If I Didn't Take A Break

I have so loved having a wee blogging break. 

It has done my sanity awesome-good-things. 

I don't know if anyone else ever feels this way - but life was overwhelming me. I had to cut back somewhere: I can't cut back at work (bills to pay and all that); I can't cut back on parenting (two children to parent); I can't cut back on being a wife (unless I want my relationship in tatters. No thanks); I can't cut back on exercise (because it makes me feel so happy). So it was blogging and housework.

As a result our house is one heck of a mess, and there's a really impressive leaning tower of clean washing on the couch; and my head feels clearer. My blog is a mish mash of thoughts and a trail of where my mind is at, a kind of online inspiration board - minus the inspiration + the bored. 

But it's ok. It is ok. I am ok. My mind feels better for it. 

It's also given me time to think about PottyMouthMama - and who she is, what she stands for, and where she is going.

Over the last few months I've really contemplated giving up blogging. I've been blogging almost non-stop for five years. I let my blogging birthday slip past because - well what have I got to celebrate. 

Please - join my pity party. Just jokes. It's been cancelled. 

Instead this is where it's at:

PottyMouthMama is a working mum. Whether she wants to be working is really beside the point, isn't it? She has to work because - like I said earlier, there are bills to pay, mouths to feed, a car to put petrol in. But work doesn't define PottyMouthMama.

PMM loves: fashion, beauty, enjoying life, getting out and about, family, friends, reading, films, art. This is PottyMouthMama. She's complex. She's fun. She thinks about her life BC (before children), and loves reminiscing about tabletop dancing - but doesn't miss it. She's looking forward. 

I had a friend ring me late one Friday night - she was drunk, I was lying on the couch happily watching Poirot. She berated me loudly and said "yes well that's what you do in suburbia - stay at home on Fridays and watch free-to-air". Well last time I checked with my local suburban free-to-access police station - it wasn't illegal (unless things have changed - and in which case, my hands are in the air - come and arrest me). She continued for another five minutes before I cut the conversation short - she wouldn't remember ever talking to me anyway. I didn't need someone else raining on me, I already give myself a hard enough time without a support crew. 

That phone call not only stung - it made me think about life decisions (and which way our friendship was heading). it made me considerhow no matter who you are, or what you do, life is difficult, life is tough, life throws challenges at you every. single. day. But it's ok. I am ok!

Over the next few months PottyMouthMama is going to change a little. She's evolving. And she doesn't have to please other people in the process, and she's not going to apologise for being who she is. 

And PS - I will watch Poirot on a Friday night if I want to. 

The New Look PottyMouthMama

I've had a makeover over on my Facebook page. You should totes come over and check it out - as well as my new ample derriere. And bosom. And nose. And new and improved skinny arm. We can chat. And talk. And stuff.

Of if you're more into short and sharp, come over to Twitter.

PottyMouthMama. Get it while it's hot.

Let's Discuss Plagiarism: Or How My Content Wound Up On Your Website

these images are called - wow - how did my content fall onto your website?!


So I blogged about the Logies.


I did. I always blog about awards nights. Because I love it. 


And today, for some reason I was googling the Logies - because clearly I didn't get enough - and lo and behold, I found extracts of my content sitting on a large news publication website. Behind a paywall.


Let's just get this straight. My content. Used as more than just inspiration, and right there - with 'staff reporter' attached to it. 


Apparently I am now a staff reporter - or a contributor at least, because they did at least change things around a little. I said tissues, they said Kleenex. 


I felt more than a bit miffed. I felt upset. Mad. Ferocious. Wild as a wild cat. Grumpier than the Gruffalo. And just plain pissed off. 


A friend told me I should take it as a compliment. I did. For two seconds. And then I just thought what kind of a lazy creep - who gets paid (I don't), steals stuff. They must be terribly uncreative. 


Who does that? 


I think you'd be surprised - it seems to be happening more and more. I've read about bloggers whole posts being cut and pasted and claimed as someone else's quite often. 


My story about MY miscarriage was clearly the inspiration for a large website - and replicated in a weekly print publication. Though someone at least put a byline on that. Not my byline, but heck, it's an improve.. no it's not. 


But the internet is becoming increasingly a small world. You took my words and you didn't think I'd notice? Well I did. And I'm watching. 

Kidspot Ford Territory Top 50: Feel the difference

I've been wracking my brain for a couple of weeks, punishing myself, what the Hector am I going to write about for this post? My golden ticket for a chance to win a trip to NYC to attend BlogHer and a Ford Territory for a year. 


Here it is, I offer it up like a grown-up and female version of Oliver Twist, except my bowl's full of words - and I want you to have more. So not like Twist at all - but it was a good literary reference, yes?


Gather around. This is what I've come up with with a little help from my friends. 


My journey into blogging began back in '89. When I went to Talent Camp at Lake Keepit for creative writing. And then I went again the next year and Jim Pattinson had a crush on me, and I physically felt repulsed. I was 10, he was probably 11, and he got a little too close for my liking. I have not forgotten you Jim Pattinson - or you're unwanted feelings for me. 


Blogging was not yet invented - not to my knowledge anyway. But I tapped away on my Mum's electric typewriter in my spare time, short stories, poems, moving on to my grandfather's memoirs when I was 12.


But let us fast forward through my awkward years (and let's forget that I am actually still in the thick of my totes awkes years), we'll travel through time together and pop out of the time continuum right here. 


To 2007.


My true blogging journey began when I started reading Dooce daily. I love Heather Armstrong. Her truth. Her honesty. Her wittiness. It made me want to get back into writing again. This was a time when I was just about to pop out baby number two. I felt like I was in parenting exile. Two years earlier I'd quit my job, moved to the other side of the city away from my friends - and into the home of my in-laws. AWESOME! This was a time when my MIL walked in to our dark kitchen to find me crying in the pantry. When my FIL told me I needed to talk to Matt after we'd had a massive barney. When parenting and self-esteem was at an all time low. And so was privacy. 


I began banging out posts like it wasn't anyone's business. 


And that's the beauty of blogging. It becomes everyone's business. And from here, like the fountain of youth - or in my case, a community of awesome, like-minded women (and the occasional male reader, hi Dad!) sprung PottyMouthMama. 


A blogger was born. (And so was Tiny - but that's another story.)


If we take PottyMouthMama under the magnifying glass (and preferably not in full sunlight people, I've got fair skin) it comes down to this: 


"If you prick us, do we not bleed"*


It's true. We all do. The truth is, I am just like any other mother blogger. You, me, we.


And that's the beauty of us. 


I'm happy not to hide behind any facade. I don't need to amp up my life to seem like it's more glamorous, more exciting, more awesome than yours. Because it isn't. Trust me.


PottyMouthMama's point of difference is that life is ker-azy. Life is messy. Life can be sad, glad, mad, and rad - and all in one day. 


I can talk about that with great verve. It's my very own story to tell. You love reading about Tiny's mischief. My bin diving escapades. About my struggle with work-home-life balance. I love curating stuff and things I love, or sharing stories about my banal life. Because it's my blog and I can blog if I want to. 


So if you feel so compelled, please vote for me! I'd love to visit the Big Apple, so I can stop hanging out with these little apples and looking like William Tell and Snow White's love child. 

* Totally stolen from Shakespeare. Someone that could have written a really prolific ye olde playe stylie blogge. 

This Is Where I Ask You To Vote For Me

I'm not going to beat around the bush. And I'm not going to bang on about it. Let's just talk about this for one post. Ok? 


Please vote for me in the Kidspot Top 50 Bloggers. 


I feel incredibly chuffed that this is my third year of being nominated - amidst forty-n reputable and inspiring lady writers. Could it be third time lucky? Who the heck knows - but you hold the power in your fingertips to make PottyMouthMama's dream come true. 


And for your efforts, you could be in with a chance of winning $5,000. 


Apologies for the super crummy photo above. It's the best I can muster under these working conditions. Daylight savings ending and I'm all outta whack. I shake my fist at my woeful sleeping habits right now! 


Back to business, please vote for PottyMouthMama. Your country needs you. And me too. I need you too. Because if you weren't reading this - PottyMouthMama would just be another blog lamenting on the interwebz. 

Oh Hai.

Last night I went out on the town to kick up my heels with a bunch of bloggers. I met Wee Birdy there and together we giggled and guffawed the night away.


Big ups to Wee Birdy for giving me this banging picture of me being a ham hock. I mean, who doesn't star their Darling mani when posing mercilessly? The truth is, the reason I was dressed like a Tequila Sunrise (see recipe here) was for the Kidspot Top 50 Bloggers. Aha. 


Woogs held me in her bosom. I got to meet Eden. Was astounded by Hair Romance's beautiful hair. And I reunited with Chantelle. There were many more and it was like a whirlwind tour. I felt a bit like a fraud. 


Anyway, you readers, you are all quiet as mice. What's happening on your homefronts? Do tell. I am waiting to hear. And when someone wants to hack into my mainframe and let me know how I can reply directly to comments, well I am all freaking ears. I can not work it out myself and I want to punch my blog in the head. 


Right now I am listening to Gossling because I just love her. I've eaten a burger for dinner and had two to three wines. Who's counting? (Because it's not like I have to drive to bed.) I got told I was very quiet at work today. I love listening to the Hack on Triple J driving home. Do you? What are you doing? Come on, spill. Fill me in on what's on the haps in your neighbourhood. 


Oh and as a Friday bonus, how great is this Bluejuice cover of Video Games. I went off Lana del Rey quicker than Lite White goes off in a luke warm fridge. But this. This I can get with.


And finally, come join me on Facey. We can like totes chat. And stuff. 


PS - this is a link heavy post. I apologise. But perhaps you'll thank me later for sending you around the world in just one quick read of PottyMouthMama?

I'm Closing Down

I'm shutting up shop.
.
.
.
.
.
.
For the weekend.
I'm taking a wee break. Back on Monday.
Let me know what you're up to this weekend. I'd love to hear.

image via here.

Happy 4th Birthday Dear Blog

Dear PottyMouthMama Readers,


It's four years since I first conceived PottyMouthMama. Actually, it's a little longer, because I dreamt her up, then stored her in my dream factory* and let her simmer, and then banged out my very first post.

It's four years since PottyMouthMama came screeching into the world, to bang on about anything and everything - and whatever else is in between.

I love my little space that I've carved out almost every single day. In four years I have met so many ace people, stretched my writing fingers, dreamt up posts and made a little space just for me. To share with you.


It's true. Tonight you should totes have champagne and cake to celebrate. I command you.

Thanks for reading, for commenting and for lurking.

I love each and every one of you, more than every single grain of sand on every single beach in the world, the galaxy and beyond. I love you to the moon and back, and then back again, and then back again. And then back again - but in reverse. I love you that much.

Big love,
Lexi

* dream factory often works overtime, or undertime, but either way, it's always a-chugging along

A Bog Post

Let's cast our minds back to how I actually came up with the name for my blog: PottyMouthMama. I was in the thick of toilet training. All I could think of was potties. Bribes. Star charts. And cleaning the potty. It was all consuming for me as a young mama.

PottyMouthMama really has nothing to do with the fact that I *accidentally* swear, and therefore Tiny could be found in the back of our car cussing with the best of them. She's a small wharfie in the making. And even when I asked her to stop saying: "Oh F-bomb", she continued. Ouch.

Anyway, back to the reason there is a really special toilet seat posted on my blog. And let me tell you, this place I like to keep kind of immaculate, and you're wondering why there's a toilet on my blog? Why PottyMouthMama, why? And why the crass title? Well for good reason.

This toilet seat may just be the key to getting a reluctant toilet trainer on the toot. It's not your usual white loo seat. It has fishes! It has star fishes! It has sand! Shells! Blue faux water!

Or it could really freak them out. Which could be good if you have a child that likes to sit on the toilet for long periods of time. Let them know a shark may bite their little bot-bot if they straggle.

Actually, don't do that. It won't do anything for their toileting.

More Than A Little Psychic

Probably around a year ago, I opened the forum to questions. This was when anyone could comment with a question, and I'd answer it. Big, small - all! I answered all of them. But this time. Things are different.

Well this time, I'm feeling psychic. I'm feeling a bit Athena StarWoman.

I've been over on Facebook doing tailored readings to anyone who's been interested. And basically that's everyone, because let's face it, I'm pretty bloody psychic and in tune with the stars, the moon, glitter, and the gridlines.

So if you'd like a special PottyMouthMama reading, please let me know your star sign, your favourite colour and the name of your first pet, and I'll customise a special PMM psychic reading for you.

Ready? Set. Go!

While I'm waiting for my psychic powers to tune into your frequency, we've been getting ready for birthday season.

Matt's and the Doctor's this week. My Dad's the following week. Then my sisters. And then mine. Nothing beats birthday season.

Coming Out

So here are the cold hard facts about PottyMouthMama.

- I hung up on a survey caller tonight. I did. And then I felt a little bit guilty. But stop freaking calling me!

- And I played chicken with some spammy faux Microsoft caller last night. I baited him, then dropped him. I mean how dumb do you think I am? MENSA are head hunting me for goodness sakes.

- My hair is growing - take that in-between bad Russell Brand-esque hair!

- I hope you're doing your pelvic floor exercises as you read this

- this is a picture of me. At work. The girls at work have just discovered my blog. I don't talk a lot about blogging. People either get it or they don't - or they just tell me it's a game for an egomaniac, and I just don't even bother. So this is some sort of coming out party. Glad we all could make it. Hi girls!

Makeover

The good news is: I HAD A MAKEOVER! I got new glasses, and man, I am such a fox. I might need to get my brows groomed, but no matter, what do you think of my new specs?

But in other news, PottyMouthMama is three years old. Three years of me banging on about random stuff and things. But you like stuff and things, right?

So it's about time I gave this here baby a bit of a makeover. What would you like to see on PottyMouthMama?

PS - Happy Australia Day!

It's Called: I Can't Find The Camera

So from now until the point when I locate the camera, I'll be illustrating this here space with images found on the interwebs. This means that:

a) I can't show you some sewing I have so enthusiastically taken part in

b) I can't get too personal

c) I must cruise the interwebs kerb crawling for syootable images to illustrate my incredibly interesting posts.

Now that I have that out of the way, I'd like to ask you some big questions.

What is it you like about PMM?

And what don't you like?

And what do you want more of?

It's been almost two years since PMM was hatched and like all two year olds, it's heading into rocky territory. Some days I find I don't know what to post. So tell me, dear reader, what is it that warms the cockles of your heart.

And while you're thinking about these big questions for twenty-ten, here's some muzak. It will definitely warm the cockles, even the sub-cockles of your heart. Shut UP!

image appropriately titled rock and a hard place.

It's Me: Day 1 & Day 2

My husband can sometimes go days without seeing my in civvies. Sometimes he just sees me in PJs, and he may well think I go the whole day in my PJs (or tracky daks - but let's just keep that between you and me), but he'd be mistaken. As proof, I've embarked on a wee 10-day project. It involves bad pictures of myself and whatever I happen to be wearing that day. Here's day 1 and day 2.

Here's proof that I still do function in society. It's totes true.

The Queen's Birthday: Long Weekend

I love a long weekend. Particularly when it involves family dos. Today we had a picker nicker at Balmoral. Another incredible Winter day. Playing on the beach. Digging in the sand. First tastes of fish and chips. Coffees from the hole in the wall. Hours in the sunshine. Catching up with cousins.

I am pooped to the max. After the picker nicker we quickly whizzed off to our friend's fourth birthday, and then home again, home again - jiggety jig. I am pooped. Bed - here I come.

Regular PMM programming will resume tomorrow. Until then.

PottyMouthPirates: I'll Be Sea-ing You

We've been out sailing the high seas today. It's treacherous out there. Watch out for pirates on the harbour. They're rampant. It's been raining in Sydney non-stop for three weeks - and today - fortuitously timed for my cousin's wedding, the sun blitzed us for a pearler of a day out on the water. How lucky we were not to walk the plank and instead enjoy a tipple of bubbles and cruisy conversation. A wedding on the water. Swell, huh?

This is me doing my best sea dog impersonation.

Why are pirates called pirates?

Because they arrrrrrrrrrrgh.

I'm In A Competition: A Relay. By. My. Self.

via

This thing is tough. I'm throwing water on myself. Puffing. Panting. I'm wearing my tracky daks and feeling like I need to tear them off. I am getting that sweaty (and now you know why there's a sweaty man above - that's what I searched for - but I'm not a man - you know?). I can't even talk. I can't even type. I'm bent over, half breathing, half dying.

Here's the question ladies (and any gents that happen to be innocent bystanders): Is blogging a competitive sport?

I feel like I am back at high school and I am trailing way behind. Let it be known, I never excelled at school sport. In fact, during one PE lesson, we were playing la crosse, I cricked my neck and couldn't continue to play. I told my English teacher that my neck hurt and I felt sick. She thought (well she knew I was such a scammer) that I was just trying to get out of the debate I was involved in. Truth be, as soon as that debate was over, I went home, was promptly booked in to the GP who referred me to the physio, who promptly prescribed me bed rest and Valium. Valium does not equal me faking it methinks. It hurt like heck and my muscles were spasming. The moral here is folks, don't punish the PottyMouth.

Anyway, blogging. Competitive sports. Playing games. Sometimes I feel like, you know, are you guys for real? I mean, anonymous nasty commenters - they're just trying to make themselves feel better by taking an OD of nasssty.

I need to tell you now, I am no good at competitive sports. I played netball when I was younger. I was always muchos taller than the other gals, and always got pulled up because of my height. It caused great frustration. And then I just quit.

So some days are diamonds, some days I think.. Why am I doing this? What is this for? It's like the meaning of life. WHY?

One of my bloggy mates questioned this the other day, and I summed it up for myself. I've got nothing to sell. I blog because I like writing. I love writing in fact. I need my blog as a discipline, otherwise I don't write. That makes for very sad, very savage PMM.

Even if you do have something to sell, doesn't mean it takes anything away from your blog. It's about you writing for you. For the record I was wearing short shorts and my favourite pair of spikes, plus a fluoro pink sweatband.

No matter what, you can't deny, there is competition in the blogging world. I for one have to tell you, I find it a little strange. Everyone has an opinion, it's not a popularity competition peeps. There's room for everyone. Write what you want. Write when you want. Don't worry about whether you have a cheer squad. Don't worry if you don't have the right gear. Just write. Post photos. Talk about your favourite music. If you have an opinion, no matter what it is, someone will dig it, somewhere in the world, someone else feels the same way.

Another reason I blog is because when I had my first child I never joined a Mother's Group. My Mother's Group was hideous. And then some. That too was competitive. I didn't dig on it. I stepped back and stayed at home. I was already insecure. I'd just had a baby at 25. My body had completely changed. My boyfriend (now husband) - what was he thinking of me? I was sleep deprived, cranky, my body had changed, I had changed, we had a baby. There is enough insecurity from the every day without having to survive the petri dish that was the Mother's Group. I am still Mother's Group-less 'til this day. So blogging for me, was kind of like being part of a community, but more so like my own little journal. Something. Just. For. Me.

So sweaty girls. And guys. No need to sweat the small stuff. Blog or no blog. You are loved. By someone somewhere. You are great. You do ace things. Believe it. It's not a race to the finish line.

It's not a competition. It's my blog.