I'm an ancient mummy. I'll be 54 when Sprog 1 comes of age. Jean Kittson has written a very funny article on the subject, called The Curse of the Ancient Mummy (http://thehoopla.com.au/curse-ancient-mummy/). It bemoans the drawbacks of being an older mother. Jean reckons it's prevented her bonding with all the other, younger school mums. She's obviously living in the wrong... Continue Reading →

I'm not giving the Sprogs enough "quality time". It was supposed to be one of the big advantages of being a stay-at-home mum. But it aint happening. Last weekend was a prime example. On Saturday, I left home at 7.30am to visit a friend and didn't return until 2pm. Then I rushed around madly, preparing for guests who were arriving at 3.30pm.The guests brought their kids... Continue Reading →

Sprog 1 is behaving strangely (and not in the usual gothic fashion). She emerged from her bedroom yesterday morning fully dressed. She was wearing a pretty skirt, leggings and a butterfly t-shirt (so she'd not only dressed, she'd layered). Then she found a brush and started brushing her hair. Without me asking. This is a girl who normally slumps... Continue Reading →

It was hot and sunny yesterday. Perfect swimming weather. I glared balefully over the fence at our neighbours, frolicking in their pool. They laughed, they splashed. I resented their watery happiness. The Sprogs gazed longingly over the fence at the neighbours, frolicking in their pool. I handed them water pistols and told them to suck... Continue Reading →

Welcome to my 100th blog post. I'd like to celebrate by telling you an embarrassing story. It happened at a recent kindy mums' dinner and involves topics I decided were appropriate for regaling the table after four glasses of verdelho. Like how I'd been caught short at the last kindy mums' dinner and had a wee behind a tree on my walk home. Or that "since it's... Continue Reading →

Dyeing my hair and eyelashes, waxing my brows, spack-filling with new cosmetics ... my desire for a makeover hasn't stopped with my face, I've started on the house now. Poor Husband spent his day off at Bunnings, pretending to care whether we got a square or a rectangular outdoor table. After that, we drove to... Continue Reading →

I haven't told the Sprogs yet, but I'm going away. Without them. Without Husband too. It's only for two days, but my gut gets knotty just thinking about it. I feel guilty about how much the ticket cost. I feel guilty about leaving my family for 48 hours. It took me days to get up the nerve... Continue Reading →

Some mornings it's tricky deciding what to blog about. Should it be Husband texting to say he's having "a beer" on the way home from work, but not shuffling in until 11.30pm? At least, that's when he says he got home. After briefly wondering - at 10pm - if he was dead in a ditch, I decided it was his own stupid fault and fell... Continue Reading →

When my sister wins the $5 jackpot lottery, I am so getting plastic surgery. (She's promised me $1million of her $30million win. She's since been lying awake at night worrying that makes her look cheap. How delightfully me of her!) The self-portraits I took for The Day I Dyed confirmed the need for action. My eye bags rival Alice Cooper's,... Continue Reading →

My steely resolve to end the Sprogs' dance lessons due to the distasteful make-up practices dissolved into a puddle of tears at their end-of-year dance concert. While I remain deeply opposed to the red lipstick etc (and now understand why school mums are told to attend makeup classes - applying mascara to five-year-old lashes is bloody tricky), I must admit the high ponytails looked quite fetching. And... Continue Reading →