April Fools!

Sticky Baby pulled off a successful April Fools joke this morning.

He came up to me, said, "Mama, caca" (poo in french), to which I responded, "Ok, let's change you then". Once he was well and truly in spread-eagle pose on the change table, I unfolded the offending nappy, only to reveal - gasp - NO POO AT ALL!

Good one, Sticky Baby, good one. You got me.

First day on campus

Today was Sticky Baby's first day at day care.

All dressed up in his practical cotton shorts and lightning bold t-shirt, I snapped this shot of him before hopping in the car. (Please excuse the nappy-wearing primate in the background. His name is 'puppy'. Yep, puppy. Sticky Baby says so.)

Look, I'll be honest, there was a fair bit of kicking and screaming and gut-wrenching sobbing, I have to say. But then Sticky Baby turned to face me and said, "Pull yourself together mum and get with the program, you're not doing much for my playground cred here"..

No seriously, the much anticipated 'drop-off' went rather smoothly. There was about 1 minute of crying as I left, but by the time I was settled in the car, Sticky Baby had dried his tears and was in Miss Cassie's lap in the sand pit. Loyal to a fault, my child. Humph.

My bottom lip did quiver a tad, as I walked down the child-friendly ramp to the car park. It's a big day for our family. The start of a new adventure, the mark of a blossoming independence that every parent wants for their child.

Papadada picked him up at 11:30, just as the Sticky one was finishing his lunch out on the wooden deck with his little pals. Ok, so Papadada kinda forgot to bring home Sticky Baby's water bottle + shoes + sheets. But hey, it's his first day as a day care dad too, so I'm letting it slide just this once...

Tomorrow, we go back for day #2, while I tackle a half day at my new job. Yeeeeeew! Exciting!

Oops! Nearly forgot! 

As promised, a close up of Sticky Baby's new school bag that rocks the big one:

Now, is that not Lego-tastic?!?!?!

LOVE THAT BAG!

Warm and fuzzy

Today may have been the best day I've had in a long while.

It didn't involve much at all, this lovely day of mine...

Two good cups of coffee before 8am, a warm morning sun, a blue sky accessorised with wispy, dreamy clouds, my husband walking around the house in his best jocks, my baby boy in nothing but a nappy, a lounge room full of brightly coloured wooden blocks, their messiness not bothering me in the slightest, some necessary errands to run, all of them achieved with ease, resulting in a satisfying, audible exhale, a midday swim set to a soundtrack of splashes and laughter, clean, sun-warmed towels, a hearty lunch of last night's leftovers, a damp-haired, sleepy baby down for a restful, water-logged sleep, a cuddle on the couch with my sweetheart, crawling under crisp, white sheets, the fan on low, indulging in a rare, middle of the day catnap, an afternoon tea of chocolate cookies and strawberry milk, the three of us bouncing on the trampoline, fingers pointed upwards at passing birds and planes.

All of the things that I love, but never knew how much. The simple things. The unity and warmth and easy breathing that comes with being with your family.

A perfect day.

I love you, my boys. Thank you xo

Papadada snapped this shot of Sticky Baby and I. I wish he was in it too.

And the page turns....

Next week heralds the beginning of a new chapter for us.

I am re-entering the work-force. It's a 'casual' position, only 12 or so hours per week. But hey, I'm re-entering the work-force nonetheless. It sounds so grown up, doesn't it? Me likey.

And in other page-turning madness....

Sticky Baby is making his sticky debut at DAY CARE!

Hells yes, sound those trumpets! My weasly boy is going to school! Agh. My heart aches yet swells with pride and excitement all at once. 

His school bag is so frigging cute. A canvas replica of a blue Lego block (photo to come). It was a total Kmart score. Seriously, Papadada wishes he had one for himself, that's how cool it is.

His lunchbox? All robots and space invader-like. Awe-some. His sheet-set bag? A retro drawstring number that used to be mine. Vintage is all the rage in creches these days. Or so I just made up.

So two days a week, our little french fry will go to day care while mummy goes to work. It's a big, new world for the both of us. Separation like we've never known. But healthy, constructive, positive separation. 

Part of me feels like screaming "Not my babyyyyyyy!" as I yank him off his scooter, swaddle him and then put him to my breast. But then I release the fastenings on my straight jacket and realise that good things, no, great things, will come of this.

I can't wait for:

• Finger paintings - his name written in the bottom right hand corner by the teacher's neat cursive
• Dirty, sticky toddler clothes - testament to the day's adventures
• Detailed parent-teacher reports - I'm a stickler for bowel-movement and nap info. Shoot me.
• A new little mate
• A new little girlfriend
• Warm, sweaty hugs and kisses at pick-up time

Like sand through the hour-glass, so are the days of our lives....

(wait..who said that? Oh shit, that's right....embarrassing......)

Goosebumps

Read this for a reality check. A guest post on Mamamia, by Catherine Deveney. Golden, golden parenting advice.

“ALL children need is to know that they are loved. That simple sentence has been the most poignant thing anyone has said to me for a long, long time. He’s right, this bloke. And he’d know. He was a broken-hearted little boy and he is now a beautiful father. Repeat after me. All children need is to know that they are loved. Say it every day, have it tattooed on your forehead and write it in the sky. All children need is to know that they are loved.

I was reminded of this as I read a story about a Family Court judge in New Zealand who ruled that a girl named Talula Does The Hula From Hawaii could change her name. Her parents actually named her Talula Does The Hula From Hawaii. The judge then cited examples of children named Midnight Chardonnay, Number 16 Bus Shelter, Violence and twins called Benson and Hedges. Funny? Sure. A bit off topic? Absolutely. But it reminded me yet again that children do not need unusual names to make them special.

They are special. And all they need to know is that they are loved.

.

Kids don’t need an en suite, computer games, jumping castles, ukulele lessons, bandanas, ironed clothes, matching socks, fancy private schools, trophies, in-ground pools, electric toothbrushes and rooms full of toys.

They don’t need to have a bath every day. They don’t need their own room. It’s OK if they sleep in their clothes and have Weet-Bix for dinner in front of the telly every now and then. Lollies, plastic junk that gets broken underfoot, fancy renovations, junk food and outsourcing parenting are not good ways to love them. Loving them is the only way to love them.

It won’t spoil them. It won’t make them greedy. Loving them will teach them there’s enough to go round and there’s no need to be stingy. Loving children will teach them to love. Withholding love will teach them to withhold.

When I had my first child, I asked people what they did with their second child. There were a lot of uptight first children around and second and subsequent children generally seemed more relaxed. People said things such as happy parents equals happy baby, follow the child and don’t muck about with cloth nappies, just go the disposables. I thought to myself, I’m not going to treat this baby like he’s an only child. I’m going to treat him as if he’s got four brothers and sisters.

When my eldest was four days old, he wouldn’t stop crying. People were getting more and more anxious about trying to stop him crying. Pacing up and down the hall, patting, jiggling. The cries got louder and louder. I was lying on the bed and said: “Give him to me.” I held him and said: “You just cry as long as you want.” Calm descended. Instead of struggling with the reality (thanks to a few champagnes), I went with it. I used this technique many times and although it never stopped a baby from crying, a toddler from whinging, a child from nagging or a bunch of kids from squabbling, it stopped me from struggling with what was happening.

Around the age of 60, people seem to start looking back on their lives. Before then, they were too preoccupied living it. My new theory on parenting is to parent like a grandparent. All the grandparents I know look back on their parenting days and tell me they wish they’d been more relaxed and less controlling. They wish they’d enjoyed it more. Sure, get the homework done, teach them to be kind to each other, to help out and to wait their turn. It just means not going into conniptions when they leave their wet towels on the bathroom floor. It means stopping what you’re doing to give them a cuddle on the couch, tell them a story or lie together on the trampoline looking at the clouds. Just for a moment.

The wisest bloke I know is a cabinetmaker. His name is Michael Clarke. He’s 60 in January and has spent 45 years going into homes installing wardrobes, drawers and bookshelves to help people store their stuff. His wife’s a psychologist. The two of them have spent a great deal of time in other people’s lives and under their roofs. He told me they’ve come to the conclusion, with their vast and varied experience, that the only thing you can do for your kids is to get your own shit together.

When you were a kid isn’t that all you wanted? To know that you were loved and to feel that your parents were trying, and sometimes failing, but at least trying to get their shit together? Is it possible that it really is that simple?”

Don't you just love that? Simplicity. Love. Affection. Now. 

Mama L in TV land

Guys! The TV commercial I shot a couple of months ago has gone to air. Voila! Enjoy! I'm the shower lady brushing me fangs and squatting me ass off...

And the good news? I just landed another TVC shooting next week! Can't say too much more right away, but I promise to show it off on the bloglet once it hits the airwaves in a few months.

LOVE LOVE LOVE being back at work!

I am woman hear me ROAR! (or brush, or squat...whatever...)

News

I have some exciting news, peeps! Can't say too much just yet, but here's a hint...

Starts with W...ends in ORK!


Hot diggity, mama just got herself a job!

At risk of being handed the same fate as Heather B. Armstrong from the world-famous Dooce blog (she got fired after blogging about her workplace), I will refrain from naming my potential future employer. But, what I can say is that it involves fashion and pretty, pretty things. Swoon.

Only 1.5 days per week. The perfect, happy medium between Mummyhood and Womanhood. Yes, they are two completely different things, if yer didn't already know that!

Mummyhood is that sticky realm of unending, thankless tasks, such as:

Wiping down the high chair 834 times a day
Filling sippy cups and water bottles
Preparing snacks
Peeling fruit - or as Sticky Baby says, 'Apo'..that's apple, in case you didn't catch it.
Making food
Heating food
Picking food up off the floor
Packing the nappy bag and unpacking the nappy bag
Hanging out laundry
Folding laundry
Hating laundry
Groceries - while chasing toddler away from the circular deli saw
Doctors Appointments
Changing nappies
Smearing Sudocreme on bum parts
Applying sunscreen
Wiping faces
Putting sandals on
Enforcing 'please' and 'thank you'
Adjusting children in car seats - in and out, in and out...eeech, my back...there goes my neck.
Cooking dinner - cereal
Doing it all over again the next day.....

Womanhood goes a little something like this:

Applying make up
Doing hair
Wearing heels
Slipping into stylish, clean clothes...and staying that way
Indulging in a fresh coffee - from start to finish - no interruptions
Initiating conversations that don't necessarily begin with, "Sticky Baby's poo looked like Kraft Crunchy peanut butter this morning".

Can't really think of much else to put on this list just yet, but hopefully in a couple of weeks time, I'll be able to tell you what it feels like to get back to 'Me' for 1.5 days a week.

I feel a revolution coming on.

Stay tuned!

Exe-work?

Whilst reading one of my favourite blogs, Dear Baby, the writer, Melissa made mention of one of these....

Behold the Signature Treadmill Desk 9000!

Your eyes are not betraying you. The torturous treadmill did indeed breed with the trusty work desk. Bom-chica-waw-wow.

Genius? Or just plain 'Oh-no-they-di'nt'....(head bob, finger wave, pouty lips)


Melissa testifies in her post that the treadmill desk they have set up at her office allows her to shoot off emails while getting physical. A welcome respite from the sedentary lifestyle adopted by most office workers, no doubt.

Do we love it, or do we hate it?

Part of me is envisioning endless multi-tasking possibilities. For one, blogging and jogging! Fused together, this creates bogging! Hmmmm....sounds suspiciously like a toilet activity....must rethink...

Running while drafting a proposal, lunging as you catch up on Facebook, speed walking and forwarding bad email jokes. Is this machine the answer to enhanced productivity or is this yet another invention lurking in the shadows, ready to snatch away any shard of our 'down time'?

I'm torn between the two. Frankly, as I sit here typing, the idea that my glutes could be getting a workout is rather appealing. Then again, it's all so Jetsons, isn't it?

For those of you loving it, you can buy one here. Or maybe you could convince your boss to get one for the staff room. Just don't go blaming me when he expects you to work like a dog AND look as toned as Madonna.

Add to cart

Two books I am desperado to get my detergent-dried hands on...

I sort of consider myself a Tizzie protege. Her first book, Save our Sleep (baby edition), helped us so much with Sticky Baby. Her methods may be controversial to some, but no one can argue with the fact that our Stickster has pretty much slept from 7pm-7am since he was 3 months old. Booya! All thanks to Tizzie and her kick-ass routines. I preach at the Tizzie alter. Daily. Any baby-rearing problemos I have? I simply tilt my head, arch an eyebrow, put my index finger on my chin and conjure up a visual of the Tizz-ster. An answer always descends from the Tizzie-heavens. Ok, I'm going to shut up now. Needless to say, I can't wait to read her second installment for toddler-hood!

My sister and a tonne of my friends have read this one. I don't know much about it, but seeing I'm a girl, and Sticky Baby is a boy, I figure it won't do me any harm to learn more about boy-kind and all their crazy quirks.

It's a bit ambitious really, this whole 'book reading' notion of mine...Seriously, I have trouble finishing a photo caption in a glossy magazine of late....

Have any of you read these books? Thoughts? Are any of you out there fellow Tizzie Hall Devotees??



To run or not to run?

Ok, don't laugh.

My sister emailed me yesterday and point blank asked me if I wanted to run a half marathon with her in June. Yes. A half marathon. Yes. She's certifiably nuts. But very fit. And yes, she asked about as nonchalantly as one would ask, "Did you catch last night's episode of Kim & Kourtney Take New York" (and of course, those of you who know me would know that the answer to that is a resounding YES!).

So this got me thinking. Can I physically put myself through 21kms of road running? Approx 2.5 hours of pavement-pounding? I've done a few fun runs here and there (I even have a finish line photo a la Katie Holmes to prove it), and I do an alright job on the 'ol treadmill. But lately, my fitness regime has been more along the lines of boxing classes, free weights, a bit of skipping, and maybe 10 minutes worth of Lady Gaga tracks on the rower. Not bad. But not quite a half marathon.

I'm still toying with the idea. Could be fun. Sisterly bonding - over pain. Oh, the excruciating pain. Is my body even capable of doing this? Should I pull on my joggers right this minute, run out the front door now and see how long I can go for? Disillusionment with a side of breathlessness and shin splints, anyone?

I will keep you all posted on my decision. In the meantime, like all decent half-marathoners, I have created a pictorial of gym wear that is hot-to-trot.

Lululemon citrus pants; Stella McCartney for Adidas tank; Lululemon zip-up jacket

Nike shoes; Stella McCartney for Adidas gym bag

Lorna Jane sleeveless jacket; Lululemon groove pants; Lorna Jane frilly tank

Lorna Jane singlet

(and yes, I intend to 'run like a girl')

Stella McCartney for Adidas headband; Stella McCartney for Adidas organic hoodie

Stella McCartney for Adidas running shorts and drink bottle

Guys, I've saved the best for last......I think this outfit will give me the motivation I am looking for to cross that finish line.....

TA-DA!!!!!

Half-Marathon, here I come in all my neon-undie glory!

The mighty moccasin

Sticky Baby is giving Imelda Marcos (or Carrie Bradshaw for a more contemporary reference) a run for her money with these little beauties.....

Have you ever seen a moccasin so cute? I didn't think so. Mummas, run, don't walk to Kmart. $15. You know you want them.

And come winter, we will be busting out a pair of shoes that will make the girls at playgroup weep. Let's just say, they would make Elvis proud. That's my hint. Photo to come....

Melting Moments

My sister and I agree....nothing beats seeing your children holding hands and playing together.

In order of appearance: Gisele, Jude and Sticky Baby

Cousins are magic.

Our heart parts went boom boom.

Whites and Brights

Really loving the white and neon bright colour combo at the mo. Fresh, fun, and leaves so much room for personal interpretation and execution. I am having dreams of a big, bold, fluoro accent piece somewhere in the new house....someone pass me my sunnies.

A sc-hairy encounter

Two days in a row, are we all impressed with my posting efforts? Gold star for me.

Anyhoo, I absolutely had to share what i just saw whilst driving down the street a few minutes ago.

A lady, perhaps in her 40s, with hair down to her calves (yes, calves)....

But that's not all folks!

That obscene amount of hair was braided, and along the entire length of the plait were SCRUNCHIES!

GASP * SHARP INTAKE OF BREATH * VOMIT

As if one scrunchie wasn't enough, this wench had to go and adorn disgrace herself with a squillion of them!

That collection of horrors above? I swear she had them all. And the bottom right hand selection from the poorly chosen brand name EUROTARD? I think they mean U-RETARD. (I'm such a bitch. A bitch I tell you!)

Look, I nearly had a crash. The woman was a walking fashion faux-pas. She desperately needs a one-on-one consult with Ken Paves or Tabitha from Salon Takeover (love that show).

That's my rant for the day.

Karma, be kind....

The dog ate my homework...and other lamo excuses

I am officially the worst blogger. It's been a rude amount of time since my last post and I honestly want to bitch-slap myself. Please, feel free to give me a virtual Miss Piggy 'Hiii-YA' karate chop. I deserve it.

Nonetheless, I present to you all my summary of excuses:

I have been super-dooper, disgustingly busy

Selling this....

Buying this....

Doing this...

and thinking I look like this....

but really looking like this.....

Receiving vile amounts of these....

whilst still miserably living out of these....

Watching and loving this....

and this...

ok, and this.....



All the while neverendingly chasing and vacuuming after this.....

AM I FORGIVEN??? Please say YES!!!