I've misplaced my Christmas spirit. One day it was there, the next, pouf, gone. I'd really been looking forward to the festive season. I couldn't wait for all those carols and the goodwill to all men. But now I'm feeling flatter than a tap-poured Diet Coke at the pub. Carols in the Park was just a yakkety-yak social gathering... Continue Reading →

A grumpy old woman was in the queue before me at the bank last week. She was 70 in the shade. The bank teller turned his computer screen around to prove he wasn't lying to her. I was his next customer. I smiled sympathetically at him. He took my cheque and looked at his screen. His eyes went a teeny bit wide. "I was... Continue Reading →

I couldn't put it off any longer. I'd made enough excuses to Husband, to myself. I had to do it. Now my inner thighs are killing me. I kept hoping it wouldn't come to this, but my body-fat ratio demanded action. It was time to start jogging again. I gave it up six months ago. It was painful. It was boring. I hated it.... Continue Reading →

Queuing for 90 minutes to see Santa gave my hangover quite the kick along yesterday. As is the way with irony, Sprog 1 woke with a sudden and burning desire to meet the man in red. Must have been all those carols the night before. I suggested we visit Santa at our local shopping centre, but no dice. Sprog 1... Continue Reading →

When did you stop believing? I can't remember my moment. But I'll never forget the day my sister learned the truth. She was 12. I told her. My parents made me do it. She was going to high school and they were worried she'd be an object of mirth. She was really, really annoyed. Almost as annoyed as when I told her... Continue Reading →

I love a playdate in the park. The kids disappear and the mums chin wag. Yesterday, the converstation turned to pelvic floor muscles. Someone had to stop jumping because, you know ... A mum of four credited kegels with keeping hers taut, which inspired a group kegel session around the picnic table. All that pelvic action led someone to announce they'd heard wife-swapping was rife in my... Continue Reading →

Vanity will never be a curse for Sprog 1 while Sprog 2's around. Earlier this week, after Sprog 1's art class, a mum asked if she could take Sprog 2's photo. She was going back to China and wanted to show her friends. The camera flashed madly as Sprog 2 struck a series of poses. The mum has been eyeing off Sprog 2... Continue Reading →

"Teenagers," sighed one school mum. "I just want to punch Amy in the face," snarled the other. The conversations you walk into sometimes ... I'd just popped over to say hello to Sprog 2's kindy teacher in the assembly hall and landed in the middle of a rant from some mums of ex-class members. "You can't punch them in... Continue Reading →

There's never a good time to crash into a sporty black car on the Sydney Harbour Bridge. When you're running $5-a-minute late to get Sprog 1 from after-school care is a particularly bad time. It was Melbourne Cup Day, 2009. The owner of the sporty black car was driving home to celebrate his big win. He was furious, but fortunately didn't swear... Continue Reading →