The colours of Autumn

Autumn showed us its many colours today. Eager to get out of the house and say hello to nature, Max and I ventured out to the Botanic Gardens.

As we strolled through the wrought iron gates, we breathed in the smell of green. That fresh, morning scent that can only come from newly cut grass weaved its way through our lungs, and with every step we took deeper into the garden, and with every breath, autumn said hello.

A very friendly little boy offered us a slice of his bread to throw to the ducks. It was such a kind gesture I didn’t have the heart to show him the signs scattered around the pond “DO NOT FEED BREAD TO THE DUCKS.” Apparently it can cause Avarian Botulism.  This was Max’s first real look at a live duck and his little body shook with infantile excitement. It was beautiful to watch.

As we meandered up the winding cobbled path, there were fallen pink flower petals littering the way. I explained to Max that there lived a lovely lizard, just up ahead. We would be lucky to see him today as clouds hid the sun. Lizards love to warm their bodies in the sun, none more than this little one.  Sure enough, there he was, camouflaged in the dry, fallen leaves, a hundred shades of brown masking his presence. I pointed him out to Max, but I don’t think he could see it. I must think of a name for him. Lazy Lizard?

The loud CRACK of thunder overhead causes me to pause and reconsider our plans. Should I get out the picnic rug after all? The clouds are a heavy grey, blanketing the sky.

I decided to head back to the car, but on the way the warm sun poked through the clouds. Oh, maybe just for a minute we’ll sit and eat some watermelon. Of course, the watermelon juice traces a winding trail down Max’s chin, a sign perhaps of his enjoyment?

Silly me, I tried to take our picture. Why is it I’m not in very many at all? That’s right. Because his little hand grabs eagerly at the camera, every time.

A bee lands on our blanket. I guess it’s our sign that it’s time to go. What a glorious day. Why would I want to be anywhere but here, with my beautiful son?

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A chapter of my life is coming to an end...

It was Christmas day, 2002, when I announced to my parents with gusto that I was going to buy my own place the following year. 23 days later and I was signing the contract for my very own property, a two-bedroom unit in the leafy Melbourne suburb of Bentleigh. I didn’t waste any time!

Five years later and the walls of that unit had seen some great (and not so great) times. It had been the location for many girlie get-togethers over wine and chocolate, the cool escape from the devastating “Black Saturday”, and the safe haven during lonely times when it seemed I would never find the right man for me.

Fast-forward two and a half years and much has changed. Married with a beautiful boy and living in a different state, we have now decided it is time to sell.

My battle has been that I am fiercely independent. Give me a toolbox and a drill and I’m a very happy lady. Got a leaky tap? I’ll change the washer for you. Need a door re-hinged? Pass me the screwdriver. Without a man to help me with these things, I’ve had to rely on myself and no one else. This is why I am so proud of what I have accomplished. Owning my very own place before I was 30! It was mine! All mine!

I guess I’m struggling with the shift in my identity after I sell my unit. I was a successful career woman with her own home, and now I’m a stay at home mum. What am I contributing? Dinner on the table? Clothes washed and ironed? Nappy-change service? Like I said in one of my earlier posts, You Are Not Your Job, I know I’m so much more than those things, but it’s still a constant battle in my mind.

As my husband says, if we want to pay off our mortgage in 8 -10 years (rather than the average 25-30), then selling my place has to happen. There you go then! I’m responsible for taking 17 years off the ball and chain that’s strapped around our bank balance!

THAT’S what I’m contributing!

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My Chocolate Devil

As anyone who knows me, and they don’t have to know me well, you’d be on the money to say that I have a chocolate substance abuse problem.

The signs are there for all to see. I make a beeline for the bowl of chocolate Smarties at a house party, I order the chocolate truffle cake for dessert at a restaurant, and I linger longer than most in the confectionery aisle at the supermarket.

But the biggest tell tale sign that I have a problem is noticeable every second Friday morning. The recycle truck thunders down the road just after breakfast, and as I stand out front with an excited little boy in my arms pointing to the “big truck”, the garbage man stops outside, lifts the lid to the wheelie bin and exclaims, “so you work for Cadbury’s do you, luv?”

Yes. There are literally packets upon packets of Cadbury Chocolate Mouse, my favourite, devoured whilst watching, ironically, The Biggest Loser, or eaten quietly after Max has gone to bed for his afternoon nap. It is meant to be ME time after all, right?

My devil in disguise

This stuff is PHENOMENAL. Do you have a strange but justified method of eating your chocolate? I do. I like to break off a triangle and eat the bottom off first. Then I slowly nibble the chocolate case away, little by little, until all I have left is the mouse filling. Now as you can imagine, this is very difficult to do on a warm summers day, as I’ve often discovered, when the soft and gooey mouse slips from my fingers and SPLATS down the middle of my cleavage, leaving a slimy trail. Lastly, I place the chocolate mouse centre delicately on my tongue and let the bubbles POP inside my mouth. (sigh) Heaven.

Now a real lady would never divulge just how many packets constitutes a “problem”, but suffice to say, were it not for my mothers fabulous genes, I would undoubtedly be the size of a house. Don't get me wrong, I would still love to shed a few kilo's, trim a few inches off the wobbly tummy, but thanks to my mum the chocolate doesn't seem to pad my trouble spots with too much determination. 




So I say, bugger it. You only live once. Sure it's not the best food for you to eat, but if it makes you happy, eat it. 


How do you eat yours?

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Our trip to the mini steam train railway

Imagine a place where the atmosphere is full of excitement! Children run around the grassy areas in between the BBQ's, mum's chat under the shade of a tree and kids line up with their fathers to ride on the mini steam trains.

We were there! On Sunday we had a wonderful time at the Illawarra miniature steam train railway in North Wollongong. For anyone who lives within an hour’s drive, I highly recommend a visit with your children.

Max is only fourteen months old so although he doesn’t exactly appreciate it, he still had a good time.

There is so much to see! There must be about fifteen miniature trains and they run all day! Some are coal operated,  some are electric, but all are great fun! The children hold hands with their fathers, all whom pretend they're there to look after their kids, but are really just as excited as their children. 

It was a great hour or two spent on a lazy Sunday afternoon.

For information about their running days go to Illawarra Live Steamers.

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I.T. for Toddlers. Adopt or reject?

OK I admit it. I was once one of those women. Yep, you know the ones. We sat in judgment of mums who pushed their children in prams whilst the child sat reclined, playing on their Nintendo DS (or something similar).

I would exclaim to my friends that no matter how stressed or busy I got, I would always instill a sense of social etiquette in my children. Games were to be played at home or at friend’s houses. When we were out and about it would always be about social interaction.

Boy, how my opinions have changed! Max is now 14 months old and I am more on edge than ever before, when he is needy, whiney, whingey and cranky. My mother-in-law tells me how most people understand and accept that toddlers often make a lot of disruptive noise, but I still feel the stares of irritated people when my son exclaims his tiredness at the top of his voice whilst we’re in the checkout line at Woolies.

So my solution? I have 5, yes 5 episodes of Bananas in Pyjamas on my iPhone. They are my saviour! He absolutely and utterly adores the Bananas and their funny antics. They are each exactly 12 minutes long and he is captivated for the full 12 minutes of every episode.

Feeling poorly but happy, tucked up in mum's bed

A girlfriend of mine in the UK is taking her three children to Disneyland in France next week. It’s a seven-hour trip, in one car, with an 8 year old, a 6 year old and a 3 year old. How is she going to do it? Jo has the DVD players, the DS game controls, and the ipods charged up and at the ready. A lesson in poor social interaction with their parents? I think not. More like a pure act of survival of the sane.

In a world where we teach our baby boomer parents how to use a mobile phone and send text messages, in a few years time it will be our little ones teaching us how to use the latest technological gadgets. My thinking is that I am preparing Max for his future. A life of visiting his mum to set up her IT needs!

Dad, you need to press THIS button, see?

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Coming home after a Caesarian

After devouring every paragraph on every page of every pregnancy book I could get a hold of, nothing prepared me for being told by the doctors at six in the morning that I needed an emergency caesarian to get my baby out. I was in shock. I had convinced myself that I could do this whole “natural child-birth” thing, only to have that shot to pieces.

After being wheeled in to theatre, being prepped for the procedure and then for my husband to materialize by my side, it seemed like a minute later I was being handed my baby. Caesarian? No big deal, right? Wrong!

We're both exhausted!

Caesarians are a MAJOR operation where numerous layers of your abdomen are sliced open. After an hour of recovery where I was not with my new baby or my husband, waiting to feel my legs again, I was finally wheeled back into my room only to be told I needed to start breastfeeding immediately. Three days later and I was literally being turfed out of hospital, hobbling along the corridor to our waiting car. Game on.

Have I ever told you how much I love my husband? He was so thoughtful in his planning for bringing his new family home after major surgery. Men are so worried that they won't be able to do anything to help us, yet their help can really benefit our experience. These are some of the things he did in preparation for my trip home (and some of the things your husband can do for you);

• Had a straight-backed chair for breastfeeding placed in the lounge-room with the yellow pages ready to place under my feet (keeps your back straight so your tummy doesn’t hurt)
• Bought 12 bottles of water to stock the fridge (you just can’t get enough water when breast-feeding)
• Pulled down all the bowls, plates and glasses from the high cupboards so I wouldn’t have to reach up to get them.
• Bought a waterproof stool for the shower and lifted my cosmetics up from under the sink so I wouldn’t need to reach down.
• Put block-out blinds in the bedroom so I could sleep during the day when the baby was sleeping.
• Stocked the cupboard with fresh fruit and veggies for me to snack on.
• Placed a box of tissues in every room of the house (in preparation for the baby blues!)
• Bought a mega-sized box of Paracetamol.
• Put flowers in every room of the house.

My hero husband

Looking back, it was a bloody hectic time, but thanks to my adorable husband, we got through it really well. With modern medicine as advanced as it is today, we just have to make sure we look after ourselves when we leave their care.

Find out more information about Caesarians here.

If you have any other great ideas or suggestions about recovery after caesarians, I'd love to hear them. Please leave your comments below for others to read.

1o weird and wonderful things I LOVE about my son…

My Little Angel

• His sweet sleepy breath

• His soft delicate, kissable lips and chubby, chubby cheeks!

• The way he hugs me when he’s just not sure of something

• The delicate way he turns the pages of a book so he won’t skip a page

• That he looks like his handsome dad

• His soft, doughy bottom that I just want to SQUEEEEZE!

• The way his whole body shakes with excitement

• The way he kisses me with a big, sloppy, open mouth when I'm least expecting it

• The way his eyes are full of innocent wonder

• When he ever so gently kisses our cats on the forehead

Oh and number 11- he is he only person who LOVES my singing!


What do you just adore about your little ones?

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How much really IS enough?

Imagine living with your grandmother, uncle and little brother in a 3m x 4m one room, tin roofed mud-brick house. There are two small single beds, one for you and your brother, and one for your grandmother and uncle. In summer it gets so hot you can barely breathe inside the house, in winter you huddle close to your family for warmth. Dinner is cooked in a rust-stained pot on the floor under a spattering of twigs, while the chickens strut in and out of the house at their leisure.

Inside Dawits house

I don’t have to imagine this. I’ve seen it. Three years ago I visited my World Vision sponsor child, Dawit, in his home village of Samrè, a picturesque town perched high atop a cliff in remote northern Ethiopia. Dawit’s family welcomed me so warmly into their home, cooking me a delicious meal with traditional Ethiopian coffee. I pointed at a hand-spun woven bowl adorning the wall and remarked at how beautiful it was, and in an instant they were taking it off the wall and offering it to me as a gift (I can still smell the wood-smoke embedded in it’s fibres).

Receiving a gift from Dawit and his family

The children at Dawits school kick a soccer ball made out of small rocks inside an old Coca Cola bottle, when their feet get too long for their shoes they cut off the top so their toes stick out, and when their clothes get holes in them from prolonged wear they sew the holes shut until the garment resembles a bullet riddled rag.

To the majority of westerners it would seem that these people have nothing, however I tend to disagree. Sure they don’t have reverse-cycle air-conditioning, or under-floor heating, but they have a roof over their head, they have the comfort of family, and they have a village community who share when times get tough.

Northern Ethiopia

It makes me question the ideal of our society that the more we have, the better off we will be. This idea to me is crazy! Just how many toys does one child need? How many pairs of shoes, how many DVD’s, how many clothes does one need in order to survive?

I think we're a society gone mad when I see babies in designer label onesies or toddlers wearing Peter Alexander pyjamas. What are we teaching our children about the value of money when we splurge on them with the basics of life? I myself am guilty of wanting the best of everything for my son, who wouldn’t, but what really IS enough for him? A designer label item that means nothing to him or something he has saved up to buy with his own money and then looks after and cherishes to death? And let’s face it; are we buying those fancy pyjamas for our children, or to make us feel better about ourselves?


What can YOU do without?

The rich industrialist from the North was horrified to find the southern fisherman lying lazily beside his boat, smoking a pipe.

“Why aren’t you out fishing?” asked the industrialist.

“Because I have caught enough fish for the day”, said the fisherman.

“Why don’t you catch some more?”

“What would I do with them?”

“You could earn more money” was the industrialist’s reply. “With that you could have a motor fixed to your boat and go into deeper waters and catch more fish. Then you would make enough money to buy nylon nets. These would bring you more fish and more money. Soon you would have enough money to own two boats… maybe even a fleet of boats. Then you would be a rich man like me.”

“What would I do then?” asked the fisherman.

“Then you could really enjoy life.”

“What do you think I am doing right now?”

Anthony DeMello

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What do you want to be when you grow up? HAPPY!

I'm sure you've seen this before but I think it's one of those quotes that you never get tired of hearing or reading.


A great reminder to enjoy this weekend! I hope you have a great one. Stay safe.

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Mothers Group...A social necessity?

I often wonder to myself; how many mums walk past a gathering of women cuddling their adorable little babies, prams parked nearby, sipping their latte’s and baby-chino’s in the local coffee shop, and feel a stirring of jealously? “I wish I was in that mothers group. They seem to be having so much fun”. I am one of those women.

After I had my baby, I couldn’t wait to join a mothers group. We had just moved to the area so we didn’t really know anyone and I was desperate for some adult interaction. Most of my friends from the city were childless and the ones who did have children lived far away.

I could feel the butterflies in my stomach as we walked to our first meeting. What would the other mums be like? Would they be my age? Would they be friendly? Could I see myself developing life-long friendships with these women?

At our first meeting I eyeballed about five women out of the nine that I thought, “yep, I’d like to have you as a friend”. Funnily enough, it is three of these women who I now keep in contact with occasionally. Unfortunately for me, these women have all gone back to work so it’s difficult to schedule a regular catch up.

The adorable Mother's Group babies.

But what happens when you don’t form any friendships with the other mums in your group? What happens when they don’t put in the same effort that you do when it comes to “catching up” and you’re left alone again?

This is the situation an acquaintance of mine was left in after her first child. She had moved interstate for her husbands work so mothers group was her only source of building potential friendships. Not one of the other mums seemed keen to meet regularly and so she was back to square one.

It can be such an isolating experience being a stay at home mum. I can vouch for the emotional roller coaster we often find ourselves on when friends with kids are not at hand to offer comforting support. It can be so difficult spending hour after hour with our baby (even though we love and adore them dearly) without the kindness of someone experiencing the same issues.

So what do you do when your mothers group doesn’t give you the support or friendships that you need? Well there’s Playgroup, but unless your little one is walking and talking to some extent, then Playgroup is a little premature. There are walking groups in some areas where mums can meet in a local park or walking track and spend time getting to know one another whilst burning off some calories. My son and I have started music lessons at Musicadabra and this has been a great source of adult interaction for me, meeting at least two really great mums.

I think it’s important for our single and/or childless friends to consciously remember that we still need them. I also strongly believe that every woman (or man) that we see in the park with their kids could be desperately searching for a new friend to call their own and we should always keep our hearts open to them.

Maybe it’s you? Maybe it’s me? Will you be my friend?

Please help support other mums and leave a comment about your experiences of trying to develop friendships after becoming a mum. It could really help someone.

Why won't you wave at my son?

Why won’t you wave at my son as we pass you by? Can’t you see him? He’s the one in the pram with the biggest smile you’ve ever seen plastered across his gorgeous face. He’s the one waving at you with ounces of enthusiasm.

As we get closer to you, I see you look away. Why don’t you smile back? I’d understand perhaps if you were busy talking to someone else, or if you were on your mobile phone, but you’re not. I may have understood if we were on the busy streets of New York, but we’re not.

My son’s name is Max, and a few months ago he learnt how to wave. He doesn’t speak yet so this and his smile are the closest things he can do to communicate with other people. He loves meeting new people yet you turn away.

How do I explain that to him? Do I say that people are just too busy to be polite? Do I tell him that some people have no manners? How do I tell a small child that the person you are smiling and waving at doesn’t want to smile back?

Isn’t connecting with others food for the soul? Wouldn’t you rather make a child happy for a brief moment, and perhaps find happiness yourself, than be miserable whilst trying to bring others down into your dark pit of misery?

George Bernard Shaw once wrote, “The worst sin towards our fellow creatures is not to hate them, but to be indifferent to them; that's the essence of inhumanity.” The Devil’s Disciple

Let’s make the world a better place, starting NOW. Just one smile, one wave, one good deed, each day, can and will make such a difference.  We’ll smile again at you tomorrow, and every day after that, until we break you, and you smile back. 

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Where did my boobs go?

“Gee Melissa!” My mother-in-law exclaimed in front of the rest of the extended family. “Your boobs have really dropped, haven’t they?”

I could feel six sets of eyes wandering over my t-shirt, where my boobs should have been.

In her defense, (and I have a wonderful mother-in-law), since I gave up breast-feeding six months ago, I’ve been wondering the same thing. Just exactly WHERE have my boobs gone? I’m sure what she really meant was, how deflated, floppy and reminiscent of old footy socks my breasts have become.

I was so lucky to have been one of those mothers who found breast-feeding easy and fairly enjoyable. My son seemed to know what he was doing (I was sure he studied “Baby Love” whilst in the womb), and I was lucky enough to make plenty of milk to keep him satisfied.

But just what exactly happens when we stop breast-feeding? Why do we all of a sudden feel like we are in mourning over the boobs we once had?

The team at FIA (Female Intelligence Agency) says, “Breast involution is a process where the milk-making system inside the breast shrinks because it is not needed anymore. This happens either after weaning, or right after pregnancy if the woman does not breastfeed at all, or during menopause. When the tissues inside the breast shrink, and the skin surrounding it doesn't, the breast can look "empty" and saggy. After weaning, a woman's body does usually deposit fat back to the breast (this process takes months), so that breasts will gain their pre-pregnancy size, but sagging usually remains” source

Yes, well, if I do say so myself, I think I had great breasts before I was pregnant. But I can honestly say that if it means I have a healthy baby boy with an iron-man immune system, and I was able to give him the best start in life, then I would happily give up my perky, fulsome breasts for deflated, saggy boobs any day. 

Bring on the push-up bra!

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What Are Little Boys Made Of?

What are little boys made of?


Snips and snails , and puppy dog tails,


That's what little boys are made of.

"What Are Little Boys Made Of…’’ is a nursery rhyme by the English poet Robert Southey that has its origin dating back to the early 19th-Century. 

This got me thinking about what my little boy is made of. 

Eating dirt! source

• A love of eating dirt (and anything off the floor). 

• An obsession with noisy transport (trucks, motorbikes, loud cars) 

• A fascination with dead things 

(a friend of mine recently told me about her six-year old son who ran into the kitchen where she was preparing dinner. “Mum, I need a knife!” he said excitedly. “First of all” she said, “I’m not going to give you a knife, you’re six. Secondly, WHY do you need a knife?” “I found a lizard!” he said. “Are you going to kill a lizard?” she asked, worried that her boy was going to turn into a monster. “No, mum, it’s already dead. I want to open it up and have a look inside!”)

• A propensity for creepy-crawlies 

(another friend’s three-year old son is too young to distinguish between pets and pests, she says. “We know if we are confronted with 15 minutes of silence, it is a clear indication that he is off in some corner of the house with his bug jar, trying to capture a moth or an ant”)

Why should we not quell their enthusiasm for these grisly curiosities and obsessions and sternly discourage them?

This is a good question, and one that parent’s of boys ask themselves a lot. I think we should be reluctant to quash any display of their individuality. He may grow up to be an entomologist or a researcher who discovers that the wings of cockroaches can cure cancer, and it could also just be a passing fancy that he outgrows. 

Either way, I think if a little boy wants to spread his wings, (as scaly and icky as they may be), eat dirt or pick off the legs of a dead spider, we should let him.


I'd LOVE to hear what your little boy, or girl, is made of. Please add your comment.

You are not your job

Before I was a mum, I LOVED my job. I lived it, I breathed it, I fed it and I watched it grow. When I went out with friends I could literally feel my face light up when they asked how my job was going. I would spend hours regaling them with stories about how fantastic my job was and how great I seemed to be at it.

With the gorgeous Naz opening the new Broadway Mimco store.

Then I quit my job to become a full time mum. Now, when I meet people and they ask me what I do for a living, I tell them, I’m a mum. Before too long they’ve usually switched off and have started a conversation with someone else. Sound familiar? I’ve struggled since the birth of my son thirteen months ago with the fact that I no longer help to provide financially for our family. It also gets me down sometimes that I’m “just a mum”.

I’ve only recently changed my mind set about my new job. I no longer believe that it consists of changing nappies, cleaning the house, shopping for groceries and cooking for the family. No, my job is so much more important than that.

My job is to provide a first class education for my toddler to prepare him for his first school years. I set budgets and I research to find the best quality products. I am a mind reader. I plan nutritious, interesting meals that are ready before my family realizes they are hungry. I am an active listener and counselor. I listen to my husband’s frustrations about work and I bring to the table possible solutions. I excel in conflict resolution. I'm an OH&S officer, identifying potential hazards before they arise. My list could go on…

With my beautiful boy Max, aged 8 months

It is a common misnomer among women, myself included, that because we no longer help to contribute financially to the household, that we are not contributing very much. This is untrue. We are contributing so much more!

So the next time someone asks you what you do for a living, just stick out your chin, and grin, and say…..

“I’m a Super Mum. And a great one at that!”

You Are Not Your Job. You are so much more. 

Don't lose sight of that.

(By the way, I think working mums are extraordinarily amazing!")

I AM NOT A LITTLE BABY!

Have you ever wondered when your little bundle of joy became a little person in their own right?


One year old's constantly amaze and astound us with their day to day discoveries, yet sometimes we forget that they are little sponges of life. 


We have to remember that everything we say and do is on display. The interactions with your partner and friends, the way you carry your voice, your feelings, frustrations and reactions are all observed and absorbed by your little one. Sometimes this is an easy thing to forget.


What will you help your little one discover today?


photo source Visit Explorations Early Learning LLC