Why I write...

I started this blog as a bit of a sanity saver.

When my 'big two' were babies, I felt so alone. J was working 16 hour days (sometimes more) and I would find myself longing for conversation. Babies are lovely and all, but I was almost climbing the walls most afternoons.

With little number 3, I decided that instead of delving into self-medicating with nutella and trashy mags, I would do something POSITIVE for myself.

 

I knew that this time, my time at home was limited and I thought having a 'bloggy thing' would give me something tangible to look back on when my year at home was through. My 'Small Boy' was a surprise a gift, and I wanted to be able to celebrate what a gift another year at home was (because I didn't want another soul crushing, nappy and boredom-filled, swirling black-hole of sleepnessness and sugar).

Even if I was just talking to myself (or future-self) I thought it would be nice to have something to say that didn't involve 'baby stuff'.

Here's me drawing at the beach while little Number 3 is asleep in his posh pram.

 

That was four years ago. I've blogged on and off since then - about being a tired mum, nana crafts  and weird projects that have given me joy (like making a mermaid tail for the pink one).

I make no apologies for my blog. It's not fancy. There are probably typos and mistakes and posts with TMI.

It's a bit like a diary. I just open a page and pour it all out. I consider editing, but then I realise there are probably disasters awaiting me in the kitchen or kids who need bathing or washing to be done. I don't really care if nobody else reads it - in fact hardly anyone I know reads it - my very besties only recently discovered it during the whole chaotic project that was Every Day in May.

So I just put it out there and let it go. Like one of those helium balloons you used to send out as a kid (before you discovered the burst rubber remains were being eaten by turtles and baby seals). A little bubble of joy and hope, let loose on the winds.

With my little blog I've rediscovered my love of writing. Once, long ago, I dreamed of being an author. When I left school, I went to uni to study writing - emerging with a degree in journalism and an enormous debt.

Writing advertorials sort of killed my love of creating on paper, so I retrained as a teacher where I could just enjoy reading and studying books.

Blogging has reignited some of my ambitions to see my name on a book spine one day. I've been hauling out old manuscripts and writing short stories just for fun.

I don't know if I'll manage to make a go of it, but I know I'll have fun trying :)

Thanks for reading!

Dentist... yikes!

I was at the dentist this week, having ANOTHER tooth repaired (ok, I admit it, I'm officially middle-aged) when I thought back to a funny incident. I was trying to take my mind off the pain - I don't do anaesthetic if I can possibly help it. Sets off my anxiety in a big way. The numb feeling you walk out with is the worst part of the dentist for me... worse than pain!

Anyway, a few years ago (and a few fillings ago) - when I was a mother of two - I found myself lying in the dentist chair in my 'mummy uniform' of jeans, sneakers and a black t-shirt, idly listening to the conversation between dentist and assistant.

The dentist was a lovely old man, a bit past retirement age. Always gentle and kind, never charged me a gap and always sent me away with a nice new toothbrush. Things that make sense... now.

I assumed my teeth were in pretty good health. They always had been - despite my penchant for crunching hard things like ice and tic tacs. However, today the dentist was muttering.

"Ohhhh... Someone should tell Samantha's mother to stop feeding her so many sweet foods! Not good... not good at all..." The dental assistant (whose children I'd previously taught), smirked but remained quiet.

I was quite bemused, confused and curious as to what he could possibly mean. What did my mother have to do with it all?

At the end of the clean, when all the cotton wool was out of my mouth (old-school dentist, remember) I hesitantly asked him, "All OK? What did you mean about the sweet foods?"

He started to tell me about sugar and decay etc. But when I asked him, "So, are they bad... for a thirty year old?" he looked at me in horror. And shock.

Then he laughed.

He obviously had never looked at my age on the chart!

When I told him I was the mother of two small people and my back teeth were a bit iffy because of all the chucking I'd done in the morning sickness stage, he told me they were actually in pretty good nick, all things considered.

But I never got another free toothbrush again! haha...

Fast forward a few years and my lovely, gentle, old dentist has retired. But... he's been replaced with what the other mummies refer to as 'THE HOT DENTIST'.

He is also lovely and gentle.

But I still don't like going.

What's the funniest thing that has ever happened to you at the dentist?

Bra dramas (of the stick-on kind)

On Saturday night J and I went to a fundraising 'gala'. That's a pretty big deal around here - where the only galas are usually those pink birds you sometimes see in the sky!

The money raised went to prostate cancer research but the actual dinner was to celebrate ten years of Encore Dance School (run by my friend Miss Penny).

Anyway, it was a chance to wear a pretty dress, my favourite clip-in hair piece (what can I say - once a dancer, always a dancer) and step into some fancy shoes and eat in relative luxury at the private room at one of the local sports clubs.

Miss Piggy delighted in helping me get ready and was especially interested in the stick-on bra.

We've had some adventures, my stick-on bra and me.

Obviously Saturday night - catching up with people I hadn't seen in many years.

 Here we are - what's left of the 'original' school. Some of

those girls were tiny when we started!!!

 

And here is me and J - all swished up!

 

 

Which made me think of the first Encore concert and my stick-on bra - when I had breastmilk filling it up and I was worried it would slide down my front and land on the stage with a plop! Thank goodness for stretchy velour costumes. I made it without any wardrobe malfunctions.

 

And finally - the time I had left the freshly rinsed bra - sticky side up - on the bathroom bench, only to return and find a gecko stuck in it! It took olive oil, warm water and a lot of prayer to free the poor little guy, but I did it. Can't say the same for his wriggly little tail.

 

Oh the joys of living in sunny Queensland!!!

 

How long do you reckon it will be before I find Miss Piggy parading around with it stuck to her chest?!

 

 

 Do you dance? Do you wish you still did?



Bad Mum moment... (oh the shame!)

I had a great weekend celebrating my Small Boy's birthday. I even made a cake that looked like this.

Exactly like this. This is the actual cake. 

Anyway, it was back to school and kindy and work today - except for me who had a day off. Yay me! This particular day off meant that I could do something I've wanted to do for ages - accompany Small Boy to kindy.

So... late last night, after all the lovely birthday festivities, I set about making the obligatory 24 mini-cupcakes.

What can I say? It was late, I was tired and all birthday-ed out.

They looked a bit like little black golfballs, placed in odd-shaped and ill-fitting wrappers (I'd used all the 'good' ones at the party) and covered in drippy white icing. BUT. I did manage to find a new 4 shaped candle, popped them all on a cupcake tree thingy and thought to myself, "Well done you! You didn't even have to go to Woolies in the morning! You made cakes like a real mum!"

I mean, really. If I got to kindy late, the only people who were going to see the sad little cupcakes were going to be four year olds and their lovely, kind teacher. Who all presumably love cake. So who cares.

So you can imagine my horror when half-way through the morning another mum turned up.

"Can you give me a hand, please?" She asked. I went out to her car where she began to load me up with perfectly symmetrical, Peppa Pig adorned, iced miracles. Complete with Peppa Rocket cupcake stand. Beautiful. And set right beside my drippy black and white mess. You know - just in case anyone had missed the comparison.

Well done me, indeed.

__________________________________________

I might add, I had imagined re-using the pig figures I made on the kindy cake. Until I left them on the stairs after the party as I was bringing things upstairs to the kitchen... and the dog licked Peppa's ears clean off her head.

Going grey...?

I have a love-hate thing with my hair. Maybe that's because I'm a Leo.

I love the feel of long hair running down my back, but as I detest the feeling of sweat doing the same, I more often that not put it up in a bun or ponytail.

I say put rather than brush because if it's only going in a pony or bun, brushing is not high on my list of morning priorities (extra sleep, facebook and coffee are).

I've tried perming it, layering it, totally butchering it... but I really just like it with a bit of length. I may as well enjoy it while I can ... don't want to turn into one of those freaky old ladies with grey Rapunzel hair!

Because it's happening. The grey. I've been going grey for nearly two decades now. Got my first grey at age 16, quite a few have joined that lonely first now. Even have one in my left eyebrow (how rude)!

But... here's the weird thing... here's me in 2011 (before I hit grey, rock bottom). I can't find any other pics of my in my 'natural' state as I have avoided photos since then unless I've had a recent salon visit.

and here's me this morning. Bad car selfie. How embarrassing.

And I notice I'm looking LESS grey*.

Last year I read about a remedy for premature greying. It had something to do with a build-up around the hair follicle that could be removed by rubbing lemon and coconut oil in. I've been experimenting with a little portion of my head, around the hairline. Dare I say... it appears to be WORKING?

Either that, or they've just given up and fallen out in protest.

Anyway, after comparing headshots this morning, I headed for the salon to show those grey suckers who's boss.

So here I am now.

Wallet is a bit lighter and hair is a bit darker. But I think I like it!

Anyway... about the grey hair thing. Do you think I'm delusional? *Or do I just need my glasses?