Happy New Year...

bigwords is too busy drinking gin to blog. Will return in the New Year!

In the meantime, remember...

* bigwords has a Facebook Page, please come and check it out and click like, if you like!

Merry Christmas...

bigwords will be closed for the festive season! Wishing you all a safe and Merry Christmas!

Lots of love,

bigwords and the family xx

* bigwords has a Facebook Page, please come and check it out and click like, if you like!

I'm a loo paper winner!

It's an exciting day for bigwords! I just got told I was the winner of the Be A Copywriter for Kleenex Cottonelle Long Roll Competition. Not only will my entry appear on toilet roll packs sometime next year, but I also win $500 and a YEAR'S SUPPLY OF TOILET PAPER!!

According to the Kleenex rep, I am going to be sent 300 rolls of toilet paper, calculated as one roll per person in our house per week, plus a few extra rolls for "good luck".  Wow, that's a shit load of loo paper!

The timing is perfect as I've decided to use the money to go to the Aussie Bloggers Conference. I was looking for a sponsor, seems I found one (indirectly of course!).

So anyway, yay to me and my bum which will be wiped with free Kleenex for a whole year! And in case you are wondering, this is the toilet paper preference I selected.

And this was my winning entry and how it will appear on the pack.

* bigwords has a Facebook Page, please come and check it out and click like, if you like!

This week I'm grateful for... Christmas magic.

This week I'm grateful for Christmas magic.

It's the week before Christmas and all through the house,
the kids are excited, they think Santa's grouse. 

Ok, I'll stop there. Poetry is not my strong suit. What I do want to say is, I love the week leading up to Xmas. I love the anticipation of Xmas, the excitement. I love taking the kids to see the Xmas lights. A special night time adventure, their eyes twinkling in the darkness, the joy when we stop for ice creams and the soft sounds of snoring as we pull into the driveway.

I love the night before Xmas. The earnest faces as we put hay, carrots and water out for the reindeers. The knowing looks exchanged with Twiggy when we discuss if Santa would prefer Bundy, beer or milk with his biscuit. Softcock, I whisper under my breath if milk is chosen.

I love tucking the kids into bed and whispering: "You better go straight to sleep so Santa can come and slide down the chimney to drop off your presents". The giggles we hear as we close the door.

I love sitting with my husband and wrapping the kids presents, listening out for footsteps in the hallway. High fiving once the gifts are safely away from prying eyes. Stuffing lollies into their stockings. Throwing hay around the ground, chewing up bits of carrots, leaving crumbs on the table, drinking the milk.

I love lying in bed and listening out for the bells on Santa's sleigh. I still believe in the magic. Do you?

Merry week before Xmas xx

* bigwords has a Facebook Page, please come and check it out and click like, if you like!

*This post is part of a blog hop hosted by the ever festive Maxabella Loves...

Stupid things that make me giggle...

I might have a degree majoring in economic history and politics. I might have years of journalism behind me, but compared to many people I know, I do not count myself as being that bright. I like to think I'm smart, but I'm not really. When it comes to facts, my memory is crap and when it comes to writing, my grammar is shit. That's not to say I welcome ignorance, I like to learn about issues when they are in the news, but I can be a bit of an "on-the-surface" person. I am also quite naive and at times child like.

I know this because, even though I am on the fast train to 40, I still laugh at things which I laughed at as a teenager. You'd think by now, these puerile things wouldn't be funny anymore, but sometimes I find them funnier now than I did before (and I had an excuse for "before" as I spent a lot of my time in a smokey haze).

Let me take you on a journey into my childish mind - pictures will help.

1) I'll start with my favourite number. It also happens to be my husband's.

2) Every time I see this sign, I nudge my husband in anticipation of him saying: "Looks like you can't come along".

3) This one speaks for itself.

4) So too does this one. A particularly stylish blogger told me there's a sign like this one out the front of her neighbourhood porn shop. Knowing that, I will blush, and giggle, every time I see this sign now!

5) We have a few of these horse signs in the Hills and I can't help but think the rider's leg looks like a penis. I know. It's not even remotely close to where it should be, nor is it large enough. I've seen those horse documentaries. You wouldn't be bragging about being "hung like a horse" if it was as tiny as this one! Yet still, I giggle. Every time.

6) Now, I'm sorry if you're called Fanny Prickles or Richard Head or Mr Cock or Mrs Bush. The list goes on. I will have to look away for a second. And don't get me started on the book about the duck we borrowed from the library the other day that read: "Duckie spread her wings and flapped. Flap, Flap, Flap." We had to return the book, I could not read about spreading or flaps.

7) These signs are all over Coober Pedy, a South Australian opal mining town. They warn about the dangers of unmarked mine shafts. It just makes me laugh.

8) I can't help feel this sign doesn't actually refer to what I'm thinking about.

9) When I was in the United Kingdom this "pudding" would always bring a smile to my face. I'm sure it's delicious (when not in can), but it just doesn't appeal to me.

10) And last, but not least.....drum roll please.....

This Austrian town sounds like a place I'd like to visit - a homage to my favourite word.

Well, that's a few minutes you'll never get back! Is there anything which makes you laugh which shouldn't ?

* bigwords has a Facebook Page, please come and check it out and click like, if you like!

This week I'm grateful for... my washing machine.

This week I'm grateful for my washing machine.

Every day I wash. Towels, sheets, clothes, clothes and more clothes. In Winter, it's jumpers and jeans. In Summer, it's ice cream covered tank tops and sandy bathers. It is never ending. This is what it looks like.

I'm forever thankful I don't have to wash using this.

Luckily, I have a washing machine. Sometimes though, I do wonder what it would be like if someone like this came to do my washing.

He may be hot, shirtless and washing, but I bet I'd still have to pick all his clothes off the bedroom floor and then, when washed, I'd still have to sort them all out and put them all away. Even in my fantasies I can't help think I'd still be swamped by washing. Maybe, I should be more imaginative about what I wish for? I'm sure I would, if I didn't have so much washing to do.

* bigwords has a Facebook Page, please come and check it out and click like, if you like!

This post is part of a blog hop hosted by the ever gorgeous Maxabella Loves...

Goats, a tale from the hill...

When my husband and I first moved to our house on the hill we were excited about our two acres of land and decided we would be somewhat self sufficient. We didn't have children yet and we were newly married. Twiggy was starting his business and I was the breadwinner, not that I won any bread, but I paid the mortgage and kept Twiggy comfortably full of parmi's and beer. While I toiled, he drove our shitty car around the Hills picking up cow poo from the side of the road for the vegetable patch, drinking beer and meeting friends for counter meals. I refer to it as the "I worked and he drove around the Hills drinking beer and having counter meals" stage of life. He always sighs and looks wistfully out the window whenever it's discussed.

Like most newly married couples with no kids, we thought we'd test our nurturing abilities on an animal. Most people get a dog, but we wanted to get something more “farm like”. Sheep seemed a bit boring, llamas too expensive and neurotic looking, cows too big, horses required too much upkeep and pigs were too stinky, so we decided on a goat. As with any purchase in our house, we jumped online and researched goats for hours. That’s how we discovered that, not only do goats get grumpy and sad when alone, but there are also a lot of crazy goat-loving people in the world. From their photos, I suspect a lot of them are related to each other. Then we found the websites dedicated to miniature goats and we were hooked. As they were miniature, we’d be able to get two goats and they could be friends, we exclaimed in unison.

So, the search began and we finally found a cool place, a couple of hours north of Adelaide, that bred miniature goats. The lovely people who had the goat farm were very into miniature goats. They were also very weird. They loved goats a lot. They showed us many “miniature” goats (we now like to refer to them as baby goats) and introduced us to our new kids. They gave us birth certificates, lots of advice and then sent us on our way with our very special “miniature” goats. They were brother and sister (the goats, not the couple, but who knows maybe they were somehow *ahem* related?). One thing’s for sure, they were definitely good at conning the couple from the Hills who had no idea about goats, let alone supposed "miniature" ones.

We loved our goats, Ollie and Nelly, and for the first few months of their lives they lived in a makeshift enclosure just outside our back door and when it got cold (which is most of the time in the Hills) we brought them inside and they lived in our laundry. Every morning we’d clean the piss and shit covered laundry floor and attach their collars and take them for walks around the neighborhood, where they’d eat everyone’s bushes. And we’d blissfully walk along beside them, brimming with joy. They were our alternative to dogs, our surrogate babies, we even bottle-fed them and they'd snuggle up with the heads in our laps. 

One night when we staggered home drunk at 4am (you see, we could still do that when our babies were goats, not real babies), we could hear the sounds of bleating in our spare room. It took us ages to work out the goats were no longer securely locked in the laundry. It also took us ages to work out how to get the key in the lock and how to put one foot in front of the other. It didn’t take us long to work out though, that the goats had had their own party while we were out. They’d skipped through the house with muddy, wee covered hoofs, they’d jumped on all the furniture and they’d lifted their tails and sprayed little pellets of poop everywhere. They’d slept on our bed and weed all over our gorgeous blanket we’d got as a wedding present. They’d even stopped to eat the flowers out of the vase on the table. Too drunk to care, we pushed the goats back into the laundry, pulled the spare mattress out and slept (passed out) in the lounge room.

The next day, hung over and gagging from the acrid smell of excrement (worse hangover conditions ever) we decided it was  time the goats moved out of our laundry. Work on “Goatworld” began. The goats loved their own enclosure on the hill, where they ate a lot and grew to be absolutely massive. There was nothing miniature about them. 

Sadly, Ollie went to the “Big Goat in the Sky” earlier this year. He spent his late few days back inside the house, being hand fed once again. It was awful. We dismantled "Goatworld" and moved Nelly closer to our house. She isn’t grumpy, but you can tell she misses her brother. And if she could speak, I’m sure she’d say: "That was me who pissed on your bed and it felt great".

* bigwords has a Facebook Page, please check it out and click like, if you like!

This week I'm grateful for... my Mum.

This week I'm grateful for my Mum. Not only is she a wonderful woman, who single-handedly raised me, but now a mother myself, she is helping to raise my daughters. The role she plays in their lives is magical to watch and they love her dearly. Sometimes they love her a little too much, as I don't think Grandma would appreciate a phone call at 5.30am on a Sunday morning to tell her they were having oats for breakfast!

She has been both my husband's and my saviour, particularly since the birth of Baby 3. We've really needed a helping hand. She arrives at our house at a moment's notice, armed with bags of "craft" and pushes us out the door to "go and have some time for yourselves". The girls squeal with delight when they see her and sit alongside her listening to stories and doing crafty things. It is such a delight to watch them together (and it is such a delight to run out the door, speed down the driveway and sit at a restaurant having a meal together).

I can't thank her enough for all the love and support she gives us. Without her visits and endless offers of baby sitting I think my husband and I would look like this.

Thanks Mum, we all love you x

PS: Today, I am also grateful for Panadol.

* This is a part of a blog hop hosted by the ever lovely Maxabella Loves...

Please ground, swallow us up...

The day started ok. All three kids were bundled out of the car and secured into our two prams; a double and a single. It was like a commando exercise just getting out of the car park, into the throng of Xmas shoppers. Once outside, we maneuvered our way slowly through the crowds to Borders. A book was chosen, and we were on the search for another, when Nearly 4 started to whinge. "I want a toy," she whined.

"No, we don't need any new toys at the moment honey, just books today," I replied in my best Mum voice.

"No, I want a toy, NOW," she said, her voice getting higher. The hostilities had begun.

"Ok, you get one warning and this is it, there will be no toys and soon, if you keep talking to me like that, there'll be no books either." I've got this, I thought. Oh, how I was wrong.

"NO, I WANT A TOY NOW, GIVE ME A TOY, NOW." Then the interpretive "Irish dancing" began. This escalated to random arm flings.

Realising Nearly 4 was not showing signs of her usual happy self and was instead morphing into "someone's else's child" (you know, one that throws themselves on the ground in shopping centres), my husband entered the battle. "We are going now," he calmly stated. "There will be no toys, nor will there be any books. Calm down and behave." He extracted the book from her hands and placed it on a shelf.

"GIVE ME BACK THAT BOOK, NOW," she shouted, her little face red and contorted and her arms and legs swinging in all different directions.

"No, we are going now," replied my husband. He looked in my direction and I knew it was time to don the flak jackets and make a speedy exit.

"DON'T TALK," she bellowed in a guttural tone. "NO-ONE IS TALKING EXCEPT ME AND I WANT THAT BOOK AND A TOY, NOW. NOW, GIVE IT TO ME, NOOOOOW."

I could feel people staring at us, but I wasn't making eye contact with them, neither was my husband. Heads down, we quickly made our way to the lift and pounced on the down button, pushing it repeatedly with escalating force as the screams got louder. It felt like we were standing at the lift for hours, both of us willing the doors to open (or the ground to swallow us up) and save us from the disdain of the other shoppers. I don't blame them for staring at us, as by this stage Nearly 4 was lying on the floor flailing about and at times pulling at the prams' wheels in an attempt to drag us back to the shop floor. All I can say about the journey in the lift is, she is lucky we didn't leave her in there.

By the time the lift doors opened on the ground floor, she was screaming even louder than before. "NO, I'M NOT NAUGHTY, I AM BEHAVING," she shouted, thrashing around in her pram. "I DON'T WANT TO GO HOME. I WANT TO GO BACK UP THERE NOW AND GET A BOOK AND A TOY, NOOOOOOOW." We were stoney-faced. We could hear people muttering as we passed: "Poor things", "Check out that kid". One woman even yelled out: "Been there, done that".

I did the only thing I could do at that moment, I retreated from the fray. Luckily, I was pushing the pram with the baby who was happily smiling at people. I pretended I didn't know the "poor man" who was fleeing out of the store with the scared looking 2yo and Nearly 4 "the exorcist child". For those few moments I was happy again.

Once outside the shop, standing in the middle of the mall and surrounded by Xmas shoppers, we tried to diffuse the situation. We tried the "kneel down and get very close to her face and talk in a slightly menacing, yet calm voice" tactic and we tried the "you will never be able to come with us to the shops ever again" threat. None of those worked, so we walked as fast as possible back to the car, we were practically running, while Nearly 4 continued to scream. We'd spent 10 minutes at the shops, been publicly humiliated and paid $6 bucks for the thrill. It was pure joy.

When I told one of my friends, he said the tale made him feel better about his own child's tantrums. His wife told us of a time she was heavily pregnant at a store and her unruly toddler decided to make a run for it, as she stood there struggling to hold him with one arm, while paying for her goods with the other, a man started having a go at her for having an "out-of-control child". He even followed her out of the shop hurling abuse. When she finally got to her car, she sat in her seat and cried.

It made me wonder what is the best approach to dealing with a public tantrum, do strangers have a right to butt in and how do you respond to someone who attacks you while you're in no state to respond?

What is your tantrum story? How did you deal with it? What was the reaction of those around you?

* bigwords has a Facebook Page, so please check it out and click like, if you like!