Dizzy Parenting

We've moved ...

2008-12-27T11:31:00.000-08:00

Since I moved to Auckland, Dizzy Parenting has kind of morphed into www.aussiesinauckland.blogspot.
Visit us there for more of the same, plus an insight into life in New Zealand.

Lunchbox love

2008-11-25T18:37:00.000-08:00

My lunches rock!
How do I know this?
The other day, when I was putting the school lunches together, H. asked me not to put hers in a clear lunch box.
"Why not?" I asked.
"Cos otherwise the other kids see what's in it, and try to steal it. They're always trying to take my food."
How fabulous, I thought. Not that other kids want to eat my daughter's lunch, but that it actually IS good enough to eat.
It happened at her previous school too. In fact, H. is a slow eater - she's busy chatting, looking around, and taking in the surroundings - so one little girl used to pinch the tastiest morsels when she wasn't looking! Thankfully, it was all sorted out after a word with the teacher.
Granted, I do make an extra effort with my lunches.
I have horrific memories of the school lunches I used to get (sorry Mum). Usually it was a sandwich with luncheon meat and tomato sauce (gross) or a warm peanut paste sandwich. There was always one piece of fruit, and usually a homemade biscuit or cake. Plus water from the school bubblers.
The worst periods were when Mum went through health kicks and made us home-made rye bread (so chunky you could carve it), or home-made wheatmeal chapatis with salad, which were warm and soggy by lunchtime.
And we didn't actually have lunch-boxes, so they were usually squashed as well.
It's not all Mum's fault. She had four kids, and a husband to feed on one wage, and money was tight. Plus, I don't think I actually admitted I didn't like her food. I didn't want to get into trouble for not eating it! And as far as I remember, other kids had similar food, though with tastier toppings like jam or cheese and ham (except for the chapatis and rye bread. I was the only one with those, and no one ever wanted to swap...)
It was all so different back then. These days kids seem to enjoy a smorgasboard of offerings at lunch time.
And I'm guilty of it too, because I make sure there is an assortment of tempting foods in my kids' lunch boxes.
Usually sandwiches, yoghurt, fruit, vita-wheat and vegemite, and something like a homemade slice or biscuit. Occasionally they get treats like fruit bars or cheese and cracker packs, but only if they are on special (and nut-free!) Sometimes, if there is time, I cut the sangers into fun little shapes for them.
They always get a cold water bottle to keep it cool (frozen in summer), and to remind them to keep their fluids up during the day.
In these days where childhood obesity is a concern, I sometimes worry I'm sending far too much food. But the kids are growing and they play sport every day at school. Not to mention playing on monkey bars, slippery poles, climbing forts, and flying foxes at lunchtime and before school. I figure they burn up the kilojoules easily, and I don't want them to get the headaches I remember getting because I couldn't stomach my lunch.
Our school has a policy of sending all the lunch rubbish home, so we know what the kids are eating- or not. They're not allowed to throw them in the bin like I used to do!
And I'm pleased to see that finally, there are usually only empty wrappers and apple cores left.
I went through a stage where I tried recipes that kids are supposed to enjoy at lunch - things like cold salads, rice, quiche, savoury muffins, and chicken legs. But these are always unpopular, and come home uneaten.
I find the trick is to give them a variety of food that is quick and easy to eat, so they can run off and play as soon as possible.
Anyone else got some lunchtime tricks (or horror stories)?

Homemade weetbix chocolate slice - tastier and healthier than muesli bars, and nut-free!

In memory of Nia

2008-11-18T16:19:00.000-08:00

I told myself I wouldn’t read it.
For weeks, horrifying details of the nightmare that was little Nia Glassie’s life, have played out in the New Zealand press.
Like the rest of the country, I’ve been sickened by the reports, yet somehow, unable to look away.
How could anyone not just hurt, but torture an innocent child? How could a mother stand by and allow her child to be tormented and abused and yet, do nothing? How could neighbours see some of the violence and fail to report it?
I know we always ask questions like these when incidents of child abuse and domestic violence are reported all too often, but the graphic report in this morning’s New Zealand Herald is haunting me.
With the court case over, and guilty verdicts handed down, the paper vividly catalogued the sickening assaults which eventually killed the three-year-old. Her world was a place where the people who were supposed to care for her put her in a clothes dryer, swung her off a clothesline, kicked her, threw basketballs at her, and made her life hell. Where her mother turned a blind eye to the abuse, and didn't even take her to the hospital to get medical treatment. Where a little girl was too afraid to cry, and would whimper instead.
(I can't go into more details, because I'm feeling physically ill even as I type the words. If you want a detailed account, go read http://www.nzherald.co.nz/nz/news/article.cfm?c_id=1&objectid=10543815).
The statements to police by other children living in this house of hell, were particularly poignant.
Reading the stories, I cried. I felt angry. Sick. Helpless. Sad. I still do.
I don’t know what exactly blogging about Nia will do, but I guess I wanted to write something that might keep this poor little girl’s memory alive.
So that we will all think of Nia and say a prayer for her soul.
So that we will give our own children at extra cuddle and kiss when they come home from school this afternoon.
I know I will.
If you want to know more about preventing child abuse, go to http://www.stopchildabuse.com.au/ in Australia, or http://www.everychildcounts.org.nz/ in New Zealand.
As the ACF says: Children cannot stop child abuse or neglect. Adults can.

Is it chocolate or poop?

2008-10-21T18:21:00.000-07:00

I found this lying in the hall the other day.

We don't have a dog anymore.

Or a cat.

Just children.

They couldn't have, could they?

Muttering under my breath, I wrapped my hand in a plastic bag and, trying not to breathe, carefully picked the specimen up.

Suddenly H. appeared.

"Mumma you found my Milo Bar!" she shouted in delight.

Well, what did you think it was?

Why my daughter is traumatised

2008-10-09T18:12:00.000-07:00

Like most kids, H. has a favourite toy she absolutely adores.

It was a Baby Amore dolly she got for Christmas last year. This doll cries like a baby, then stops when she is fed her bottle or given a dummy. She even 'breathes', with her chest moving up and down, as she sleeps.

Of course, H's baby had to come to Auckland with her, and she's spent many happy hours carrying her around and fussing over her.

This is what Baby Amore looks like usually...

Then H. dropped her on the floor, and look what happened ...

And in case you missed it..

You can imagine the tearing of clothes, gnashing of teeth, and tears at our house! I don't think even Daddy's going to be able to fix this boo-boo. I've had some experience in mending broken hearts - but any hints on how to mend a broken neck?

Secret Mums' Business

2008-10-02T19:53:00.001-07:00

I have a confession.

Today I took secret pleasure in Another Parent’s Shame.

A woman about my age, with a boy and a girl about my childrens’ age, looked extremely harassed at the supermarket checkout.

She had flushed cheeks, angry eyes, a frown like you wouldn’t believe, mussed-up hair, and was wearing the uniform of stressed-out school holiday mums – tracky dacks and a stained baggy T-shirt.

As her children nagged her for lollies, gum and expensive kiddie magazines, they also fought, frolicked and touched Everything. Including Mum.

Mum had clearly had the misfortune of needing just a few essentials – milk, eggs, bread and juice – but having to do it with two antsy rugrats by her side. Throw in a speed-challenged checkout chick and she was losing her patience. (Apologies to checkout people everywhere – I know most of you are fab, but this one either 1. hated her job so much, she couldn’t summon even one iota of enthusiasm, or 2. loved it so much, she wanted it to last as long as possible. I like to think it was the latter.)

Anyway, for this Mum, a quick shop had turned into a Supermarket Challenge From Hell. (Forget Survivor – just have ten exhausted parents negotiate a normal family supermarket shop dragging a couple of kids around them without breaking into swear words … now that’s a reality show!)

Finally, as one child (the boy) swung the younger one (a girl) into the counter, who promptly burst into tears, Mum cracked. “Be quiet, stop fighting, shut up – and stop touching me!” she snarled. I almost expected her head to spin around. Everyone else’s in the vicinity did!

But my heart went out to her, it did. For there, but for the Grace of God, went I.

Just days earlier, I had found myself in the same situation. We’d spent a mostly delightful morning at the movies, but fuelled up on fizzy drink, popcorn, and the latest Hollywood offering, my kids were overstimulated and tired. A nasty combination.

Still we needed a few necessities at home, like milk and bread, so I bravely soldiered forward into the metropolis that is Foodtown. Within minutes, one child had stubbed his toe and claimed he needed to be carried (but is 7 ½, so that was SO not going to happen), and the other one decided to go out in sympathy, by wailing and trying to climb into the trolley and on top of the eggs. Like the aforementioned Angry Mum, we also found ourselves in a painfully slow check-out queue.

The kids whined, complained, fought, and begged for crap they know they’re not allowed to have. They both tried to climb me, like koalas up a tree. Finally, I felt my own Exorcist-style moment coming on.

“Stop it!” I growled, in a voice that I swear, I never knew I had. Time stopped. People stared. A few people sniggered, but most of them (thankfully) looked at me with sympathy.

The kids just laughed. “Funny Mummy,” Harmonie said. “How did you make that sound?” Chase added, his eyes wide with wonder.

At least my outburst had the desired effect (stopped their antics), and we made it through the check-out unharmed.

Hence my sympathy for today’s Mum.

For today, I was not her. Today, I had dropped my children at a fabulous school holiday program involving sports and lots of disgusting science experiments. Childfree at last, I immediately indulged in one of my favourite activities. Not drinking wine, not enjoying a spa, but shopping. Alone and Unhindered.

And it was bliss!

But seeing that other kids play up, and other Mums lose it in public too, somehow made me feel like I wasn’t alone …

The Undomestic Goddess Strikes Again

2008-09-22T16:42:00.000-07:00

Since we've relocated to New Zealand, I've been playing housewife for a change.

That means as well as packing, unpacking, and schlepping kids across the city, I've taken on more of the cooking duties.

Normally, Kyle cooks the evening meal, and as my waistline proves, he's a dab hand at it too. But while I'm waiting for the net and phone to be connected (and therefore to start work), I thought I'd take over the cooking detail for a while.

Bad move.

My kids hate my cooking. Apparently, my spaghetti bolognaise, Japanese curry, and fish and chips taste nothing like their fathers. Even after I ring Kyle at work to double-check his methods, and follow his instructions faithfully.

"It's not like Dadda's sketti and meat," Harmonie pouts, throwing down her fork in disgust. "I want Dadda's sketti!"

Finally, she deigns to eat the pasta without the sauce, while Chase refuses to touch it at all. Do you think Kyle leaves out a secret ingredient, just to make sure his food is better? Or, (gasp), could it be that I am just a crap cook?

"It's okay Mum," Chase says kindly. "You're good at making Mac and Cheese, noodles and soup."

They all come out of a packet. Great.

Next time it's my turn to cook, I'm doing takeaway.

They love their food ... as long as I'm not preparing it!

We've moved

2008-09-10T16:20:00.000-07:00

Dizzy Mum and family have jumped the ditch to Auckland! Read about their Kiwi adventures at www.aussiesinauckland.blogspot.com

Parks, pademelons and furry pigs - kind of!

2008-07-29T06:02:00.000-07:00

Harmonie on the flying fox - another, non-animal, attraction at Queens Park

Our kids have been to lots of wildlife parks over the years. Dreamworld, Australia Zoo, Lone Pine Sanctuary, the Cairns Rainforest Dome, Melbourne Zoo, Canberra Zoo – they’ve seen them all. Sometimes more than once! And they are avid fans of Bindi Irwin’s Jungle Girl TV show. But that doesn’t mean all that information stays in their heads.
So this weekend, we took a drive to Queens Park, Ipswich. It’s a lovely grassy park, with a massive playground, huge trees, climbing frames, kiosk, and a nature centre.
Chase and Harmonie excitedly ran ahead as they explored the exhibit.
“Look Mum, Watermelons!” Chase exclaimed in delight.
Er no, actually they were Pademelons! (Note to non-Aussie readers: pademelons are cute furry marsupials, smaller than wallabies). I wouldn’t be eating a slice of those any time soon.
Further on, we came along to the wombat display. “Wow, look at the Furry Pigs,” Chase cried. People around us snickered, and I couldn’t help laughing either. I mean, it’s not as if the child hasn’t ever seen a wombat before! Or read about them for that matter.
Chase had the grace to laugh too, when I pointed out his mistake. “Well they look like pigs with a hairy nose,” he said. True.
It was like a recent trip to the country to see my family.
“Ooh, Mumma, big doggies,” said Harmonie reverently, face pressed to the window. Um, actually they were cows.
Maybe we need to get these city kids into the country more often!

Shop Talk

2008-07-16T10:55:00.000-07:00

Harmonie loves shopping for food - and eating it!

Poor Harmonie has been home sick this week, with a nasty bout of asthma.
Challenged with the onerous task of keeping her quiet, and running dangerously low on luxuries like eggs, milk and bread (these days, you almost need to take out a second mortgage to pay for them), I took her out for a spot of shopping.
We’d be dry and warm, I reasoned, and she loves nothing better than being pushed about in a shopping trolley as though she was still a baby, not a strapping 5-year-old.
Regular readers would know I would rather gouge my own eye out than go shopping with my kids … unless it’s with just one of them.
Shopping with one child is mostly a pleasant experience, with said child enjoying the attention, eagerly grabbing products off shelves, and generally charming the socks off fellow shoppers. And me! But together, they are Search and Destroy, running in different directions, irritating each other, fighting over who gets to choose the oranges/apples/bananas or whatever, and demanding expensive lollies and soft drink.
Anyway, today it was just the Princess, and an interesting experience it was.
It started as we drove to our local shops, after school drop off for Chase. Traffic was horrendous, it was pouring rain, and I was muttering naughty words under my breath at the traffically-challenged.
Suddenly, I realised my usual Chatterbox was quiet. “Are you okay honey?” I asked, fearing another bout of vomiting or breathlessness was about to strike.
“Yeah,” she said happily. “I’m being quiet so you can concentrate on the traffic.”
Bless.
When we got to the shops, she climbed into the trolley.
“I kissed a girl, and I liked it …” she sang along to the music playing in the store. Hmm. Think I should be more careful which music I listen to…
When we reached the lolly aisle, she suddenly decided she wanted out.
“Can I have a lolly, ‘cause I’m being good?” she asked.
“Okay,” I said. “Just one.”
She came back with two.
“Just one I said,” I began.
“It’s okay, these are for Daddy,” she said, holding up a packet of fruity jubes. “They’re his favourite.”
Sweets for the sweet.
As we browsed the aisle, I was pestered constantly to buy. Not sweets. Not junk food. Not even fizzy.
But good, healthy food.
“Oh can we please buy this Mumma?” she asked plaintively, handing me a container of fresh ravioli. “It is so yummy and nice.”
And out-of-season cherries. “Oh please Mumma,” she begged. “I love cherries.”
You know what? I think it’s good occasionally to give into pester-power when it comes to kids choosing foods that are healthy and tasty. And when you take into account the outrageous cost of junk food – I could have spent $2 on a packet of chips, but spent it on cherries instead – it’s not scary at all.
On the way home, she sang along to the radio. This time it was the Pussycat Dolls, When I Grow Up. Thankfully, she doesn’t know all the lyrics yet, but unfortunately, she’s seen the video.
“The girls are standing up on a car when they sing this,” she says. “They’re naughty, hey?”
And as we pass a golf course, she says sternly: “Those people are naughty too, aren’t they Mumma? Going into the rain like that. I think they just want to catch a cold. Don’t you?”
Unable to argue with the logic of a child, I turn up the radio.

Words of wisdom - kiddie-style!

2008-07-07T00:28:00.000-07:00

Right: Who would have thought this mouth could come up with so many classics?

This one too, for that matter!

Regular readers will know that I'm often amused by the words that come out of the mouths of my babes.
(Okay, maybe not all the words. You know, like “Poo-head”, “I did a Fart-Fart”, “I hate you”, and the perennial favourite, “Mum can you wipe my bum?”
But often, the kids unknowingly make me smile.
Like this morning, Harmonie was playing in the garden and said casually:
“God gave us two hands and two feet. For walking and for somersaulting.”

Here are few other pearls of kiddie insight that make me laugh

On Where Babies Come From
Chase: “Mumma, when did Daddy put his special seed in your mouth?”
Me: (Silently) “What the?” (Aloud) “What seed, honey?”
Chase: “The seed men put in women to make a baby grow”.

On being a Grown-Up
Me: "No Harmonie, those are for adults."
Harmonie: "Am I a Dolt yet? That’s not fair, I want to be a Dolt!"

Playing with the dogs, Daisy and Zack
Harmonie: “Mum, Zack is rubbing his penis on Daisy’s back, to massage her. And he’s riding her, like a piggyback ride!”

On friendship
Chase: “Mum, I’ve got a boyfriend!”
Me: “Er, really?”
Chase: “Yeah, he’s a boy, and he’s my friend. Actually, I’ve got a few boyfriends …”

That's okay then!

Really Family Friday

2008-07-04T00:39:00.000-07:00

Family Friday

I can't believe it's been a week since I last blogged. This week's photos will explain why. It is school holidays here, and to celebrate, we took the kids to the country to visit my family.
They love catching up with their cousins, Auntie, Uncle and grandparents. Here are a few highlights from our trip:

Digging potatoes with Pa-Pa

Chase digs, Harmonie fetches

Luther the dog watches, as Harmonie shows off the spoils

Ready to go to the RSL

Mum, Dad and Chase outside their home, Chelmer

Have a great week ...

Kids, cats, and breakfast

2008-06-26T20:34:00.000-07:00

Family Friday...

Lolly Cat - "Wake me up again and I'll have to scratch you"

Below: Harmonie at her school's Healthy Breakfast

Tucking in....

Dadda Time

Happy gardeners...

Hope your week was as good as ours!

Hypoxi - hype or hot?

2008-06-25T20:23:00.000-07:00

So there I was. Trussed up in what felt like a rubber mini-skirt, heart-rate monitor attached to my chest, heat monitor tied around one thigh.
Was I:

A. Indulging in some kind of bizarre sexual activity?
B. Undergoing a strange and kinky medical examination?
C. Being probed by aliens?
Actually, the answer is None of the Above.
Always keen to jump on a Quick Fix when it comes to diet and exercise, I was trying out a unique form of exercise called Hypoxi.
To be honest, I’m always sceptical about magical solutions to weight loss. And Hypoxi sounded like some rare kind of medical condition. “Bronwyn’s come down with a terrible case of Hypoxi.” Or perhaps a trendy way to put someone in their place. “Now come on, that idea is completely Hypoxi!” Or even an insult. "Hi Poxy".
But my mate, media personality Bianca Dye swears by it, and with celebrities like Robbie Williams, Cheryl Cole, Anna Friel, and Jordan talking it up, I thought Hypoxi was worth a try.
So how does it work?
Basically, Hypoxi is much like riding an exercise bike, except your lower body is encased in a chamber from the tummy down – using the above-mentioned rubber skirt as a seal. The idea is that low pressure within the chamber forces fatty acid into the blood stream, where it is burnt up by the muscles during the exercise. The makers claim the exercise helps improve circulation; detoxifies; boosts metabolism, targets stubborn fat on tummy, butt and thighs; firms skin; causes weight and centimetre loss; and improves the appearance of cellulite and veins. Some women have been able to go down two dress sizes in just a few weeks!
I did my session at the Body Designers Mt Gravatt clinic in Brisbane (www.bodydesigners.com.au).
The personal trainer was friendly and positive, and didn’t make me feel like a Frumpy Mummy at all.
And once inside the chamber, I was surprisingly comfortable. With a telly on featuring the latest video hits, a glass of water at hand, and the personal trainer slipping in and out to chat, my 30 metres went by quite pleasantly. I basically cycled for 30 minutes, monitoring my heart rate to ensure it didn't work too hard, or too slow. Afterwards, I felt energised, as I always do after exercise. Plus, my lower body temperature had risen by 7 degrees, which meant my circulation had been given a significant boost.
I didn't expect immediate weight loss, and there wasn't. Apparently, at least 10-12 30-minute sessions (three per week) are necessary to show the best results.
My introductory session was free, but I’m impressed enough by the comfort, the testimonials, and the research behind it, to want to give it a try. Hypoxi is already popular in Europe and is much cheaper than liposuction or surgery. Plus, I have arthritis, and gentle exercise in a warm environment is much safer for me than, say, gym or running.
The down side? Hypoxi costs AUD65 a session, though there are discounts available for bulk purchases.
Even so, I’m seriously considering trying it in a few weeks, once school holidays are over.
Am I crazy, or should I go for it?
Let me know your thoughts – and tell me what kind of exercise has worked for you.

All about the shoes

2008-06-21T22:52:00.000-07:00

I hate yummy mummy celebrities like Sarah Jessica Parker, Gwyneth Paltrow and Victoria Beckham.
It’s not their ginormous pay-cheques, stunning good looks, cool husbands, or designer wardrobes I covet … no, it’s their ability to walk in high heels.
Each week, it seems, new photos and videos of them strutting red carpets in fabulous outfits and even more enviable shoes appear to make mere mortals feel inadequate.
It’s cruel, I tell you!
Somehow, pushing two tiny human beings out of my Front Bottom, also dispensed with my ability to wear stilettos.
Pre-pregnancy, wearing high heels was de rigeur. In fact, in view of my height, it was a necessity.
Whether it was travelling to an interview, catching up with friends, or heading out to dance all night, stilettos, heels or FMBs were always the order of the day. They made me taller, gave me confidence, helped me feel sexier. I never fell over while wearing them – although I may have lost one occasionally, after a few too many glasses of vino. And there was the time when I unwittingly, left a shoe on an escalator – only to have a charming young man retrieve it, carry it back down to me, and present it with a flourish.
Ahh, happy days.
Flash forward to Pregnancy Number 1. Within months of finding out there was a Bun In The Oven, I had piled on loads of weight, and I quickly lost my centre of gravity.
Stubbornly persisting on waddle around in high heels, I soon discovered the error of my ways. After a few nasty incidents, usually involving lots of swaggering, and many gutters, my husband Kyle banned heels.
There was a brief period, in between babies, where I felt confident enough to try again. A day at the races, my brother’s 40th birthday party, Date Night with my man … but I was always happy to slip them off at the end of the day. My endurance had taken a tumble.
I felt I was pregnant again, before I knew it. I’d become clumsy again, had fallen over a couple of times, and had unbearable tummy pain.
A test revealed another child was on its way.
This time, I chucked the sexy shoes in the back of the wardrobe. I felt sure I’d be able to wear them after Angel Number 2 arrived, right? Wrong.
On the rare occasions since her arrival that I’ve donned my heels, I can usually be spotted falling, collapsing, and/or sliding down hills. Usually carrying a fresh-baked batch of patty cakes for a school fundraiser.
I don’t know what’s happened but my ability to walk in Seriously Sexy Shoes has been seriously challenged.
Nowadays, I still want to feel sexy, tall and powerful – but I don’t want to end up looking like an Eeejit.

And now research has proven that high heels are a health hazard - causing falls, back pain, bone fractures, and even hip replacement surgery - in wannabe yummy-mummies.
That’s why I dislike celebs like Posh, Gwenny, and SJP.
Not content with being rich, famous, successful yummy mummies, they insist on rubbing their shoe-wearing abilities in my face.
It’s nothing personal, girls, you understand. It’s All About The Shoes.

Family Friday

2008-06-19T17:27:00.000-07:00

Just another week in our lives...

Chase in a rare pose - sleepy and quiet. With all his special teddies.

Dinner with Dadda - right.

Harmonie is a real speed demon.

When Kyle gets home from his trips, Narnie Cat immediately goes and sits in his suit-carrier. Do you think she wants to go with him next time?

And here she is, catching up
on her favourite soaps.

See you next week!

Almost single

2008-06-17T09:16:00.000-07:00

School sports day

Okay, I admit it, I’ve been slack. At least when it comes to blog-writing.
Yes, as a few of my mates have twittered and emailed to remind me, it has been a while since I updated my blog.
That’s why, I thought, this time I’ll write about why it’s taken me so long to drop by.
Here’s the thing: Life, as you know, is busy.
And for the past few months, my husband has been working out of town much more often than usual. Mostly, he gets home on weekends, but last weekend, he didn’t make it.
Now don’t get me wrong. Kyle is a wonderful husband, Dad, and is fantastic at his job. He works hard, and we miss him heaps when he is away – and vice versa.
And the kids and I still managed to have a really pleasant weekend.
But let me just say this: Single parenting within a marriage sucks!
Look at it from my perspective. While Kyle is away, he gets to eat out every night, stay in expensive hotels, hang out at airport lounges, and even see the occasional movie, all in child-free, pester-free peace. There are no lunches to make, homework to supervise, or permission forms to fill in. (All right, all right, I know he actually has to work while he’s away too!)
Meanwhile, as the one left at home holding the rather large ‘babies’, I get all the negatives of single parenting, without the positives.
No weekends off. No weeks-off or holiday relief. No dates, gym, or me time. And I still have to put time and effort into maintaining a marriage rather than being blissful selfish, as single people can.
Not that I mind all that. It’s the way our lives work, and most of the time, its fine.
But every now and then, I get a teensy, bit antsy about it all.
Case in point:
When Kyle arrived home the other day, it wasn’t long before he was tossing toys around, and marvelling at the laundry which had piled up on the lounge.
“How did this place get so messy?” he asked. “What did you do all week?”
Surprisingly, I didn’t kill him. Or poo on his side of the bed, as one of my Twitter pals so charmingly suggested as punishment for naughty husbands.
But Kyle, if you’re reading this, here’s a short list. While you were away I:
* Managed to keep up with my own work, mostly, filing a couple of travel stories and reviews
* Changed all the beds
* Cleaned the bathrooms
* Swept, vacuumed and mopped
* Did lunches
* Cooked and cleaned up afterwards
* Went shopping with the kids – without killing them
* Did the school run
* Attended school sports day
* Rescued dogs when they escaped during school sports day
* Bought bottle of champagne and delivered it to nice lady who kept the dogs at her place until I could get there
* Read to the kids each night
* Supervised homework
* Caught up with visiting relatives
* Washed dogs
* Fed, watered, clothed the animals
* Had a couple of play dates (for the kids, not me)
* Soothed green ant bites and asthma wounds
* Did a zillion loads of washing, and got about half of it put away
* Had kids home sick a couple of days
* Yelled. A lot.
I know the place was still messy on his return, but honestly, sometimes the Mummy Fairy gets a little bit tired.
On the odd occasion, when situations have been reversed, and I’ve been the one to go away, I always come back to find:
No housework, laundry or shopping has been done, and Nana and friends have been roped in to helping my exhausted husband out with the kids. Poor lamb.
But he and the kids are always gloriously happy, so I guess I will forgive him.

NB: No husbands have been hurt in the writing of this blog.

The week that was

2008-06-12T12:29:00.000-07:00

Family Friday

Chase joines Harmonie in her My Little Pony games. More grounds for blackmail - one day!

Harmonie's Prep class does assembly

Our pampered puppies. BTW Daisy loves to sleep with her precious bowls - just in case food magically appears!
Zack

Our friendly neighbourhood kangaroos

The long weekend

2008-06-09T18:43:00.000-07:00

Left: The kids and their cubby

It was a long weekend, here in Oz, and with Kyle home for a few days, we decided to dedicate it to Quality Family Time.
On Saturday, Kyle rewarded my long stint of solo parenting by watching Enchanted with the kids, while I did some pester-free shopping on my own. While I was a bit Meh about having to miss some time with McDreamy, the chance to shop alone was too good to refuse. Oh, the bliss! I’d forgotten how wonderful it was to spend money without:
· Having to buy a lot of expensive crap
· Refusing to buy a lot of expensive crap and enduring the tantrums which result
· Chasing kids from one end of the supermarket to the other
· Lugging around a five-year-old when her legs get tired (which is every five minutes)
· Screaming like a fishwife when one of the kids plays up (which is every five minutes).
· Saying No. A lot.
The kids spent much of the day building and playing in a cubby in the front yard. The dogs and cats joined in the fun too, while Kyle and I pottered around in the background.
Next morning we headed to the markets for breakfast and let the kids spend the money they earned for sleeping in their own beds while Kyle was away. ($1 per night. A bit steep I know, but me getting a good night’s sleep? Priceless).
We didn't forget the dogs. They ended up with some snazzy winter coats. See?

Left: Zack in his winter finery, and the pair of them (below).

Sunday afternoon involved art and crafts (below),

reading, and a relaxing barbie with friends that evening.

Finally, on Monday, there was a day of cooking (left) and just hanging out. In the afternoon, Kyle took Harmonie shopping, while I played the piano with Chase.
I rounded off the weekend, with a couple of glasses of red and the latest episode of Desperate Housewives, while Kyle caught up on WOW.
You know, in the old days, pre-kids, our quiet weekend probably wouldn’t have rated. But these days, a few days at home are just what the doctor ordered.
How do other parents spend family weekends? I’d love to hear what you get up to.

Family Friday

2008-06-05T23:37:00.000-07:00

Family Friday

Welcome to a new DizzyMum tradition.

Each Friday will feature photos of my fun, fabulous, funky, family. (Do you think there are some more F-words I could get in there? Nothing rude please!)

Left: Harmonie and one of her best friends, Zack.

Right: Narnie Cat. Not looking impressed at wearing a wig.

Left: And the culprit!

Right: Dizzy Daisy

More next week!

The power of tea. And cappuccinos.

2008-06-03T18:33:00.000-07:00

Pic: So much more than a simple cuppa...

This morning, my tousled Little Princess padded into the kitchen and sleepily asked for a cappuccino.

Not her usual ‘hot chocolate’ (Milo and chocolate flavouring). Not a bubbacino. But a real cappuccino. “Like you Mumma”.

Guilty as charged. I can't start the day without a strong, skim milk frothy cup of heaven, and clearly, Harmonie has picked up on my addiction.

Okay, obviously I’m not going to give a five-year-old caffeine. Harmonie’s cappuccino is just milk froth with chocolate powder on top. But as I watched her sipping it contentedly, it got me thinking: Isn’t if funny how kids are influenced by their parents?

Recently, my son Chase was in the middle of a temper tantrum and couldn't seem to get himself out of it. I can’t even remember what sparked it: Probably something major like his favourite TV show not being on, getting told off for trying to kill his sister, or being denied ice-cream for dinner. Whatever the case, he was angry, teary, defiant and out of control.

I tried all the usual child-calming tricks. Time out. Cuddles. Threats. Bribes. Whispering. Shouting.
Nothing worked.

Look, I sympathise with kids when they're in Full Tanty Mode. Adults find it hard to calm down when they're in the middle of a dispute, so why do we expect kids to do it so effortlessly?Frustrated myself, and having counted to ten, I finally thought: What calms me down when I’m stressed and out of control? And I realised: Usually, a soothing cup of tea or a medicinal glass of wine (or three!) does the trick.

Clearly, the wine is an option for the Monkey Man! So I went over to him, and quietly asked if he would like a cup of tea.
He stopped, mid-rant, immediately, and looked at me with interest. “What did you say?” he asked.
“I asked if you would like a cup of tea,” I said calmly. “When I’m angry or stressed about something, I find a cup of tea makes me feel better.”

Chase has never had tea before. I see a sparkle come into his eye and know I’ve won.
Tantrum forgotten, we spend the next 20 minutes or so making the tea – Good Aussie breakfast tea, weak, topped up with soy milk, and a couple of sugars. Chase is entranced by the ritual, and I sit beside him, chatting, while he drinks it. “You’re right Mum, I do feel better,” he says when he’s finished.

As I watch him walk happily towards his colouring books, I smile. It’s rare in parenting – at least at my home – that it all comes together. Suddenly, I feel like Super Mumma! Peace is restored and I had something to do with it. Parenting doesn’t get much better than that!

Now, whenever Chase is feeling anxious, teary, or sick, he’ll come to the kitchen and ask for a cup of tea.
My husband thinks I’m crazy giving the Monkey Man caffeine, but honestly, it’s half weak tea, half-milk. He’d probably get more caffeine from a bar of chocolate!
And when Chase is drinking it, I always make time to sit with him and chat. Usually I have a cup with him.

I’m hoping it will turn into one of those family rituals that will help to bond us for life.

I just have to make sure my habits are relatively harmless - at least the ones they see. I don't want them coming home from school one day in the future and saying: Can I please have a wine, Mum? Preferably something with bubbles?"

Anyone else got any kid-wrangling tips to share? Or are there family rituals that enhance your life?
I’d love to hear them!

Great expectations

2008-05-28T18:00:00.000-07:00

Pic: Chase and Harmonie, a few months after we coaxed Harmonie into the world

Sam at temporarily me (http://www.temporarilyme.com/) is overdue, poor lamb. In an attempt to show female solidarity my twitter mate Karen (http://karensugarpants.com/) has put in the call for blogging mums to share their stories.
And so I find myself thinking back seven years ago to the birth of Chase.
I was two weeks overdue and HUGE. Seriously, I looked like a bowling ball on legs!
My husband and I were impatient to meet our little guy, and I didn’t think I could take a minute more of cramps, aching pelvis, indigestion, and piddling. So we’d been trying for several weeks to help coax the little one out.
Walking – that just made my pelvic condition and my exhaustion worse.
Spicy foods – gave me indigestion
Sex – one of the nicer options, but apart from putting us both in a good mood, didn’t do a thing
Bumpy drives – just made me need to wee
Nipple stimulation – made me feel like I was in a bad porno
Frights – My husband would lie in wait and jump out in front of me. Made me cranky and brought on another urge to pee, but did nothing to bring on baby.
Raspberry leaf tea – Made me wee. (Does every non-medical attempt to bring on birth result in weeing?)
A midwife with Man Hands even did a particularly violent cervix exam, before telling me to go home and have a couple of glasses of wine to ‘relax’ the baby out.
The wine made me tipsy, but like everything else, did nothing to encourage our baby to make his way into the world.
Finally, when Chase was looking to be overcooked and my blood pressure was rising, I was booked in for an induction.
Now in the interests of not freaking out a woman who is about to push a human being out of her front bottom, I will not go into details.
Needless to say, my first experience of childbirth was a nightmare, which only ended after lots of swearing at my husband, a three-grade tear, and an episiotomy.
Thankfully, it also resulted in a beautiful blue-eyed baby boy!
But afterwards, I promised myself that I would never have an induction again. (At that stage, trust me, I wasn’t even going to have sex again!)
Flash forward two years, and I’ve clearly overcome my aversion to sex, because I’m up the duff, this time with little Harmonie.
About a month before my due date, my obstetrician began making noises about another induction. My blood pressure was high – higher than with Chase – and because of my arthritis and pelvic condition, I was in unbearable pain and could barely walk.
I was determined not to go down the intervention path again, and this time did my research more thoroughly.
I drank copious amounts of raspberry leaf tea, started acupuncture sessions aimed at making childbirth less labourious, and begged a midwife to divulge her no-fail way to bring on labour: Sex.
“Oh, we did that last time, and nothing happened!” I said dismissively.
She looked at me shrewdly.
“Did you lie down so the semen would stay inside you?” she asked.
“Er – no.”
And that was the trick apparently. For the prostaglandin-like substances in semen to soften the cervix, it actually has to stay there for a while. About 20 minutes, the midwife told me.
A few nights later, after a particularly uncomfortable day, my husband looked at me. “Are you ready to have this baby?” he asked. And I thought: Why not?
So, without going into details, we did a particularly nice doona dance, and this time, instead of jumping up and heading for the shower or the loo, we lay there and cuddled. In fact, I was so relaxed, I went to sleep.
Whether it was a coincidence or not, I will never know. But the next morning I bent down to load the dishwasher and my waters broke. All over the kitchen floor.
This time, because the childbirth was completely natural, I was able to keep pace with my body. This time, childbirth was the empowering, magnificent experience I’d been told about.
By 4 pm that afternoon, I had my little girl in my arms and felt that wonderful rush of endorphins and hormones that new Mums are supposed to get.
So I wish Sue all the best and hope she gets the birth she dreamed of too. And lots of nice sex too.

Confessions of a very naughty Mumma

2008-05-26T20:20:00.000-07:00

Sometimes I let the kids sleep in their school uniforms, so I don’t have to dress them in the morning.

In summer, if the kids go swimming after school they don’t have to take a shower.

I often put my husband’s expensive Japanese cooking knives in the dishwasher, because I can’t be arsed washing them by hand.

I hate volunteering at school (but do it anyway). Too much noise, and I never was good at crafts, sports, or entertaining children!

Some weeks, the closest I get to exercise is doing the school run.

Housework counts as exercise, doesn’t it?

Wine Time comes early some days. After school early.

When my husband is away, we often have vegemite sandwiches or cereal for dinner.

We’ve been known to cancel play dates and barbecues at our place because the house is too messy.

Once I wrote a note excusing my son from swimming lessons because he was sick, when I’d actually just forgotten to pack his togs.

My kids think I was a pirate before I became their Mum.

I would rather chew my own arm off than help my son with his homework (but do it anyway).

Sometimes I pretend I'm working, but I'm actually surfing the net, reading newspapers online, or doing Facebook or Twitter.

I use my husband's good razor to shave my legs - and don't tell him!

I give our really dirty dishes and saucepans to the dogs to lick clean first before putting them in the dishwasher. Well they don't call them dishlickers for nothing! And besides, there is a drought...

I regularly go out out wearing: kiddie sick, dog hair, cat hair, cat pee, kiddie snot, kiddie food smearings, and sometimes, a combination of all of these.

Anyone else got some Mumma Confessions they want to get off their chest?

Absolutely embarrassing!

2008-05-22T20:18:00.000-07:00

Left: Who would have thought such innocent faces could be behind so much trouble?

So there I was, innocently paying for my groceries. Grabbing my purse out of my handbag, it accidentally caught on a pair of handcuffs and they landed onto the counter for all to see.
“It’s not what you’re thinking!” I wanted to say to the open-mouthed checkout chick, and snickering teenager behind me. “I am not having kinky sex!” (Let’s be honest: I’m a working mother. I’m lucky if I have the energy to have any sex at all!)
Instead, red-faced, I stuffed the offending items back into my bag and tried to look dignified.
Of course, the handcuffs were not mine. They belonged to the police-loving seven-year-old, who has a penchant for dressing up as a cop. I’d had to confiscate them earlier, because he was trying to handcuff his sister to the trampoline.
I’d shoved them into the nearest hiding place – my bag – and promptly forgotten all about them.
As the mother of two mischievous monkeys, I should be used to being embarrassed by their antics by now.
Like the day I answered a phone call in the middle of Big W. As shoppers crowded past me, hunting for bargains, I fumbled in my bag for a pen to write down an important phone number I needed.
“Fuuuuuuurp,” went my bag. Or more correctly, the fart pen inside it.
“It wasn’t me,” I wanted to say, as shoppers looked at me in a mixture of disgust, amusement, and quite possibly, admiration. “It’s a bloody pen”!
But before I got the chance, the fart pen trumpeted again, this time longer and louder.
If you didn’t know fart pens existed, you obviously don’t have a son like mine. They’re shaped like a finger (the pens, not my son), and you pull the end of the finger to make it let rip with a variety of disgusting sounds. Get it? That way the kids can say: Pull my finger!
Oh, it’s hilarious! I don’t think.
I made a point of flourishing the finger as I wrote, but I’m not sure how many onlookers realised I wasn’t really the source of the sounds.
Then there was the day I took my five-year-old Harmonie to the family doctor, who sees all of us regularly.
“So Harmonie,” he asked, as he checked her ears and took her temperature. “How’s Daddy?”
“Good,” she replied casually. “He farts all night.”
As I cringed, our bemused GP admitted: “I think that’s a little more information than I needed to know.”
I guess that’s nothing compared to the days when we were toilet-training Harmonie, and she insisted on telling everybody she met that she had finally graduated from nappies.
“Guess what?” she’d ask – neighbours, friends, strangers, it didn’t matter. “I can poo in the toilet!”
Helpfully, she also went through a stage of describing her most recent achievements, just so others wouldn’t miss out by not having been there at the time.
“It was a snowman one,” she’d say. Or, proudly, “It was green!”
Then there was a time, my husband Kyle needed surgery to remove a lump on his breast. “Doctor pinched Daddy’s napple,” she’d tell whoever would listen. “Now Daddy only got one napple.”
Of course, bodily functions and medical dramas are always of interest to kids. Recently, I had a colonoscopy, thanks to a family history of bowel disease and as another delightful consequence of reaching 40. Not.
“Mum’s going to have a camera stuck up her butt,” Chase announced gleefully when friends dropped around. Is nothing sacred?
But it’s not so bad. I know in a few years time, when the kids won’t want to be seen in public with their mother, let alone acknowledge my presence, it will be my turn to embarrass them. And I’ll certainly be ready to make up for lost time!

Specials strike again

2008-05-20T17:04:00.000-07:00

I dropped into the supermarket this morning to pick up milk and a couple of bottles of fizzy water.

Look at what I ended up carting home (above)!

Yep, my special fetish has reared its ugly head yet again.

I love a bargain. And this morning, there were plenty of temptations.

Steak, from the butcher we like, $7 off. We're having a barbie tonight, so that went into the trolley.

Then I spotted some bones for the dogs. They deserve a treat, so I snapped them up too.

I dutifully piled in the water and milk. Then added fresh bread rolls for the snags tonight. Oh, then croissants were reduced. Chase loves them with ham and cheese for breakfast, so I tossed them in.

Quiches, less than half price. I grab two, one for the fridge, one for the freezer. They're great when friends or family drop in unexpectedly for lunch.

A ham and pineapple pizza - Chase's favourite - for $3.50. That will be great for school lunch tomorrow.

Then tofu, mince, hair conditioner, and broccoli, all drastically reduced. Then remembered we were out of apples, so I grabbed a few of those.

Finally, at the checkout, I noticed Woman's Day magazine (who I used to write for) had a bonus bag of freebie samples. So of course, I had to add that too.

So $77 later, here we are.

It's lucky we don't run out of milk and fizzy water very often!

So am I sucker for specials, or have I actually saved money here?

The supermarket's slogan is 'You'll Love Coles'. But right now, I'm not sure whether I should love them or hate them!

Dung, poo, and other stories

2008-05-20T03:27:00.000-07:00

Pic: Chase's dung beetle, complete with dung.

This week, Chase's class has been studying insects and bugs.

One day, they were asked to create a plasticine figure of their favourite bug. Most of the students created the most beautiful lady bugs, ants, and caterpillars. Chase, with his obsessive interest in everything faecal, chose to create a model of a dung beatle. Complete with dung for it to eat. As you do.

It gets worse though.

Show and Tell this week was to share some amazing information with the class which they probably hadn't heard before.

Chase enthralled them all with his talk about our visit to the Deep Space Communication Centre at Canberra recently. Did he regale them with news on the current expedition to Mars? Or the moon rocks on display? Perhaps even the noises from space we heard?

No. The major topic of discussion was how astronauts go to the toilet in space. To better illustrate his talk, Chase had helpfully, without my knowledge, smuggled a fake poo into his school bag. All the better to aid his talk about how some poor bastard has to actually study the astronaut poo when they've returned from space.

Groan.

And tomorrow I have to show my face at school all over again...

Free divorce - a winner, or just a booby prize?

2008-05-18T09:55:00.000-07:00

Pic: My divorce book, Happily Ever Parted

Lately, people have been asking me to comment on the latest controversial competition to come from the makers of trashy men’s magazine Zoo Weekly.
The magazine is offering its readers an Australian first – the chance to win an all-expenses paid divorce.
The Zoo’s editor Paul Merill says that one reader will win everything they need to unleash themselves back to the glory of bachelorhood – including their solicitors’ fees (paid up to $5,000); their divorce application fee ($639); a cleaner for two months and a plasma TV (in case their other half grabs theirs). The prize also includes a three-tiered divorce cake; a divorce party with Zoo girls; a PS3 to fill the long, lonely hours; and a year’s subscription to the magazine.
“If a marriage fails it’s sad, but what’s sadder is being stuck under the same roof as a woman who’s just slept with your best mate,” says Paul. “Our lucky winner will get to escape and start a whole new life. We’ll help him at every stage – from buying him a new plasma screen and throwing him a party, to finding him a new girlfriend.”
To get the prize, readers simply must write in 100 words or less, why they deserve to be divorced from the woman of their dreams – er – nightmares.
And of course, the competition has divided Australia. Are they promoting divorce? Is a free divorce really something readers will aspire to – or is it just a booby prize? (Pardon the pun). Okay, here are my thoughts.
Firstly, Zoo Weekly is not known for its insightful articles, or tasteful photographs. It’s known for smutty stories, leery girly pics, and lots of sexual innuendo. And we already know that in an attempt to boost circulation, they ran another competition giving a reader’s partner a free boob job. So we shouldn’t really be surprised they’ve come up with this competition as a marketing strategy. And it’s obviously working. Internet forums are full of men and women railing at each other, and the do-gooders are up in arms.
From my point of view, a free divorce isn’t exactly a bad idea … but hear me out … there must be a few provisos.
To be ethical, the mag really should be offering the same amount of money and benefits to both parties – male and female. Often, money is a sticking point in a divorce, and it’s unethical to allow one party access to a solicitor and all the rest, without giving the same opportunity to the other person.
Two, why is there no mention of counselling here? Even if the winner fails to take it up, counselling should be an option. Again, it’s expensive to get counselling, and sometimes the people who most need it – that is, people in the middle of a divorce – just can’t afford it. Counselling is far better than just talking to a family member or friend, because they’re qualified to give advice, they’re objective, and they’ll tell you what you need to know – not what you want to know.
Three, What is the magazine expecting of the winner in return for the pound of flesh on offer? Are they going to be wanting a tell-all interview, giving all reasons why the marriage ended? Photos? The Lot?
Again, this isn’t on. It’s not fair to the other person – who may not want to be involved in media coverage – and if there are kids involved, it’s actually evil. Divorce is hard enough on families without bringing it into the media. That just gives every man and his dog and child a reason to comment – Shane Warne anyone?
Four. The person wanting the divorce must be truly sure they know what they are doing. Ideally, they’ve been separated for some time and have set all the processes in motion. It can’t be just an easy get-out. They must have at least tried to make their marriage work, and know that this is what they really want. Otherwise, it’s making divorce just too easy.
Five. Offering the chance to date is just crazy. In this industry, everyone knows that a divorce is like a death, and you need time to come to terms with your loss, the end of the marriage, and to learn who you really are and what you really want.
This isn’t just girl-talk, it goes for men as well. Jumping from one relationship into another without taking time to breathe is a recipe for disaster. And it’s trivializing the relationship you’ve had before, and the time you’ll need to get over it. Sure date – eventually. But allow yourself time to be comfortable with yourself before moving on.
Six. Don’t think that just because you’ve been given an easy ride, and the plasma TV, that divorce is going to be easy. It’s not. Yes, a paid divorce will take some of the financial concerns away, but it’s still going to be tough emotionally. And when all the Zoo girls have gone home, you’ll still be facing a new life, alone.
But apart from all that, if you’ve already set divorce plans in motion, and you’re certain this is what you want, go for it.
The interesting thing is that though the editor has been lamblasted for being sexist for running the competition, it's not the first thing he's tried this tactic to boost circulation.Back in 1999, Paul was assistant editor at English WOMEN'S magazine Chat.
Back then he ran a 'Ditch A Loser With A Free Divorce' competition. To win a 500 pound prize, readers had to write in and explain why they deserved to leave their marriage. Sound familiar?
Here's what he said at the time: "Marriage is a sacred institution, divorce isn't, it's a good way of getting shot of your bloke if he's been messing around or treating you cruelly."
Obviously, the stunt attracted the same kind of attention in the UK as it did here. I'm not sure how that one ended up, but I do have advice to anyone considering entering for this freebie: Like a good marriage, a good divorce means a lot of hard work, and is an experience that will change your life forever.
And given that 49 per cent of divorcees regret the end of their marriage later, be careful what you wish for.

Photolicious

2008-05-17T08:21:00.000-07:00

Chase and Harmonie show-off their yoga skills. Photographed for free, by me ....

Our kids are just too darn photogenic.

A few months ago, one of those photo places targeted me in the shopping centre. Usually, having been caught before, I avoid them like the plague. But this time, something in me weakened.

It's been ages since we had professional photos taken of the kids, and the roving salesperson - who after all, was only trying to make a commission - was offering me a coupon for $10 for a sitting, including photo.

We all know how this works. You get a cheap or free sitting plus pic, but end up loving all the photos so much you buy a whole collection. For hundreds of dollars you can't afford.

But I really wanted an updated photo of the kids to add to the collection on our walls.

I ran it past Kyle.

"Okay," he said. "But we'll just get the free one. We don't need the rest."

I agreed.

So after three failed attempts to get to the portrait place, we finally made it this morning. Kids in their hair-brushed, just-dressed, good-enough-to-eat best.
The photos were taken, and we were given about an hour to wander around the shopping centre while they got a slideshow of our session together.
"Okay," I said. "We're just going to take the free photo, right?"

"That's right," Kyle agreed.

But of course, in we go, and all the photos are so gorgeous, we immediately weaken.

Sensing victory, the salesperson suggests we take out any pics we don't like, to reduce the cost.

How can you take out pics of your own kids? But there are a few that look stiff, or not quite 'them'.

Once that's done, I tentatively ask the cost. $600.

"Are you kidding me?" I think, but say nothing. The pics are gorgeous, but $600 for digital photos? (Last time we did it, they were the old-fashioned version, so you'd think they would have come down in price.)

Kyle and I eye each other, warily, each silently willing the other to be the tough guy.

"You can take a few more photos out to reduce the cost," the sales lady says.

So we take a few more out.
"How much now?" I ask.

"Well, you're not actually buying a collection now, so the price actually goes up. To $649," the sales lady says.

Give me a break.

The next cheapest collection is $400 for half a dozen pics. I'm about to capitulate, when I catch Kyle's eye and remember our promise. Suddenly, sanity kicks in.
Yes, the pics are great. But we have a zillion great pics of our kids at home, and most of these aren't any better than we can do ourselves. Truly.

And the kids are playing up a treat, attacking each other with the free balloons they've been given while we're trying to decide how much to spend on perfect images of them behaving.

"It's so confusing, I can't possibly decide right now," I say honestly. "We'll just take the free one, and we'll think about the rest."

In the car, our decision makes perfect sense, and I realise we didn't really need a whole collection of photos anyway.

I hate these companies that prey on parents' love of their children.
"This is absolutely the last time we go there," Kyle says as we drive home.

I agree.

Until next time at least ...

Homework hell

2008-05-14T21:27:00.000-07:00

We've read to the kids since birth ...

“I know the answers, it’s just that my brain can’t find them,” said Chase the other day as we were trying to get through his homework.
Probably a pretty good description actually.
Homework time is one of my least favourite times of the day.
I know good mothers should love doing homework with their kids, but most nights I would rather pull my own teeth out than take on Chase’s ‘bonus learning’!
You see, Chase has had loads of problems learning to read and write. We’ve gone down the occupational therapy road and had some success with that, and he’s getting fantastic support at school.
And having interviewed fabulous Australian author Mem Fox while pregnant, I know that reading to your child is one of the greatest gifts a parent can give a child.
So we’ve done that, religiously, since birth.
It never occurred to me that one of kids would have problems with reading and writing.
I write – and read – for a living. By osmosis – and older brothers and sister – I could read before I started school, and was always ahead of my peers in English and spelling.
So helping Chase has been a real eye-opener. I’m not a teacher, so I was stumped when it came to transferring my knowledge to Chase at home. Luckily, I’ve been given loads of advice and tips from Chase’s teachers, and I’m getting better at it.
But when it comes to learning sight words, writing sentences, and reading, homework time is still, well, like pulling my own teeth out.
Chase scratches, farts, takes toilet breaks, remembers he’s still hungry, realises he’s also terribly thirsty, and tries anything he can think of to prolong the agony.
Sometimes his sister sits beside us, doing her ‘homework’ (drawing and colouring), but she’s started recited random letters of the alphabet while he’s struggling with his spelling.
“ARSE” she’ll spell, as Chase is attempting to spell “broomstick”.
Next minute, he’s called her a Poo Head, she’s called him a Bum Bum, and they’re trying to kill each other.
I’ve found a way to relieve the pain though. After homework time, it’s bedtime for the kids. And wine time for me!

I smell a rat ...

2008-05-13T17:50:00.000-07:00

These two wouldn’t hurt a fly – let alone a rat!

Well, actually I saw one. This morning. Outside our back door.
Sadly, for the rat, it was dead. I’m not sure how it died.
Certainly, I don’t suspect our dogs. They are labbie angels, who have killed anything in their entire lives. Even when the neighbours’ chickens and cats used to regularly visit our garden, the dogs would just watch them with interest and occasionally follow them around, sniffing at them. Our dogs also play with our cats and kids. It goes without saying, they are awesome. And to support my theory, Zac and Daisy ignore the rat and instead give us their usual effusive morning greetings.
Whatever. Something awful, apparently, occurred to the rat. Possibly a cat. Or a passing rat-killing ninja. Annyway, it’s gone to rat heaven and its fate immediately becomes this morning’s topic of discussion.
“What happened to him?” asks Harmonie, mournfully.
“Harmonie, it might be a girl,” says Chase. “Mum, is he a boy or a girl?”
Somehow, I manage to keep them from going outside to look, and we race through the usual morning routine. By ten to eight, the kids are ready – hair-combed, teeth-brushed, everything in place – when I realise I’m still in my PJs. So I leave the kids in front of the electronic babysitter, and run upstairs to shower and change.
Big mistake.
The kids use the 10 minutes it takes for me to do this to go outside, and perform a Rat Burial.
Donning plastic gloves, they scoop the rat up in a cup and place him in a lunchbox coffin.
Then they partially bury the rat in the garden. Partially, because before they can finish, the dogs take the opportunity to sneak inside and clean up the breakfast leftovers. Well, they are labbies!
And somehow, the back screen door falls off its hinges. Chaos reigns.
I come downstairs to screaming – though thankfully no one is hurt.
Chase blames the dogs. Harmonie blames Chase AND the dogs, which is probably the most likely scenario.
“But Mum, we just wanted to give Rattie a funeral,” says Harmonie.
“Yeah, we just want to be able to visit him every day so he doesn’t get lonely,” adds Chase.
Well, you can’t argue with that logic.
I quickly dust the kids over for rat germs and we leave, late as usual, for school.
Just a typical morning here then.

Show and tell

2008-05-12T12:11:00.000-07:00

Pic: Harmonie at Cockington Green Gardens, where she purchased the ill-fated snow globe ...

I was pretty pleased with myself yesterday, when I remembered that it was Harmonie’s day for Show and Tell.
In the name of fairness, all the kids at prep get a turn at Show and Tell on their rostered day. Heaven help the parent who forgets, and sends their child to school with nothing to show or talk about!
When I asked Harmonie what she wanted to take to school, there was no hesitation: “My snow globe!” she said excitedly.
Harmonie’s snow globe is her favourite thing ever. She bought it at the gift shop at Cockington Green Gardens on our recent trip to Canberra, with her very own pocket money. It was a bargain - $5.50, down from quite a lot more.
With a cute green frog inside, it wasn’t the usual thing I thought she’d go for – she bypassed the fairies and cuddly animals she usually favours – but she loved it.
It’s a snow globe. It’s from Canberra (which the kids loved). She used her own money. She could afford it. So it's extremely special.
Since then, I’ve been paranoid about her breaking it – and have saved it from tumbling to the floor on more than one occasion.
But I wasn’t worried about it breaking at school. The kids give their precious possessions to their teacher on arrival, and she carefully looks after them and returns them at the end of the day.
So we reverently wrapped the snow globe in cloth and placed it in Harmonie’s backpack, which I usually carry into school (I know I should make the kids carry them, but the bags are usually so heavy that I worry about the impact on their little backs).
Just before we left though, Harmonie brought me a little Dora The Explorer handbag Nanna bought her back from a visit to the US some time ago.
“Mumma, I want to put it in this, then I can show everyone my bag too,” she said.
We were running late as usual, so in my infinite wisdom, and in the name of getting out the door without a tantrum, I agreed. I figured the bag would protect the globe from any unexpected knocks or bumps. You know where I’m going with this, right?
We got to school. I’m carrying the backpacks, and helping to support Chase, who is throwing a wobbly – literally – pretending he can’t walk in his new sports shoes. (He is a terrible actor by the way!)
Harmonie spots a friend and runs ahead of us, swinging her handbag wildly in excitement.
“Harmonie,” I begin … but it’s too late. As if in slow motion, the bag falls to the ground and there is a sickening crunch.
Her little face crumpled into tears.
“It might be okay,” I say hopefully, as I pick up the bag and inspect it. Water spurts out of it, and inside, are shattered shards of glass.
“I’m sorry Harms, it’s broken,” I say, as Chase complains “Mum you’re getting water on my bag!”
Typical male. His sister's heart is breaking, and all he can think about is the effect on him! On the plus side, the drama has made him forget the fact that he supposedly can't walk.
Harmonie is inconsolable.
And to my shame, as we walk into school, I can’t help but admonish her. “Why were you swinging your bag like that?" I say. “You knew your snow globe was in it!"
Then I felt like a terrible mother. Harmonie wasn't being naughty. She was just being a happy little kid.
Guiltily, I stop, get down to her level, give her a big cuddle and tell her it will be okay, that we’ll get her another one somewhere else.
In class, her teacher is, as usual, wonderful.
“You know what Harmonie, I once did the very same thing,” she says kindly. “It’s okay, these things happen.”
I love the teachers at my children’s’ school.
By the time I leave, Harmonie’s tears are drying and there’s a hint of a smile.
When I pick her up at the end of the day, she’s happy again and the incident is forgotten.
“Did you have a good day?” I ask, as she skips ahead of me.
“Yeah,” she says. “Fun.”
And that was that.
It’s Chase’s turn for Show and Tell next week. Remind me not to let him take anything breakable!

Happy Mother's Day!

2008-05-10T23:43:00.000-07:00

The art of Mother's Day

Today, being Mother’s Day, I was woken by a couple of excited kids and bemused husband.
The kids had spent $5 of their own money at the school’s Mother’s Day stall, and wrapped their pressies (very creatively) themselves. Of course, I had to pretend not to see the presents on a couple of occasions – eg, on the way out of school, when one of Chase’s gifts, a colourful soft flower in a flower pot, tumbled out onto the ground in front of me!
I was amazed at the amount of thought they put into their gifts though.
Apart from the flower pot, Chase had packed a couple of pens, scissors (probably because I’m always shouting that I can’t find any), a frame he’d found in the gift cupboard at home, into which he’d put a photo of himself, and the best thing: A book of coupons he made at school. They’re each good for things like a free foot rub, hassle-free homework evening, and room tidy. He’s also gone crazy making home-made cards. Gotta love his teacher!
Harmonie had purchased a gift-set of smelly goodies – bath crystals, body lotion, body butter, shower gel and sponge. Given they cost $5, I’m not sure what the quality will be like – but it’s the thought that counts. She also made a card, a magnet, and a placemat at school. Very cute.
Kyle had given me an early Mother’s Day present a few weeks ago, so I could use it on our recent family trip to Canberra – my digital camera. I also scored some cute cat earrings from Canberra’s Old Bus Depot markets, and a CD.
Afterwards, the kids excitedly helped set up for an outdoor barbecue breakfast. Nanna – Kyle’s Mum, joined us. The weather in the mornings is gorgeous this time of year. Warm, but not too hot. It was a bit more work than going to a restaurant, but so much more relaxing.
So we ate too much, and relaxed in the sun for a while. I was tempted to start the day with my favourite bubbly, but decided that sunshine plus wine so early in the day, may not mix!
We had a lazy day, during which time I rescued the kids from child-eating spiders, cooked lunch, cleaned up after breakfast, made a cardboard crocodile, and wiped a couple of snotty noses. Not too different to normal then!
This afternoon, we drove out to Paddington to take a look at a new coffee and chocolate place that had supposedly opened there. I was really looking forward to a couple of hand-made chocolates and a decent coffee. Guess what? It wasn’t there! Obviously, they’ve gotten a bit ahead of themselves on their website.
Very disappointing. We ended up having noodles on the way home instead.
The monsters fought like cats and dogs in the car, so they’ve now been banished to their rooms while I write this and Kyle plays Warcraft.
The silence is bliss – and maybe the best Mother’s Day gift I could have asked for!
I hope you had a happy one too!

Bedtime blues

2008-05-07T02:34:00.001-07:00

Pic: If only they were always like this...

I hate bedtime.
Not mine – the kids'.
I especially hate it when their father is away, and the responsibility for getting them to bed on time – and having a crack at a decent day at school/prep the next morning – is all mine.
I am a crap mother when it comes to bedtime.
When Kyle is here, it’s easier to be tough. To ignore them longer, put on a TV show, or tell Kyle: ‘It’s your turn’ to soothe/placate/chastise/discipline or whatever.
But when he’s not … well, I’m afraid I turn into Girly Mumma.
How I let two little kids wind me around their fingers, I don’t know. But often I end up letting them slip into bed with me. Anything for a quiet life!
Part of it is that I’m always so damn tired.
Arthritis, plus the daily routine of a working Mum, really takes it out of me. Half the time, I’m falling asleep on the couch, waiting for THEM to fall asleep.
Sometimes, when hubby is away, it’s just easy to limp upstairs, climb into bed, and invite the rugrats to do the same.
They do tend to sleep well then. And I love that special cuddle time.
But my quality of sleep? That’s another matter.
My little girl Harmonie, loves nothing more than cuddling my feet as she goes to sleep. She slips into the bottom of the bed, grabs a foot, hugs it, and is out for hours. But that’s fine, because once she’s asleep, she barely moves.
Chase, on the other hand, is a real male. That’s because he sighs, farts, snores, burps, talks and wiggles – all night! I’m usually exhausted by morning. That's if I haven't gotten up in the middle of the night, insomnia-induced, and caught up on work!
So here I am, guiltily blogging, while I try to ignore the activity upstairs as I wait for them to finally sleep.
Who will win? Them or me?
Well, that depends.
I’m sure I have a bottle of wine here somewhere…

Canberra - just capital!

2008-05-05T16:52:00.000-07:00

The kids making friends at Tuggaronong Beach ...

So, here we are, back from a week in sunny, but cold, Canberra.
I think I’ve mentioned before that my husband’s work often takes him away from home.
Well, as it happens, a lot of the time, he’s in our nation’s capital, Canberra
Because single parenting in a married household is not always conducive to a happy family home, this week, the kids and I packed up and spent a week with Kyle while he was working away from home.
To be honest, I wasn’t too fussed on the idea. At first.
Holidays for us tend to involve beaches. Sun. Surf. Sand. And the availability of both of us, to share the parenting.
Instead, we had Canberra. It’s cold. It’s full of politicians. And public servants. (Not that there’s anything wrong with that…) But how much fun would it be for a family? And with Kyle working, how easy would it be for a lone parent, to entertain the kids?
It started with a two-day drive (and that’s a whole other story!) followed by a week of me playing tourist with Chase and Harmonie. Finally, we had to fly home again (thank goodness – I don’t know if I’d have managed another long-distance Road Trip) for a busy week at school.
But you know what? It was CAPITAL! (Sorry – I can’t help but make a poor pun).
Apart from the looooonnnnggg drive, which started with “Are We There Yet” (From Harmonie, less than 10 minutes after we’d set off), and more cries of “I need to go to the toilet” and “I’m hungry” than I can count, we made it.
While Kyle went diligently off to work each day, the kids and I did the sights.
Partly in the name of research – I’m writing a series of travel stories on family-friendly destinations – but partly in the name of educating the kids about their history and having fun too.
And there was much more to do in Canberra for families than I ever dreamed of.
Here are a few highlights:
- A tour of the Australian Institute of Sport (AIS). Initially, the kids weren’t interested in seeing where our elite athletes are trained. “Boring” said Chase, as I tried to find my way there in time for the tour. But after the tour – and an up-close encounter with members of the Australian gymnastics, water polo and volleyball teams – the kids gave their verdict: “Awesome!”
- The National Zoo and Aquarium. With an emphasis on animal rescue and conservation, our kids came face-to-face with King Cheetahs, Tigons, Lions, Giraffes, and gorgeous Capuchin monkeys. Also a sun bear, rescued from animal traffickers in Asia.
- Parliament House. The kids loved seeing where Daddy spends many working hours, and where important decisions are made.
- Questicon. The science and technology centre, which is hands-on for kids and turns learning into fun.
- The Canberra Deep Space Communications Centre. Where we were given details on current space explorations, and got to listen to sounds from space.
Getting around was easy too. The roads are mostly well-signposted, and not as busy as I'm used to in Brisbane. I did have to watch out for speed demons and mean drivers though ... Canberra drivers certainly didn't seem to be as courteous as those in Brisbane.
Restaurant staff seemed relaxed at having the kids there. (Unlike Brisbane, where turning up with kids can be like turning up with the devil’s spawn. Or maybe that’s just our kids!)
Just one we encountered didn’t cater to kids, but the chef happily offered to produce two of the normal meals in a half-size (and half-price) for the ankle-biters. And they lapped it up. As for me, I’d rather pay for quality, real food than mass-produced junk food, any day.
In the name of finances, we stayed at ‘Tuggers’, a nick-name which caused no end of mirth. It's actually the local name for Tuggaronong, about 20 minutes from the city centre, where we got a two-bedroom, two-bathroom apartment for the price of a room in the CBD.
Across the road, was a fabulous park – complete with a lakeside ‘beach’ – and a huge shopping centre, which included a cinema.
On the way home, the Qantas staff were surprisingly nice to our kids, even producing an extra kiddie-kit when one did not have all the inclusions of the other. (In the past, my family-flying experiences with Qantas have been less than stellar).
So we made it home in one piece. - glad to get home to our very-happy-to-see-us dogs and cats, and the warmer weather. But surprisingly sorry that our Canberra holiday was over.

And for me, that's always the mark of a good holiday.

2008-05-05T16:51:00.003-07:00

2008-05-05T16:51:00.001-07:00

The things they say...

2008-04-24T22:26:00.000-07:00

Chase to Harmonie this morning: “Harmonie, you are dumb. D. A. M. Dumb!”
I love the funny things our kids say, particularly when they have no idea why they are funny.
The other day, the kids were suspiciously quiet. After a quick search, I found them on the floor of my room, playing with an underwire which had come loose from one of my bras. (Yes, I know, my lingerie wardbrobe could do with an update!)
“Mumma look, it’s a Frisbee,” Harmonie said, flinging it at her brother.
“No, you wear it on your head,” Chase said, putting it on his own head like a hair-band. “Or, you can put jewellery on it and wear it around your neck. Like this.”
And proceeded to make a necklace with it.

Kids are funny.
I love how simple sayings and mispronunciations become part of family folklore.
Harmonie can’t pronounce the B sound properly, and it usually ends up as G. As in: “Is that a Grand New Car/Yoghurt/Honey/insert anything she’s particularly interested in”? So in our house, we no longer just have brand new things, but Grand New Ones. Sounds so much better.
Years ago, a friend’s toddler son kept endearingly calling me “Mochie”. Charmed at his attention, I asked my friend what he meant. “Erm, monkey actually,” my friend admitted.
So much for popularity! But ‘Mochie’ very quickly crept into our everyday use. To this day, my husband and I regularly refer to each other as Mochie – Moch for short.
Driving to school, there’s one of those extremely tasteful – not – signs for nasal delivery systems. SEX. The sign screams in large red letters. I cringed as Chase began to spell it. “S. E. X. Sox!” he said triumphantly. “Mumma, why do they want people to buy more sox?”
I can put the birds and the bee talk off for a while longer then …

Date Night

2008-04-23T04:15:00.001-07:00

Having just blogged about budgeting, it’s ironic that this weekend Kyle and I ignored my own advice, and actually ate out.
It’s okay though, because it was Date Night.
In the interests of a healthy relationship, occasionally we feel the need to get out and rediscover what we loved about each other, before kids, budgets, homework, and life came into the equation.
That’s called Date Night, and it is not a luxury, it’s a necessity!
So the other night, Nice Nanna agreed to watch the kids, while Kyle and I had the chance to reconnect without worrying about exhorbitant babysitting fees.
Originally, we’d planned on dinner and a movie, but with budgeting in mind (you almost need to take out an extra mortgage to go to the cinemas these days), we chose a lovely dinner instead.
We like to check out new places, so after a check of our Entertainment Book (we buy one each year, and as well as saving us money it introduces us to loads of places we may never have discovered on our own), we chose to eat at Mizu Japanese Eats at Teneriffe.
This place is fab! I had a couple of excellent house whites, while Kyle had a Japanese beer.
I chose the vegetarian Bento Box, and was served beautifully presented and mouthwatering serves of tempura, sushi agedashi tofu, soy-glazed roasted pumpkins, sweet potatoes, green salad and rice.
It was delicious – and best of all healthy, so I wasn’t breaking my diet. (Well, except for the two wines. But it was Date Night, so they didn’t count).
Kyle went for the Mizu Bento Box, which came with three mixed entrées, sushi rolls, tempura, teriyaki chicken and tofu, plus rice and miso soup.
We were way impressed, and I can thoroughly recommend it for a lovely evening out. Friendly service and delicious healthy food that won't break the budget. We will certainly be back. Er, for Date Night though. So it won’t count when we’re doing our budget – will it?

In any case, although we love our kids, Kyle and I find the occasional night essential for our sanity - and our relationship. And that's priceless!

The luxury of being able to talk about something other than the kids (though I admit, they are frequently the topic of conversation) is wonderful. Let alone to actually finish a meal, and a conversation, without having to rush someone to the loo, clean up a spilt drink, or break up WW3!

Our dates aren't always at restaurants. Sometimes it's a movie and a takeaway on the way home; a catch-up with friends, or we might just spend a few hours shopping together (particularly pre-Christmas or kiddie birthdays). Occasionally, we'll pay a lovely babysitter who has known our kids since they were born, to take them to a park or a movie while we get into DIY projects at home in a fraction of the time (and without the fuss) they would involve if the kids were home to 'help'. Bless their little hearts.

That's not to say we don't do all that with the kids as well. It's just that sometimes it's nice to be a couple again, not just Mum and Dad, and to reconnect on that level.

And you know what? Our kids accept it, think it's pretty funny, and are always quite excited that Mummy and Daddy are going on a date.

When we get home - or the next morning as the case may be - they love to hear every little detail.

"What did you do?", "What did you eat?", "Was the movie scary"?

And we have a pleasant conversation telling them all about it.

So I'm hoping that we're teaching them a lesson about love and adult relationships too. That parents are people too, and that it's healthy for them to need some time alone occasionally.

Anyone else want to share their Daddy-Mummy Dating Secrets?

Would you dumpster-dive to save money?

2008-04-17T18:26:00.000-07:00

Mmm, yummy! But would you want to eat it if you knew where it came from?

Times are tough, and the price of EVERYTHING is going up, but would you dive into a dumpster to save some cash?

Some people do.

Apparently, the struggle to live beyond our means has created a new breed in Australian society, the Feegan. Also known as dumpster divers or skip dippers, Feegans are apparently ‘conscientious objectors to consumerism’ to whom saving money is secondary to reducing wastage.
True story.
According to an Australian Institute study, a small but growing group of well-educated city dwellers are regularly going through rubbish bins to get free food, clothes and other products – literally turning other people’s trash into their own dinners. Foragers came from a diverse range of Australians, including teachers, professionals, shop assistants, students, musicians, and families.
Am I fussy, or is this just a little bit gross? (Okay, a lot!) If Kyle came home one night and suggested we all go out cruising for good garbage, I think it would probably be grounds for divorce!
But it’s not just your ordinary, garden-variety bins that appeal to Feegans. Commercial bins and skips are the prizes for these modern-day scavengers.
Apparently, many companies throw out boxes of food, including fruit and tinned food, when they are beyond their use-by date, have been dented or damaged, or are just a little spoiled. In fact, one keen Feegan, who claims to have not needed to buy any food except condiments in five years, insists: “It’s entirely possible for someone with a fridge and freezer to dumpster-dive once a week and do the equivalent of a weekly shop.”
Move over Coles, Woolies, and Aldi.
And it’s not just groceries that are among the treasures buried amongst rotting garbage. Participants in the Australia Institute’s report were also taking home beauty products, light bulbs, electrical goods, magazines, tools and clothing after their scavenger hunts.
It’s happening in restaurants and cafes too, where canny non-diners wait until people have left the table than hoover up whatever has been left on their plates.
Now, I’m as keen to save money as the next person, but I’m afraid I’m not about to turn Feegan just yet.
If like me, your idea of a good time doesn’t involve eating someone else’s leftovers or raiding their garbage bins, read on.

Bronnie’s Budget Busters
Here are some ways we’ve managed to economize at home:

* We’ve given up Foxtel. The kids were watching way too much TV anyway, and apart from the first couple of days where they moaned about it endlessly, they haven’t really missed it.
* I’ve swapped bottled wine and bubbly for cask wine (Sob!) An added benefit is I don’t really enjoy the taste of cask wine, so I drink much less of it – so I’m improving my health too.
* Instead of paying for gym membership or exercise classes, I’m working ‘normal’ exercise into my day – walking, yoga, stretches.
* We eat and entertain at home as much as possible rather than going out. That means the grocery bills are higher, but we’re shelling out less on takeaway and meals.
* We make great coffee at home, so don’t feel the need to buy one when we’re out and about. I’ll often have one before or after shopping, or pour one into a travel cup if I’m going out.
* Cooking dinner, we often make extra and freeze the leftovers – for example, lasagna and spaghetti bolognaise. That way, there’s always something available for those evenings when we’re too tired to cook, so we’re not tempted to reach for the takeaway menus.
* I've stopped buying expensive muesli bars, pre-packaged cheese, and fruit for the kids. I make my own versions, which are healthier anyway. Again, I’ll often freeze muffins and biscuits for lunchbox treats, and I’ll cut normal cheese into dinky shapes for them.
* I also give them juice and milk in reusable containers rather than buying poppers.
* We’ve cut back on driving. For example, we’ll go to our local park rather than a bigger park further away like Southbank or Roma Street Parklands, where we’re also up for parking fees. The kids have just as much fun, we save petrol and traffic time, and reduce our green footprints.
* We shop at markets wherever possible. Brisbane’s Rocklea market on Saturday is great for fruit and vegies, and it's better quality as well as cheaper than what you see in the stores. I also love the Asian shops at Darra for cheap fruit, vegies, rice, noodles, seafood and sauces.
* We only hire DVDs or buy pizzas on Tight-Arse Tuesdays, when you get them two-for-one (and we don’t do it every week).
* I ALWAYS pack snacks and water for the kids every time we go out, even if it’s for a quick shop. Otherwise I just know they’re going to hound me for expensive junk food and fizzy drink. I’m not a completely miserly mother – they still get the occasional treats and snacks while we're out IF they’re good.

*I try to go shopping when the kids are at school. That way I don't end up buying a lot of expensive crap and shouting a lot.

*I've switched to disposable razors instead of my smooth girlie one which needs expensive refills. (That's when I'm not using my husband's instead. Shhh!)

*I've stopped my daily newspaper delivery. I can read most of what I want to read online. Same goes for magazines. And I'm saving trees too!

*We've stopped the admittedly-lovely dog-washing lady from coming by to wash our dogs. Now we do it ourselves. We fill an old kiddie-pool with warm water, and wash them in the front yard. The kids love to get involved, and there have been no complaints from the furry ones either!

These are just a few things that have worked for us. Anyone else got some money-saving tips to share, that doesn't involve 'shopping' in rubbish or eating a complete stranger's leftovers?

Cool for cats ... and other stories

2008-04-14T19:21:00.000-07:00

Driving home after the school run this morning, I couldn’t help but smiling.
The song ‘Cool For Cats’ by Squeeze came on the radio, and it immediately put me in a good mood.
Cool For Cats was one of my favourite songs as a child. With the inhibition of youth, I’d leap onto the couch (much to Mum’s displeasure) and dance around wearing a pair of dark sunnies like the chick in the video clip. No matter where I am or what I’m doing, suddenly I feel just like a little kid again when I hear this music.
Lyrics like:
“I fancy this, I fancy that
I wanna be so flash
I give a little muscle
And I spend a little cash
But all I get is bitter and a nasty little rash
And by the time Im sober
Ive forgotten what Ive had
And everybody tells me that its cool to be a cat
Cool for cats”
Isn’t it funny how music can do that to you? Take you back immediately to the sights, sounds, smells and feelings of another time and place.
I’m not talking about favourite music which you love to listen to time after time. I’m more interested in music that instantly brings back a flashback or an emotion you thought you’d forgotten.
Apart from Cool For Cats, here are a few from my life so far:
The Lord Is My Shepherd – A hymn played at my Grandad’s funeral, which never fails to create a knot in my tummy and lump in my throat.
Never Ever (All Saints) – Was popular about the time of my divorce and it seemed to encapsulate everything I was feeling at the time. I remember bawling my eyes out when Never Ever came on the radio as I drove up the range to Maleny, where I’d gone to seek refuge with my brother and his family. Even though I find the lyrics a bit messy, they really hit a chord. Take a look:
“A few questions that I need to know
How you could ever hurt me so?
I need to know what I've done wrong
And how long it's been going on?
Was it that I never paid enough attention?
Or did I not give enough affection?
Not only will your answers keep me sane
But I'll know never to make the same mistake again"
Thankfully, there are loads of fun songs too. Including:
Love Shack (B-52s) – Brings back memories of dancing around handbags with my mates after a few cheap wines during my uni days at Toowoomba. Never fails to bring a smile to my face.
I see you baby, (Shakin’ that ass) by Groove Armada – This song was playing the entire weekend when I met Kyle. It’s not exactly the most romantic song, but we still catch each other’s eye and exchange sneaky smiles when we hear it.
Butterly (Crazy Town) – Was on the telly the first time I breastfed baby Chase after bringing him home from hospital.
“Come my lady,
Come come my lady
You’re my butterfly
Sugar.baby”
The lyrics may not be relevant, but the music really brings back the wonder of being a new Mum, the exhaustion I was feeling, my struggle with breastfeeding, and that lovely newborn baby smell.
Big Girls Don’t Cry (Fergie) – The first ‘adult’ song (ie, not Wiggles, Hi-5 or nursery songs) that Harmonie started singing along to on the radio. It makes me smile because she puts so much emotion and feeling into it!
And there are loads more, but I could be here forever if I get started!
What are your musical memories?

spa schma

2008-04-13T19:25:00.000-07:00

The massage I thought I'd get...

Five months after being giving a day spa experience for my 40th birthday, I finally got the chance to enjoy it.
You’ll remember, the spa had to cancel my original booking, and it was a few weeks before I was able to plan another escape.
So finally the day arrived, and I found myself doing battle with Brisbane traffic on my way into the Marriott.
I needed a massage by the time I got there! I live in the western suburbs of Brisbane, and rarely have the need to drive in the city so I was feeling a big stressed. And if I do, my husband Kyle usually does the honours. Yes, I’m a girl when it comes to city driving, and after years of living in Brisbane, I still get lost! (Even with a GPS!)
It was at the Brisbane Marriott Dome Spa, the city’s first luxury spa, so I was expecting a treat.
The Marriott is special to Kyle and I. We spent our wedding night there in a massive suite overlooking the river. The comfy king-sized bed had been sprinkled with rose petals in a heart-shape, a massive bubble bath had been drawn, and there was a champagne bucket, strawberries and chocolates beside it. Perfect!
From then on, we’d spend our anniversary there each year – at least until the Little Princess came along and family finances meant we had to spend the money on far more important things like groceries and medical bills.
So it was a long time since I’d been to the Marriott, and my first visit to the Dome.
I always feel a bit uncomfortable in a spa. Perhaps it’s the enforced nakedness; perhaps it’s because I never really get a chance to pamper myself. Or maybe it’s because I’ve never really paid for the visit myself. I’ve always been lucky enough to score a voucher as a present, or through my work as a journalist (it’s a tough job, but someone has to do it)!
But the staff were friendly, and soon I was ensconced in my robe and slippers. I was supposed to be offered a cup of herbal tea, but there was no one there to offer me one. Instead, I sipped on cold water and lemon until it was time for my hot stone massage.
I undressed and climbed on the table – strangely, I wasn’t offered any privacy while I did this – and began blissing out. The massage wasn’t any better or worse than any I’ve had before, but I’d never had a hot stone massage before, and I kept wondering when the stones would go on.
They didn’t. My massage was over before I even had the chance to ask! You know how you lose track of time when you’re having a massage … and being a Hot Stone Virgin, I thought maybe they give you a normal massage first before placing the stones.
Now, it was a nice massage, and my therapist was fine, so I didn’t like to complain. But I still felt let down that I didn’t get the massage I’d booked in for. And also – and this is the kicker – I didn’t go to sleep during it, which is usually my measure of a good massage.
I mentioned the mix-up to my next therapist (I’d been lucky enough to get a facial too), and she just said: “Oh, but was it a nice massage?”
Well, yes, it was, but my mother-in-law had paid $105 for that massage, so I was expecting something fabulous. Not just okay. And certainly not different to the one I’d booked.
Anyway, onto the facial which was fine. Afterwards, I finally got my tea, but before I got to drink it, I was told the Champagne Tea my nice Mum-in-law had also treated me to, was ready.
Set up beside the pool, was a small table with a three-tier layer of goodies. It comprised of:
Four sandwich triangles (ie - two pieces of white bread), crust still on, each containing processed meat, cheese, tomato and lettuce,
A tiny pink lamington square,
A slice of banana cake which had seen better days,
A small crème caramel, which I didn’t touch (don’t like them),
Two small scones, one with sultanas, one luckily without (I hate sultanas!),
Apricot jam and cream,
A coffee pot,
A stainless steel jug of hot water,
One cup with two teabags in it,
A plastic flute of champagne.
Now maybe I’m spoilt, but this wasn’t the high tea experience I expected at a five-star hotel.
I thought high tea meant dainty sandwiches with a selection of fillings using a variety of bread. A selection of jam (I don’t like apricot jam – I know I’m fussy!). And at least a real teapot with real tea, and maybe a selection of teas to choose from. And a choice of coffees too.
No one appeared to ask if I’d like anything else. I didn’t, but there was a lovely old lady who joined me who would have ordered one for her daughter and herself too if there had been a staff member around to ask.
Later, I was going to have a shower, but when I got there, there were no towels, and no toiletries (just a body wash dispenser in the shower itself). I would have had to go back to the pool area to get a towel, so I couldn’t be bothered.
So although I did have a nice day, it was just that. Nice. Not five-star and not good value for what my mother-in-law had paid.
I was sad I couldn’t honestly rave to her about it afterwards, and I certainly wouldn’t recommend it to others.
To be honest, there’s a spa down the road from where I live. They do a $99 special, which includes 2 ½ hours of pampering and is actually much nicer. It’s just that the surrounds are not quite as salubrious as the Marriott, and they don’t do a High Tea, but let’s face it, I can do without that!
Maybe the hotel’s standards have slipped since I last visited, or maybe I was just unlucky.
Anyone else had any less-than-five-star experiences lately? Or am I the only one who thinks you should get what you (or your nice mother-in-law) paid for?

Rant of the Week

2008-04-08T13:40:00.000-07:00

Left: Chase and his little sister Harmonie when she was a few weeks old. At that stage I was still hobbling around with a walking stick (giving birth played havoc with my arthritis), coping with sore boobs, wiping up projectile vomit, changing nappies and was so exhausted, I hadn't even thought about exercising! Obviously, I'm not a supermum like J-Lo!

Okay, now I’ve heard it all.
New mum Jennifer Lopez is reportedly rising every morning at 4 am.
Yes, I know that’s not unusual when you’ve got a newborn (and Jen has twins), but get this. She’s not getting up to feed them, change their nappy and lay them gently back to bed before collapsing in exhaustion herself.
Oh no. This yummy mummy is rising at 4 am to exercise FOR THREE HOURS.
Are you kidding me?
Okay, I get that her looks are part of her job, and she needs to look good. But the poor pet just had a c-section 4 weeks ago. She’s just produced two minature human beings. Her life has changed forever. Doesn’t she need to take time out to get to know her babies – and find her feet as a Mum?
Apparently, there are a team of nannies and even a baby masseuse on board to keep things running smoothly, so there’s no suggestion that the little ones are being neglected.
J-Lo, I’m not so sure about. As well as her gruelling exercise routine, she’s cut her daily food intake to 1400 calories a day, and banned all carbs. Hmm, obviously mustn’t be breastfeeding then. Or if she is, she must be starving!
As well, she’s announced she plans to run a triathlon in a few months.
“I want to make my babies proud,” she says.
Forget about making them proud, just be their Mum, that’s what I say.
I don’t know about you, but four weeks after the birth of my children I was physically and emotionally a mess.
My body was still healing, my hormones sent me up and down, and the rigours of parenting a newborn meant I hardly had a minute to myself. Exercise was taking the babies for a walk, and I tried to eat and drink well to keep my milk supply up.
Of course, I didn’t lose 40 pounds in four weeks like J-Lo has (don’t tell anyone, but I’m still trying to lose my baby weight), but at least I escaped with my sanity mostly intact! And I got to spend loads of quality time getting to know my babies and learning to be their mum.
Is she still Jenny From The Block – or just off her block?

Andy just dandy

2008-04-07T22:40:00.001-07:00

It’s school holidays, so I took the kids to the Andy Warhol exhibition at the Gallery of Modern Art at Southbank.
We’ve spent plenty of time at the nearby museum and art gallery, but it was our first time at GOMA.
The Warhol exhibition was fab, and we all came away with a better appreciation of his talent and quirky life.
The kids exhibits were hands-on and fabulous. They could have spent all day in the Silver Clouds room, where they get to poke and prod floating silver pillows. The photo boxes and 15-minutes-of-fame video recordings were also popular.
After a picnic in the grounds, we headed over to the museum, making a pitstop at the Museum Café. I have to say it was pandemonium there. Everyone seemed to have the same idea. Unfortunately, the café food was pretty bland and boring – and overpriced, as these places always are.
Later, we did all the usual exhibits, but by then the place was packed. We’d taken the Little Princess’s friend along for the ride, so I was kept busy watching for heads – typically, they’d all take off in different directions at the same time.
After spending a small fortune in the museum gift shop – Chase emptied all his pocket money onto the counter and spent the lot – we headed home.
If you haven’t already been, I’d really recommend making the trip to see the Andy Warhol exhibition before it moves on.
Just eat at one of the other cafes instead (or better still, pack more food and drink!)

Broncos, breakfast and barbecues

2008-04-07T22:20:00.000-07:00

Starting the day with champagne is such a civilised thing to do.
We had breakfast at the Brisbane Broncos club on Sunday. It was a first for us, but obviously an institution for the rest of Brisbane. The crowd was made up of well-dressed matrons, elderly gentlemen, families, couples and kids, most of them in their Sunday best.
For $15, it’s probably one of Brisbane’s best-kept secrets.
Okay, so you’re not going to get Eggs Benedict, smoked salmon or real coffee for that, but the buffet spread we did get was pretty good.
Scrambled eggs, bacon, croissants, beans, savoury mince and more made up the hot dishes, plus there were cereals, fruit, yoghurt and juices. My favourite though, was a very acceptable glass of Australian bubbly for starters. I thought it was a bit mean that Kyle, who wasn’t drinking, refused to get a glass as well so I could have his!
Afterwards, the kids ran around on the Broncos training ground while the adults chatted. It was a relaxing way to start the day.
Not surprisingly, given the price, the breakfast is popular, so you do have to put up with the occasional jittery old dear, or over-excited kids (ours included) eating for Australia. But it’s fine as long as you chill out (and perhaps sneak an extra glass of bubbly).
We continued the Brisbane theme by having a barbecue that afternoon. Beer, bubbly, steak, snags and salads with good friends.
Just what a weekend should be like!

The Undomestic Goddess

2008-04-03T01:28:00.001-07:00

Confession:
I am not a domestic Goddess.
I am an undomestic one.
Unlike Nigella Lawson, I am rarely found licking my fingers suggestively in the kitchen.
And unlike the authors of best-selling Aussie book Spotless, Shannon Lush and Jennifer Fleming, I guess I find far too many things much more interesting than cleaning, scrubbing, and polishing. Like eating, drinking, sleeping, watching telly, sex, hanging with the kids … and just about anything really.
But even an Undomestic Goddess such as myself finds time when she must break the rules.
And so it was, this week, when the Little Princess spotted something tiny and wriggly in the rice I was about to cook for her dinner, that I realised: I really had to do something about the pantry.
So, after work (truth to be told, during work – because I work from home), I spent many hours I will never get back, cleaning out our pantry.
Guess what I found?
Among a mountain of uneaten foods and condiments:
Two bottles of soy sauce, half-empty,
Two bottles of mirin, half-empty,
Two bottles of hoi sin sauce, unopened,
Two bottles of maple syrup, one fresh and one gross,
Several packs of unopened packets of brown and jasmine rice, teeming with weevils,
Unopened bottles of liqueur sauce, seeded mustard, and pickles, received in Christmas hampers two years ago,
Sour sweet lolly ropes, last used to make an ill-fated Dora the Explorer birthday cake in February 2007,
And a zillion bottles of barbecue sauce and gourmet sauce.
I gave away whatever we didn’t use but was still good to a local charity, and cooked up a huge batch of rice and veg for the dogs. But I was still overcome with guilt at the amount of waste that ended up in my garbage bin.
My husband and I watch our finances, so I felt sick at the amount of money we'd wasted. Literally.
Talk about an affluent society!
We’re both at fault. He loves buying gourmet sauces and cooking aids; I’m a sucker for buying up big on special (and today realised, it’s only a special if you actually use it!) I also can’t help buying up big on staples like pasta sauce and rice because I hate running out of it.
But from now on, I’m going to check the cupboards before making up our shopping list – and I’m not making any promises, mind – will try to do the pantry clean-out more often.
Anyone else guilty of this?
I guess it all goes to show that I really am an Undomestic Goddess. Although not exactly proud of it.

Pic: 'Spotfull' is a fab book by Aussie author, TV and radio personality James Valentine. It's a spoof of the Spotless series, and features loads of advice for the domestically-challenged.
Here's an example:
"Problem: Egg stains of pan.
What to use: Legs.
How to apply: Walk to bin. Throw pan in bin. Walk to cafe. Order eggs."
and
"The food cupboard is always packed. Old jars of jam and peanut butter get pushed to the back to make space for the new ones you've bought in anticipation of the old runs running out. You just never quite finish the old one, and you can't quite throw it out because that would be wasteful, so you start a new one and before too long you have two half-finished jars of peanut butter and you need to buy a new third one for when they run out. This process is repeated with everything from shortbread biscuits to chicken noodle soup. Things rarely leave the packet. People open the packet, use half to feed the kids and then stick the packet back in the cupboard. Stuff spills throughout the entire cupboard."
I tell you, it's a window into my world...

Letting sleeping girls lie

2008-03-31T18:00:00.000-07:00

Am I a bad mother?

I found myself thinking that last night, as I lay in bed. Beside me was my husband Kyle, and at my feet and curled along the other side of my body, was my five-year-old Harmonie.

Harmonie often sleeps with us. It started when Kyle began working away from home.

I found bedtime went much easier if I let the kids sneak into bed with me.

Which was fine every now and then, but not so good when Kyle began working home more often. See, my plan was to get out bed once the kids were asleep – but often I’d end up falling asleep before they did!

Whenever Kyle came home, Chase would grudgingly return to his room, but the Little Princess refused.

“I want to sleep with Mumma,” she’d pout.

These days, Harmonie happily sleeps in her own bed quite often, but there are times – when she’s sick, had a bad dream, or particularly fretful – that we let her join us.

To be honest, we’re not too concerned about it. Okay, it does kind of rule out the occasional middle-of-the-night fumble, but after all, there other times (and places) for that!

And I like the feel of that warm little body snuggled up around my feet. Yes, my feet!

Harmonie likes to pop her pillow at the bottom of the bed, and hang on to my leg at night. Often she’ll cuddle my foot as she goes to sleep, or reach for it in the middle of the night. Sometimes, she lays with her legs on mine. Other times, she sleeps with one hand on my foot, and another curled around Kyle’s big toe.

I think it’s sweet. There’s something so innocent and wonderful as the love of a child. And I know that this feeling won’t last forever – that one day, Harmonie will turn into a rebellious teen who won’t want to be anywhere near me, let alone at my feet!

And though he complains, Kyle quite likes it too – otherwise he’d turf her out himself.

Anyway, I wrote about our ‘bedtime problems’ for Brisbane newspaper The Courier Mail recently, and was astounded at the response I got.

While a few readers were nice, there were those who called us ‘pathetic’ and accused us of raising cosseted children who would grow up to be bullied and picked on. We were told to ‘grow a backbone’ and stand up to the whining of a small child.

But I don’t know, last night as I crept back into bed after tending to my son - growing pains, but that’s another story – Harmonie contentedly grabbed my foot in her sleep and cuddled it against her. And I couldn’t help but wonder: Is this really so wrong?

Am I really spoiling my child and putting my marriage second by loving being so close to her? Could I be responsible for her getting a foot fetish in later life?

What’s worse is that it’s not just Harmonie who likes sleeping with us, it’s our cats too.

Sometimes there are five of us in this marital bed – so it’s a bit crowded.

Is it time to get a bigger bed? Or should we accept that we’ve made our bed, and now have to lie in it?

A sucker for beauty

2008-03-29T16:43:00.000-07:00

There’s a sucker born every day.
And then there’s Demi Moore.
The admittedly-gorgeous actor has obligingly shared her secret to her ageless beauty – leeches.
Not content with cosmetic surgery, and regular body cleanses, the lovely Demi likes nothing better than popping across to Austria to allow fat, black leeches to feast on her blood. As you do.
“It crawls in and you feel it bite down on you and you want to go, 'You b*****d',” she told TV host David Letterman. “Then you relax and work on your breathing just to kind of relax.
"You watch it swell up on your blood, watching it get fatter and fatter - then when it's super drunk on your blood it just kind of rolls over like it's stumbling out of the bar."

If that’s not gross enough, patients must do a full detox, shave or wax their bodies (leeches love a Brazilian) and enjoy a turpentine bath before letting the leeches lose on their bodies – starting with the bellybutton first.
Demi apparently spent a couple of hours relaxing while the leeches sucked her blood.
“They have a little enzyme that when they are biting down in you it gets released in your blood and generally you bleed for quite a bit - and your health is optimised,” she says. "It detoxifies your blood.”
Now don’t panic! These aren’t just your ordinary, garden-variety leeches. “We are talking about highly trained medical leeches,” Demi reassures us. "These are not some low-level scavengers - we're talking high-level blood suckers.”
Oh, that’s all right then.
Is it just me, or does anyone else thing this woman has far too much money and far too much time on her hands?
I think we all know who the real sucker is here …

Day spa dreaming

2008-03-28T17:07:00.000-07:00

It could only happen to me.

Last November, my lovely Mum-in-law gave me a voucher for my birthday. I love birthday vouchers, and this one was a winner. I was the lucky recipient of a day out at the Dome spa at the Brisbane Marriott – massage, facial, sauna, and champagne high tea by the pool.

But I’ve been so busy with work and family, that – typically – I haven’t had time to use it. I mean, who gets a day all to themselves? We’re all so busy, we’re lucky to get an hour.

After a particularly nasty week – hubby away at work, fighting with Chase about homework, a scary credit card bill, a couple of sick kids – oh, and did I mention Narnie cat peeing in Harmonie’s Easter egg basket? I finally snapped.

“I never get to do anything for myself,” I raved. “I’m booking my day spa. And you’re looking after the kids!”

To his credit, Kyle didn’t blink. “Okay,” he said. “Do it next weekend.” As simple as that.

And all this week, I’ve been waiting. My creaky back, stiff neck, and clicky hips have been aching more than usual, but I’ve put off my regular physio, knowing I’m booked in for a hot stone massage today. Oh, it’s going to be bliss.

I wake bright and early, hop in the shower, and I’m just getting changed into what I like to call ‘casual spa wear’, when the phone rings.

It’s the Marriott Dome. My therapist has phoned in sick. My Big Day Out has been cancelled. Of course it has!

“Tell them it’s not good enough,” says Kyle. “Tell them you’ve rearranged your schedule to go today, and you won’t get another chance for ages.”

But I figure, it’s not the poor girl on the phone’s fault. And people get sick. These things happen. No point in getting angry.

And so I find myself back at the computer, before a busy day catching up on housework. Yes, it’s not quite what I had in mind, but I guess things could be worse.

Kyle’s still taking the kids out for the morning, there’s a bottle of bubbly in the fridge, and I still have my spa day to look forward to.

I just need to find time to fit it in!

When mummies aren't yummy

2008-03-26T12:41:00.000-07:00

I don’t know about you, but I’m tired of all this ‘yummy mummy’ business.

You know, super-slim celebrity mums like Victoria Beckham, Kate Hudson, Elle Macpherson and Liz Hurley who seem to delight in swanning around in haute couture and making the rest of us look bad.

I have no problem with naturally thin women, or those who enjoy keeping fit, and taking pride in their appearance. But don’t get me started on mothers who starve themselves, over-exercise, follow silly diets, and turn to botox and surgery in a bid to stay yummy. Far from being yummy, the whole thing leaves a pretty nasty taste in my mouth.

Look at Posh, who boasts the same waist measurement of a seven-year-old child - courtesy of a strawberry and champagne diet, regular detoxes, and a tummy tuck after every c-section. Or Liz Hurley, whose slimming secret is watercress soup, and plenty of it. And Kate Hudson, who got her enviable figure back by hiring two personal trainers, working out three hours a day, and eating next to nothing, after the birth of her son Ryder.

It could be worse. TV star Jaime Presley ate nothing but cabbage soup while working out for two hours a day after giving birth to her son Desi. And I admit it: She looks great. But would you want to do it? (And more importantly, would your husband want to sleep with you if you were?)

Most new mums are too busy going without sleep, wiping up baby sick, dealing with toxic nappies, and stuffing cabbage leaves down their bras to find a minute to themselves, let alone two or three hours.

And if we did have so much free time, I bet most mums would rather catch up on sleep, shopping or the latest episode of Desperate Housewives than working out till the point of exhaustion on an empty tummy. No, the closest we get to regular exercise is the school run. And forget about designer clothes, we’re lucky if we make it out of our trakky daks in the morning!

No, although most Mummies would undoubtedly love to be yummy, I have a far more realistic guide to Mums In The Real World.

Crummy mummies
Forgetful mums who never return excursion forms and swimming permission slips in time. They don’t know which days are tuckshop, forget to send library books back, and mistakenly send their children dressed in their uniforms on free-dress days. Often seen consoling a tearful child who has just realised he won’t be allowed to go on the chocolate factory excursion because Mum forget to sign the permission slip.

Slummy mummies
Britney Spears-types who would rather go out on the town with their girlfriends than take their kids to the park. Often dressed in a uniform of high heels, short skirts, and plunging necklines, with optional muffin top. Regularly spotted chatting up Dishy Dads at the school gate, showing off their latest tattoo, or dancing on tables at the school disco.

Plummy mummies
Well-to-do types who are always bragging about their latest investment property, fabulous hairdresser, or luxurious overseas holiday. They dress their kids in trendy designer gear, organise over-the-top birthday parties, and think their child is far more advanced than anyone else’s, particularly yours. Regularly spotted in their new 4WDs ferrying their kids to and from after-school ballet, sport, music and language classes.

Tummy mummies
Otherwise gorgeous women who, without celebrity access to fitness instructors, dieticians and cosmetic surgeons, never quite manage to lose their baby tummy. Think of Jamie Oliver’s wife Jools who recently admitted: "Since having the girls, I have to tuck my tummy into my jeans. But it just reminds me of them, so it's fine." Bless.

Dummy mummies
Mums who believe dodgy claims spun by guilt-inducing advertisers and current affairs shows. They are easy marks for companies selling expensive and unnecessary early learning toys, advanced education programs, pricey nutritional supplements or child modelling courses. They spend their spare time forwarding on scam emails about allegedly sick kids, phoney internet campaigns and dubious health warnings.

Chummy mummies
Women who become instant best friends even though the only thing they have in common is children. Though they come from completely different backgrounds and have different lives, they bond over chats about nappies, childcare and school. Can be invaluable for playdates, babysitting swaps, and occasional school pick-ups.

Glummy mummies
Cranky mums who are always tired and stressed. Often working parents who are fed up with juggling work, motherhood and life, they are always in a rush and have no time to themselves. Can often be spotted dragging kids into school after the bell has rung, or shouting at children in the supermarket.

Strummy mummies
Earth-mother types who radiate serenity and peace. Fans of breastfeeding, co-sleeping and organic food, they bake healthy snacks from scratch, and are first to volunteer for kindy roster. Their kids eat grain bread and salad instead of white bread and kiddy snacks, and watch wildlife documentaries instead of cartoons.

Rummy mummies
Stressed-out women who rely on ‘mummy’s little helper’ to get through the day. Though some prefer prescription medication to stay calm, most turn to a glass of wine (or a bottle) to help the rigours of homework, dinner, bath and bed go smoothly.

Bummy mummies
Stingy mums who are always on the scrounge. They’re the ones who ask to borrow your cot/high chair/car seat/pram and never give them back. They
regularly drop in at dinner time, and are always asking you to babysit, but never seem to return the favour.

If you fall into one of these categories, rest easy: You don’t have to be yummy, you just need to be their mummy!