The Bird

It started out innocently enough - a couple of glasses of wine with friends on a Friday night, before Twiggy and I headed off for a concert. We were kid-free, I was spending the night in a hotel (a special reward for what has been a busy few months) and the night was ticking along nicely.

Then I noticed something, the bird had reared its head. This is a pretty normal occurrence when you get  Twiggy near a camera. The only problem is that it wasn't his camera. The owner of the camera awoke to about 100 bird photos, he then posted them on Facebook for everyone to see. I have not laughed so much in my laugh. Here's just a couple of them, because I like to share the good, the bad and the downright ridiculous of myself.

Twiggy and I then bid everyone a very gangsta farewell...

... before jumping into the closest cab and making our way to the Hilltop Hoods concert, where we got suitable drinks to fit in with the crowd.

Then Twiggy displayed his awesome gangsta moves.

Let's just say the night got messier. It went into the very early hours of the morning.

There were many, many more birds.

The next day as I was leaving the hotel on my way to a weekend away at the beach with a group of gorgeous women, I received one last bird from Twiggy, who was struggling through sole parenting of our three girls.

I flipped him one right back.

We might have a relationship based on the bird, but we laugh so hard and love even harder.

Do you ever do the sneaky bird in photos? Have you got any to share?

bigwords x

What's All The Hoopla

Seriously, what's the deal with social media etiquette? You know, how many messages on Facebook, Twitter, email etc etc etc are you expected to give someone on their birthday? Would you live Tweet your child's birth?

I've tackled this issue and more over at The Hoopla. Just click on this link and it'll take you there: Dear Interwebs, Drop Dead.

Come on over and say hi!

bigwords xx

It Takes A Village - Denyse Whelan

It Takes A Village... to raise a child. So, I'm asking bloggers, and in this case friends, 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 letter is from the matriarch of the social media scene, ex-school principal, Grandmother, carer and kind and generous soul Denyse Whelan.

Dear Girls,

I’m writing you a letter, and it’s about letter writing.

It seems people do not send letters much anymore, and this is a bit sad, because it is such fun to go to the letterbox and see if there is any mail.

I sent your mother a big letter once, and it also had some fun things for craft inside. Maybe you remember. But I bet your mum remembers the mess.

My letter was sent to your city after I placed a stamp on its envelope, to pay for the post people to send it, and then it went in a truck or it might have gone in a plane.

After that it was sorted so the Postie could deliver it to your house.

I thought I’d give you three girls my ideas for letter writing.

Step 1.

If you ever need to write a letter there are a few things you need to know.

Letters are usually hand-written.

Sometimes the paper will have lines,

____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

and other times there will be a blank space. Like this:

There maybe coloured paper in your favourite colour.

Do all girls like pink or do you have your own ideas?

The most important part is that there is a place for you to write.

Step 2.

You need to have words. I know that you already know words to say, and words to sing, and words to whisper.

I think the big girl is learning about words at school. Is that right?

Words keep us connected.

Sometimes one word is enough when we write it, or say it.

Yes. No. Maybe.

The best thing about words, as I am sure your mother would tell you, is that you can use lots, a few, or a number in between.

I do hope that when you are old enough to write words, and to draw pictures, that you will have fun, and send these letters to someone you know, and to someone you love.

Step 3.

You already have the paper, and the words and pictures in your head, and you need to have something to write with.

Your choice for this when you are in your early years is best to be a sharp (not too pointy!) HB pencil.

Then as you get a little older, you may use a pen. It can be one with a fine tip for best effect.

 At school you will have handwriting lessons, and you will need to practise with a pencil for years before you are granted a ‘pen licence’.

Step 4.

This is where you girls get to put your thinking caps on as you get older.

Why send a letter? Who would like a letter sent from you? What will I say?

I hope you enjoy reading this letter, and it helps you write letters as you grow up.  It is a great idea to start looking at letters that come in your letterbox too. There just might be another one from me soon.

Thank you girls for reading my letter,

Love from,

Denyse

 Denyse Whelan has been a teacher and a school principal and loves kids! She has 6 grandchildren aged from 3 months to 15 years old. In her retirement years, Denyse discovered Twitter (@denwise1) and then found blogging. With her knowledge of schooling and education, combined with a love of kids and family, she writes about school days, her life as a principal, and being 'Grandma'. Recently Denyse told her story about how she came to blogging, as part of the Digital Parents Conference in Melbourne. As an Education Specialist, Denyse is providing consultation services to local pre schools and families in NSW. Retirement is not about retiring from life, it's about getting into it, and she is now teaching a technology class for seniors called "become tech-savvy'.

When Perfection Isn't Everything

My three children are very different, which is good because if they were the same it would be boring and I'm pretty sure they would just spend their whole day asking me for something to eat. Oh wait?

Anyway, Miss L, the eldest, strives to be perfect at everything. If she can't write the letter R perfectly she will most probably have a small meltdown and then quietly, when no-one is watching, will practise writing it until it is perfect. She will show the entire family her perfect R and ask for much praise.

"I am excellent at writing the letter R, aren't I?" she'll exclaim proudly.

"Yes, you are honey - EXCELLENT at it," we'll reply repeatedly, until she moves onto her next endeavour.

Miss E, our middle child, will attempt to write the letter R, if it's not perfect straight away, she'll just move onto another letter. She might try it again at a later date, if she can be bothered.

"I'm pretty good at writing letter R, but I'm much better at Ts," she'll say matter-of-factly, then she'll go and play.

"Yes, you are honey - PRETTY GOOD at it," we'll shout, as she runs off distracted.

Miss H, our youngest child, will argue with us about what the letter R looks like. We'll say it's an R, she'll say no, and then she'll get one of her sisters to write it for her.

I love watching how they learn and we are slowly working out ways to tailor the way we encourage them.

We know we have to back-off with Miss L as she already puts enough pressure on herself, we have to give Miss E just a little push or she'll happily sit idly watching the world pass her by, because frankly she's not too fussed, and when it comes to Miss H, she'll be just fine I reckon.

Although we play on their own desire to compete with each other, particularly when it comes to helping out, we're starting to discover even that isn't working.

As Miss E stated today, when she refused to get dressed and I told her she wasn't going to "win" the getting ready race: "It doesn't matter, I'm not going to come last, I'm going to come third and third's fine".

And you know what, third is fine. What's the deal with trying to push your children into being the best? I'd much rather my kids do what makes them happy, at their own pace, rather than feeling pressured to always push themselves to their limits.

I think pursuing perfection is somewhat futile, unless of course that's what makes you happy. What do you think?

bigwords x

The Caterpillar

Let's lighten the mood a bit shall we?

I want to tell you a story about a caterpillar.

Once upon a time there was me, a slightly neurotic mum of three and wannabe novelist. I spent much time looking back fondly on my childhood. I liked to tell my children about the fun things I'd do as a kid and then try to get them to do similar things so I could live through them and just for a moment feel the wonder of being a child again.

One day I saw a furry, little caterpillar sitting on a spinach leaf in our garden. It was all fluffy and cute, munching away at a leaf as quickly as possible before the big man, my husband, came and sprayed it with chemicals to stop it eating all our green leafy vegetables.

I was swept back to a time I'd sit in my driveway with my collection of caterpillars. I didn't have brothers and sisters, so my caterpillars were pretty important to me. I let them crawl up my arm and I'd line them up and encourage them to race against each other. I would always win. I suppose I'd always lose too, but I choose to ignore that.

So, in an attempt to teach my youngest child the joys of caterpillars I reached into the spinach bush and scooped up the tiny caterpillar. I felt little again. I was so excited.

Immediately, my joy turned to loathing as the damn caterpillar did a huge green poo in the palm of my hand. Screaming, I dropped the caterpillar onto the ground where it lay motionless*. My two-year-old also stood there motionless with a look of terror on her face. Then she started crying.

For the next day, she would stop and scream if she saw anything that vaguely resembled a caterpillar. Pieces of fluff and sticks were suddenly objects to be avoided at all times. Then I knew I had to conquer my fear, so she could conquer the fear I put in her.

Then the time came and I saw another caterpillar. After a few glasses of wine, I reached out and scooped it into the palm of my hand. It crawled up my arm and my children squealed. Their squeals turned to coos and immediately I was transported back to that time when I was a long-limbed, olive-skinned girl, sitting in my bathers in the gravel playing with my caterpillars.

I passed the caterpillar to my eldest girl and she smiled the biggest smile and then the other kids smiled the biggest smiles and I knew at that moment I'd helped erase the fear from my youngest girl's psyche.

And then it happened, the cute, little, furry caterpillar did a huge shit in her hand and she screamed throwing it into the garden. Her screams, were then echoed by her sisters and I knew my hard work had been erased.

Damn.

The End.

bigwords xx

*no caterpillars were killed in the writing of this blog post.

Why I Blog

As I stand washing the dishes, the kids start complaining about dinner, again. I try to ignore them. I look down at my wrinkled hands. They look old. I push my hair back off my face, my crooked fringe I stupidly cut myself, and I wipe some suds off my wobbly belly. I look down at the raggedy slippers on my feet and at my ill-fitting tracksuit pants and sigh. I am everything I didn't want to be. I'm a frumpy, middle-aged housewife. I've lost my identity.

With my back to my family, I start to cry. My tears drop into the soapy water. Even my sadness is diluted by domesticity.

My husband touches my shoulder and asks me what's wrong. I say I don't know and escape to my bedroom. I need space. My life is baring down on me, suffocating me.

I sit on the edge of my bed and stare at the wall. My tears have stopped. I have nothing left to give. I feel like an empty shell. I know I have to write it down. It will help.

This is why I blog, because it helps me tap into that part of me which refuses to be smothered by the mundane.

It's not the only reason. I blog because I love to write. I love connecting with other people. I love making people laugh.

I blog because I want to document a day in my family's life, for memories' sake.

I blog because I think I need to get my stats up -  a picture here and a quip there.

I blog because I have a burning desire to comment on a societal issue or to make a statement about a completely ridiculous celebrity.

I blog because someone's paid me to.

I blog because I'm drunk and I saw an ad on TV and it makes me want to take pictures of my belly for the world to see.

Then there are the times I blog because I have a desperate need to be heard. The times I take leave from my family abruptly to cry. The times I sit on my floor and stare into space. The times I wonder where I went.

When I sit motionless and the words "you are nothing" swirl in my head. When I take stock of what I've done that day and I realise being a mother is a thankless task. Daily grind. Where they take what little you have left of yourself and slowly chip away at it. How from the moment you wake up you are nothing but their vessel. You try and fill yourself up with morsels of the life you chose to leave behind, but with each year they are harder to find.

I blog at these times because I want someone to hear me. I want someone to acknowledge my existence. To tell me that I am more than just a mother.

I write because it's easier for me to express how I'm feeling to my computer. I go online because it's easier for me to sustain friendships with people I do not see. I don't like face-to-face concern - the sorry smile. The awkward filling of silence.

I write because once I have written the words I feel the fog start to lift. Each word plugs into my soul like a charger. Each sentence fills me up again. It reminds me of who I am. It helps build my resolve. It helps me realise that I chose this path of motherhood and although I had no idea what I was signing myself up for, it is without a doubt the most challenging and most rewarding  ride of my life.

Each word I write resonates in my heart and rips me out of my numbness. I write it down and share it because I know if I am feeling this way someone else must be too and I want them to not be afraid.

I blog because without it I would feel alone.

Why do you blog?

bigwords x

The Unicorn

My girls love imagination play. They make up intricate stories and become the characters. Orange socks become flamingo feet, scarves shoved down their pants become tails, nappies on their head become their alien headwear.

I love it because it means they are not afraid to think outside the square. It shows me they are resourceful and creative. It also means they are not asking me for something to eat.

Miss 5: "OK, you're a unicorn and can't walk so you have to use a wheelchair."
Miss 3: *slides into the room on her belly*
MIss 5: "No, that's not right come with me".
Miss 5: *comes back into room dragging a blanket with Miss 3 perched on a tiny pink chair*

Lately the stories and songs have become a little more macabre than usual. There's a lot of death.

In the bath they sing: "We're going to drown, drown, drown, drown, drown".

In the car they sing: "We're going to die, die, die, die, die".

Then there's the often played-out storyline.

Miss 5: "OK, you're a dog and I'm a cat and I'm your Mum and you're just lying there dead and then I want to go to the shops so you're not dead anymore."

I don't think we've even talked to the kids about death, so I can only imagine they are hearing about it on television or at school. We've banned the "die song" and the "drown song". They think it's funny, they don't get the finality. I hope they don't have to for a long time.

Do your kids make up elaborate stories? Do they play dead in their stories? How do you react?

bigwords x

Today I'll Laugh More

Another mass shooting, a king hit kills a young man, lightening kills another, car crashes, diving for the last time, massacres in Syria, people's loved ones not living to see another sunrise - there is so much death everywhere I look. Every person gone is a great loss to humanity. Every person left to grieve is forever changed.

Today, I hug my girls tight. I kiss my husband more. I think of those long gone and of those I've never met, who I will never pass in the street. I'll think of those whose lives have been so cruelly cut short. The people who had plans for today, but will never meet them. People who had their lives mapped out, who now lie motionless.

I am sarcastic. I am at times brash, at times filthy. I hide away when things get too much. I worry. I make lists of lists, not keen on deviating from the expected. Death is not expected, although unavoidable. Today, I will reflect on life. I will smile brighter. I will stop and smell the lavender bushes. I will savour every morsel of the day. I will watch the sun set and feel the breeze on my skin. Tomorrow, I plan on doing the same. Everyday is precious. Why does it take death to remind you to live?

There are so many people today with their hearts shattered, their eyes shielded from the sun, weighed down in the depths of darkness, their lives forever longing for those they miss. People who would do anything for one last embrace.

Today I will laugh more.

What will you do today?

bigwords x

She'll Be A Stripper Or A B-Grade Celebrity

You hear those stories of the kids who were singing since they were three or always loved to build stuff. There's kids like Mrs Woog's gorgeous boy Jack who no doubt'll be a dancer. Beloverly's boy wants to be a pilot. We keep looking for the signs in our children of what they'll pursue when they're older, but it seems our kids are lacking in any decipherable ambition.

Miss L loves animals. She spends much of her time dressed as one and a few times has the mentioned the desire to be a vet, except I think she thinks vet is code for "cat lady". Personally, I think she'd make a fabulous Princess.

Miss E is pretty adamant she is going to do nothing when she grows up. That's her stock standard answer. Yet, recently she'd stepped it up a notch. Now, she says she wants to be an ice skater.

It's Miss H who is displaying pretty strong signs of what she'll be when she grows up. We are quite certain she'll be a stripper or a nudist. Either that or she's Australia's next Lara Bingle. She just can not keep her clothes on.

Miss H is our third child. She is naughty for about 75 per cent of the time. The other 25 per cent she is asleep. OK, that's not entirely correct, Twiggy and I have downgraded her "terror" rating to 50/50. Aside from being convinced she is an only child and her two older sisters are merely her minions, she wanders around in her nappy muttering: "No" for most of the day. This is when she's not climbing on top of all the furniture and hurling herself off squealing: "Wheeeeeee".

Even a simple vist to BigW involves many trolley tricks.

There's the outside grip also known as the scare the life out of your mum with attempts to jump off move.

There's the tippy toe push interchanged with the monkey bar swing.

Quickly followed by the cruise or in her words shit, I'm trapped in the trolley.

And lastly, there's the mid-push jump to freedom.

Needless to say, shopping with Miss H is an activity not embarked on often. The last time I went to the supermarket with all three children she refused to sit in the trolley and instead run ahead down the aisles screaming with delight while grabbing cans off the shelf and throwing them all over the place. We don't even discuss what happened in the sanitary napkin aisle.

Do your kids have life ambitions? Or are they too busy being shits in the shopping centre to care?

bigwords xx

It Takes A Village - Emma Healey

It Takes A Village... to raise a child. So, I'm asking bloggers, and in this case friends, 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 delightful, funny, honest and downright super rad Emma Healey, the brains and beauty behind What's In Emma's Brain. And she was raised by hippies, like me.


Girls,


Your people are the friends that always make you feel like you are enough. They won't ever judge you. 
Ever. 
They will help you not to judge others, and they may change from time to time.
They know exactly what it is about you that is fabulous! Thats why you are friends!
You will need to be reminded of this occasionally.

They will say the things that you are thinking, they will make you laugh till there is no sound coming out, and they will come knocking at your door at 10pm the night before a rental inspection with a bottle of wine to help you fold your floordrobe, thus avoiding eviction and the need to leave your shitty two bed in Newtown to move back in with your olds.

Make sure you rent a shitty 2 Bed someday. It will be the best time of your life.

Your people will laugh at you when you fall over, you need to laugh at yourself when you fall over, but they will always help you up.

Surround yourself with your people. I promise you, they are everywhere, even if you need to take your time to find them.
High school can be a huge jerk. It can be the only space in the world in which quantity over quality is encouraged. This all rights itself the minute you step out of there, so don't waste your time with it and watch everyone catch up.

It might feel like there are none of your people in High School, everyone feels like that.
I promise you that there is at least one and one is enough, the rest will find you both if they are lucky.

Love is beautiful, its the only thing that can make you feel invincible enough to leave your people, but it can be the biggest Jerk of all. 
Don't let love take you from your people, you will need them to have your back when love needs a massive clock in the face.
Anyone who deserves your love, and has good intentions wont ever ask you to leave your people.

Love doesn't always like to compete with friendship.
Make a pact with your friends to love each others partners when they love their partners and hate them when they hate them.
Guaranteed one of them is going to get with a massive ass hat at some time, remind them who they are, and what they deserve. It will all work out, you don't always have to fix things, you just have to listen.

Make sure your mum is one of your people, did you know your mum is hilarious?

When you find that special someone you will need your people more than ever.
They will help you remember who you are, with all the beautiful things that love has to offer you can sometimes forget.
Your people will always remind you who you are, you are their people, the person your partner fell in love with and they will always remind you of why you should love you. 
I promise you that whatever grass you are standing on, while you love you, is the greenest.

Em.

Emma Healey is a Sydney based blogger, Mother to three beautiful children and self professed nerd. When she is not busy being a disgustingly lucky work at home mum, she writes of being raised by hippies in a small country town at www.whatsinemmasbrain.com 
You can tweet her @Emmasbrain.

Fancy Fresco, Shame About The Food

All I can say is I am so glad we had private health insurance because it meant when we were sitting in the waiting room at 6.30 in the morning, nervously awaiting Miss L's operation, we could admire the fresco. Yes, THE FRESCO. Because a fresco makes up for the fact your child's about to have her tonsils and adenoids ripped out. It's calming.

I just wish they spent less on the fresco and more on making the food edible.

Not that Lily minded about the food. She just spent her time trying to consume as much cold, processed  sugar as possible. When attempting to put my fork into the hard lump of grey Beef Stroganoff (I could lift it off my plate in one lump), I looked over and saw her in five-year-old culinary bliss. She had an ice-block in one hand, a spoon of custard in the other and opened containers of jelly and ice ice-cream lined up in front of her. Seeing that she had just had her throat knifed, I thought that her dinner choices were completely legit.

I was just relieved to see her sitting up in bed, the operation part over and done with. She'd slept, she'd hung out with her new hospital buddies and by the morning she was dancing around her hospital room. I'm not sure if that was the drugs or the extraordinary amount of sugar she'd consumed in 24 hours. She's much quieter now.

It had been a long day.

I'd forced a smile on my face, when my girl reached out for Twiggy as we rolled her up to theatre away from him.

I'd distracted her from her fear, when she gripped my hand tight as we entered the operating theatre.

I'd held her tiny body, when they put her to sleep and she convulsed, her eyes staring terrified into mine.

I'd held back my tears and stroked her hair and whispered how much I loved her.

But when they ushered me out of the room and into the lift, crying and disorientated, I forced myself to remember why we were putting her through such a scary time. I thought of the photos I took of her on the weekend, the ones I tried to Instagram away her dark rings under her eyes.

I reminded myself of all the times I've looked at her pale skin and tired eyes and hoped I could fix her. This has to help her get the sleep she needs, to not be so sickly. It's got to work.

Thanks so much for all your amazing kindness over the past few days,

bigwords xx

Don't Mention The Op

Today my husband and I are not talking about something. We are purposely avoiding eye contact and ignoring the big elephant in the room. We are both anxious. Tomorrow our eldest child, Miss L, is getting her tonsils and adenoids out.

She will be put to sleep. People will be cutting her and prodding her. She will be alone. She will be scared.

We will wait outside holding each other's hands tight. We will be terrified.

And when she wakes she will be in pain. She won't understand why we have let this happen to her. She will struggle with medicine. She will be miserable. We will be miserable watching her.

Today we ignore it, but we worry.

I just want it to be one week later. I just my baby to have got through this week. To be better.

Have you watched your kids struggle with pain? Do you have any tips?

bigwords xx

My Masterchef Moment Of Shame

It ended badly. Me yelling at the kids: "You can all get stuffed".

It didn't start out that way. You see, I was feeling generous and instead of putting noodles in a bowl with cheese on top I thought I'd put more effort into dinner. I lovingly chopped some bacon and quartered the tomatoes and lightly sautéed. I drizzled the pasta with olive oil and seasoned it. I got the good parmesan out and dusted the al dente spaghetti with the golden cheese.

I've been watching Masterchef. They've been in my most favourite place in the whole world, behind, New York, Italy. I thought I'd liven up meal time. You see, I am a crap cook. I lack talent and patience. I got all fancy and just knew my kids would gobble it up. Well, I hoped they would. I'd used all my ingredients in the pantry. I'd passed the invention test without chopping my own thumb off or setting fire to my jus.

I was hoping for a goddamn immunity pin.

In each bowl, I tweaked the meal according to dietary requirements. Miss L didn't want cheese. Miss E wanted only cheese and bacon and Miss H wanted everything.

I called them to dinner and waited. My presentation was shit, the food was as lukewarm as it would be if camera crews had shot it from fifteen different angles and I stood anxiously awaiting my fate.

And then it happened. They stared at their meals and picked at the pasta. Miss L said: "I hate the tomatoes." Miss E said: "I hate the bacon." and Miss H said: "Yuck" and threw some pasta onto the ground. Next dinner I'm going to give them a cravat and tell them to get on with it.

"Well," I boomed. "You can all get stuffed. I've had enough. Eat nothing and don't ask for anything more to eat. I mean it. I will not give you anything more to eat. Now go away." I would've voted them off the island, but my life's no friggin' reality tv show, it's reality.

I'm happy to report that over the course of the next two hours, the kids ate their dinner. They would do anything for yoghurt.  And frankly, it was cold sitting outside.

Tonight I'm going back to my staple culinary repertoire of burnt fish fingers, because I am sick of cooking food, pleading with the kids to eat it and then tipping it all into the bin moments later. It bores me, but it won't stop me writing my own cookbook: "Shit To Feed Your Kids" with the accompanying cookware - a straw and a bottle of gin, to get through the daily grind.

Do your kids eat their dinner?

bigwords x

It Takes A Village - Madam Bipolar

It Takes A Village... to raise a child. So, I'm asking bloggers, and in this case friends, 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 gorgeous Lisa, The Artist Formerly Known As Sawhole. She is the lovely Madam Bipolar. She is a fellow journo, a mum, an educator, a fun and kind woman. 

Life really does happen when you are making other plans. This is the truest thing I know.

It's fate's way of giving you the finger and letting you know it has the upper hand, when you are planning as busy as a bee.

Take my bipolar disorder. It railroaded my corporate PR career but opened the wonderful world of blogging to me.

Fate is life's roller coaster. Sometimes you will scream in fear, other times you will exhale with relief. Sometimes nothing happens.

I learned this all too well when my fiancé spent our supposed wedding day with another woman, who later became his wife.

Me? I was the one before the one. Discarded.

It turned out to be a lucky escape but it took me years to realise that. Don't ever waste your time with someone who is not worth it.

At school, I wanted to be a shop assistant in a clothing store. This all changed when my teacher told me about this wonderful placed called university.

I became a journalist like your mum and I later ended up on television as the Choice consumer advocacy lady.

Education is priceless and your best investment.

Back in the day I had a lot of nice clothes and some great make up. It was a blast. I lived by myself, dated boys and lived the high life.

It still makes me smile. Independence is underrated. Go out and sample it.

I also had always imagined my mother as a grandmother. It was not to be. She died in 2001 from ovarian cancer and before she got to see any of her grandchildren. 

RIP Mum.

Then there was the virus on 2005. I was tired and sick and could not work out why.

So I whipped out a pregnancy test and there was the greatest surprise of my life - Miss Charisma.

She is a ball of fantastic, with crazy brown hair and an indomitable will. The best surprise ever.

That's the thing about life - there is no map. Don't tempt fate with long term plans. It will win out in the end.

Lisa x

Lisa is a mum of one who hosts the blog www.madambipolar.com.

She also runs the public relations consultancy Blogger Communications and was formerly the agony aunt at Woogsworld.

Her passions are politics (sadly), travel, attending live comedy events and living life despite having bipolar disorder. 

Birthdays, Animals, Tonsils and the Wireless.

See this kid. She turned two yesterday. She's my littlest baby. She's growing fast. I am so friggin' relieved because you know what, babies are exhausting. She is exhausting.

Miss H is divine, we all love her very, very much, but she is our third and final child. And frankly, we are tired.

Yesterday, we treated her to the normal birthday festivities - Coco Pops for breakfast, balloons and streamers, present unwrapping in bed.

The two eldest girls were beside themselves. Miss E, the middle child, at one stage squealed: "This is my most favourite sister's birthday ever. I can't believe we are getting so many presents".

Then, to add some excitement to the day, I rushed off the doctors so he could tell me I had tonsillitis for second time in three weeks, despite me getting them removed as child. There was no happy dancing, just much internal swearing. I couldn't swear out loud as it hurts too much.

Anyway, we went to zoo, me thinking my throat was going to explode.

It's so expensive at the Adelaide Zoo. It's trying to pay for our two Pandas, by charging families ridiculous entry fees, thus making it near impossible for families to go at all. To try and save some cash we lied to the ticket guy saying Miss H was only one and immediately the other girls piped up: "No she's not, she's two". Their faces dropped when I quickly muttered: "No she's one, it's not her REAL birthday until next week. OK". Despite our thinly veiled lie, we still paid $81 bucks for the pleasure of listening to our kids spend the entire time complaining about having to look at the "boring animals" and when will be going to the Zoo shop to get a new toy. FFS.

Miss H, however, had a ball and that made me happy.

The highlight of the day was when Miss L dropped her toy right near the edge of the lion cage and Twiggy had to get a long branch to scoop it out, while I cried: "Watch out the lion doesn't eat your arm off". Hilarious!

Then we went home for dodgy, store bought cake, decorated by the kids, and survived the usual blowing out candles debacle. No eyebrows were lost, luckily.

And to top off an already crazy, busy day, I grabbed the stunning Baby Mac and took her rally driving through the streets of Adelaide.

I think when I rested my head on the steering wheel and whispered croakily: "We are not going to make it" that, for a moment, she really thought we would not make it to our radio interview with the equally gorgeous Michael Smyth at 891 ABC Radio. But we did and with minutes to spare. Like, two minutes to spare. Cutting it fine. That's how I roll.

Can someone please stop the ride, I want to get off. I'm tired and need the world to slow down a bit.

How's things with you? Are you crazy busy too?

bigwords xx

It Takes A Village - Vivienne Oakley

It Takes A Village... to raise a child. So, I'm asking bloggers, and in this case friends, 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 best friends and ex-News Ltd colleague of mine, Vivienne Oakley. My husband and I call her Vuv, because she is a Kiwi. The kids call her Aunty Viv. Her Mum is like our girls' surrogate Gran who sends care packages with homemade knitted jumpers and toys. Viv has a big heart, is a fiercely loyal friend and an AMAZING media professional. If my girls are anything like her I will be happy.

Now, I’m not a blogger and I’m not a mother … but I was a tricky teen. And Bianca's blog got me thinking (as it often does). What messages would I have listened to? What would have helped? Was there anything that would have eased those years? For me, or for my poor mother …

Part of me suspects not. Part of me suspects I was so lost in my own head and my own angst that not much would have helped. But I’ve never been short on advice … so here goes with my dirty dozen (in no particular order!).

1.  Learn a language. Any one will do. It is good for your brain, and good for your confidence. And while I’m on the topic – travel. Domestic or international. Weekends, or years. Meet strangers, do new things, see new things, eat new things. But only hitchhike with a friend.

2.  Learn to touch type. I was horrified at my mother making me do this (“I’m not going to be a secretary”) yet it has made keyboard work much easier for my whole working career and kept RSI at bay. You will know how to type with two fingers already, but using all 10 fingers and thumbs works much better.

3.  Get your head around the fact that many, many body shapes are “normal”. You may not look like your sisters or your friends, but your body is still normal. It may even be in the best shape of your life – yes, it may all be downhill from here, so eat well, try to be a bit fit and try to be kind to yourself in your head.

4.   Don’t give away your virginity to some boy you’ve only know weeks or hours. It’s worth more than that and so are you. It’s not the end of the world if you make a bad choice, but it’s nice if you can look back on the “who” with a degree of fondness in the years to come – you probably won’t feel that fond of the first-time sex itself. And speaking of bad choices, use condoms every time – if it’s not on, it’s not on.

5.  Pick good friends. If they are tearing you down they are not good friends.

6.  Read stuff. Lots of stuff. About all sorts of things. You don’t have to like or agree with it, but it will add to you in ways you will only understand later in life.

7.   Be careful with drugs. Idiots make them. And they affect everyone differently. Alcohol is equally dangerous – watch out for your friends and hopefully they will watch out for you. Never abandon a drunk friend at a party or in a club. Never.

8.   Try not to be completely hateful to your parents and sisters – they will be with you for a long, long time to come. If you are lucky there will be a grandparent, an aunt, a family friend or a godparent who will also be there just for you. To listen to you. To give you some safety, security, advice and help along the way.

9.   Trust your parents. They might blow up about things, but they will calm down. They were young once and they do love you.

10.  Find a hobby and let yourself enjoy it no matter how nerdy, off-beat or random it may seem to your friends and family. Knit, collect stamps, run marathons, write computer programs for fun, bake scones – do something just for you because you like it.

11.  Ask for help. You can’t do it all alone. And you shouldn’t try.

12.   Laugh. Often. It’s good for you. It may not cure cancer, but it won’t cause it either.

I mostly hope you grow up to be as loving, giving and kind as your parents and that you have the generosity of spirit to be a positive force in the lives of those you love. I also hope that you are healthy and well. (oh, and that we haven’t screwed the world up too badly.)

Lots of Love

Vivienne 

I'm Calling It. We're Stuck In Hellidays

Hooray kids, it's hellidays! Rah rah rah, let's all cheer.

So, who wants to be sick first? Don't fight, don't fight - how about we all get sick AT THE SAME TIME. Not fun enough? How about we wait until Twiggy goes away for work for six days and then the minute he walks out the door we all get sick AT THE SAME TIME to make it even more exhilarating. Hip hip hooray for hellidays!

There have been times I have looked down and had more snot on my sleeve then my kids, but walking to the loo to get another bundle of toilet paper just seemed like too much trouble. I am severely lacking in sleep, so don't judge me.

There's been no visits to the playground or hanging out with friends at coffee shops. There's been no movies, but this afternoon I think I'll treat us all to a trip to a crowded doctor's surgery where we can hang out with all the other flu-ridden kids from the area. I can already hear my inside voice screaming with delight.

I did however drag myself out of my trackies to do my new radio segment on 5AA - The Mum's Club with the gorgeous Belinda Heggen and Amity Dry.

I took my little panda for luck. She was just so excited to get out of the house.

How have your holidays been or are you stuck in hellidays too?

bigwords x