Tag Archives: children

Don’t Call Me Charlie

My kids hate it when they’re having a bad day. I get all theatrical and sing them songs of happiness and inspiration.

Do you remember the song in Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory? You know it, “Cheer Up Charlie”. If not, here’s the link to remind you.


BC6 woke up this morning in a mood to darken the brightest of days. No hugs, eye rolling practice and general moodiness and disrespect. When I likened his behaviour to that of a tweenage girl GC8 rolled her eyes and stated she’s not even that bad (not going to challenge her on that comment as I’m already dealing with one poo head). He then stormed to his room and slammed the door.

As much as I wish my kids were happy, and well behaved, ALL the time, they are small humans. We need our downs so we can appreciate our ups. Me antagonising them with songs just makes them darker and more pissed off than ever. Clearly I need to take a check of my arseholeness (new word) and stop being a bitch to them.

I don’t know why I do it. I hate it when my dear husband tries lame jokes to cheer me up. Sometimes I just want to wallow in my darkness and discontent and our children should be allowed the same rights.

As I dropped them at the school gate thus morning I called after them “Love you, have a great day” just as I do every morning.

GC8 replied “love you Mum, I will”.

BC6 almost automatically replied then caught himself and trudged off, eyes downcast until I was out of sight.

Is it me? Does he reflect the mood I am in? I am in some minor pain and discomfort at the moment depending on how long since I popped a painkiller. My house is filthy because I can’t push a vacuum or mop. This increases my anxiety and turns me into loony, frustrated, psycho mum.

Sorry little dude.

I hope your day gets much better and I get lots of hugs when you get home xx


Choose Life

Dealing with life can sometimes be a pain in the arse. Shit happens. Shit happens that we wish did not happen. Sadly some of that shit is inevitable.

Last week I had a near miss after dropping the kids at school. Some dick wad drove through a give way sign and I had to put my foot down and drive around him or get hit. I was still shaking when I got to the supermarket deli where I regularly chat with the lady behind the counter.

Our conversation went like this.

“How are you today”

“A bit shaky actually, some dick wad just tried to clean me up”

“Did you report it?”

“Well, yes, not at first, but I drove past the ute again after the incident and wound down my window, and said what happened mate? This bloke said I wasn’t driving, and then drove off flipping me the bird as he did so. If he had of apologised I might not have reported it.”

“Not good enough honey, what if he had cleaned you up. Your two kids would be without their mum, people die, but it’s supposed to be when they are old and ready.”

This really hit me hard. It made me think of the times I wish that I might not wake up tomorrow. The reality of living with mental illness means that this does go through my head. I am not going to deny that I have wished for the easy way out when I allow myself to let my thoughts get out of control. My brave and strong inner voice would be telling be to get my shit together and remember how fucking amazing I am, and how much I can give to the world. My weak, frail inner voice says horrid stuff to me all the time about how I am useless, how much happier my family would be without me yelling at them all the time, how much happier my husband would be without me bitching at him. Of course that is true, but imagine how devastated my BC6 and GC8 and would be if I was suddenly not in my world.

So thank you Dick Wad. Thanks for nearly smashing into me. Thanks for the reality check.

Choose life.

reflection-of-sadness-and-happinessThis post was written back in February. I couldn’t publish it then as I wasn’t in the right place to share. 

I am fantastic at the brave face. Those who have ever suffered with depression and/or anxiety know the one. The one where the smile is firmly planted, but the heart feels like a huge chunk of lead, pulling down shoulders. Those I love will cop an angry glance, a cross word or an all out fucking tirade.

I have various ‘excuses’ for my behaviour, which range from (several) family illnesses, breakdowns in said family communication, fear of not being ‘good enough’- (not quite sure what I need to be good enough for as I am AWESOME) and lack of sleep caused by a combination of over thinking, not getting to bed on time and horrible night sweats.

I came home from yoga this morning thinking woohoo it’s going to be a great day.Within an hour I am losing my shit because no one ever fucking listens. Miss 7 is in tears because she doesn’t want to do her reader that should have been done last night. Master 4 is rubbing her nose in the fact that she has to go to school, but as a preppy, he gets Wednesdays off for a while. Hubby cares that the whole neighbourhood can hear me. I don’t give a fat rat’s arse.

I hate angry me. I don’t want to be angry me. I keep trying to turn it around by telling myself that I cannot change the circumstances, only how I deal with them. Then I fuck it all up again.

I am not setting out to be off my head always happy, that isn’t realistic. I just don’t wish to be the lunatic who loses her shit to be heard by those closest to me.

Ironic, isn’t it, that the same people who push our buttons are the one’s who give us a reason for living. The same beings who will always be there for us no matter what. The people who make us happy and sad, the one’s who’s failures and triumphs give us as much grief or joy as if they were our own.

8 months on….

Lots of meditation, some different pills, ignoring other peoples issues and a life changing decision to change my work life balance. I am feeling better. My now 8 year old has even noticed that I am not yelling. I feel like there are new beginnings in the air.

I just need to work out which path to walk next.






Enjoying a Cuppa

I love food. I love cooking food. I love eating food. I love teaching my kids to love food. I love food being cooked for me. I love dining out.

Today my husband is home from work, this means the television is on and I find myself listening in on all sorts of stories which would have slipped passed my radar on a normal day. So today is the conversation on the Morning Show on Channel Seven.

A Queensland restaurant owner says his business is booming, after he banned children under the age of 7. Liam Flynn created the controversial policy last month, following a confrontation with customers who were slow to remove their crying toddler. Would you go to a restaurant that banned young children?

Bloody oath I would!

I love my kids, they know how to dine. They are very good. Only last week I took my 4 year old boy out for lunch with the ladies. As we were sitting there enjoying our meals, a fellow diner came over to our table as she was leaving the restaurant. She commended me on how well behaved my little dude was. I graciously thanked her for her compliment. I am now reflecting that she probably saw us walk in, thought ‘oh crap, a kid, there goes my peaceful lunch’ and rightly so.

I have many years of waiting tables under my belt. I have had many experiences with children, from the most freaking annoying little beasts who got under my feet while carrying hot soup and refused point blank to stop running up and down the stairs, to the 5 year old girl who still stands out in my mind when she asked ‘Daddy, can I please have the chicken liver pate?’ That little diner may have been a complete turd on another occasion in another restaurant, she would be about 18 years old now, I hope she enjoys her nights out after her parents taught her the finer points of dining. Bottom line is they are kids. Kids can be quite annoying at times.

Parents are the educators, but staff can also help by giving great customer service. It’s the little things. ‘Do you require a high chair?’ ‘Here are some colouring sheets and coloured pencils?’, ‘Can I order your child’s meal/drink immediately?’ Give them something to do and get that food out. Nine times out of ten they will have waited past their meal time and those little dudes are hungry and we all get crabby when we are hungry.

But I digress, back to the question. Would you go to a restaurant that banned young children? Yes. I would dine at a restaurant who does not allow children. I often go out to clubs where children can’t go. Why? Because I am an adult, and it is nice to be an adult in an adults world. I like to be able to drink and swear and dance and not worry about setting an example to the little people around me.

As I researched this a little more I found out that Flynn’s restaurant in Yungaburra now allows dogs.  Well done Liam, you have gone viral in your decisions about policy change on two occasions now. Your business will most likely prosper for a time due to all of this free publicity.

But sorry, I can no longer come to your establishment. Why? If I don’t know a dog’s owner, and trust them to control it, I am so shit scared of them I would never be able to relax in your restaurant.  No skin off your nose though, we are all different, the dog lovers will come (and I live in Victoria).

Old Mum?

Today I slipped into another birthday with not much fuss. I had the usual text messages, phone calls and posts on my facebook wall.

I went to Nanna’s for morning tea, as per a normal Monday, on the way to my three year old’s swimming lesson. Now here is the part I have to share.

Not long before we are about to leave, a friend of Nan’s pops in. Nan introduces me as her granddaughter, Dad’s daughter (Dad is with me), I introduce master three. They sit and chat, whilst Aunty and I chat aside. The friend then turns, looks and looks away. She does it again, but this time asks whom this child belongs to. Nan replies that he belongs to me, to which she says to me, I thought you could have been his grandmother. Yes I could have easily been, turning 42 today, but I had him at 38. Friend looks at Nan in disbelief. I am only slightly insulted. I get it. Times are different. Nan was 43 when I came into the world. I already had one older cousin. Care?

The only thing I cared about was her attitude. This “lady” just wouldn’t accept it. She kept throwing me sideways glances, summing me up. I felt judged in a world where I am almost normal. In fact according to the Australian Institute of Family Studies Women who become mothers do so typically at age 25 to 34 years. I was 35 when I had number 1, completely bloody normal.

me and my kids

My two nuts and I having fun.

So pooh to you lady. This hot older mum is not going to carry around your judgement.

Sit out the front of a school someday and check out what is normal. Nothing is normal. I missed the early pregnancy bus by a bit of good management, but mostly by luck.

There were many years that having kids scared the shit out of me, I was flat out looking after myself. So each to there own, whether 15 or 45, have kids when it suits you my sisters, enjoy them and if some days you feel like you should be their Nanna, have a little nap, then get on with the dress ups, picnics, play doh and blocks.

Picnic Time

Picnic Time

This post was originally written in October 2014, I found it just sitting in my drafts and decided to share.

yogaTonight, as I lay on my mat for meditation at the conclusion of class, Jacqui, our instructor, asked us to reflect on the past nine weeks. How we feel, what we have learned and what we have achieved not only this term, but since we began practising yoga.

Tonight, as I lay on my mat, remember how I always thought yoga would be for me. I liked the idea of meditation, of the stretching, of the calm feeling that yoga would bring. But I didn’t take it up until I was over 40, hospitality hours are never good when commiting to activities.

Tonight, as I lay on my mat I realise I have changed.  I reflect, not only back over the past 18 or so months of going to yoga, but the past few years I had a couple of revelations.

Tonight, as I lay on my mat I can say, I don’t smoke. When I first enrolled, I was asked, what is your purpose of doing yoga? I hoped to stop smoking and not kill my children in the process. I am only ten weeks into the not smoking, but I was hypnotised to assist me to stop. I am positive the yoga breathing aided the hypnosis. I used to choke on the incense in class. I had a cough which lasted all winter.

Tonight,as I lay on my mat, I can hear how different my lungs sound (or don’t sound).

Tonight, as I lay on my mat I understand yoga has become a part of my life. I honour my body and my mind.

Tonight, as I lay on my mat, my  children are alive and well, and I am Me.