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