Neighbours. And I don't mean Kylie, Scott Michaelson or Madge

Do you have dodgy neighbours? For a while there, we had great neighbours. We had a bunch of IT guys that lived down the back of our house and we barely heard a peep from them. Our neighbours on another side are a young couple renovating the cutest weatherboard cottage you've ever seen. And then on the other side are some people that always have their blinds closed, and I only ever see their dogs out the back when I hang the washing out. 


Life was good. Life was simple. Life was quiet.


Until the IT guys moved out, and we had this bunch of junior burgers move in who drive up and down, up and down the driveway. Blast out their music starting at 11:30pm. Have a spot of biffo at 3:30am outside the front of their house - which coincidentally is right outside our bedroom window. Not so rad. 


And then the young couple with the ever-so-cute weatherboard invited us in for dinner one night. A good night was had by all. A few months later they asked us if we wanted them to trim their huge - beautiful - oak tree that leans over our driveway. We said yes! Yes please. The possums get in there, along with the bats, and they have one big pooping and weeing party all over our car. So they said, yes, yes we will do that. And then nothing. And then two days after Christmas one of the branches - actually two - fell on our car and gave it three big pock marks on the roof.


We let them know. They said they were waiting to trim the tree because it was too expensive to have the tree trimmed - it was $600. We got a quote to fix our car - it was $600. And then they started to avoid us. Like the black plague. 


Now they're not talking to us. As soon as they see us drive in, they go inside their house. And since the tree branch falling on the car thing happened, we have to park on the street. 

Totes awkes. 


And now the flipping across-the-road neighbours are parking right outside the front of our house, which - as we all know, is the holy grail of car parks and in a highly sought after parking situation, that park belongs to the correlating tenant. RIGHT? Isn't it some unsaid thing? But no. Not for them. It's like they're staking us out in their big white Tarago. 


I'm thinking about moving into this pink caravan that I spotted while we were away. At least I could move it every time someone got too close. 

In The Thick Of Night

It's garbage day here in PottyMouthMama Town.

You might well be sitting there on your over-stuffed couch thinking, well who cares?

You will care. Trust me, you will.

Matt got home late from drawing, and I presented him with the news that we had to put the bins out. I am sure he was thinking - why didn't you put them out earlier, but Matt is too polite to say so. (PHEW!)

Our recycling bins cups had runneth over and in our house was an avalanche of recycling with nowhere to go. I snuck out and shoved it into our neighbours recycling bin. No harm done, right? I was just sharing the community spirit and sharing our garbage around. I'm sure Matt was thinking what the heck is this nutter doing in the darkness - and where the heck is she? I can hear her, but I can't see her. Then I came back from across the road and my late night rendezvous with the bins.

We stumbled back in from the darkness, got ready for bed and dove under the covers.

By this time it was eleven-thirty. This is when I recount my day and always have my most brilliant ideas (that I am pretty sure Matt thinks are naff to the max).

It was then that it struck me. Tiny may have accidentally tossed out one of the kid spoons earlier in the day and I'd forgotten to check. So I dragged Matt out of bed totally against his will - (we don't have a torch, oh Lexxxxxxi, it's almost midnight, it's too cold).

Meanwhile I gloved up with my mobile acting as a beacon. I was out the door and rifling through our bin which was not a tasty midnight endeavour. If our neighbours are watching they're seriously thinking - the nutters have just gotten nuttier.

But I found that damn spoon. I was right. I was triumphant. If I could convince Matt to carry me back into the house on his shoulders, I would have. If I had some champagne chilled I would have cracked it open.

Cute embroidered cushion from Pwackets. And for real - there was a dish (albeit broken) in the bag with the spoon. We're living the nursery rhyme dream peeps.

In Which We Really Turn PottyMouthed

So the last few days have been pretty darn boring. So boring in fact that the Doctor asked me if he went for a big bike ride would he feel better because he's sick of watching DVDs and lying on the couch in his general malaise.

Three weeks of being sick sucks, croup has turned into bronchial coughs. Meh!

In a bid to pick things up we visited the Doctor yesterday and now the kids are both on antibiotics. And the Doctor got the hot pink antibiotics, and Tiny wants to swap him for hers. Hers are white.

The Doctor has also morphed into the PottyMouthDoctor. He cussed on the mike on Monday. Not once. But FIVE TIMES! Shocking to the max.

So this morning in a bid to alleviate boredom we went for a walk up the street to see if we could find the neighbour's cat. The Doctor took his scooter, Tiny wore her yellow boots today. We walked right up the top, and walked right back down, and the Doctor found some energy to do four or five laps of a section of footpath. He thought it was awesome. Oh and we got to pat the cat too!

We got home just in time for the rain to start sprinkling down on top of us.

Usually I love Winter. But this Winter I am longing for warmer days. I'm sick of being sick. I'm tired of being cold.

You Don't Know Unless You Ask

Remember when I was writing about good intentions, and the beautiful roses we walk past sometimes? Well today on our walk (this is a constant lately, yes?) Tiny and I happened upon the lady in the garden. So we started chatting. It's nice to chat to elderly people. I think so anyway. They hold such wisdom, experience and knowledge - that seems to come with age. Just last week I got chatting to a 92 year old war veteran who was blinded in Burma - told you I get chatting.

Back to the garden. She told me that she's not much of a rose gardener, but she keeps them going in her father's memory. He was an avid rose grower, and they had over 50 rose bushes one time. Now they're getting old, they're getting black spot, and she's afraid she doesn't really know how to grow them. But to me they still look beautiful, and my goodness, you've never smelt roses this rosey. She pointed out roses that were planted in 1921 and 1922.. I love learning little snippets of history, no matter how small, it paints a picture of people.

I'm enjoying getting out into the sunshine. When it's here. For the most part, I am bunkered down inside. I've been sewing a little, baking a little, sleeping very little, and watching Tiny do the zombie baby walk. It might be Winter but it's not for long.

A Good Weekend Junking: Why My Husband Is Worth His Weight In Beer

This weekend I yielded more from other people's junk. I am like a pig in mud. I love junk. I'd roll in it too if I could.

Even my son now has the taste for junking around the neighbourhood. We picked up some things this afternoon (which I'll blog about tomorrow), so excited he was the Doctor said, "Come on Mummy, let's go find some more junk. We need to get other people's junk." He still looks for the bin house and wonders why they don't have any junk out the front. (And when I served cake to my MIL recently, he proudly declared - "Mummy found that plate in the bin." Ah yes, a proud moment indeed. I can assure you, my MIL's reaction was pretty darn funny too.)

While Matt is not totally sold on the idea, I do have to thank him for my favourite treasure from today.

We were innocently driving to do the big grocery shop for the week. The boys were heading to the skate park across the road. Tiny and I drew the short straw and were heading straight for slow trolley pushers who aisle-hog while they decide whether they'll get homebrand biscuits, or splash out on some brand name. Exciting stuff.

But before we had even driven one minute, I spotted a pile of garbage. I slowed down. And it really was garbage. Keep rolling restless travellers!

Not two houses on, more garbage, and this time - two old chairs, an old mirror that belonged to a dressing table - and this chest of drawers. We have a wild shortage of storage in this house. Matt was vehemently saying, no no no, it was almost a chant. But luckily I was in the driver's seat. I did a lap, emptied out our boot, and whilst doing so, struck a deal with Matt - if he helped, I owed him a six pack of import beer. Now kids - this is how bargaining is done - watch Mummy and Daddy and learn. Deal!

We drove back to the junk and I confirmed that this set of drawers was indeed destined for great things.

The bummer is it didn't fit in our car boot. I had already pre-imagined Matt weasling out of our deal and saying - too hard, let's go shopping. Thankfully given his next stop was the skate park, we loaded the car up with the drawers, and the actual chest onto his skateboard and he wheeled the darn thing home. I'm damn sure it was a funny sight.

Stamped on the back 1945, and a Mark Foys piece, someone's had this for an age and loved it - and we in turn will love it too. Cute, innit it?

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 6:: Hitting The Motherload

when you push this car, it's windscreen wipers work!

this car has got diamantes for headlights!

that little yellow citroen is uber cool.

Here in deepest, darkest suburbia things are not as they seem. Yesterday evening, I went to go on my walk, but a certain three and a bit year old decided he wanted to join me. After some time negotiating that no, he couldn't come, soon followed a rather large tantrum, I gave up. Therefore this six day walker went out walking with small fry (not to be confused with small fries) and a resignation that this was not going to be a puff-inducing walk. No. It was going to be a walk of discovery.

Off we went, completely rugged up. Have I ever told you about my penchant for tea-cosy fashioning beanies out of them for my son? No! Well I do. He has a few. Makes for pretty funny viewing because I don't sew up the sides, so little tufts of hair poke out. Cute attack.

Anyway, there we are meandering our way through an abbreviated walk. I decide to tackle a hill. Small fry decides he's going to run it. Then I spy a mountain of garbage. I'm not backwards in going towards a mountain of garbage. Throw out day around here can yield some pretty fancy treasures.

But this, this was the motherload. Dash that walk - I'm going rummaging!

Small fry scored an old ride on vehicle with a stash compartment. Something he's always wanted.

pretty pretty

I scored.. A bevy of vintage Christmas decorations. There was lots more. Oh yes. So much more treasure to rifle through. But it was getting dark and it was all too much for us to carry back. So I just carried the box of decorations, Small Fry beefcaking it up by carrying the ride-on.

When we arrived home I had a new spurt of energy. Tossed the kids in the bath with their daddy, grab my car keys and off I am with torch in hand to continue this pillaging of someone else's trash.

I parked so my headlights shone on the Motherload. I took my torch out. Checked no one else was around, and went for it.

A great assortment of old metal cars. Any small boy's dream come true. Might even be a larger boy's dream too. A great assortment of books, toys and treasures. I felt like an earthbound pirate.

fear not, simulated car chase only!



an old truck with swinging back door (one door is missing)

I shoved boxes, suitcases and more boxes into the car. This is what living is for!?

But the piece de resistance? Well I had found a rather large suitcase filled with sewing stuff. WoohooO!

I came home, checked in with my mother-in-law and told everyone not to have a coronary when they saw the garage. There were boxes. There were suitcases. But I was going to go through them.

This is where it gets exciting. So I'm checking out what I have scored. Old t-shirts (and y-fronts?!) still in their packaging. I was pretty excited about the prospect of vintage fabrics, so I went for the suitcase that was holding this treasure. The vintage fabric...? Well it was a pair of old man pjs. Poop. No - surely this is a bag full of treasure?! I delve further.. Hmph. Not the score I was dreaming of. Another pair of pjs. And you know what else?! An enema kit. Yes, that's right. An enema kit. No sewing paraphernalia. Just an enema kit.

So, if anyone needs an enema kit, please be sure to get in touch. I won't actually be touching it myself, but if you feel the need to glove up, let me know. It's yours.