Julian Assange Just Got Even More Awesome

Watch this, it's hilarious, it's awesome - and if you must, skip to 3:30.

Clearly Assange has a lot of spare time. Hilarious. 

Remember when I was in the race to become Prime Minister? I promised you all trench coats for school pick ups. It's not too late! 

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. 

A Sordid Tale

This is a sordid tale. One of woe and yore, and all other old-fashioned sounding words that one does not bother with these days. But one should, shouldn't one?

And that is what leads me to this dastardly tale that will leave you on the edge of your seat. It will leave you with your nails chewed down to the quick. You'll be sitting on the edge of your caboose, spellbound. Gobsmacked.

I have a ribbon drawer. Yes. It is true, dear reader. I do have a ribbon drawer. In which I store... ribbon.

I put the ribbon in the drawer nice and tidy-like, just like any side-saddle horseriding woman would do.

And yet, when I come back out the next day, the ribbon is in a state of dissarray.

It's a true story. Not a long story. It's a perilous story. Not a scary story. But it's a story of truth, and gore, and I just know, you'll be sitting there right now with a dropped jaw, wondering just who unravelled all that ribbon?

PS - please vote for me in the Kidspot Top Fiddy Bloggers. I'll love you long time.

A Shameless Plug

This is where I hide behind a tree, peek out and say something, then go back behind the tree. Or I mumble something to you, and you can't quite make it what it is. Or when you're fast asleep, I whisper to you, repeatedly, until you wake up and it's gone into your big, enormous brain, and you've got no other option. But that would be pretty creepy. But if you're ok with it, I can come over and do that. And stroke your hair. Cough.

Please, won't you vote for a PottyMouthMama in the Kidspot Top Fiddy Bloggers?

It's really simple.

It's not like I'm Obama, but click through and hit VOTE FOR ME.

There, I said it. Now we can continue on with our days.

image via

But Did You Vote For PMM?

If not, don't expect your trench in the mail.

PS: this is NOT my vote. I didn't donkey it.

Mediocre? High-five!

I thought of a really flipping awesome post title and post tonight. And then flipping well forgot what it was.

So now we'll have to settle for mediocre.

We voted today. That was an event. Mainly because the SES people provided a service for dog owners to mind their pooches while they cast their votes. While we're not a family that has a canine, we enjoy patting other people's canines. In particular a five month old schnoodle. Or something like that with some crazy name that was crazy cute and crazy soft.

And prior to voting, Tiny was running and smacked her small noggin into the footpath and is now sporting a massive egg on her head. Yowsers. Poor Tiny.

The first time the Doctor got an egg, I freaked out and called the ambulance. Somehow he managed to pull the Kitchenaid mixer onto himself. I'd never seen anything like that egg. Called the ambulance, then hung up on them, then they called me back. I still wear the mother guilt badge for that, four years later.

We also enjoyed tidying the house. Ok that's not true. No one enjoys tidying the house - and I for one, certainly can vouch for that myself. However I tipped some boxes on the ground so now the mess is like an ocean of mess ebbing onto the floor. I'm guessing if I pick up a couple of things each time I walk past it will be gone in about 32 years. Here's hoping.

PS - Anyone who voted for PMM - expect your trenches to arrive in 2014. Or alternatively, voting is still over here... Maybe you can try and send me to Dunk Island? Alabaster in a bikini? You bet your bottom bippy.

image could be of our house. or alternatively it could be via The New York Times

You Want Me To Vote? Gimme A Coat.

I've made an executive decision today. Friends, you will like it. Trust me (because this is standard dialogue for a politician). I will kiss babies. Lots of babies. I will even give them raspberries on their milk-filled little tummies. And *smile* for the camera.

I've decided to go into politics. I'm going to run for election.

My policies I hear you ask?

Steadfast. Rock-solid. Watertight.

I have one most excellent and truly ace policy.

All mums should be issued with a trench coat, or at the very least a cool raincoat.

It's pouring here AGAIN - and I hate running about with two smalls when it's raining. I have to strap two littlies into the car and stand out in the rain while doing so.

When I gave birth, instead of a Bounty Bag I should have been handed a Burberry trench. I'd look stylish and stay dry. I'd settle for Aquascutum too. Or Stella McCartney.

We'll be like the Australian Olympic team. You get to choose a standard issue item that's classically styled - except we'll be cool, we won't be wearing Green & Gold, and we won't be throwing big sticks or jumping over high sticks. Or alternatively we could make our own Mama Olympics - the 100m dash in stilettos (or ugg boots). I am open to suggestions.

In fact, before writhing around with contractions, you should be given a small card - you nominate your trench.

You like my policy? Easy. You vote me in. PottyMouthMama for PM.

Are you going to vote for the coat?

(Anyone who does not vote for the coat will be issued with one of these. Tough choices ladiez!)

Hot? or ...Hot? You Decide

I've been watching My Kitchen Rules. It's not Masterchef but the judges make good eye candy.

But my sisters and I have been arguing. Who is better looking? Who is hot hot hot?

Manu Feildel
or Pete Evans?

My sister is swayed by Manu's French accent. But I can't get past the leather necklace. And now I'm looking at these photos... Hmm, I can't decide. They're both pretty cute. They can both make me dinner.

So YOU decide. This is an incredibly cerebral post (aren't they all?!). Vote now.

History

via

I Hope You Vote

via

Seeds of Hope

(via here)

Plant your vote for Hope.