It Takes A Village - WoogsWorld

It Takes A Village... to raise a child. So, I'm asking bloggers from my village to each write a message for me to pass on to my girls. If you'd like to write one, let me know.

This week's message to my girls is from the one and only Mrs Woog; the cray cray, brains and beauty behind WoogsWorld. She is a woman after my own heart, who I adore. 

Hi Girls!

Your mum is a good mate of mine and has asked me to share some wisdom with you.

Now, your Aunty Woog is not known for her wisdom, more from her flippant attitude towards all things house-worky and a blatant disregard for a healthy lifestyle. But this is not about that.

This is about boys.

My first experience with matters of the heart was when Peter Ryan dumped me when I was ten. Why? Because I refused to hold his hand up the back of the bus on a school excursion. What an asshole! I mean the lad had a face like a smacked up monkey’s asshole and he dumped me?

Pfft. Loser.

When you are in highschool you will fall in love with the cute popular boy. You just will. We all did. Now, expect this boy to hurt you hard. Take comfort in the fact that in years to come when you are living in Paris, he will be still living with his mother, recalling his glory days. And he will be bald and play Internet games with strangers around the world in between his shifts at the service station.

All going according to plan, you will have an intense love affair in your very early 20’s with a complete douche-bag who will not call you when he told you he would and treat you like dirt. GET OUT QUICKLY! Listen to your LOSER ALERT, which will be developing nicely by this time.

Please, PLEASE do not sleep with your boss when you get your first job. No good can come of it.

Instead of making any of these rookie mistakes, look for the quieter man. A man who does not need ego stroking. A man who treats you like the princess that you are. A man who reads is really important, if you ask me, ditto if he cooks.

I know of many relationships success stories that come with a red headed male. They seem to be rather lovely creatures. Keep this in mind.

Also, if your partner genuinely gets on with your mates, then that goes a long way as well. Ditto your mum.

So, in conclusion, my sweet cupcakes, expect to get hurt. Expect to learn something new from any failed relationships, but mainly expect the best and settle for nothing less.

Because you are so worth it.

Love Aunty Mrs WoogsWorld xx

PS: Tell your mum that she is awesome

I am mum to two boys,  boss of my husband and master of a cat and two guinea pigs. Come nightfall, I watch TV while tweeting which drives Mr Woog insane. I can be found in the laundry, folding laundry, sorting laundry and dropping off the dry cleaning. I like to read cookbooks and eat out. During my waking hours, I ferry kids around in the terminally ill Mazda while drinking takeaway coffees and listening to talkback. I think about going to the gym every day. I used to work in the publishing industry before I realised it was nothing like Elaine Benes from Seinfeld made out like it was. 

The Urinals

To the children stealing the blue deodorant blocks from the boys' urinals at my little girl's school STOP IT. It is gross. They are dirty and smell like wee. And to the parents who laughed when the Principal gave that stern warning to the assembled children SHAME ON YOU! OK, that was me. I could not stop giggling. Lucky, because before that I could not stop crying.

Today was my first school assembly as a parent. And from the moment I saw Miss L's beaming face when her crazy family (us) rocked up to the school hall there were tears. Mine. And then I cried again when they asked everyone to stand for the national anthem, which now has the longest didgeridoo solo before the singing part. I thought for a moment the anthem had been changed to something that better reflects our past. Alas I was wrong, it was just the extended mix of Advance Australia Fair. 

The kids which stood and talked about immigrating to Australia from India and Pakistan and the one whose family came over in the First Fleet after stealing a horse also made me cry. And then I snorted out loud when one of the classes got up and sang a rap song about recycling, formed a semi-circle and had members of the class do the worm and other classic hip-hop moves. 

But it was when the Principal warned all the children that the cleaners had noticed soap and blue deodorant blocks go missing from the toilets that I was truly taken back to me standing in school assembly in high school. There was a phantom student taking dumps on the floor of the toilets and there was outrage. "You will be caught", the dumpster was warned. I laughed nearly as much as I did today. I never found out who loved the thrill of inappropriate pooing, as I suspect they will never find the blue block pilferer. I just hope they haven't shoved the rank, wee-covered blocks in their school bag for their unsuspecting parents to find at the end of school term. As I hope the random pooper never took a dump on their toilet floor at home.

And that was my first school assembly as a parent. I will be going to many more and I will always get teary thinking back to how quickly time has flown since I was a child standing in my school uniform singing God Save The Queen, bright-eyed, full of dreams and a whole life ahead of me. I will always burst with joy seeing the same inquisitiveness and pure joy in my children and all of the children's eyes in that room. And I will always snigger like a school kid when the Principal addresses the students, particularly if it involves toilets.

Did you have a phantom pooper at your high school too?

bigwords xx

The Panty Liner

Recently I was faced with the dilemma of having to buy sanitary napkins again. By again I mean, since having kids and being forced to buy those enormous surf boards that need a whole bag of their own to transport. I'm not joking - I packed an entire bag of them the first time I had a child. I wasn't sure how many I'd need and they are truly enormous. You could attach one to each butt cheek, if going to a fancy dress party as Kim Kardashian, and you'd still have to strap them down with gaffa tape.

Anyway, I found myself standing at the pad aisle trying to find something suitable for my monthly requirements. Seriously, why don't they have any with a built-in slow release hormone function to ensure you are stable throughout menstruation? Failing that, they could at least come with a family-sized block of Cadbury chocolate and a bottle of gin.

I stood looking at the murder of pads (murder I believe is the collective noun for many pads or maybe colony like a colony of beavers) and my eyes started rolling into the back of my head I was so confused AND BORED. Seeing that I am nearly 40, anything remotely period-like is just plain, mind numbingly boring. So, I just grabbed the cheapest thinnest looking, no wing-variety of pads and shoved them in my trolley.

It wasn't until I had to use those suckers that I realised they were in fact panty liners to keep your panties fresh during the day. Two things are wrong about that sentence - the word panties and the fact women do that. I mean really? Really? I have never thought to line my knickers to keep my undies fresh. Isn't that what undies are for?

That's how I found myself with panty liners in my handbag. I am not quite sure why I still have them, but today they saved me. And this is why.

Not being the most organised person I had forgotten to replenish my tissue stash. So, when Miss E sneezed while I was standing in just my knickers in the change rooms of Target and a massive greenie was dangling from her nose I was unprepared. I dug through my bag looking for a shopping docket or a chewing gum wrapper and there like a beacon of light was a panty liner. I whipped that cheeky bugger out of its wrapper and used it to soak up the snot like the Real Housewives of Beverly Hills coming across spilt champagne. I felt like I was in a suburban version of Man vs Wild - Woman vs Child. Luckily I wasn't thirsty, that could've got nasty.

What have you been forced to use in an emergency?

bigwords x

The Week of Woe Is Me

Ever since the accident I've taken to carrying a texta in my pocket just in case my husband falls asleep sitting up. I'm ready to pounce. You see, he cut his head on a piece of rusty corrugated iron, when knocking down an outhouse in our backyard. I'm pretty sure the heritage karma police stepped in to teach him a lesson for trashing a piece of our local history, but no-one uses the shitter anyway and frankly, it's just in the way.

Now, he has a scar the shape of a backwards C on his head. He is now terrified his wife, me, will draw the letters "UNT" or "OCK" alongside it so when he looks in the mirror he's constantly reminded of my love for him.

I don't like letting him down. Ever since I left a rat's tail, similar to a Hari Krishna's, while shaving his head, he has been wary of my special surprise gifts of love. That time, it took a call from his boss to tell me I was a legend, for me to realise my relationship was in jeapordy. This time, if I choose to draw on his head, I hope he sees it in the mirror before I get a call from our kid's teacher complaining of inappropriate language during the school run.

I've had to give myself something to keep interested in life after what's been an excruciating week at home suffering tonsillitis. This was a surprise to me as I got my tonsils out when I was a child. Who knew they grow back? I am living proof they do and they hurt like the burning pits of hell when angry. *Insert joke about them being like talkback listeners, Derryn Hinch, blowies and being too scared to swallow here* I didn't eat for four days.

Yesterday, I left the house for the first time in a week, to go to the supermarket. I don't know what's worse, the fact I chose to mark the occasion with grocery shopping or ... who am I kidding? There is no or in that statement. I'll have to think bigger with my next excursion. Perhaps I'll go to the park to push my three kids on the two godforsaken swings *insert fighting over the swings and me screaming here* or maybe a trip to Bunnings with my husband and his backwards C-shaped scar and the accompanying pair of boobs drawn on his head.

*Insert question prompting you to comment on my blog here*

love bigwords x

Help Make A Difference

Click on this link to buy this ebook

I am a little overwhelmed writing this because today you will see many of these blog posts asking for you to find a space in your heart and some money in your bank account to buy this ebook Things they didn't tell you about Parenting. Your Facebook newsfeed will be flooded, you Twitter stream blocked up and perhaps you'll even hear about it on the radio or television. 

This ebook features the words of 32 of the nation's most generous, eloquent, gutsy and brave writers and parent bloggers. And here's the most humbling part of it - I am one of them. 

We were asked to contribute to this anthology a piece of writing about the things nobody tells you about being a parent. The selection of stories are wonderfully inspiring and insightful for any parent and anyone considering becoming a parent. 

Now, here is the coolest part - ALL THE PROCEEDS GO TO THE AMAZING CHARITY FOUNDED BY AUSTRALIAN HUMANITARIAN CATE BOLT: FOUNDATION 18. 

So, this is why I am overwhelmed. I tried to find a uniquely compelling way to write this post and I got star struck just thinking about how the other contributors will tackle it. 

I just know that I stand by its integrity, its quality and its purpose. Not only a brilliant collection of writing, but a most worthy cause - to enlighten parents and let them know they are not alone in the everyday. 

And most importantly there are the children you will be helping with your purchase. I have three girls of my own and I'm always reassured by the possibility in their eyes.

Not every child is born with the resources or the love or the support or in a safe space to indulge in the possibilities. They are too busy just surviving. This project will help other children's eyes sparkle with possibility. And that means the world to me. 

To purchase your copy of this fabulous ebook click on this link http://thingstheydidnttellyou.com 

And for more information about Foundation 18 go to http://www.foundation18.org

I am just grateful to have been asked to be a part of this project. Thanks to everyone who made it happen. And thanks to Cate Bolt who is truly inspirational.

So what do you think, will you be downloading a copy?

bigwords xx

It Takes A Village - Under The Yardarm

It Takes A Village... to raise a child. So, I'm asking bloggers from my village to each write a message for me to pass on to my girls. If you'd like to write one, let me know.

This week's message to my girls is from one of the savviest, kindest and silliest women I know, my good friend Naomi from Under The Yardarm.

Dear Girls,

Did you know we are in a club together you three and I? It’s a special club that only certain people can be in.  It’s the three sister club. 

There will be days it aches to be away from your sisters. Some days it’s more of a gang than a club. Sometimes it’s a war zone. And sometimes you will want to be as far away as you can be from the other two members. That’s the way it goes.

Being a sister is hard work.  Like when one wears your favourite top and doesn’t tell you.  Or when one has a boyfriend or a girlfriend and you don’t.  Jealousy is all part of being a sister. Remember that. You will be jealous of some of the things your sisters get to do, be, wear. 

But the thing is, they will be jealous of you too.  It’s a given.  Just try to be gracious in your green eyed state. Failing that, remember to say sorry as best you can after being a total bitch to them.  Because you will be. As they will be to you. That too is a given.

There will be fights. And not just when you’re young. As you get older the fights will be less frequent. But fuelled by too much gin and wine, things that have not been said – things that perhaps should never be said – will spill from angry mouths.  You will say horrid, hurtful things to each other. There will be lots of swearing. And crying. But it will be okay.

That’s the beauty of being one of the three. Even after all the hurt and yelling there is love.

And no one will ever have your back when you need to complain about your parents like a sister.

Being a sister is tricky. Because there are three it means sometimes one of you is left out. It just happens that way. Different ages go better together. Try to remember to include each other as best you can. 

Remember too that sometimes even if you really want to be with your sisters, they may not want to be with you. It’s not that they don’t love you. It’s just we all need some space to call our own some days.

Know too that you don’t all have to like the same things, be good at the same things or dress the same way. Be who you are, not what your sisters are.

The three of you will, no matter what, always have each other even when you are on opposite sides of the world.  Especially when you are on opposite sides of the world.

When the youngest of the three has her first love, the older two will hate that person as much as she loves them, just for a little while, no matter how nice they are. The same can be said for the middle and eldest of you too – being a partner to one of the three is not for the weak.

When one of you has a heart broken, beware the one who did it, they will have three  women to deal with not one. 

If any one of your sisters have children you will be astounded by the way it worries you as you wait and watch her grow new life. As for watching a sister get married – remember tissues, and gin, and wear sturdy shoes to keep your bursting heart from knocking you down.

As you get older, and you move apart from each other you won’t talk every day. Imagine that. A time when you are not together each and every day.  Sometimes you won’t speak for weeks. You will have lives of your own, just as it should be. But your sisters will be there when you need them.

That’s the beauty of being one of the three. There is safety in numbers. And three is such a lucky number to have.

You will go in and out of each other’s homes and lives as if they are your own.  You will know where each other keeps the good wine, and you’ll never have to apologise for drinking all their gin. 

Naomi x 

Naomi is a Melbourne based blogger (Under The Yardarm), runner and parent to moody teens. When not blogging she teaches little folk, wears dresses and imagines being a foodie. A wine drinker and cocktail maker, she can whip you up a martini or pour you a glass of wine in no time at all.  A rebel in her own mind, she unashamedly wears her heart on her sleeve and is the maker of fine cups of tea. 

The Me Pledge: Dreams

Thanks so much to everyone who took part in last week's The Me Pledge task - your drawings were fab.

This week's task is to set aside some quiet time and write a list of your dreams and hopes for the future. When you're busy you often get caught up with the daily grind and push your own desires aside.

This is the point of The Me Pledge - it's all about rediscovering yourself. It's all about making time for you - even if it's only 10 minutes. Slowly, you'll devote more and more time to yourself. A happy, relaxed, motivated you, is a better you.

So, get to it and write a list of goals, write a list of your dreams.

I'll pop mine up here later this week. Love to see yours too, either on Bianca Wordley's Facebook Page, Twitter (@bigwordsblog), a link to your blog post or even in the comments below.

What are your goals for the future?

bigwords xx

It Take A Village - Beloverly

It Takes A Village... to raise a child. So, I'm asking bloggers from my village to each write a message for me to pass on to my girls. If you'd like to write one, let me know.

This week's message to my girls is from the loveliest gal in the world Cat, who writes the blog Wouldn't It Be Loverly.

Dear lovely Bigword-lettes

Your wise, talented and very loving Mum has asked me to pen some words of advice to you and I hope you don't find what I have to say causes too much in the way of making you roll your eyes or mutter, "silly old bag" under your breath, but here is what I would tell my daughter if I had one. 

Be proud of being a girl and then a woman.


I don't have daughters, I have sons. Not having a daughter is something I know I will miss, but I have come to accept that it's my responsibility to raise two wonderful boys who will become wonderful men who will stand as your equals in a world where both men and women are given equal chances. 

You see, I'm a feminist. Saying you're a feminist is fine if you are as old as your mum or me, but it's not very popular amongst young women and I think will be even less popular as you grow. There are women before you who sacrificed much. There are still women who are persecuted because they are women. In our Western world, it can mean things like not getting equal pay for the same job as a man, but there are women in other parts of the world who suffer horrors for the simple reason they were born as girls.  

Sometimes, not getting what you want is the best thing that could ever happen. You'll find a way to get it or something much better will come along. 

A balanced life is elusive - you will always feel the tug of, "I should" in a lot of different ways. The important part is to embrace that and understand that at some times specific things need more attention than others. Never more so than if you one day have your own children. 

Don't be scared to love hard but don't ever compromise yourself in the name of love. No one is worth giving up a piece of yourself to.

Listen to your inner voice. You know, the one that never, ever shuts up. If it is screaming something at you NEVER ignore it. My mum once told me that if I felt like I couldn't tell her about what I was doing I probably shouldn't be doing it. The inner voice can make you braver than you ever thought you could be, but will also stop you doing really stupid things too. And, if you do ignore it, use it as a lesson to yourself.

Close enough is good enough - don't let anyone fool you in to thinking you can achieve perfection. This seems defeatist, but perfection is not achievable. You DO NOT need to be perfect, but you do need to be well, you! 

Don't be scared to dream big! Like really, really, really, really big! And don't be scared of having a simple life either. This seems like conflicting advice, but both can be equally scary.  It's just important to be well, YOU!

Being a teenager doesn't last forever. Thank God for that!!! 

Read. A lot! Anything you can. It will bring joy to you in so, so, so many ways. 

Forgive each other.  Families are nuts, truly but if you can find a way to forgive each other for all the silly things that irk you about each other you'll come through life with the best ally possible, a sibling!  A sibling is the only person who truly knows how bonkers your parents are after all.

Forgive yourself! You'll do dumb things. We all do. Don't beat yourself up over it.  

You don't have to be happy ALL the time. Life's not about that.  It's about light, shade and every single thing in between and you'll be all the richer for it. 

And lastly, call your Mum and tell her you love her as often as you can, even if you don't feel like it. She will want to hear it for the rest of her days. 

I hope you're still awake after all this advice lovely girls.

I wish you a life full to the brim with adventure, love and soul.

Much love,

Cat

Adelaide-based Cat is a girly girl who is surrounded by boys. She's a Mama to two outrageously noisy but amazing little boys, Bebito aged 3 and Little Lion aged 7 months and is married to the world's noisiest but supremely lovely man. She is constantly seeking some peace and quiet. She was born a book geek, loves pretty things - especially shoes, yummy food, getting her craft on and champagne. She is constantly trying to stifle her champagne taste on her mineral water budget and is the kind of gal who unapologetically wears her heart on her sleeve. She blogs at Wouldn't It Be Loverly and tweets at @beloverly

bigwords - On The Wireless

My husband had just left for a three-day work trip. All was going well, until I was getting two of our girls ready to go and pick up Miss L from school. My youngest decided it was the perfect time to have a "I refuse to wear any clothes, including my nappy" moment. It took fifteen excruciating minutes to dress her and much swearing out loud or was it in my head? I don't know I was swearing, that I do know.

Anyway, we all survived the school run and I was getting dinner ready and standing in my kitchen meeting all the demands the three children were firing at me: "I'm hungry, I want something to eat", "I need someone to wipe my bum," "Bottle, bottle, more, bottle" - you know the deal. It never ends. Then my phone beeped with a request from 891 Radio (ABC Adelaide) for me to be interviewed by the gorgeous Michael Smyth about blogging. I couldn't say no, but immediately succumbed to a nervous, anally organised, meltdown. I am not good with curve balls, I anally organise everything, even my meltdowns.

How the hell was I going to conduct a radio interview at 5.50pm with three children in the house and an absent husband?

I lined up water bottles, glasses of milk, chocolate, chips, more chocolate and on commencement of the interview I gave each child a super, humungous lollipop and (gently) pushed them in the direction of the television.

Luckily, the interview flew by and without a peep from the girls. I have no idea what I said as my heart was thumping so loudly and my head was buzzing with... well, the loud buzzing sound of nothingness and fear my kids would walk in mid-interview demanding more lolliops.

You can listen to it here if you want?!



What do you give your kids when you need quiet time?

Have you ever had to wrangle your toddler who refuses to wear a nappy?

Love to hear your thoughts,
bigwords xx

The Me Pledge: Draw

Welcome to the launch of The Me Pledge.

I'm not really a fan of the term "me time". I'm not exactly sure why, but it just irks me. However, I'm a big fan of people taking some time out of their busy lives to give themselves time to laugh, smile, relax, refocus, recharge and rest. A little bit of breathing space is fabulous. As we get older we often forget to inject any sillyness or recklessness into our day. That's why I've decided to start The Me Pledge.

Every week I'll set a task and if it rocks your boat then you can join in. I'd also love any suggestions for upcoming activities too.

This week's is a simple one.

Grab a cuppa, head out into the garden alone with a sketchpad and draw something. Anything. Take as long or as little time as you need. While you are out there, find your inner quiet. Recline on a chair or lay on the grass. Stop and listen to the sounds of the birds, the wind or the rain, listen to the traffic passing by. Don't be too fussed by the quality of your drawing, seriously I can't draw for shit - here's an example of my interpretation of a dolphin. I kid you not.

This is about the process, not the artistic quality! Before I had children I would sometimes spend time drawing or painting, now all I draw are cats and farm animals. Seriously, who has the time to luxuriate over such matters. Well, this week I'm going to find the time.

I will pop my picture on this post later in the week and share to my Bianca Wordley's bigwords Facebook page and to my Twitter account @bigwordsblog with the hashtag #themedpledge and Instagram for everyone to see. You can do the same. I can't wait to see what you draw!

I'd love for you to spread the word and if you haven't already please click like on my FB Page or follow this blog or sign up to email updates or all of them if you like! That way I can see what you come up with and you'll be sure to see my embarrassing drawing.

UPDATE. Here's my drawing of lavender in the garden. I loved doing it. I realised I am not the best drawer and at times I wanted to scribble all over it. But hey, I gave it my best shot!

So, have you drawn anything yet?

It will make me so happy to know you're taking some time out to rediscover a little of what makes you tick. I really think it's vital you love yourself, to be able to give freely to the world. Enjoy!

See you next week,
bigwords xx

The Mother's Day Post

Here's the thing. There's these three little people who depend on me. They have the sweetest giggles. The softest skin. Their eyes reflect the sun like glitter.

They think a perfect day is jumping on the trampoline, eating sprinkle donuts, dancing to hip hop music in the lounge room and being taken to bed on their Dad's shoulders. Life is one big treat.

The responsibility is at times overwhelming; like nothing else I've ever encountered. I've stood out the front of buildings where thousands of people have been told they're out of work. I've interviewed some of the nation's richest people, walked through the corridors of London's Parliament with all its pom and ceremony.

I've struggled as two men tried to strangle me in Barcelona, running away with my cash and passport. I've faced a life without the knowledge of who my father is and watched my Mum struggle with that, while, with immense love, grace and much skill, raised me alone.

I thought I was prepared to be a mother.

But being a Mum is the hardest thing I've ever done and at times it drives me crazy. Motherhood actually makes me feel certifiable at times.

There are times I feel like I am riding the waves of motherhood, standing on my board reaching for the sun. There are times I feel like I am being dragged under the surf, tumbling and fighting for my life.

There's no certificate for being a mother. There's no course. I didn't even know how to change a nappy when my first child was born, let alone how to guide a person from newborn into adulthood.

All I know is, I do my best. All I know is, that even when I'm struggling, my kids need to feel safe and loved. 

Happy Mother's Day to all the Mums out there. Here's to us all keeping our heads above water and when we feel we're drowning knowing we can reach out and someone will pull us to safety.

Happy Mother's Day to my Mum. Without you choosing me from the universe, I wouldn't be here to raise my three amazing girls. You are truly an amazing woman and mother. I love you.

You know I watch my children while they are sleeping; sometimes in their clean sheets, sometimes in the sheets I've had to sweep the crumbs from and I will them be ok. I will them to survive my style of parenting. And I wonder how many Mums out there feel the same?

love bigwords xx

Take That Time

Just being a good Mum is enough. OK.

bigwords x

What do you think?

Here is the latest Time cover featuring a story on attachment parenting. Personally, it wasn't my parenting choice, but I love to see different women's stories being highlighted. Everyone's choice is their own. Everyone's choice should be supported.

However, I can see the media shit storm already. I can already hear the judgement and the poisonous criticism firing from all sides of the mothering sphere. The title: "Are You Mom Enough?" will only inflame debate. Wouldn't it be great to see this issue discussed without the vitriol and nastiness?

WHAT ARE YOUR THOUGHTS?

bigwords x

It Takes A Village - Diminishing Lucy

It Takes A Village... to raise a child. So, I'm asking bloggers from my village to each write a message for me to pass on to my girls. If you'd like to write one, let me know.
This week's message to my girls is from the delicious Diminishing Lucy.

Hey little Chicklets,

You know how you know your mum is the prettiest Mum ever in the whole wide world?

And you know how her smile and only her smile can make you feel better about just about everything?

And you know how when she gives you a cuddle it feels like the best place ever? And how that cuddle can fix everything because it feels safe?

And you know how she knows you better than anyone else ever can?

And you know how some days she makes you laugh so hard you wet yourself?

And how, on other days she cries and is cranky but you still love her to bits?

And you know how much Daddy loves her, even if her hair is a mess and her bum wobbles a bit?

Do you know why everyone loves her?

Because she loves herself.

She doesn’t care what size is in the tag in her clothes.

She sure doesn’t care about the belly that you three helped make.

She puts make up on to feel good, not look good.

She knows what is right and what is wrong. She does what she feels is the best thing, despite what others might think.

She has the confidence to stand apart from the rest and be herself.

She knows that gin and wine are great, but that she doesn’t need them.

She knows that when you love, you love the soul and the mind and the person inside.

She knows that a size 8 body is no reflection of health and that a baby belly is irrelevant in the grand scheme of things.

She knows that eating right and moving a lot makes you feel sensational.

She knows that a smart mouth and engaging words win over false eyelashes and big boobs.

She knows that confidence comes from love.

That’s why she gives you so much love.

She wants you to develop the confidence in yourselves, so that you will never care about conforming to what the media suggests is what a woman should look like.

She wants you to instinctively know that a healthy body that operates in an aura of happy self-confidence is the most beautiful thing to be with.

She wants you to know that if you know yourself and like yourself, then you will be comfortable with yourself, wherever you are and whatever you attempt to do.

Chicklets, you may groan when you read this as teens. But by the time you hit your late twenties, you’ll believe me. Promise.

If you love yourself, so will others.

Love Lucy x

Lucy is a lapsing dietier and lapsing Adelaide blogger. Lucy juggles parenting with her own journey to health and wellbeing. She knows how tricky it can be to balance all the roles that Mums undertake - and how much more fun it all is with energy and vitality on your side. Lucy blogs at Diminishing Lucy, where she shares her weight loss journey, along with tales of family life.

The Surprise Mother's Day

(Photo: custom-made necklace designed for me by http://www.etsy.com/shop/dandelyne)

After what had been a night of a few too many Spanish bubbles and many laughs with a great friend of mine for her birthday I was lolling about in bed this morning willing myself not to be hungover. You know how you lay there and don't open your eyes until you're ready to face the morning. Somehow you think if you keep your eyes closed it will keep the hangover at bay!

Anyway, I could hear my husband scurrying around the kitchen. I could hear him and the girls creep past our bedroom door out into the front garden. I could hear him instructing the girls to pick flowers. I could hear the obligatory screaming and fighting among the girls. I could smell baking. And then I knew what was going on. You see, he will be working on Mother's Day and knows how much I enjoy it. Well, he knows how much I enjoy absolving myself of any mothering duties.

And then they came, one by one sneaking into my room. My eldest, Miss L told me not to come out to the kitchen. She assured me nothing was going on, definitely not any impromptu breakfast making. Then our middle child, Miss E came in to tell me there was a surprise Mother's Day breakfast being made, but I wasn't meant to know and here put these novelty sunglasses on until the surprise came. Then the youngest waddled in and threw a handful of cookie cutters on my chest.

Then, last of all, came my gorgeous husband with a plate of homemade scones, with jam and freshly whipped cream, a cup of tea and a tiny vase of flowers from our garden. It was perfect.

Being a Mum isn't always homemade scones and freshly picked flowers, sometimes it's burnt fish fingers and tantrums. Being a Mum is anything but perfect. Being a mum is a roller coaster and sometimes I just want to get off the ride, but it's thrilling, makes my heart thump and my soul laugh. Being a Mum is the best darn ride in the world. I am so very lucky.

Happy Mother's Day,
bigwords x

The Stupid, Fucking Super Moon

I am going to blame the stupid, fucking Super Moon for my general malaise. Yep, you heard me right. Me, the woman who doesn't even read her stars anymore is going to blame a moon for her heightened desire to swear much and rip the tiny purple flowers off her front lavender bush. Yep, I want to get those sweet smelling flowers and stamp on those fuckers. I am GRUMPY.

The crap part of blaming that stupid fucking Super Moon is I couldn't even see it last night. An overcast sky prevented me from admiring its apparently amazing glow. The only moon I saw was when I heard a muffled "hey" and looked over to see my husband bent over with his pants pulled to his knees. I laughed, but secretly I wanted to run over and push him in the bushes.  

I'm not sure if part of my cattiness stems from the fact this time last year my "moon"was sitting on my throne of toilet paper (a prize of a year's supply of Kleenex toilet paper) and just this week we used our last roll. 

Or if my foul mood is a reflection of the new stupid Mirena contraception I began relying on six weeks ago which has not only lead to a five kilo inflation of my weight, oily hair and bloating, but is also making me want to consume vast amounts of ice cream and wine. I am thinking that it is also playing a significant role in my heightened desire to watch Funniest Home Video clips on YouTube so I can laugh at other people falling over. 

Or perhaps I just need to get my bloody period. Yes, I chose to put those two words together to make you cringe a little, because that sums up my mood. I will not apologise for my swearing or for kicking a toy tiger in the head just for fun or my joy in picking out the better coffee, leaving the less frothy one for my husband. It's the little things people. The little things.

Are you grumpy too? Do ever feel like this? Stupid, fucking Super Moon.

Now, piss off,
bigwords x

It Takes A Village - Cate Pearce

It Takes A Village... to raise a child. So, I'm asking bloggers from my village to each write a message for me to pass on to my girls. If you'd like to write one, let me know.


This week's message to my girls is from the wonderful Cate Pearce.

Dear three littlest bigwords,

I am writing this in 2012 and the world is in turmoil. 

Our country is still being, as it often has been, run by overpaid clowns, and the only man who wants to take over wears speedos. The US dollar is worth less than ours, Greece has run out of money altogether, and the most popular person on Australian television is actually a comedic radio DJ.  Dancing With The Stars may or may not be rigged, Jessica Simpson may or may not have been pregnant for 12 months, and Joel Madden may or may not have made a huge mistake when he picked hotpants over a kaftan. The Harry Potter series finished, the Twilight saga is about to end but Titanic is STILL being shown. Australian politicians tried to send refugees to a Malaysian hellhole, a jewellery store tried to sell Playboy products next to Winnie the Pooh earrings, and a clothing store in the US tried to sell crotchless knickers in children’s sizes.

Turmoil, I’m telling you.

By the time you read this, I sincerely hope that…

·       - The Voice coaches are not Justin Bieber, Jack Vidgen, One Direction and Rebecca Black. If you even know who Rebecca Black is, I truly fear history will show that Youtube was the worst plague to hit our century.

·      -  There are no Kardashians. Anywhere.

·       - You have your mother’s smile and sense of humour, but maybe not her height. Not if you want to reach the top shelf, anyway.

·       - Port Power have won a few AFL premierships and Collingwood have not.

·       - You have learned not to steal your mother’s wine. Or gin. Or anything vaguely alcoholic belonging to your mother. She needs it.

·       - Social media sites have scratch’n’sniff capabilities.  For flower photos, not, y’know, dog poo or anything.

·       - The Wiggles have finally managed to wake up Jeff.

·       - You have managed to skip King Charles’ reign and have King William and Queen Catherine on the cover of Women’s Weekly instead.

·       - Lady Ga Ga is no longer wearing dresses made of meat. I’m guessing genetically modified salads will be the rage by then.

·      -  Your first boyfriends were decent boys who treated you with the care and respect you deserve. Or they were cute and rich.

·       - The Doll Wars sees the Bratz tribe eliminated from the face of the earth.

·       - You realise all your mother can give you is an education and straight teeth, the rest is up to you.

·       - Somebody finally makes a spectacular profit on The Block.

·       - Shoe stores still have 50% off sales.

·       - Leggings are no longer worn as pants by ANYBODY.

·       - Your mother has the sense to show you what I wrote about my teenagers on my blog and says “See girls? This is what I’ll write about you if you shit me to tears.”

·       - Fashion designers and store buyers have realised that making two thousand dresses in size 6, and only four in size fourteen, means that the sales racks have one thousand, nine hundred and ninety-eight size 6 dresses left on them at the end of the season.

·       - Channel 10 has finally settled on a regular night and timeslot for Glee.

·       - Your parents have saved up for your school formals, or taken up dressmaking, shoemaking, and bought a limousine hire company.

·       - There are still real books. Made of paper.

·       - I have finished menopause.

Seriously, I also hope that…

·       - The environment is healing.

·       - The Japanese have stopped whaling.

·       - Poverty is a diminishing problem.

·       - Dignified, voluntary euthanasia is legal.

·       - Cancer has been eradicated.

·       - You never live in fear of terrorism.

·       - You find your own version of happiness.

·       - You can marry whoever you want.

·       - You laugh loud, and often.

·       - You know you are beautiful.

·       - You know what it is to love.

·       - I have finished menopause.

Love, Cate xxx

Cate was born in 1964, but as the savvy SAHM of two teenagers, has the bones of a Baby Boomer, the mind of a Generation Xer and the mouth of a Gen Y. She lives in Adelaide and writes over at I'll Think Of A Title Later.

The Media Whore

I've been whoring myself all over the place this week.

First, I had a blog post up at the delicious Justb Australia, listing 10 super RAD kids' rooms.

Then, I was interviewed by the gorgeous Wild Colonial Girl about being a blogger, a writer and a Mum.

Next stop, was a guest spot at the awe-inspiring Childhood 101 complete with pictures of Miss H being way, way naughty. Christie's just had a sweet smelling baby.

And then today, I popped up at my secret mentor (by secret I mean, she has no idea) Wendy Harmer's must-read site The Hoopla, talking about how much I dislike the unannounced drop-in.

If you get a moment, please pop in and check them out. I like to rabbit on and on.

Tomorrow, I'm letting my friend fellow Adelaide blogger Cate take the stage. She's kicking off my new regular series It Takes A Village... I've asked bloggers I love to write a little something to my girls and the posts are wonderful. I'll publish a new one every week just for you and me and most importantly my girls.

What's the one thing you'd tell your kids or your friends' kids?

Love to hear your thoughts,
bigwords xx

PS: I forgot to tell you that Manu answered my question on the Macleans Mums site. Damn he is hot!