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


Three year old’s. Wow. Can’t they all go ‘premenstrual syndrome’ on you without warning.

Don’t answer that. It’s a rhetorical question. And I don’t want to hear if you have a perfect three year old. Because, there’s no such thing. Just like unicorns, and uninterrupted phone calls while your child patiently waits.

When in my threenager’s company, I rarely go more than several minutes without encountering his five thousand emotions. Sometimes, all at once. Sometimes only 3879 at one time. But mostly, I see them all jump down my throat if I have apparently given him the wrong carrot. “NOT THAT ONE MUMMA! THE BIGGGG ONE!! I WANNNTTT THE BIGGGG CARRROTTTTTT! WAHHHHHHHHHHH.”


All of his “emotions” don’t last long. Like, maybe five seconds. But some can last longer. Like, maybe all afternoon while Mummy counts down the seconds until Daddy walks in the door.


  1. I’m hungry.
  2. I’m not hungry for that.
  3. Can you lay with me.
  4. Not that close.
  5. Don’t touch me.
  6. Can I have a cuddle?
  7. I wanna watch a show.
  8. Can you read me a story?
  9. I wanna show and story at the same time.
  10. Where’s my Father?
  11. I’m soooo tired.
  12. I wanna sleep. NOW!
  13. I don’t wanna nap! Stop asking me if I’m tired.
  14. Can I ride my bike?
  15. I’m done now.
  16. I want to ride my scooter.
  17. Done now.
  18. Where’s my bike?
  19. Let’s drive to the shops.
  20. I wanna GET OUT of the car!!
  21. I don’t want to get out of the car.
  22. My shoes are too tight.
  23. Can I drive?
  25. Not that.
  26. Have you got a wow?
  27. Can you carry me?
  28. I’m tired.
  29. I wanna run.
  30. Did you bring my scooter?
  31. Can I touch this man?
  33. I love Peppa Pig.
  34. Where’s Spiderman?
  35. I don’t like Peppa Pig.
  36. Can I play a game on your phone?
  37. You wanna get me some food?
  38. Let’s call Daddy.
  39. Is Daddy home?
  40. I just want to hang out in my jocks.
  41. I’m cold.
  42. It’s so HOT in here!
  43. You want to play in my room?
  44. Let’s play outside.
  46. I don’t want this food.
  47. Where’s my Spiderman cape?
  48. Where’s my Superman cape?
  49. Where’s my Batman cape?
  50. Take these capes off me.
  52. Can we get a cat?
  53. I need to go wees!
  54. No I don’t.
  55. I hurt my toe. Can I have a bandaid?
  57. Can I have another bandaid?
  58. I love you Mummy.
  59. Let’s fight!
  60. Is this real cheese?
  61. My hand is hungry.
  62. Can I have a cuddle?
  63. GO AWAY, you smell funny!
  64. I just want to love you.
  66. Can you put my dinosaur shorts on?
  67. Look at me doing this scooter trick.
  69. Stay here for a second.
  70. MUMM!! COME HERE!!

And so on and so forth.

I walk away amused, shocked, frazzled, a bit loved, brimming with confusion and feeling slightly hungover. And I haven’t even had a drink yet.


It’s Australia Day today.

Something to do with the day this country was ‘found’? Or settled upon? I can’t remember anymore. I’m just struggling to remember day-to-day tasks at the moment.

Because, kid-fried brain.

But seriously. Today is a special day for all Aussies. It’s a public holiday where everyone can take the day off work, have fun, bbq, drink copious amounts of alcohol and listen to good tunes.

Everyone, except for the parents.

Public holidays, including Australia Day, mean shit to us now. Gone are the days of carefree drinking. Of not looking up every three seconds to see what trouble our kids are getting into. Interrupted free conversation with friends is a just a fading memory. Eating our lunch, slooooowwwwwlly, while NOT screaming at the children to stop putting peas up their nose, is completely in the past. Listening to any melody besides repetitive jingles from The Wiggles soundtrack, is never going to happen again.


We can still celebrate I suppose, but our job will still go on. It’s forever I tell you. FOR-BLOODY-EVER!!! (that’s Aussie slang for “I’m not so sure I can parent anymore”).

Australian, or ‘Strayan, parents are exactly the same as every other parent around the world. We work hard. Wipe bums. Cook food our kids hate. Give the child the ‘wrong’ coloured plate, so the shit hits the fan. Clean up toys 178 times a day. Step on Lego’s, only to destroy another nerve in our foot. Argue with our kids about stupid shit. And collapse into bed at 8:30pm wondering if it will get easier tomorrow (we all hold onto that hope).

The only difference in Australia, is that we scream talk differently to our kids.

It’s all slang, you see. We might be hard workers with our parenting, but we are bat shit lazy with our communication of the English language. Everything is abbreviated, made up, or grunted in a way only Aussies can understand. Australians like to chew, spit and burp out our words.

All class, I tell you.

Below, are some examples on how Aussie parents speak to their kids.

NOTE: Please image loud Australian parent with a twangy accent, talking to their kid(s). It makes my job a lot easier.


On what would they like to eat?:

“What kind of tucker do ya want?”

“Do ya want a cheerio or a bikkie? Or you can have a chook sanger. Or maybe some Maccas? Actually, there is some leftover spag bol. You can have that. Righto?”

Explaining to your child to behave whilst grocery shopping:

“We are going to Woollies to get some snags for the barbie, so you better not give me any cheek or chuck a spaz or spit the dummy or play silly buggers while we are there because I reckon I’m gonna get aggro. Righto?”

On saying ‘Yes’:

“I reckon!”
“Too right.”

On saying ‘No’:

“No bloody way.”
“We’ll see.”
“Yeah, nah.”
“Go ask your mother.”

On getting the kid to close the door in case the wildlife enters the house:

“Close the bloody fly wire, or the bloody blowies or the stupid mozzies or the noisy cockies or the flamin’ redbacks or the nasty crocs or the wanker roos or the arsehole dingos or the stinkin’ chooks will get in! RIGHTO??!!”

On pointing out something fairly exciting for child to look at while you are driving:

“Check out the ambos!”
“Look. There’s the postie!”
“Shit! Here come the coppers!”
“Quick! Get the bin out! Here are the garbos!”

Encouraging your child that they can be whatever they want when they grow up:

“Bloody oath you can do anything you want! You could be a chippie, or a sparky, or a brickie, or a poo man, or a cabbie, or a cockie, or a gyno, or a journo.”

“Just don’t be a dero. Or a wineo. Or get blotto. Or drink metho. Or go troppo. Or turn into a veggo. Or a weirdo. And worst of all, don’t be a yobbo. Righto?”

You will notice that Australians like to change words and end them with an ‘o’. This happens especially with names of people. Your kid could be named Steve, but we wouldn’t call him that. We would call him Stevo. Jon would be Jonno. Robert would be Robbo. It all sounds so much friendlier with an ‘o’ on the end.

Asking child to go to sleep:

“Just take a kip.”
“Get some shut eye.”
“Hit the sack.”
“Just crash already!!”

On explaining their beloved pet just passed away:

“Sorry kiddo, Bluey, the larrikin mongrel drank some metho and karked it. He was a good mutt. A real mate. You right cobber? Here, have an ANZAC bikkie. Good-o? Righto.”

So as you can see, us ‘Strayans talk like weirdos. Even to our kids. But it all makes sense to us. Sort of. I think we just make most of it up as we go along.


Linking up with Essentially Jess for #IBOT


  • Dedicate more time to themselves.
  • Eat more healthy stuff.
  • Stop procrastinating.
  • Meet new people.
  • Write lists about their resolutions and tell everyone on social media.



Now it’s taken over by these little bastards……

Sultanas. Little grainy droplets of annoyingness.


They’re sultanas, if you don’t understand. And lucky I showed you a photo of clean ones! The ones in my handbag are usually covered with sand and broken plastic remnants from cheap toys.

Gone are the days of leisurely placing your hand in your bag (AND NOT EVEN LOOKING!), and pulling out exactly what you want. Now it takes a good 15 minutes of searching and pulling out numerous broken army men toys, half eaten muesli bars, that piece of toy you were looking for three months ago, and a lid-less lipgloss that has gone bat shit crazy on your handbag lining.


That lovely work day where you would count down the hours for FRIDAY DRINKS!! That pure anticipation of where you were going, what you were going to wear and how much fun you were going to have!

Me. Back in the day.

It used to be:

“Whoop! Will meet you at the pub in an hour! I will order some champagne for starters! Okeys??”

Now it’s:

“Friday? I thought it was only Tuesday. Oh well. Nothing like a rock on night of Better Homes & Gardens and going to bed at 8pm after a glass of wine because I can’t handle my booze anymore.”

Sunday Laziness

Remember them? Where you would get up at whatever bloody hell time you wanted (usually hungover) and choose where you were going for breakfast. All the while talking about the night before and lounging your big fat butt on the couch.

Now it’s like any other day of the week, with just a remnant of how it used to be in the deep dark dungeon of your kid-fried memory.


Admittedly, the inside of your head still sounds like the inside of an Irish bar, but externally, you’re now reduced to the sort of entry-level profanity from the script of Ben & Holly’s Little Kingdom – Oh bother, Heck, and Geez.

Proper TV

I put the news on at 5pm because it makes me more ‘adulty’. I try and catch the main headlines but I really do need to have super sonic hearing because my child knows I want to be more ‘adulty’ at this time, so in turn screams his little ‘infantile’ head off.

Our house now consists of animation and jingly jangly stupid songs and spoilt brat little bunnies who are way too bloody happy.

Browsing at the Shops

Never have I been so organised in my life before going to the shops. No time to eff around and browse at stuff. It’s all about power walking through the stores, one hand passing numerous amounts of food to my child, and the other hand making ‘get-out-of-the-way’ movements to my fellow shoppers.

Stay too long and look relaxed, and shit will really hit the fan. Your kid may look happy and be on their best behaviour, but if you signal to them that you actually want to try on that skirt in the changeroom, there will be stinky hell to pay.


Say what? I can barely even pronounce the word, let alone remember it.


I took it for granted. As Gary from Take That would sing….“I want you back..want you back..want you back for good.”

I so miss you Silence. You were my bestie. The thing I went to when I needed time out.

Now even when I do get the odd chance of Silence, my ears are ringing from all the high level talk action from my kid earlier that day, that I can’t really relish in its glory.

Having Dinner after 6pm

Because, I didn’t think I would be acting out the whole Nanny and Poppy role until I actually had grandkids! But yes, because of the child, we eat waaaaaaay before the sun goes down.

I remember the days of eating when it was actually dark! Dark, I tell you. I don’t think I would even remember how to use my cutlery now if there was no sun in the sky.

Choosing A Restaurant

I vaguely remember going to a restaurant booking at 8pm in the past. Yep.

That’s like my bedtime now.

And then we would stay for two or three hours! Eating and drinking slowly!! WTF??!!

That is a very distant memory.

Now the decisions of where to eat, are all based around the child….

What time do they open? 5:30pm? Cool. We will get there at 5:25pm and wait.

Is it kid friendly? As in, will there be other desperate families there with their kids running around wildly and hardly eating any of their $15 plate of food?

Is there a TV? Man, I hope there is! How else is our kid going to be distracted for a mere three minutes? There has to be a frikken TV. Okay?

Is there room to move? There has to be an outdoor area or something for him to run. Okay? And also in case he has an ‘accident’ on the ground – it’s better outside for this to happen, you see. And his super loud voice gets a little more lost when we sit outside. MAKE SURE THERE IS AN OUTSIDE AREA!!

We order, eat super human fast, don’t even bother ordering wine because there is no time to enjoy it, scream at child to stop running, then leave. All in a handy 27 minutes.

Super efficient. No time for relaxing when going out for dinner now. It’s all about the efficiency. That, and because us Nanny’s and Poppy’s want to be in bed by 8pm.

I miss all these. But you know what, I love my time post -children even more. We sacrifice things to get better things in life.

What do you miss pre-children?

Love (as Reeve says),


p.s. 8pm may be a little exaggeration on my bedtime. It’s actually 8:15pm.