All good here…


I’ve not had much to say recently.

I’ve been well. So well in fact that my psychologist sent me home half way through our session last week.

I’ve had nothing to complain about. I am very lucky and totes hashtag blessed.

(Whenever someone types the word hashtag they should by law be sneezed on by a snotty child.)

But because you, my readers, (yes that’s right plural) might have been missing me I thought I’d pop in and reassure you that all is well.

My husband was away last week and this week and next week and that’s okay. The travel is supposed to slow down after that.

I am volunteering for a bit each morning at my kids school. Not in my kids classes mind you as they would be too distracted by their love for me (asking me for lunch orders) to learn a thing.

I’ve been working with a class of 5 year olds. They are so sweet. They are learning so much and they are full of wonder.

Yesterday while learning to write their names 3 boys were talking about death and how you die when you’re 100.

One boy then pointed out that you can die when you’re a baby if you’re very sick. They thought about this for a while and decided that you could die anytime but not while you’re writing your name at school because then you’re not sick or old.

These 3 young boys then talked about getting married to girls and having babies. Then one said that boys sometimes love boys and have kids and they all nodded and went back to their writing.

We think kids need to learn from us but we need to learn from them.

There’s so little judgement unless it’s been rammed down their throats earlier.

There is kindness and silliness and pure excitement watching a YouTube video about the letter of the day.

Kids are allowed to laugh when one of their peers farts and put their noses down their tops.

Adults can’t do this.

Kids can look gorgeous leaving the house with some breakfast on their face and toothpaste on their shirt.

The other day I heard a young girl at school running to the toilets telling her friends that her wees had already started.

These are but a few of the reasons that kids are lovely… and need to be bathed regularly.

I am good.

I am enjoying spending time with other peoples kids and having the energy to still spend time with my own.

I like volunteering and going home whenever I need coffee and a nap.

I have nothing profound to share and nothing significant to add.

Except that the next generation are quite lovely. They are sensitive and smart and spill a lot of yoghurt.

There is doom and gloom everywhere. There are bad people and bad things and bad reasons for bad people doing the bad things.

But I’ve got 20 new friends who think that I’m funny and tell me so.

I’ve got 2 kids at home who think that I should get a job making seagull noises because I’m so good at it.

So yeah, I’m okay.

Who am I?

In the 80’s and 90’s in Australia there was a long running quiz show called Sale of the Century. The hosts and cohosts were beloved. The prizes were of a reasonable standard and it finished at 7:30 which was my cue to start whinging about having to go to bed.

They usually asked short questions but at they also asked questions about famous people. Slowly revealing more facts until someone guessed who it was.

Which leads me to the question of…

Who am I?

No really? Who am I?

Who do you think I am? Or more importantly who do you see me as?

Am I the funny girl who says strange things?

Am I the girl who listens?

Am I your kids teacher?

Am I the person you like to have coffee with?

Am I the person who cooks, cleans and looks after your every need?

We save different sides of ourselves for different people don’t we?

Some people always get to see the brave face and some people get to see the raw version.

I try to be honest and if you give me enough time I will be but I’m not so good at the superficial stuff so I play the funny card.

I don’t get to be shy very often.

Usually only my own.

Does that make sense?

Pretending to be happy/funny/sane can be exhausting.

I’m not working at the moment so I’m a little bit lost as to who I am.

I’m a stay at home mum but my kids are at school so I’m really just a stay at home lady.

I’ve been volunteering at the kids school because I’m not good at being left alone in my own head for too long.

I know who I want you to think I am.

I want to be the person that is there for other people and is kind and offers to help but you can’t be that person all the time either.

You have to save your best self sometimes for the people who need it or the ones who deserve it or the people who see you as an even better version of yourself than you think you could ever be.

Sometimes you have to be tough and sometimes you’re allowed to be vulnerable and you get to care a little bit more.

So in answer to the unanswerable question on the quiz show “Who am I”?

I’m whoever you’ll let me be. xx

It’s laundry time…

I have made the decision that life is not like a box of chocolates.

(Especially when you mysteriously went of chocolate 6 weeks ago.)

Life is like a load of washing you hang out to dry when there’s a chance of rain.

It might not dry but it definitely won’t dry if you leave it in the machine. (In fact it will go all funny smelling and possibly moldy.)

There’s also the fact that even if it rains for days the clothes will eventually dry.

Unless you live in Bergen, Norway where it rains over 300 days a year.

This life analogy is not for you. You should stick to the box of chocolates theory. Although weather wise you probably do know what you’re going to get.

Now at last check I had 0 followers from Norway so let’s go back to ignoring them and focusing on me.

As of next week I am officially unemployed. I resigned in December but the school holidays are almost over and I have no school to go back to.

No new children to meet. No names to learn and no parents that I must force myself not to roll my eyes at.

Come next week I will be a lady of leisure.

2017 is my year of hanging out the washing on a cloudy day and seeing if dries.

I’m going to go out and do things.

Not sure what things but things will be done.

I will dedicate a portion of my day to breathing deeply. Not a big portion mind you because I’ll be so busy doing the things.

So to you and to you and all that are afar off (but not in Norway) I wish you well.

Love me. xx

Paying for pain…

I had a horrible nights sleep last night.

My darling 7 year old son came into bed with me just after midnight and proceeded to smother me while almost pushing me out of bed and stealing all the blanket.

Thankfully my mum was visiting and took the kids to the movies. I was supposed to go to but decided to stay home and sleep.

After an hour of solid sleep I awoke and went to get a massage from the local shops.

I’ve had a sore shoulder for a while and quick massage usually makes it feel better.

I told the large lady masseuse that my right shoulder was sore and she proceeded to nearly pull my arm off my body.

Sometimes she was just one handed seemingly pushing my bones from the back of my body through my chest.

Half way through the massage I closed my eyes. Not because it felt nice but because I thought I’d be dead when it was over and it’s not classy to die with your eyes open.

At the end instead of doing the karate chop things on my back she just seemed to slap me all over.

Then I paid $20 and she gave me a card because if you keep coming back you get $5 off your 6th massage.

I think I’d be dead by the 6th massage.

So it was a strangely not relaxing afternoon.

And if the kid gets out of his bed tonight there will be trouble.

Or I’ll just write an equally whingey post for you all tomorrow.


Adventures over…


I’m back home now. I’m still wearing the hotel slippers though. I’m acclimatising to life being back home after my holiday.

I was a little put out today when nobody made me banana pancakes for breakfast.

Bali was lovely most of the time.

I still seemed to be in charge of ordering meals and taking care of laundry and making sure that everyone stayed alive.

When I say making sure everyone stayed alive I also meant a stranger in a book shop.

There was a man who knocked over some books and then collapsed on the ground and then started fitting.

Turns out Balinese book shop staff are not that equipped for first aid emergencies.

Me on the other hand. I propped up his head with a bag to stop in banging on the hard tile floor.

I checked that the frothing in his mouth wasn’t obscuring his breathing.

I checked his bum bag/fanny pack (both terms equally awful) for any medication or sign that his seizure was due to a medical condition.

The four shop assistants were running around for water and didn’t seem to know how to call an ambulance or a doctor.

Another lady stepped in and we became a team.

She told me to check for his name and I did.

It was Gilles and he was French.

Now picture me leaning over this large frothing man trying to pronounce Gilles 15 different ways.

We got him a drink of water and a cool towel and we decided that it was probably just an extreme case of dehydration.

I knew he was better when he started picking his nose.

Once we had him sitting up and conscious I had to go and meet my family. I was hot and flustered.

I thought I was okay but found it hard to sleep that night.

But all cool eh? My first aid training came back to me and I was super girl but with my undies on the inside.

A few days later we saw a couple crash their motorbike into the curb nearby. Lots of other people rushed to help them so I got to walk away.

Bali was fun but an adventure.

The kids mosquito bites are starting to stop itching and I’ve gotten over my fear that they have contracted the Zika virus.

So I have to make my own breakfast in this morning and I have a slight phobia of book shops now but it’s nice to be home.


Peace, love and nasi goreng (I got a t-shirt saying that so it seems like a good title for now).

Well hello friends of the blog and Happy New Year to

Despite the cheerful welcome let me assure you that this friendly post is not coming to you from Texas but in fact from Bali, Indonesia.

Let me now regale you with some tales from my week here in this ridiculously humid land.

For those of you who don’t know the Balinese people are kind, gentle and peaceful souls who have dedicated their life to trying to sell me a wooden dolphin.

Okay. Slight exaggeration. Not all Balinese. In fact mainly just the guy outside our hotel in Lovina.

Every time I would venture out to drop off some laundry (seriously having someone else do your laundry is amazing, oh wait that already happens for the rest of my family) this man would appear to tempt me with his wooden dolphin. (Thankfully not a euphemism.)

Me being the polite and docile type that I am returned his greeting to see his wooden dolphin (still not a euphemism) with a kind “no thank you”.

To which the now slightly aggressive gentleman replies “Why not? Why don’t you want to see my wooden dolphin?”

I walk close to him and I gently explain that I have made a choice in 2017 to be less about things and more about experiences and I further explain that I don’t need clutter in my life.

He looks at me like I’m nuts so I casually pay far too much for a pair of pants that I will never wear from the lady standing next to him to prove my point.

He then says “where’s your husband? He said he wanted to see my dolphin”.

I turn to him and tell him calmly that even if my husband had wanted to see his dolphins I would not be letting him buy any dolphins because I was worried about wooden objects being allowed back into the country because of insects.

But by then the moment between us was over. He thought he had me at hello but I was saying goodbye at bright pink MC Hammer style pants.

Ah Bali your serenity is so thick that I’m choking on it.

A few days later we were driven by a man who had become our designated driver not because I was drunk just because I found it hard enough to cross the road without being hit by a motorcycle let alone drive a car in Bali.

Anyway our lovely driver who has now been wear a t-shirt that says “SEX INSTRUCTOR – first lesson free” for 3 days in a row takes us to a waterfall which you can slide down.

It’s all good until I realise that I’m extremely unfit and my left leg had gone to jelly from the steepness of the stairs so I keep stopping and trying not to gasp for breath as I instruct my family to look at the view.

We get to the waterfall and my two sons aged 7 & 9 (although people keep asking me if they’re twins to which I reply no the 7 year old is just large) go and slide down the rocks with no fear.

My kids are braver than me. That’s okay.

Then one of the young tour guides who just bounces up the steps and says to me “it’s okay I like slow people” while he’s waiting for me to catch my breath/look at the view says “if you never go you’ll never know”.

To which I reply that I’m okay with not knowing. I know other stuff I tell him.

I didn’t tell him what sort of stuff I know because it might have scared him if I told him that I know what it’s like to be an inpatient at a mental health hospital.

I didn’t tell him that I’ve donated my eggs to a stranger that I picked on the internet.

I didn’t tell him that sometimes I have these weird twitches aka glitches and that I spent a few hours spasming uncontrollably on the deck at a friends house the week before with my eyes rolling back inside my head.

I didn’t tell him that sliding down a 15m rock water slide is not knowing all that much really.

That there is knowing and then there is knowing.

And that sometimes knowing is exhausting and tiring which mean the same thing but the fact that I’ve used two variations of the same word really emphasises just how pooped I am.

This year I want to know less.

No that’s not right but I would dearly love to spend less time being the designated knower of my family.

The person who knows what events are happening, what’s for dinner next Tuesday (same as every Tuesday actually Tacos) and how to get the beautiful 7 year old to calm down when he’s upset.

I do want to know what it’s like to breathe deeper and be less in control of the universe and more in control of my thoughts.

I want less wooden dolphins (possibly a euphemism) and less being told why I should jump off a cliff just because everyone else is and I’ll regret it if I don’t.

So there we have it folks, the first incredibly insightful, uplifting and self indulgent post for 2017.

There’s sure to be much more what that came from.


Short Mach to go…

This morning I stubbed my toe while carrying my coffee.

It spilt everywhere including on a tv remote control which later was pronounced dead.

As I saw the coffee flying in slow motion I became even more convinced that my first shot of coffee for the day should be injected intravenously before I get up.

Possibly into my eyeballs just to be safe. (Having said that I’m not sure it is safe to inject things into your eyeballs.)

My room now smells like the undrunk coffee that only an hour ago was dripping down the wall. It’s taunting me.

This is me on my holidays.

My holidays that don’t actually have an end date because I have no job to return to.

There will many more coffees consumed. There will be reading and napping and possibly even showering if required.

This is the life.

Hope yours is good too.