My Pop.

My amazing Pop, passed away on January 20th 2013. When my son was only three weeks old.

He taught me so much. You fall off a horse, you bloody get back up on it and wipe your tears away. You work hard, and don’t listen to the whingers. You have fun, no matter what you do in life.

“Just bloody do what you want, Kelly. You’re a good kid.”

He didn’t mess his words up. He said what he meant. And you quickly should understand that – because he wasn’t going to repeat it twice.

He was the best. I looked up to him like there was no other.

And still to this day, I can’t believe that he is not here. My Pop died before he could meet my amazing son.

And I so wanted Reeve, my beautiful son, to meet my Pop. So, so much.

Just to see him. To tell him some wise words. I wanted to show my Pop, the one who taught me so much, the best thing that I had created.

We were planning to go back to my home town (on the other side of Australia) because I wanted my family to meet my special, beautiful baby that I finally had. To meet everyone. To meet all my family.

One morning, in that horrible January, Mum rang and quietly asked, “Is there is someone there with you Kelly?”. I could hear it her in voice that something was very wrong.

“Why, what’s wrong?”

“Is Matt there with you?”


“Is Matt there with you?”


I had a newborn beautiful son, that I was breastfeeding at that very moment when my Mum rang – to tell me something that I already instinctively knew.

“Dad’s gone”.

And I cried. And cried.

I took my newborn son off my boob and passed him to my husband. So I could cry some more. And then cry more, like hormonal new Mothers do, but multiply it by a billion.

Because my Pop had died. My beautiful Pop had gone.

I felt out of control, because I wasn’t there. To console my Mum. To console my Nan – The person that she was married to 60 years. They were one side of Australia. I was on the other.

I couldn’t be there. Right now. To hug them. And cry with them.

But the biggest thing I thought of was, he hasn’t met my son yet.

He knows what I have been through with getting this baby, and he hasn’t met him yet. He needs to meet him.

SHIT! Why?! My Pop needs to meet him. To teach him the stuff he taught me.

CRAP! NO! He can’t have gone. He was supposed to meet the baby I finally had.

But, he had gone. So quickly. Too quickly for me.

I changed the flights. The ones we had booked to have a celebration with our family because of our newborn son, to the ones where we would now be brought together for a funeral, that was to say goodbye to my beautiful Pop.

And then came the shitty flight.

The one where you get so completely nervous with a newborn. The baby’s first time on a plane. Our first time with a newborn on a big plane. Everyone looking at us and hoping they’re not being seated next to us.

Don’t give me the judgement look please. I will throw something at you. I’m going through something more than just ‘new mother syndrome’.

I was numb.

If someone complained about my baby’s crying, I would have failed to notice. This wasn’t supposed to happen. I should be excited to get on the plane to see my family. Not sad. Not somber. Not going to a funeral so my family could meet my finally awaited son.

When passengers gave us sideways glances, I wanted to shout, “MY POP DIED! GIVE ME A BREAK. I HAVE A NEWBORN. EVERYONE PISS OFF!”. They could have been looking admiringly at my son, but I was so on edge. But also numb.

I was sad. And angry. Mostly sad. And very tired.

The funeral, was as funerals should be – completely emotional. Wishing we weren’t meeting in such awful circumstances. But glad we had each other to talk to.

I had my newborn babe in my arms, with all my family around me. They were meeting my new love in my life. Giving him cuddles. Giving me so many cuddles too. Welcoming him into the world.

My family is amazing and I can’t thank them enough for the amazing love in that moment. My husband also got me through a lot too. He is one super human being.

But I will end with this….

I so very wanted my Pop to meet my special guy, Reeve. They would have got along so well.

I know that.

I see little things in Reeve that remind me of my Pop. His stubborn way. His wise soul. The cheekiness in his eyes when he smiles.

The amazing blue eyes.

There is a lot of my beautiful Pop in my beautiful son. I know that. I need to know that.

I just wish he could have met him.


Have you had someone in your lives that has passed away before your kids met them?

Please let me know your experiences in the Comments section below – if
you feel like sharing.

Love (as Reeve says),


p.s. This post was a hard one to write. As you know, I am usually a more light-hearted/funny kind of blogger, but this post shares a bit of my personal side.

Linking up with Essentially Jess for #IBOT


Dear Toy Packaging Companies,

Honestly. WTF?

Are you taking vengeance on the world because little Jimmy got a better transformer toy than you for Christmas back in 1987? Have you got such a vendetta against human limbs, that you must destroy all of the ones us parents own?

You must know what I am talking about?

Trying to remove a Barbie or action figure from your blister packs, is like performing a renovation on the smallest piece of land possible. I thought I was just opening a toy – not auditioning for the next series of ‘The Block’.

By the time we finish opening the actual toy, poor Barbie looks like she has had a cameo appearance in the ‘Saw’ movie series.

Oops. Sorry Barbs. My bad. Actually, you may want to rethink working for Mattel. Their packaging guys are shit.

Last Christmas my kid got a Ninja Turtle from ‘Santa’. I am thinking ‘Santa’, should rethink every Christmas present from now on, and just buy free standing stuffed toys that he can just grab easily from the shelf – hog tie free.

You should of seen the look of absolute bliss on my son’s face when he easily opened the wrapping paper (maybe have words with the Christmas paper wrapping companies – they seem to have more experience than you guys). Then you should have also seen the look of absolute frikken horror on my face when I actually had to unwravel ‘Raph’ from his 1300’s dungeon type chains.

‘Raph’ now looks like he really did get into a massive street fight with ‘Shredder’.

My kid’s birthday is two days after Christmas. So you could imagine how amazingly excited I was to start opening your shitty packaging of my kids presents, just two short days after I had gone through hell and back.

Sarcastic tone in that last statement, if you didn’t pick it up.

For his birthday he got some more ninja turtle shit. A ‘real life’ ninja turtle shell complete with ‘real life’ chainage so it will only take you 28 hours to open the bastard. Yay. I am fairly sure you save the hardest packaging for your Nickelodeon merchandise. Because that was an experience I never want to go through again.

I had to borrow the neighbour’s power drill; ask a friend to research ‘Is it actually possible to die from opening kids toys‘ on the internet; get another friend to pour a big arse glass of wine for myself; and invite Jean-Claude Van Damme over to roundhouse kick the copper wiring off the ninja turtle shell.

This may look all very innocent. But behind the scenes, it a messy blood bath.

Then I had the enjoyment of listening to my precious angel scream innocently in the background while I sweated off Christmas lunch, TRYING TO OPEN YOUR SUCKY PACKAGING!!

“Please be patient, Reeve. I’m getting there. The shell just seems to be wired, screwed, welded and super glued down to the concrete frame surrounding it. If you can hand me that jackhammer over there, that would be a big help. Thanks honey. Okay, put your safety glasses on and welding helmet – Mummy is going to be a few hours. Nickelodeon must be pissed at something this ninja turtle shell did in a past life, otherwise why would it be secured down like it’s a serial killer? Maybe I shouldn’t let you play with this demon toy. Okay! Okay! I will try again. Just hang tight darling. Only 27 more wires to cut. Can you hand me the chainsaw? Thanks honey. And the wine. Get Mummy some more wine please.”

You owe me $4,700 in Van Damme’s labour, three bottles of good cab sav, and ten litres of A+ blood – from all the hemorrhaging I did, trying to succeed.

By the time my kid actually got to play with his ninja turtle shell that I had just struggled to open, he had aged another year. And he wasn’t interested in playing with that toy anymore.

On your ‘helpful’ online sites, you do mention to open everything with tin snips. Because that makes it easier to access the toy. But who the hell carries tin snips in their back pocket?

“Crap this toy is hard to get out!”
“Oh don’t worry Carol. Use these tin snips I carry around in my back pocket to open little Jimmy’s present.”
“What? Why do you carry tin snips around in your pocket?”
“Ummm…. because it’s easier than carrying sulfuric acid. I once bought my kid a 37 piece Power Ranger set, and let’s just say, the acid made it a whole lot easier.”

Tin snips. The only possible way you are going to open little Jimmy’s Christmas present. That, or sulfuric acid.

I do understand that you need to have your packaging fairly solid, because there is those little bastard children who like to touch and test the toys out in the supermarket – and then their parents don’t pay for them, but instead just leave the toys sprawled out in aisle five.

Arses, aren’t they?

Is that your reason why you are so enraged, and then transfer this rage through your ability to clamp toys down so damn hard in your packaging?

Maybe you should have some device where the kid gets a bit of an electric shock if they try and open it, and it hasn’t been purchased yet. Not like massive electric shock, but one that gives them the lesson that you don’t touch shit that doesn’t belong to you, or that Mummy hasn’t paid for yet.

Child abuse? Maybe. But I am not the ‘ideas guy’. You are. Think harder, dickheads. You are making us parents hate Christmas, birthdays and any other occasion where we cringe at present giving.

I await your response, and I look forward to not using my power tools on my kids toys anymore.

Sincerely (as Reeve says),


p.s. Be at peace with the world, forgive your enemies and release the anger you have that makes you seal toy packaging together like some vendetta you have on Princess Sophia. You will have a lot less frustrated and dead parents (because of all the hemorrhaging) for it.

Linking up with Essentially Jess for #IBOT





“How can you need to poo AGAIN?”

This conversation is guaranteed (100%) to come up 7.53 minutes after bedtime.

Kids have this uncanny knack of saving their poo up until the most inconvenient time.

Inconvenient for the parent. Very timely for the child.

This will usually happen when you have put them to bed for the 18th time, about to kick off your shoes, watch some sort of show that doesn’t have any crappy kiddie jingles associated with it, and pour a glass of wine.

The conversation will go something like this:

Small child calling out from bedroom: “MUMM! I NEED TO POO!”


The phrase ‘Full of Shit’, is actually not far off the truth when it comes to small children…… and bedtime.

“Can you please stop touching ‘DOWN THERE!'”

Maybe this happens with boys more? But maybe not.

As parents, we all know how much they ‘play down there’, but COME ON, sometimes it borders on ridiculous.

Admit it, as parents of boys, we have all threatened when it’s bath-time, that ‘it will fall off and go down the drain‘ if they play with it too much.

So we do what we have to do. We work with our surroundings and use the dark dungeon hole of a drain to maybe spark some scariness in the whole ‘event’.

Judging from the passing male adult public, I see the ‘playing or touching down there’ never really truly ends.

“Can you please take my underwear off your head?”

Look. I am sure everyone is quite open to having their kids occupy themselves while they get the shitty job of ironing done. But maybe us responsible parents have to interrupt our awesome job of ironing every week, and announce aloud to our precious innocent beings that “It’s not cool” when they decide to put Mummy’s clean g-strings on the head.

The operative word being, clean, people. Don’t freak out now.

Sure, normally no one else is around to see this interesting event. But we really wouldn’t be able to live with ourselves if they sit down to read “Where’s The Green Sheep?”, with our fave black knickers hanging down over their eyebrows.

“No, you can’t visit Paw Patrol and see Chickoletta.”

Every parent will come across a few conversations with their kids about their favourite shows and characters*. Usually about every three seconds. Sometimes every six seconds……if you are one of those lucky bastards.

*Damn you ABC Kids and every other stupid kids channel out there (but secretly, thanks for being my co-parent).

In a small child’s view, it may even seem that we speak about the characters as if they were ACTUAL REAL TRUE PEOPLE and we CAN VISIT THEM ANYTIME WE WANT.

Then our shitty lies back fire on us.

Because one day our kid asks if they can visit Paw Patrol land and go down the slide like the puppies do and save the day and wear a badge and be heeelarious just like Marshall and blah blah blah blah.

And then we have the very responsible job of telling them that it’s all lies and not real, and sorry to break your heart kiddo, but paw patrol is a load of cartoonish Nickelodeon crapola that is only there to keep you occupied while Mummy does her chores.

“Yes, Santa is watching you through the security monitor thingy.”

This is a personal one. And you can borrow if you need. I actually borrowed this idea from fellow blogger – The Notorious Mum (thanks Lisa, you are awesome).

Sometimes I have to go to the extreme. And I know this sounds very unethical and wrong, but one day I lost my shit because my kid was driving me so bat shit crazy with his ‘threenager’ behaviour that I felt that I needed to bring out the big guns.

And the big guns for kids, is SANTA.

So I did it.

I brought out the big ammunition and told my kid that Santa was watching his behaviour all the time…..through our security monitors in the house.


It worked. He doesn’t freak out about it. He just knows he is warned when that sparkly beautiful North Pole bluish light comes on, whenever he misbehaves.

And that my friends, is how you parent sometimes.

Can you relate to these conversations, or can you not? I would love to hear your weird conversations with your small (or big) children. They’re all funny.
Please leave your comments below. xo

Love (as Reeve says),


p.s. I use the Santa thing on my son all throughout the year. Sometimes I throw the Easter Bunny and Superman in too. It’s whatever works for me and the situation. Try it if you have any flashing lights in the house that are reliable 😉

Linking up with Essentially Jess for #IBOT


Emma from over at Life, Kids and a Glass of Red has kindly contributed as a Guest Poster today. Have a read and a laugh at one of her very popular posts. This is sure to give you a giggle 🙂


Parenting and the UN

When you become a parent, not only do you retain the set of skills, qualifications and experience you had before your kids came along, you also gain a whole new set.

Most parents could easily qualify for a job at the United Nations, or any large organisation that deals with various governments, large departments or handles crises on a regular basis. Here’s why.


Negotiation skills.
Get a bunch of parents in a room, and I reckon they could negotiate just about any trade agreement or major multinational deal. Factor in that most of us are pretty tired and have dealt with tantrums, whinging or small children being insanely stubborn about random things most days, and we won’t take any crap deals. There’s no way talks would take a week to finalise a decision. We’d be done in a fraction of that time.

Valid arguments would be heard, and accepted or dismissed and a result decided. No piss-farting around. We want to get this deal locked away before Play School ends and the kids are no longer happily distracted. If we have a spare few minutes to pee in peace and make a cup of tea – bonus.


Dealing with governments.
Democracy vs dictatorship? When you have kids, most days, most homes will run like a democracy. Everyone has a valid say, and most of the time, everyone is accepting of this. Except when mum and dad have been up all night with a child with gastro, the dog has been barking at possums outside and waking everyone up when they have finally managed to fall asleep, and then one of the other kids decides they no longer love, or even like, ham and cheese sandwiches in their lunch box. When this happens, household government style changes. Democracy is out. Dictatorship is in. Sorry kids, that’s just the way it goes. Deal with it. We’ll discuss changes another day when we’ve had some more sleep.

Dealing with multiple competing priorities.
Toddler is running through the house, wearing only a nappy, that is leaking poo. At the same time, the phone is ringing, the seven year old has somehow blocked the bathroom sink and its now overflowing, and the oven timer is going off indicating the cake is ready – telling you you have about four minutes before the oven decides to turn the cake to charcoal.

Working in potentially hostile conditions.
Small, hard plastic toys left scattered all over the floor of a darkened room. Exploding nappies of epic proportions or projectile vomiting. Often without being provided with protective clothing or a hazmat back up team. Just a regular day as a parent. In the workplace, I’m pretty sure you would get additional loading for working in conditions like that.


Proficiency in other languages.
Understanding toddler babble and his own version of sign language. The sign for “milk” doesn’t actually always mean he wants milk. Not. frustrating. at. all.

Work varied and long hours, often on minimal or broken sleep.
Pretty self-explanatory. Does anyone actually know a parent who clocks off after eight hours, gets a whole hour for lunch, and isn’t required back on call until the following day? Nope, me neither.

Ability to think on your feet and act on instinct.
Got to have ninja-like reflexes to catch that plate of food that has been thrown off the high chair before it hits the just-mopped floor. Running towards projectile vomiting to catch it, without even thinking about it. How many times have you done that?!

As a parent, what are some kickarse skills you could bring to a workplace?

About Emma from Life, kids and a glass of red

EmmaEmma is a mum of two boys, have developed ninja-like instincts to avoid stepping on Lego left on the carpet, and would love to run a half marathon someday. And loves chocolate, but who doesn’t?

You can follow Life, kids and a glass of red on Facebook and on the blog at http://lifekidsandaglassofred.com.





I thought this week for the blog, I would share what my three year old and myself got up to. We went on a few mini adventures over the last week, plus did some boring stuff (craft and playing) at home.

I don’t usually jam so much enthralling stuff *cough, cough* into one week with him – but I was giving no shits about much this week, so I thought ‘LET’S JUST DO EVERYTHING……NOW!’

I am sharing this with you in photo and also (smartarse) comment form.



We did craft and made an Easter hat today. It was touch and go with the paint, glue and other horrible craft shit that gets everywhere, but Reeve loved it.

p.s. I made the hat push his ears down like that. Just to give me a laugh after the hard work…….because as I said, craft is super messy (and super, not my thing).



This photo is Reeve being a little so-and-so, and showing an interpretation of myself. Apparently this expression is when I talk/scream/yell/try and get my family to listen to me.

I think he did a pretty good job. I’m so proud of him.



We went to a local festival and ate some yummy crap. This was a definite treat at 9:30 IN THE MORNING!! But it was Easter, and I wanted that yummy crap.

Reeve loved his dutch pancakes for five seconds. Then disliked them. Because, threenager emotions.

So of course, Mummy had to finish them.


Because, doesn’t everybody? We met our feathered friend at the festival, and Reeve being all heroic and three years old, decided to pat it.

I was in no mood to pat a bird that has a beak the size of Russia, so I allowed my small child to do it. Such a good Mother, I am.

The bird even posed for a photo with Reeve. Trust me, I got a eensy bit nervous with the bird beak so close to my kids eyes. But hey, anything for a photo.



Yes, I am one of those Mothers. He got chocolate too, don’t worry, but there was also some clothing items. As long as they had the Ninja Turtle print on them, there was going to be smiles all around.

The look on his face is like, ‘WTF Easter Bunny???!! New life on this day is about chocolate, not bloody jocks!!’



There comes a time in a parent’s life where you say goodbye to something that has been in their lives since the baby arrived.

The time has now arrived for us.


We are proud to announce that night time nappies are deleted in our household.

Reeve is super happy, proud and can’t stop telling strangers in the street.

No more wiping of bums – only the smile on his face cannot be wiped off.



Nanny sent us stickers in the mail. And I was all like, YES! Let’s make Nanny a very special picture that she will cherish forever and be super excited when she receives it in the mail.

But Reeve was all like, YES! I am going to cover my body with them. Making this little exercise that could of gone on all afternoon, into a 23 second task.

Then I was all like, SHIT! Now what are we going to do all afternoon? I was counting on the sticker thing.


“WEEEEEEEEE…….” *splat*

We went to the beach, and stupid me, forgot his swimmers. So he had to go in his jocks, right butt cheek wedgie, and all.

All the other Mothers had their kids wrapped in beautiful lycra swimming gear, protectively covering their little ones precious skin. And all I could manage was his Ninja Turtle jocks (courtesy of the Easter Bunny), and some sunscreen.

So I allowed him to jump off the wall onto the sand with a few splat noises, and the surrounding parents judging was so LOUD! I am still have scars on my face from all the death stares I received.


Public parks.

According to my kid this morning, they’re a bit ‘meh’ and too boring to actually play in them.

I agree, son.

Well, they aren’t too bad I suppose. But Reeve decided to lay down in this one (pic on left), because “…he was bored”. And then going down the slide (pic on right) got a little crazy and out of control for him.

Those crazy and out of control slides, eh?



Then we went to Bulls and Bikes show.

It was full of danger, over priced junk food, red necks, and dirt. Everything you need to keep a three year old entertained.

One guy injured himself and was taken to hospital in the first twenty minutes. One guy attempted a front forward flip on his dirt bike, and just made it out alive. One girl was escorted out before the show even started, because she had a little too many vino’s.

It was all very family friendly and stuff *ahem*.



And at the end of all the adventures, I woke to find a head in my bed.

Only a head.

It was like the mafia was trying ‘something different’.

But it was the cutest and most tired little head I had ever seen.

How was your last few days as a parent?

Do anything exciting like see people get injured at a dirtbike / bullriding contest?

Do your kids find it hard to ‘handle’ the slide too? Or is it just my kid?

Love (as Reeve says),


p.s. My favourite part of the last few days? Eating the junk of course. And sneaking my kids Easter Egg chocolate. Lucky he can’t count his stash properly yet……MUHAHAHAHAHA!!

Linking up with Essentially Jess for #IBOT



“I wish I could stay at home all day with the kids instead of working.”

Up yours stupid. I haven’t gone to the toilet in peace for years, and my hair is permanently kinked in this messy bun up-do.

“What do you do all day?”

Oh nothing. Just keep a human alive. It’s very basic really. I just make very important decisions on this particular humans life, plus try and keep myself alive too. It’s really nothing compared to your big fancy job in the city.

What do you do all day, besides ask insulting questions?

“Do you ever think you will go back to work?”

Probably not. I love being at home sitting on my arse all day, drinking coffee and getting massages. Parenting is so freaking easy. Why would I actually want to leave the job I am doing now? Oh sorry, it’s not a job according to you. Just a free and easy ride.

“Do you do anything else, besides be a parent?”

Oh of course. I am also a travelling circus performer; running for Prime Minister; I run a marathon every day, and also race unicorns in the land of It’s-so-easy-to-parent.

I have so much time as a parent, that I need all of my hobbies.

“I could never do what you do.”

I know that. That is why you are asking these very intelligent questions.

“Is being a Stay At Home Parent boring?”

Depends what you call boring. If wiping small peoples butts and yelling at them to stop licking the ground is your idea of an awesome time, then parenting is really going to be your thing.

“I’m just checking in because you didn’t respond to my phone call from three minutes ago.”

I don’t use my phone for talking now. If you ring, I won’t answer it. My kid is too busy playing with it for starters, and it is also on a permanent setting of ‘Silent Mode’. Before ringing me, please ask yourself ‘Is this textable?’. I am happy to get back to your texts, but it probably won’t be in this calendar year. Just hold out for 8 – 28 months please.

“Enjoy every minute!”

Like, every single minute? Even the ones where my kid is screaming so loudly, dogs from China can hear him? I’m not so sure.

“You look so tired all the time.”

No shit, Sherlock. I have kids. This is my permanent look now.

“So, you’re JUST a Mum?”

Please walk away from my life and never come back.

Have you had any random comments or questions from strangers about being a Stay At Home Parent? Please let me know in the comments section below.

Love (as Reeve says),


p.s. Personally, I have had a couple of these said to me, but not all of them. I think mostly are said quite innocently from the other end, but sometimes it’s smart to think before you say.

Linking up with Essentially Jess for #IBOT


We all do it. Over think things.

We wonder why we are here on this planet. Where do humans get the urge to hurt other humans. Why isn’t there an easy way to lose weight while eating chocolate. If an ambulance is on its way to save someone, and it runs someone over, does it stop to help them? If there’s a speed of sound and a speed of light, is there a speed of smell? I wonder what the true purpose of eyebrows is?

And it’s normal. To think. About weird shit.



It’s like our brains switch into action, just as we are super exhausted and ready for a blissful night’s sleep.

BRAIN: “Oh no, sorry lady. We got some serious shit to think about now. Some of it’s important, but most of it’s really out of our control, and dumb – but I am still going to make you worry about it.”

It happens to me almost every night.

I jump into bed, all very excited, because I get to relax and read my book. Then turn off my light ready for a perfect nights sleep (give or take a couple of wakings because of the child). But this plan always goes a bit off course.

My brain starts to do stupid shit. It starts thinking and worrying, and worrying.

9:06pm – Good night world.
9:07pm – Shit. I forgot to close the back door.
9:10 pm – Good night world.
9:11pm – *slurps from water bottle*
9:12pm – Shut up world, and good night.
9:20pm – Shit. I forgot to text Mum back. Oh well, I will do it in the morning.
9:22pm – *texts Mum back*
9:25pm – I better contact that guy tomorrow about the delivery of the bed.
9:26pm – Why the hell isn’t it here yet anyway? They promised delivery in 2 weeks.
9:30pm – Arsehole company.
9:31pm – *slurps from water bottle*
9:40pm – That book I just finished was really good. I will have to get another one from the library.
9:41pm – I will go to the library tomorrow.
9:42pm – I wish the library was closer so I could walk there. I really need to exercise.
9:43pm – The library sucks. It can wait.
9:45pm – *slurps from water bottle*
9:46pm – Shit. I need to go to the toilet.
9:48pm – *slurps from water bottle*
9:49pm – I really have to get my water drinking under control.
9:50pm – I wonder if you can drown from too much water drinking?
9:51pm – It’s funny how the world is mostly made up of water.
9:52pm – Not funny ha-ha, but just funny strange.
9:53pm – SHUTUP BRAIN! I really need to go to sleep.
9:54pm – If I go to sleep right now, I will have 7 and 36 minutes  before I need to wake again.
9:57pm – Now I will have 7 hours and 33 minutes of sleep time.
10:00pm – Now, 7 hours and 30 minutes.
10:05pm – *husband comes to bed*
10:06pm – Him: ‘Night. Me: ‘Night.
10:08pm – *snoring his head off*
10:09pm – *me, still bloody thinking*
10:10pm – How can he go to sleep so easily? I wish I could. Maybe I need to work more.
10:11pm – I wish he would shutup with his snoring. I can’t sleep!
10:12pm – He is lovely though. He works so hard. I love him.
10:13pm – AARRRGGGHH! SHUTUP WITH THE SNORING ALREADY! *pushes husband in back*
1:20am – Oh yay! I got some sleep. Now, go back to sleep before you start thinking again.
1:28am – *wide awake* CRAP.
1:30am – I wonder what me and the kiddo should do tomorrow. Maybe that trampoline place?
1:31am – Kids have so many cool things to do these days. I didn’t when I was young.
1:32am – No. Stuff it. We won’t go to that trampoline place. We will go to the park.
1:33am – But I hate the park. It’s shit. Trampoline place it is then.
1:34am – *slurps from water bottle*
1:35am – Man! I need to go to the toilet again. Maybe I have a problem?
1:37am – I wonder if I should go to the doctor about it – My water problem?
1:38am – Okay, shoosh and go to sleep.
1:39am – *crickets chirping*
1:40am – I wonder where crickets go during the day?
4:10am – Eeekk. I just had the worst dream. About crickets.
4:11am – Why are my dreams always weird?
4:12am – Maybe there is something wrong with me?
4:13am – I should really look into that dream problem thing.
4:14am – *slurps from water bottle*
4:15am – And my water problem too.
4:16am – Okay, sleep time. I only have a little bit to go before I have to face another day.
5:37am – *three year old races in and jumps on bed*
5:38am – I’m so tired. *starts falling asleep*

And the vicious circle continues. EVERY. SINGLE. DAY. For the rest of my life.

Sound familiar? Always with the thinking at night time?

If you have trouble sleeping because your stupid brain likes to think random shit at night, please let me know in comments section below.

Love (as Reeve says),


p.s. Even my husband thinks I have a water drinking problem. I wonder if they have meetings for water alcoholics? I will think about that tonight, when I am supposed to be sleeping.

Linking up with Essentially Jess for #IBOT



Kids and Patience.

Sort of like chalk and cheese, or Kylie Minogue and Kylie Jenner – except with MORE frustrated yelling (and less plastic surgery), and HEAPS MORE discharging blocks at walls because the, “Silly block tower didn’t WORK properly!”.

Sure, it can be super hard waiting 27 seconds for a meal to magically appear in front of you. Who cares that an actual sandwich has so many steps. If a three year old is hungry, they ain’t waiting for no ham packet to be actually opened. That is just a complete time waster. GET YOUR SHIT TOGETHER SMALL GOODS PACKAGING*!!

*I may have to write a letter to the ‘Is Don. Is Good’ dude.

In saying all this, I have come to the conclusion over the last few weeks that my son may have inherited the ‘low patience threshold’ gene. He may or may not have got it from his Mother.

Let’s cut the shit. He got it from me.

I will be the first to admit I am pretty crappy with my patience. If a tradesman is two minutes late, I get annoyed and have his number pre-dialled into the phone ready to ask ‘What the delay is?’. If the kettle takes too long to boil, I consider chucking it in the bin. I even get quite impatient after the song, ‘November Rain’ hits the 7:02 minute mark. Can you hurry it up a bit Gunners??

Thank the Lord we don’t have dial up internet anymore. I would have been committed, long ago.

So it’s no surprise that my son is copying my behaviour. My bad. It’s definitely my fault, I know. But I just like things to flow evenly. Like, immediately. Like, RIGHT NOW!


I wrote a post on Toilet Training when I was looking for some tips whilst teaching my son. The tips were from WikiHow, and they were hilarious. They were also very weird and I did not follow any of them. So I thought it was worth another visit to WikiHow to see if they can give me some ideas on how to teach my kid (and me) some patience.

Just jokes. I only wanted a laugh. There is no way in hell I am going to follow their outlandish steps.

NOTE: Smart arse comments from myself are sure to follow each image. You’re welcome.

STEP 1. Take a little time to think about the purpose and beauty of patience. Patience gives us time to reflect, to slow down and think about the world and the things we’re doing. It’s a way of enjoying what we’re experiencing rather than always rushing toward an end just to make room for the next rush.

While your hair is perfectly flowing and brushed, and you have a clean shirt on (bullshit, bullshit), think (from your lower back) about an empty of cloud of pink and purple brush strokes. Make sure you are super serious on the ‘thinking’ part.

I’m sorry. I have already failed and I’m only at Step 1. WikiHow, most parents don’t have patience to teach their kids patience in the first place!!!! I’m already tapping my foot here!! Help me.


STEP 2. Ask the child what he or she wants to have, do, or be. Resist the impulse to have things the way you’d like them to be. Even a very young child can indicate their likes and dislikes; allowing these to express themselves at appropriate occasions is important.

Give ‘smouldering’ eyes to your child, and make them blush. Nothin’ like making your kid really uncomfortable, allowing them to blurt out their deepest thoughts.

Not sure where to go with this one guys. It’s bordering on a lawsuit. But maybe I just don’t have the patience to really understand this pic. Moving on…..quickly now.


STEP 3. Show goodwill and interest in children. Where possible, try to please them. This isn’t about being a doormat for the child’s commands. It’s about respecting the wants and requests of the child within the appropriateness of the situation.

Oh child! You crack me up! I am so telling that joke to Barb at work, in accounts.

What about if your child is already using you as a doormat? Like, literally. Last week my kid wiped his stinky cheese hands on my white stain-free top. I’m interested in my child. Just not his stinky hands. Stinky cheese hands on white perfect tops, does not make Mumma a patient person.


STEP 4. Be grateful for your children and for all children. When the daily chores mount up and everyone is rushing about, sometimes it’s easy to take one another for granted. Taking time now and then to express your gratitude for your children will help you to respect them for the unique, individual beings they are, and helps them to see the importance of valuing others openly.

Blushing girl is now doing seductive eyes on boy with bad taste in clothing. These kids learn quick.

Good tip, WikiHow. But I wasn’t really listening. I was madly rushing around doing my daily chores because they were mounting up. I did yell out to my kid while I zoomed past him whilst vacuuming that ‘I loved him’ and ‘I thought his hair looked cool today’. Does that count?


STEP 5. Humble yourself. Be willing to do things the child’s way when possible. While their attempts might sometimes cause you frustration and worry, it is important to allow children to show you their way of doing things. If your child offers to help with making dinner, don’t think of the mess they’ll make.

Make your kid cook for you, and then watch them with a terrific smug look on your face. They will hate doing it, but don’t give in. Just look smug, and stupid. Stupid works.

My kid cooks with me now. But if he doesn’t have something to do every second of that time, broccoli and grated cheese goes flying across the kitchen. Hence the reason I am looking you up WikiHow.

Maybe patience should be learnt before we get near dangerous gas? Just a thought.


STEP 6. Remember that children are human too. Remember that children have feelings, likes, dislikes, favorite foods, colors, etc. Honor these things when possible.

Now we come to the terrorist step. Don’t worry, it’s all cool. Just smile and laugh while your kid points an army rifle at your head. It’s all about patience.

Phew! Thanks for the reminder, WikiHow. I totally forgot my kid was human. I have been treating him like a pet rat all this time. I even called him Splinter once. Okay, fifteen times.

This step sounds incredibly worthwhile though. Give my kid a rifle and point it at my brainstem? Is this about patience or trust? I’m confused.

Is it okay to shit myself in this step?


STEP 7. Resist the temptation to control children. Children are ready to trust and soak up information from the people who care for them and spend time with them. Trying to control children lacks respect for their own self and is a way of trying to insert your way of thinking and preferences onto them.

Never, ever explain to your kid how ‘big’ their penis may turn out. It could destroy them forever.

Aha! So I announce to them, “Run free child. You are out of my control!”. And in turn, I learn patience when they destroy the house and burn the backyard shed down? And then they learn patience because they have to clean all the shit up that they just destroyed, without complaining? I think I am slowly getting this. I think.


STEP 8. Pick your battles carefully. Most choices are not a life and death situation. Give children a rope long enough for them to safely learn on their own. Mistakes are a learning experience.

If your kid is starting to give you the shits, turn your back on them. Make sure you are wearing an ugly brown turtleneck too.

Most choices are definitely not life and death situations, I agree. But sometimes they are. Like the other day, I had to decide whether I demolish the last Mars Bar, or do I give it to my kid. If I eat it, I would be sooooo satisfied. If I give it to my kid, I would be the favourite parent for five seconds but then the sugar high would have turned him into a shouty little reptile.

That scenario was definitely a life and death situation. What do I do, WikiHow? WHAT DO I DO?


STEP 9. Be kind to your children and they will learn to treat you and others kindly by your example. Your example will be helpful to your children throughout their life. They will also have learned to make wise choices by the choices you allowed them to make. Now they will be kind to their children and teach them to make wise choices.

Now start going all clairvoyant on your kid and read his mind. After you have found out what the hell they are thinking, write a WikiHow feature on it – complete with weird and inappropriate cartoon drawings.

I agree with this tip. One hundred percent. Be kind to your pet rat. Sorry, child. I keep forgetting.

Can I still call him Splinter?


STEP 10. Be kind to yourself. It can be very hard to be patient sometimes in a world where teaching Mozart in the womb and expectations of exemplary behavior from preschool are considered the norm.

If all else fails, pray. It’s your only hope now.

This image is one I can relate to. Except I am a little more ‘frantic’ breathing and my knuckles are more clenched. I am also not surrounded in pink softness, and I don’t have that green top. My hair is heaps more messy bun-like and I am usually a lot more flushed and sweaty. Actually, this image is completely the opposite of what I am normally doing. I retract my original statement. This image has nothing to do with me.


STEP 11. Love being with children. Sometimes our greatest impatience arises when we allow our own endeavors such as work, personal pursuits, hobbies, sports, etc., to get in the way of spending time with children.

Seductive girl is still ‘eyeing off’ boy sitting next to her. Except he got changed, into something even more grandpa-ish. And chick in the back is letting everyone know that she doesn’t wear deodorant while she is sweating it up.

Hey, I love being with my child. It’s the patience part that is testing me. I have learnt nothing by these tips, except to dress badly, read minds, pray, demand my child cook me something, treat him like a human and not a pet rodent, and encourage my kid to join a terrorist group.

Again, you have outdone yourselves WikiHow. Thanks for the laugh.

How are your kids and patience? Do you feel that they need to hold a rifle to learn?
Isn’t WikiHow just the coolest and funniest site?

Let me know in the Comments section below.

Love (as Reeve says),


p.s. I actually think it’s quite normal for kids to be impatient with things. Yes, they need to learn how to not get so frustrated, and that is definitely up to us parents to teach them. I just don’t think a fully loaded rifle is the way to go. Unless you are ‘that’ kind of parent.

Linking up with Essentially Jess for #IBOT





Emma from over at Life, Kids and a Glass of Red has kindly contributed as a Guest Poster today. Have a read and a laugh at the latest ‘public shaming’ she received…..all over a freaking gold fish.


judgemental lookYou’ve heard of parents being shamed and judged – the term “mummy shaming” is thrown around in the media every other day. Parents are shamed for what they wear to drop their kids off at school, and what they pack in their child’s lunch box. Well, its just been taken to a whole new level.

I was recently shamed and judged over goldfish. Yes, goldfish.

Here’s how it played out.

Negotiate with seven year old and agree to allow him to have two pet goldfish if he can listen regularly and do the jobs he is supposed to do without me sounding like a broken record. I’m already happy to have pet fish in the house and figure if I can get some behaviour modification sorted in the process, well that’s just a bonus.

He’s super excited and motivated to get his fish. Names are already picked out – inspired by Star Wars, of course.

I have a beautiful, big glass bowl that we’ve previously used as a fish bowl. The bowl survived being packed and moved house nine times, majority of those moves being interstate. But then I manage to smash the bowl accidentally just by picking it up. Talented, I know.

We decide that the day hasn’t been crazy enough, so let’s bundle everyone up and drive to the local pet store to buy a new big bowl, all the stuff we need, and get the goldfish too. Of course as we walk out the front door, the toddler has a meltdown over nothing in particular so my husband and I are temporarily deafened. We should have abandoned the plan then and there and just gone back in the house. It was a sign that things were not going to go smoothly.

But we pushed on. We were on a mission for goldfish.

Arrive at pet store to discover they only sell fancy-pants tanks, with equally fancy-pants price tags. Staff are of no assistance, they don’t know if they normally stock fish bowls.

Find another pet store online and call them to see if they have fish bowls. There is no way I’m prepared to drive 40 minutes with a toddler who may decide to yell the entire journey. No luck, but even better – husband finds an aquarium store nearby, so off we go.

The kids are beside themselves with excitement when we walk in the store. There are tanks with fish everywhere. Tropical fish, goldfish, weird looking fish. Toddler is almost hypnotised by the tropical fish, but we know the spell could be broken at any time. We had to move fast. This manoeuvre had been planned with precision.

Staff member who approaches us appears friendly. Fantastic, we’d be walking out of here in no time with everything we need. Woohoo!

I enquire if they stock fish bowls. Bad move. You’d think from the look on his face, I’d asked him if this was the place to go for black market human organs or ritualised sacrifices…

He was not impressed. I foolishly told him how I had had a fish bowl, but managed to smash it, because I’m uncoordinated and my seven year old was super excited about pet goldfish, blah blah blah. No need for a full explanation, I know, but I felt compelled.

He then proceeded to tell me that he would not sell me goldfish now that he knew I was going to put them in a bowl. He even did this snarly face and raised one eyebrow at me in disgust.


From the expression on his face, you would think that I had confessed to clubbing baby seals or torturing small animals for enjoyment. Let me clarify – I don’t club baby seals or torture animals. That’s just wrong.

He then went on about how wrong it was to keep goldfish in bowls. The way he was going on about it, he was making out that I was some horrible, awful human being. Let’s not mention the irony of the goldfish bowl on the counter in the store right next to us. That would just be silly.

finding nemo

I get that he was obviously passionate about fish, but really? Was it necessary to be so rude about it? Thankfully I engaged my brain filter to stop myself from saying what I really wanted to say. I politely thanked him for his assistance, managed to successfully extract children from store without anything being broken or tears, and drive home. Without fish, and without swearing.

High fives to me. But I so wanted to disengage the brain filter, and let rip a tirade at this fish dude.

If he’d perhaps spoken to me nicely and given me some other options for small tanks that would be suitable and a pump and filter, he probably would have made a sale. Easy peasy. The kids would have been happy, parents would have been happy. Everyone would have been happy.


You get a goldfish, and you get a goldfish, you all get a goldfish!

Instead, the effing fish dude is now on my list. And I’m off to find a big arse goldfish bowl and pump and filter online. No commission for him.

Screw you, fish dude.

Have you been judged over something as ridiculous as a fish bowl and goldfish?


About Emma from Life, kids and a glass of red

EmmaEmma is a mum of two boys, have developed ninja-like instincts to avoid stepping on Lego left on the carpet, and would love to run a half marathon someday. And loves chocolate, but who doesn’t?

You can follow Life, kids and a glass of red on Facebook and on the blog at http://lifekidsandaglassofred.com.


My husband and I don’t do this ‘holiday’. If that’s what you want to call it – A holiday.

It’s more like an incredibly overpriced sales pitch to the public, wreaking in awfully strong Red Door perfume, with a $25 red rose that has been starved of water but ‘prettied’ up with some white baby’s breath.

It’s just such a wrought.

I may have celebrated Valentine’s back when I was 18 or something. I vaguely remember being romanced over a steak and chips counter meal, washed down with a $3 special glass of Coolabah Sweet Fruity White. Ahh, the romance.

But that’s what it’s all about. The experience, not how much money is spent.

This year, I actually did take my three year old for morning tea and a movie. He has never been to the cinema, so this was going to be interesting. But what was even more interesting, was the different types of ‘Valentine’s People’ around.

You could spot them all a mile away.



The One Who Breathes/Smells/Sees/Doesn’t Shutup About Valentine’s Day:

This person sucks.

All they do is yap on about how romantic this day is, and as Valentine’s Day gets closer they constantly bring up that time where their boyfriend took them on a sunset champagne cruise while endangered dolphins from Africa jumped out of the water at exactly the right time, and then a rainbow came out and world peace may have started from that moment on and everything was so perfect because it was “Sooooo romantic”, blah blah blahdy blah.

It’s also all about the flowers (roses only) for this person too. And everyone will know exactly what flowers they received, because they would have plastered their pot of 78 red roses (one for each second they have spent away from each other) all over Instagram/Facebook/Twitter/Channel 9 News/Grammy Awards/Russian Space Station Satellite Images.

This is their most favourite day of the year. It’s all about the love, and how much money you spent on them.



The One Who Always Forgets, Then Ends Up Broke:

You will know when see this one. They will be running frantically through the shops silently mouthing things like, “Oh shit!” and “I am going to get my arse kicked so bad!”, and, “WHY DO I ALWAYS FORGET THESE STUPID SHITTY DAYS??!!”. All the while hyperventilating and flapping their hard earned money crazily in the air, shouting, “JUST TAKE MY MONEY!! ANYTHING! SELL ME ANYTHING!!”

Most likely to announce to their partner “That they are just going to duck to the shops. No of course I haven’t forgotten, love. I am planning something special”.
*slams door and drives in hot pursuit to the closest florist/chocolate shop/servo*.

This person is likely to get caught speeding; blow their monthly budget on a stuffed toy present – because everything goes up a billion percent on Valentine’s Day; or have an aneurysm from all the stress they put on themselves for forgetting every year.

This person is so screwed.



The One Who Loathes Valentine’s Day, So Very Much:

Don’t mention the ‘V’ word around this one. Violins will start playing and they will remind you what happened to them on that Valentine’s Day back in 1998. There will be tears, moments of hatred, maybe some glassware thrown, lots of anger, some more tears shared, and then a slap in the face because you stupidly mentioned that word in front of them.

This person actively hates this day, all because of that time their partner did something unmentionable and RUINED THEIR LIVES FOREVER. They will voice this opinion whenever they can. They will also announce that Valentine’s Day is shit, cute couples are shit, flowers are shit. Everything is shit.

Stay away from this psycho on the Love Day.



The One Who Celebrates Valentine’s Day With Everyone, Even Their Pets:

Craft and desperation is strong with this one. This is the person who spent the past two weeks making everyone personalized love cards, and took up a second job just so they could afford to buy everyone a pink rose with attached candy heart.

Yeah, this person will make you feel guilty for not making them anything. But you just can’t get too close to this person, because you know they get super clingy if you even stare at them for longer than two seconds. Their nights are usually lonely but can include feeding their dog ice-cream and singing karaoke songs, with their goldfish.

But give this person a hug, because they probably really need it. But don’t hug for longer than 1.5 seconds. And also do strong pats on the back, so they know it’s only a ‘friendly’ hug and nothing will eventuate from this embrace.



The One Who Drowns Their Sorrows On This Lonely Day:

This is the person who has been talking about getting drunk on Valentine’s Day for weeks, and definitely with the same level of excitement as those who actually have something planned.

“So Janice, got anything planned for this Valentine’s?”

“Shit yeah!! Vodka martinis are on the menu all night! I can’t wait!”

While everyone else is staring lovingly into each others eyes over a romantic dinner, Janice is getting shitfaced on the dance floor and trying to sing ‘Horses’ in a nice sober tune.

If you see Janice, or this type of person out, you may have to guide them to the taxi rank on your way out. Or at least buy them a shot of good quality bourbon.


There all different types out there. And good luck to them all. Valentine’s Day is celebrated differently to everyone.

I look forward to receiving my little love present from my son which he has made at daycare. That little gift itself makes me flutter inside. But in saying that, this year his daycare DIDN’T BLOODY DO ANYTHING FOR THE MUMS! Crap.

Valentine’s Day is a bit his and miss really.

Linking up with Essentially Jess for #IBOT