7 reasons why you’re a BRILLIANT mum!

ONE

Your little angel loves giving you kisses, and you love receiving them, but he kisses open mouthed, with lots of slobber, but you just smile and let it dry on your face rather than wipe it off and hurt his feelings.

Kissing Mum XXX

TWO

You know that gorgeous cashmere knit top you’ve had your eye on for the last five or six weeks? The one you’ve been trying to save for by secretly squirriling away $10 a week from the grocery money? Well you’ve just walked past it in the store to spend your stealthly saved cash on a new pair of tracksuit pants and shoes for your son because he’s outgrown his. And the kids always come before you these days. So you miss out. Again. Oh well.

THREE

Your socialite girlfriends invited you out for a rare night on the town, but you sombrely decline, so you can spend your Friday morning, afternoon, and evening, well into the evening, baking and icing a delicious birthday cake worthy of a Women’s Weekly award for your little angel’s birthday tomorrow.

My Banana in his PJ's for Max

My sister's fire truck for Joel

FOUR

You feel like shit today. You’re tired, your hair needs a wash, your legs need waxing, and you’d give anything to sit on the couch and watch a movie. But instead, you build a cubbyhouse under the dining table, using all the clean linen in the cupboard, and you spend the day trying unsuccessfully not to knock your head as you play “let’s pull Thomas and James along the railway track” for the one millionth time, pretending it’s the most exciting game in the world! Every time.

FIVE

You get three hours to yourself each Wednesday morning. That’s it. And instead of putting your feet up and watching that rom-com movie you’ve been dying to see, you get out the vacuum cleaner and cleaning products and give the house a frenzied scrub, because you’d feel like a bad mum if you cleaned the house instead of spending “quality time” with your little angel.

SIX

Ellen is your favourite show. It’s makes you laugh, it’s entertaining and it’s YOUR time. But “little angel” isn’t tired yet and won’t quit whining unless he can watch Banana’s in Pyjamas for the upteenth time today. You give in, because you adore the smile on his angelic face and the happiness it brings him as he laughs along with B1 and B2’s silly antics.

SEVEN

You go without, you put them first, you smile when you want to cry, your heart melts when they look at you, and you wouldn’t have it any other way.

Why are YOU a brilliant mum? 

Career woman. One step forward, two steps back?

The other night I watched Working Girl on TV, the 1988 movie about a secretary who uses the absence of her female boss to put forward her own ideas and in the process realise her own career aspirations. 

This movie came with all the dazzling glitz and glamour of 1988. Big hair, big shoulder pads and make up that would be the envy of a circus clown.

It was a wonderful reminder to me that as a woman, I can do anything. I loved my career. I believe I was great at what I did. I did it with integrity and passion. It didn’t matter that I was a woman. I did the best job that any PERSON could do.

Then I came across this book at the library.

I’m sorry, but can someone please explain to me, why does a woman need a book on computing skills that a man doesn’t need to learn as well? Don’t men need to use computers in the workplace too?

I thought we had come so far in terms of breaking through the glass ceiling of women in corporate roles, but stumbling across this book made my blood boil!

Then, on second glance, perhaps the choice of hair accessory, the popular 80’s scrunchie, is a giveaway to the age of this book. Perhaps the library are the one’s who need to update their books!

Two pink lines...

Two pink lines.

They mean so much.

In my case they spelt out ten weeks of constant nausea, vomiting, lack of appetite and an overwhelming sense of feeling sorry for myself.

Yes, I am pregnant!

It was with palpable excitement in early April that I lay in bed and watched the look of pure joy on my husbands face as I told him of our great news.

To be completely and utterly honest, until now, that was the ONLY time I have been excited during these last three months.

Being sick sure does know how to impede a party.

It hit me hard. I found myself buried under a sea of blankets as I tried not to move, lest the little that I managed to eat during dinner found its way out again.

I couldn’t write posts for my blog. I couldn’t enjoy anyone else’s. My son suffered, as I couldn’t give him the best of me.

I was so tired. Like a bear hibernating for the winter, I wanted to close my eyes and wake up smiling, already in my second trimester.

I kept telling myself to be grateful. Miscarriage is such a common occurrence that I should count my lucky stars all was going well. Feeling sick was a good sign, surely?

Hello in there!

Again, like my first pregnancy, almost overnight, nausea and exhaustion were replaced with nursery decorating ideas and a desire to spring clean. Names are now circulating through the recesses of my head and I’m starting to enjoy my swollen belly as it ceases hiding its secret within.

Due on the 27^th December, my fingers are crossed that we’ll have a bigger family and be home in time for Christmas.

What a precious gift!

My day out with a gorgeous male (and it wasn't my husband!)

Glorious Melbourne sunshine!

One of my last posts had me reflecting on a past life that I often miss. You know that single life where you can do anything, go anywhere, whenever you like?

Well last week I took a trip with my son to Melbourne, my old stomping ground. I caught up with my lovely sister and her two little boys, and was able to catch up with friends I haven’t seen in years. It was brilliant.

One of the highlights of my trip left me smiling ear to ear for days afterwards.

As a day out, I took my son Max into town on the train. We strolled through Bourke Street, had a hot chocolate and a baby chino at Koko Black (with accompanying chocolate teddy on a stick), spent forty glorious minutes wandering the Myer toy department, caught up with a lovely old friend who had yet to meet Max, and then whilst my little angel slept in the pram I wandered the banks of the Yarra in the glorious Melbourne sunshine.

It was such a beautiful day. 

With my favourite little person.

In my life before kids I would have been stuck at work that day. Perhaps I might have dressed up that evening only to wander from bar to bar with my friends, trying to find “Mr. Right”, wishing I were at home in my track pants with a glass of wine and a good movie.

How my life has changed. And I am so much happier for it!

The first goodbye.

The tears are pricking behind my eyes, threatening to roll their salty drops down my face.

I slowly, thoroughly pack my sons belongings into a canvas bag.

For months now I’ve been sharing my desires of solitude, of some time to myself.

My time is here. Now I’m not sure I want it.

What will he do when he realises I am leaving him? Will he cry? Will I?

What if he’s upset and I’m not there to console him, to draw him into my loving embrace, the place he knows where everything will be OK?

I don’t want to cry.

Will it be obvious, that tears are teetering on the edge of my lashes, when I place his bag into the cubbyhole, full of his belongings all labeled with his name?

Will he sense my hesitation and cling ever more tightly around my neck?

So many questions, so many emotions, but so many great things can come from this.

Day care. The first day. The first time I have been away from him.

Sure, it’s only for three hours, but guaranteed, it will be the longest three hours of my life, and I will be staring at the clock until it’s time for me to pick him up.

Did YOU cry?

I miss my old life.

My gorgeous little family and I have just spent over a week on holidays in the Noosa sun. It was such a pity the glorious sun was shrouded by heavy black clouds determined to lash their fat raindrops upon us.

It was an unbeatable location. A wonderful two bedroom apartment directly in front of the beach, a short walk to the natural wonders of the National Park and a leisurely stroll past fine restaurants offering cuisines from around the world.

It’s such a shame we didn’t get to experience it all.

The rain bound us to our apartment for too many hours and with a sixteen-month old son, five books, seven matchbox cars and a Bananas in Pyjamas DVD, we were climbing the walls from day two.

On a rare solitary walk during a break in the rain, I got to thinking about life before kids. How would my husband and I have passed a rain soaked holiday on our own? We would have lazed about on the couch watching movies, relaxed in bed reading the latest book, and let’s face it, we would have lain in bed doing more exciting things than just reading.

But with a toddler wanting to be entertained from morning till night, it’s impossible to do those things that two or three years ago we would have gladly welcomed.

I would not give up this current chapter of my life for anything, but I have to say, I do really miss my old life sometimes. The ability to go and do whatever you please, whenever you please was really not appreciated enough in my days before Max. 

Now I covet those rare opportunities when a demanding toddler isn’t dictating what I do for most of my waking hours.

For now, I keep telling myself that it’s OK to miss my old life. Do you?

The sister I never knew I had

It was just shy of my second birthday when my mother gave birth to my sister, Simone. I was over the moon, (apparently). I was gentle, affectionate, caring, and adoring of my little baby sister.

As time passed we developed a wonderful relationship. As sisters do, we shared secrets, played dress ups and choreographed our own silly dance routines. I remember when we were seven or eight we used to share a bedroom and we would giggle uncontrollably after lights out until one of our parents would storm in yelling, “WILL YOU BE QUIET AND GO TO SLEEP!”

We both shared a love of dancing. She supported me when I played in piano recitals and I would cheer from the crowded sidelines when she competed for NSW in rhythmic gymnastics.

Then everything changed. 

We started high school. (insert embarrassing high school photo, I think not!)

As so often happens, high school turned us both into miserable, moody bitches. I became a bit of a goody two shoes, withdrawing from my embarrassing sibling, whilst my sister became an all black wearing rebellious teen.

We fell out. 

At 18 she moved away. I stayed. Living in different states we drifted apart. Sure we spoke sometimes on the phone but they were never the kinds of conversations you’d have with a best friend.

Then after many, many years, we both found ourselves married with kids. And all of a sudden, we were best of friends again.

We gabbed about the colour of poo, dinner recipes for fussy toddlers and the secrets we keep from our husbands. (No honey, I just made that up for the sake of the story, honest)

It’s desperately unfortunate for both of us that we still live in different states, but the fact that we can pick up the phone on any given day and be there for each other makes my heart smile.

I’m eternally grateful for my beautiful sister, the sister I never truly knew I had until I opened my eyes. (Sorry if I've made you cry Sim.)

Mojo, Mojo, wherefore art thou Mojo?

Dear avid readers, I sincerely apologise.

My mojo has not only departed the building, it’s run out the back door, jumped the fence, and was last seen sprinting across the soccer field. 

Over the last two weeks I have been suffering from an abominable case of lethargy (perhaps comatose would be a more accurate description)

I’ve been left scratching my head. My quilting fabric squares lay on the bed in neat little piles, quietly mumbling away that they’d like to be sewn together please. The crumbs on my hardwood floors crunch away with every step I take, pleading to be sucked away into the lovely warm confines of the vacuum cleaner, and the bathroom? Don’t go in there unless an entire bottle of Domestos is used.

I haven’t been able to sit at my computer and focus for at least a week. I miss reading about the latest adventures of my friends on Facebook. I feel terrible about not following my blogging community more closely. I feel guilty that I’ve not responded to friends’ emails and messages, not because I’m unorganized, but because I haven’t even logged on to look at them.

I’m so tired.

Yes I only have one child, but he is into EVERYTHING. I used to smile in pleasant “understanding” at friends who would tell me that their kids were into everything, but now, I actually get it. If I’ve picked up the contents of the kitchen cupboard from the floor once, I’ve picked them up a hundred times. (Note to self- get a cupboard and fridge door lock, ASAP). I seriously don’t know how women with a gaggle of children do it.

It’s not just Max who has worn me down but I’m hoping it’s just a phase. 

So please forgive me. I just need a little more time.

LOST

My Mojo.

Handsome reward if found!

Why the "Man Drought" is a load of rubbish.

Apparently we are in the driest depths of a “man shortage”.

Recent studies reveal there are only 86,000 men for 1.3 million women across Australia.

Some sources (who I will not name) have suggested that women stop being so fussy, stop looking for Mr. Right and start saying yes to “Mr. Not So Bad”

Let me start by saying that this is complete bullshit.

Firstly, news reports failed to make it clear that these “eligible” men were only in the age bracket of 25 to 34 and had to have an income of over $60,000. So basically, all those gorgeous younger men were excluded, the distinguished older men were eliminated, and any man in the age bracket who may be wonderful but earn slightly less than 60k a year were entirely forgotten about.

What about the men who are finishing their studies to become doctors, lawyers, and other respected professionals? What about the handsome foreign men with intoxicating accents who have made Australia their home (for now)? My sister and two girlfriends all married English men who were here on holidays. Those men wouldn’t have been counted in the 86,000.

Then don’t even get me started on this ridiculous idea that we should look for “Mr. Not So Bad” rather than Mr. Right. I agree, that there is no such thing as Mr. Right. All men have flaws, as do most women (I hate to say). But there is most definitely a “Mr. Right For Me”, for everyone.

My husband doesn’t really like me telling this story, but I tell it for a very good reason. When I first met him, we were only ever friends. For two years I didn’t think of him as a potential boyfriend/husband! The reason I like recounting this to people is simple. My “Mr. Right For Me” was IN FRONT OF MY EYES and I didn’t even know it! It just wasn’t the right time for me. It wasn't until I was 36 that we started dating.

I have a BEAUTIFUL girlfriend who is in her early 30’s, and is still single. She is attractive, beautiful on the inside, intelligent, funny and the most caring woman you could ever meet. Now the idea that she is being too fussy really irks me. Why the hell should we settle? I would rather be happy and single than be miserable and in the wrong relationship.

I have no doubt whatsoever that my girlfriend, and all the single ladies out there, will meet their "Mr. Right For Me". It’s just a matter of time.

It’s easy to say, but still hard to accept when you’re the one waiting for him. 

I spent an eternity kissing toads, but it was absolutely worth it for the Prince I have captured!

To discover why I love my husband, head to My Wedding Speech.

I don't want to be a mum, today...

I have almost reached breaking point. Please tell me you’ve been here before.

I love my son, dearly. I’m excited to wake up in the morning so I can gaze adoringly into his beautiful face, and to smell his sweet sleepy breath as he kisses me good morning.

However recently, I find myself feeling irritable. What has happened to me? Why aren’t I glowing with maternal love? Why don’t I think everything my son does is cute? Yesterday some good friends came over for lunch. They asked, “don’t you find it cute when your toddler follows you around the house?” and I retorted in an instant, “NO!”

Slightly negative perhaps?

Well I am human! Spending EVERY day with my son is starting to take its toll.

He spent nine months attached to me (well it was actually only eight, he arrived early), and for the last sixteen months I have not had a day away from him. Yes, my wonderful husband (and I must say wonderful, because he is still a little put out by my Six Secrets Your Husband Doesn't Want You To Know post), often looks after Max while I have a break, but these are hour long moments, possibly two or even three, but how I would KILL for a whole day where I don’t have to be a mum.

I often daydream about what it would be like to have a whole day off to myself, and what glorious things I would do.

I would wake up when I damn well wanted to, not when a little voice murmured from across a darkened hallway (mum, mum, mum, mum!). I would lazily slide out of bed and take pleasure in cooking breakfast, perhaps scrambled eggs on toast. Usually I have a small boy pulling at my pyjama bottoms so handling a hot frying pan is a tad hazardous.

I would go for a long run, take a refreshing shower, and then meander through town for a spot of shopping. I could try on clothes by myself! (Normally a whingeing toddler pulls open the curtain, revealing a mortified self in knickers and bra!)

Then the most anticipated moment; I would meet up with my girlfriends for some afternoon drinks in the sun. There would be no “witching hour(s)”; there would be no crying because dinner wasn’t cooking fast enough. It would be all about me, and no one else!

I realise when my husband and I decided to have kids we signed up for a lifetime of putting them first, but for just ONE DAY I would love to “call in sick” from my job as mum.

Alas, my wish has been granted! 

This Friday I am finally getting a ME day and I am SO EXCITED! I’m having lunch in town with my friend, then getting dressed up and watching Prince, my all time favourite artist, from the eleventh row! Then the next morning, my darling husband has booked me in for a hair appointment before I head home.

I'm sure I'll miss my little man though.

Do YOU need a day off too?

Coming face to face with my sponsor child!

Wednesday 28^th October 2009. I hesitantly board an Ethiopian Air flight from the capital, Addis Ababa, to the small town of Mekele. It was one of those flights that stop at various towns along its route, similar to a bus. I am the only person on the small aircraft to get off at this stop, so wouldn’t you know, I’m the only person in the airport!

As I pluck my lonely bag off the carousel I can’t be sure if what I’m feeling is doubt, excitement or a mish-mash of the two.

Of course, to compound my nervousness and anxiety of traveling alone, World Vision were NOT at the airport to greet me as was planned.

Standing outside the airport, alone, with no taxis, no buses, no other person in sight, I pull my trusty Blackberry from my bag and dial the hotel. Perhaps they could come and pick me up.

“I’m sorry Miss, but your reservation is for tomorrow. Unfortunately we do not have any rooms available for tonight.” Said the receptionist at the ONLY hotel in Mekele.

The tears start to trace their trail down my face. 

SHIT, SHIT, SHIT. What the f#*k do I do now?

After an emotion laden frantic call to my sister back home, fifteen minutes later a World Vision 4WD comes thundering up to the curb.

“I’m so sorry!” came the response from the burly man inside. “We had you down as coming tomorrow!” I secretly try to wipe away the tears so he cannot see I’ve been crying.

After the World Vision team works their magic to find me a room in the hotel, I try to fall asleep, giddy in the knowledge that I will be the first ever white person to visit the village of Samre, the home town of Dawit!

The next morning there were four of us in the four-wheeled drive. Melese, Kifewtou, Gideon and I. It is a beautiful day. I can smell the appetizing aroma of spiced meals being prepared through my open window as we pass small villages on the way to Samre. Women with corn rolls in their hair carry babies on their backs, children plough the fields whilst their fathers herd camels or cultivate the wheat.

I’m jolted around in my seat for an hour and a half as we drive over rocks that have fallen onto our dirt road. Although the landscape is harsh, it is beautiful and I feel transported to another time in history.

At last, as we round a bend, I glimpse a small town perched atop the crest of a mountain. “There is Samre,” says Melese, and my tummy fills with butterflies. Very soon I will meet Dawit.

 As we make our way through the small town of Samre, word spreads fast. There is a white woman driving through town! I can’t help but feel that perhaps they have been waiting for me as people line the streets to catch a glimpse.

The car slows down outside a small shack. It is a one room, mud brick house with a weather beaten tin roof. 

Instantly I recognize him (Dad, he IS real!).

I am invited inside where there are two small single beds to sleep a family of four. Borrowed chairs are tightly squeezed into the already cramped space and we are offered traditional Ethiopian coffee and warm bread, cooked on a spattering of twigs placed on the earth floor.

My visit is not what I expected. Dawit is so shy. His native language Tigrinian is translated into Ethiopian then to English, so conversation is very stilted.

After visiting Dawit’s school, it is time to say goodbye. I have traveled over continents and have taken five planes to get here, and it is over already. I don’t want to say goodbye.

But for now, I have to be content in the knowledge that I have met him, he IS real, I’ve seen what World Vision are working on in his village, and we’ll always have this moment.

We hug. 

Through language and cultural barriers, I know he is grateful for my journey, as I am grateful to have met him. This has changed my life.





To read about my other experiences in Africa, click here.