept it up, one job done, more to do. And yet, I've still got that hint of sadness. 

Spring is almost done.

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. 

Tired

The last couple of nights I've come home from work, Matt and I have fed, bathed and put the smalls to bed, and then I've crashed into a heap into my own bed. 

I am k-to-the-nackered. So freaking tired. 

And no. Before any wild speculation begins - not pregnant. 

I think it's the time of the year. There's too much on, work-wise it's chaos, school wise - there's loads on, and there's just lots to do leading into Christmas. I've barely even started my Christmas shopping. Ouch.

Plus our house is one big gigantic mess. You might have this idea that it's pristine with some clothes scattered hither and thither - but let's not beat around the bush. We live in a super tiny house that is so small you can very literally see into each room from the front door. And we've got no storage. I'm starting to think we should look for a new abode to rent. But I just can't muster the energy to think about moving pre Christmas. Meh. 

Anyway - it makes me think of this book Matt loved as a small boy, that we read to the kids, What-A-Mess. Often on my drive to work I see a lady walking two large Afghans and think of this book. And then I think of the messy state of my house. It's clean. And yet, it's a gigantic mess. But you should read the book. It's a funny book.

How are you going in the lead up to Christmas? Coping better than me? 

The Big News

Hold your horses. I have big, BIG news.

Not only did we recently purchase a new fridge - but today I bought a new washing machine. I know. Hold the presses. I have gone whitegoods mad.

But that's not the big news.

Nope.

You know how I have been decluttering? Well. I have. My Mum, my awesome, awesome Mum came down for the weekend to help me - and I've been listing stuff on eBay.

As a result, I listed my Olivetti typewriter (remember that post), and sold it last night.

Stop what you're doing. The drinks are on me. It went for $5.50.

I know. Right? Totes loaded.

It is for this reason I will be doing a sponsored post. Gotz to pay my bills ladies. I hate bills. Even worse, I hate not being able to pay bills. I knew you'd understand. MWAH!

image of flying fish from I'm Just a Bee

And Then The Washing Machine Died

A few months ago our fridge started doing something alarming. Quite literally. In the middle of the night it would start wigging out and beeping. Incessantly. It got to such a point, after repeat performances, at 2am I would stagger out of bed, bump into walls, and turn it off at the power.

In the morning I'd defrost it, and sure enough, the ice would start ice-ing as soon as I averted eye contact. I'd be in for another night of the freaking beeps.

It's here that I must also point out - I was the only one the beeping would wake. Everyone else continued to sleep soundly. But not me. For me the beep was too much.

After a number of weeks of this, I declared we needed to buy a new fridge. Clearly it was on its way out.

I'm not a huge white-goods purchasing fiend, but I went and bought one and we have a new fridge.

It was mid-Winter last year that our dryer decided to not play nicely anymore. Clearly we have some Winter timing issues.

Just yesterday I was churning through my Saturday washing pile ie Mt Everest in clothes, when the washing machine made a loud bang as I was walking away. I went back, looked at it. Dead. It flipped the fuse. It wouldn't give me any power. Dead.

The good news is I was right in the middle of washing the Doctor's school uniforms. The better news? I can't find any local laundromats. What happened to all the laundromats?

Thankfully my sister let me toss a few loads in her machine last night.

What's with the whitegoods giving up the ghost? And what ever happened to whitegoods that lasted the distance. My parents still have the fridge they had before I was even thought of. Still going strong - and surprisingly energy efficient.

Looks like I need to find some funds for a new machine or I'm going to be hand-washing a la Little House on the Prairie. Michael Landon would be so proud.

The image, is of course someone grenading a washing machine.

Last Days of Disco

The last few months have been a real struggle for me. Juggling almost full-time work with parenting, with housework, with wife-ing, and then toss blogging on top of that - I'm not going to lie. I am 100 % completely exhaustipated*. 


Something's got to give because everything in my life seems to be suffering from the knock on effect of everything else. Every night I race home from work, help with the kids going to bed, and collapse onto the sofa so darn beat down, I can barely muster any energy to open my laptop, let alone use my brain to come up with some content. I've tried. Trust me. I really have, but I feel like I am drowning in over-commitment - it's not a good feeling. 


It's with heavy heart that I've decided to put PottyMouthMama into retirement. At least for the next few months. 


If you feel a bit jipped, might I suggest you start at the very start of PottyMouthMama? There's four years worth of content, with highlights being Tiny smearing poo everywhere, the Doctor being delicious, and me rummaging through someone else's bin. For. Weeks. On. End. 


Bon appetit baby.


By the way, I'll still come back tomorrow and announce the LEGO winner. Last chance to enter that competition chicitas. 


image source here


*exhaustipated was a word a girl that I used to work with always used. I never had the heart to tell her it wasn't a real word. So I always thought of it as a combination of being immensely tired - and constipated - all at once.

See That?

It's called grass.

And hot pink toes.

And shadows. Spring shadows.

I ran outside to feel some sunshine on my back in between... TIDYING!

Today I've spent the bulk of the day re-discovering our floor. Liberating it from a massive pile of crap. Crap that I have ruthlessly been tossing into the bin. Very unlike me. But when I don't have two smalls around, I am prone to get a little ruthless, toss some toys, toss some crap. File some bills (oh baby, I know how to have a great time). Mop the floors, crank up Lily Allen, tidy the house.

Hot damn. Mondays are full of miracles. We do indeed have a living room floor. And you can now walk on it.

The Wash Up

Do you have arguments in your home about who's doing the washing up?

It's an almost nightly ritual in our house.

We skirt around it, skirt around it, and then finally someone gives in and does it. We have no routine when it comes to the dishes. We hate the dishes. And I'm sure the dishes do not love us.

Or do they?

Finish very kindly sent me the ingredients and baking pan to make some brownies. Now this is two months ago. Maybe three. It was Easter. I was tired. I heard the call of chocolate and I went to work whipping up le brownies. Only thing was, I only had half a brain working. I whipped them up, put them into the oven, and mid-bake, I marvelled at the layer of butter on the top of the brownies. As though I was deep-frying the damn brownies. I walked away, thinking how curious this brownie batter was. Finally it dawned on me, while I was only working on half a brain, I'd inadvertently doubled the butter mixture, and as a result totally messed up the freaking recipe. What a waste of perfectly delectable chocolatey goodness. *cue forehead slap*

What an idiot! *cue another forehead slap!*

Cue Finish Powerball Tablets 5 in 1. I like these. They work. They mean I don't have to squabble so much with Matt about who's doing the dishes.

image via Emma Elizabeth Designs - I could just about die for this Emma Elizabeth rug (who doesn't love sparkle?) From Milan to my house. Rug-a-licious.

Mondays Are...

Sometimes running around doing odd jobs and paying bills and running chores.

Today is tidying the house for the week ahead, because by the time I get home from work on all the other nights, I am too plum shickered to even lift a broomstick. This afternoon I make meatballs and some biscuits to throw into the pantry.

And before you think, but PottyMouth, life from the outside looks glamorous. Or maybe you don't. But these shots here are testament to the fact that life ain't one inch of glamorous. Unless you count the one inch of lipstick I have left that Tiny hasn't smeared all over her face and hands.

Raking.

Tossing clean clothes onto my bed to be folded.

Washing.

Vacuuming up the dust bunnies. Dust. Dust. Where does all the dust come from? Please - no one reply with - dead skin cells. EEP!

I hate the work/homelife juggle. I know you know where I'd rather be.

De-Gluttoning

I have exciting things planned this year people. Exciting things. I read my friend, Carrie's piece about decluttering that was in Health Smart . It has given me even more impetus to live more simply. Live with less. And I love that idea.

So far I've been going through baby clothes and being ruthless. I've gone through our crockery - and have boxed up some pieces that give me the creeps and I don't use. I've started on the toys. I'm filing like it's nobody's business.

Watch out people, I'm paring back. I'm getting organised. 2011 is going to be the year of declutter. De-lovely. Delightful!

Image via Apartment Therapy - check out this piece on organising drawers. I need all the help I can get.

Not As Funny As Me Forgetting To Pay Rent. Right?!

I spent about a million hours today tidying our house for our real estate agent to come and inspect.

She was meant to be here at 5pm.

At 5:22pm she was still not here.

I called her. She told me she had the flu. OH! And she'd written the appointment in the wrong day. WOOPS!

Now no one can touch anything in the house until she comes tomorrow. Everyone must sleep in the car, or camp, or something other than mess up the house again.

This week visitors are welcome. The house is incredibly tidy.

Don't look in the car.

(I need Peter to come to my house and make me let go of some clothes and well - stuff - that I hang on to. Because I just might need it!)

image via KITKA - how great is that plant wall? Me likey!

Stop! It's Thrifty Time

On Saturday, when I was meant to be packing more stuff away and tidying our abode, I snuck off to a flea market as only true flea marketing warriors would do. Warrior? Why warrior? Well my husband was grumpy, but due to the fact I was grumpier, I won and escaped the throes of house chores and ran away for 1/2 hour to join the thrifty circus.

I gave myself a budget of $10. And I stuck to it.

In amongst some other stuff I scored, I got these three pretty plates to add to my collection.

And those bromeliads? I bought a bunch of those for 10 tiny dollars too. Ok so I went over budget. But not by much. Just double or nothing folks, double or nothing!

How was your weekend? Anything to report?

Come join me on Facebook too. I set up a Facebook page today. It's fresh and precious.

Mothering In The 'Hood.

Cath at Chunky Chooky alerted me to the fact that today is International Women's Day.

Hear us roar.

What have I been doing to celebrate?

Emancipating my lingerie drawer that seems to be more cottontail than lingerie. It's the sad facts people, but today I decided to get rid of those knickers I just don't dig on. They are free to go wherever it is they are going to go, anywhere but here, do not pass go, do not collect $200. They are gone.

And what else? Well hanging the washing on the line (important because without clean washing, we would all be stinky and manky and just not feel fresh!).

Tidying the house (important because the house is a festering cess pit of piles, and piles and more random piles).

Folding washing (important because otherwise it's just sitting there in an unruly pile and then peeps can find their clothes).

Throwing out old shoes (important because I have been hoarding them for no particular reason. They are holey, they are dead, I let them go).

Getting rid of clothes that either are in a bad way, or make me feel yucky (important because this streamlines my wardrobe and narrows the incidences of feeling yucky).

Feeding the smalls (important because otherwise they tend to get cranky and unruly).

Funnily enough, yesterday when I was at the art gallery, I bought a post card of Grace Cossington-Smith's well known painting and when I did, I was thinking about this:

No matter how crummy a day can be, no matter how many tanties we have to endure, no matter how spent we are at the end of each day, our work is THE most important work of all, as mothers (and fathers), because we are raising our children to be the best that they can be - and we're responsible for the next generation. We want things to be better for them, and each day, we are doing important things: even if that's as simple as fixing them a snack-a-roo, or reading them their favourite book. It's all important work. Even if you think you're just knitting a sock, you're keep a foot warm.

Hooray for all the beautiful women and mother's of the world. You're all top totties. x

Buying Time

This afternoon we three went to the little shops. We enjoyed an icy pop together with Tiny wiping most of hers on my dress. Er thanks.

Then we went looking for a stranger's cat to pat. We always look in the streets for cats. Alas today was cat-less and we went home wanting. We meandered our way home through the back streets. The Doctor pointing out houses that we could buy (they weren't even actually for sale, and besides this, we're not in the buying market - boo hiss!).

My smalls tend to go a little berko when I'm prepping for dinner. Well particularly the smallest one. Tiny wants to be carried around which is not conducive to chopping and locking (sorry! I had to work in that lame pop and lock reference).

So I set up 'washing up'. When better to start your smalls on the domestic chores than rightthisveryminute?! They washed up their tea sets. I cooked dinner. They didn't want to come in for dinner they were having so much fun. If only real life washing up was so good.

There's A Moral Here

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

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

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

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

(An Incredible and Yet) True Story

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

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

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

I discovered where this sand pile was coming from.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Boombastic Is Back

Brilliant news to the max. Boombastic is back.

Last night, once the smalls were in bed, I started doing a wee tidy up. I put away a few things, as Mamas are prone to do, and while putting away some coasters, I opened a b(e)arly (sic) used drawer and who should I find? Teddy Boombastic up to tricks and teddy yoga in the drawer. Check him out.

So I popped him into bed with the Doctor (who was fast asleep) with a tag that read:

Hello Doctor,

I am happy to be back from my beary cold holiday.

Love your bear-st friend,
Boombastic x

This morning the Doctor came in while I was still out to it. He said: 'Mum, this bear has the same eyes as Boombastic.' I open my eyes. Barely conscious. Blink. Blink. 'But dear Doctor, that is Boombastic, the one and the same.' Disbelief by the Doctor, questions, where has he been? Where did you find him? Is this really Boombastic?

I explained away Boombastic's absence by explaining his deep penchant for honey and biscuits, and the fact that Boombastic had gone off in search of honey and a holiday. And maybe mugs of bear. Oh I mean bee-r.

The real explanation - I've no idea why he was shoved into a drawer. But it may have the same explanation as Tiny's dolly's clothes being shoved into a teapot in the cupboard. Tiny does like to do these things.

Boombastic is back people. I'm not going to let him out of my sight.

When Steam Comes Out My Ears

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

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