No more shiny new babies for me.

This week I went walking with a friend.

We walked the river on the most perfect day for river walking. She had her fancy new shiny pram with a matching shiny new baby boy in it. I love prams, the right pram can change a Mums day, but that is another story.

When we made it to a park on the other side of the river we sat for my girls, who seemed so gigantic next to the shiny new baby, to have a play and for shiny new baby to have a feed.

My girls were like seagulls, waiting for that feed to finish and then fighting over who got to sit next to shiny new baby.

We had to have a system of one gets to touch his toes, the other his hands, taking turns of sitting closest.

My girls would love a new baby. Immy told her creche carers that Mummy was having a baby, and it is a boy. They believed her and asked me how the pregnancy was going.

That should have fuelled my desire to get to the gym, but I seriously think that part of the brain people talk about, about how they feel so good after the gym, I am missing that section.

Back to the shiny new baby. He is everything a shiny new baby is. Gorgeous, snuggly, sweet, smells of newborn and oh so clean. Clean car seat, clean pram, clean fingers.

And I can very clearly say, I am not in the market for a shiny new baby.

While I really love the idea of big families, I am also well aware of my limits.

I am packing up the bubba stuff and making space for new things, initially I did feel a tiny pang of emotion thinking that the baby days were gone, but then I realised I will never have to scrub the grooves in the highchair again and I knew everything was going to be alright.

Two is the number for us.

How about you? Did you know when you were 'done'? Was it decided for you? Do you think you will ever be 'done'?  Do you think you can have too many prams?  Should I stop asking questions all the time?

Putting Alice Back Together. Review and Giveaway

I read another book.

Actually, at first I had done something I rarely do, I went to the bookshop and rather than buying more kids books (ok, so maybe a couple) I actually bought myself a book.

Then I received one to review.

It was interesting to receive a review copy because the cover is not on it. Not the nice pretty, much thought about, how to maximise sales cover anyway. I totally admit I pretty much always judge a book by its cover.

I thought I would read a few pages to see what it was like, but ended up ditching the book I had purchased for myself and reading Putting Alice Back Together instead.

I couldn't put it down.

I would describe this book as chick lit, but chick lit of substance (not the substance abuse kind even though Alice sure does a lot of drinking and her Valium habit is interesting).

Alice is the girl who has her shit together. Or not.

The book goes through a number of themes but one aspect I think it discusses well is that of an anxiety or panic attack, how they can come on for what seems like no reason at the most oddest of times. If you have had a panic attack I am sure you will relate, and if you haven't it will really explain the weirdness it feels to be the person having one.

Now that I see the cover for the book I am not sure it is a good match. This is not what Alice should look like to me.

Putting Alice back together is well written by Carol Marinelli.

If there was anything to drudge up as a negative it would be the relationship with the psychologist which just seemed a bit too predictable for me, it's written pretty accurately but I could see where this was going from the start. This in no way detracts from the enjoyment of the book.

I did like that as a character, Alice, is just 'normal', she has a job, but just an average one. She is not a model, but not unattractive, she is not dealing with cheating boyfriends or some of the usual issues in chick lit books.

I never keep my books, I don't really understand the need to read the same book over and over, so I have already passed my review copy on to my sister...BUT I do have a copy of the real version to giveaway.

To enter, just leave a comment here telling me a book you think I should look out for to read next. It doesn't have to be new...even better if it is from the library. But if you suggest something with vampires, hobbits or mention the name Wilbur Smith, I promise you that you will not win.

Fine Print is thus:

Enter as many times as you like by simply making a new comment.
Only Australian postal addresses will be sent to.
Include a way to contact you.
Giveaway closes Thursday 22 march at 8pm.

Winner will be announced on Facebook, with an update to this post and via their own email address if you leave one. If I don't hear from you within 5 days it will be given to someone else.

Some kids just play differently.

As most households in Australia we have a house with multiple buckets filled with plastic crap.

This crap is pricey and has been purchased to provide hours of fun for everyone. Well mainly hours of fun for Popps, or even an hour of fun would be good. All I really wanted was for her to play with her toys like I see other kids do.

She never seemed to do it. She doesn't wander off into imaginary play and get lost there for hours. Her dolls have collected dust, polly pocket and Little Pet Shop stuff got unwrapped, put in a drawer and that was it.

Her Kinder teacher was often astounded at how Popps could look around the room and proclaim that there was just nothing to do, if she couldn't go outside on the monkey bars.

Last Christmas when Granny asked what Popps would like for Christmas, I jokingly said "a box of crap", but Granny went off and fulfilled the request and at Christmas she delivered "The box of crap". filled with glue sticks, hole punches, string, sticky tape, feathers, face paint, throw in some bottle top lids and you are set. A girls dream box.

She doesn't play to what I perceived as 'normal'. Immy does. She plays for hours at shops, mums and dads, babies, etc.

But Popps, this is her week so far.



You know the adjustable waist in kids' pants - Immy pulled one of hers out, I put it aside to fix it up that night, but couldn't find it anywhere, I found it today, Barbie tied herself to the toy shopping trolley to bungee jump.

Couldn't find the scissors that are not to leave the kitchen drawer. When I did, I had trouble opening them. This was not for anything, just that she likes to stick things together, anything.

I constantly need to buy new wooden spoons.

Barbie has broken legs, so she needs to rest and can not be touched ever again.

School hairbands disappear quickly, we can never find them in the morning, no matter how many systems I try and put in place. I am now searching the bookshelves for them.

This is a treasure box. She is collecting them from the footpath when we walk home from school.

A few weeks ago the ballet teacher said she was still too small to do ballet on pointe. Popps went home and decided to make her own. She filled an old pair with stones found some material and got to work, apparently they are very comfortable.

Her drawers are full of sticks and feathers, stones and treasures and the odd special toy that is too special to play with...ever.

What crap do your kids collect or play with?

Do your neighbours know you blog? How did they find out?

This week we had to get out of town. Breast Cancer took another fine lady way before her time and we hit the road to be where we needed to be. While funerals are not a happy time, we did spend some lovely time with our family and got some amazing weather to just sit around and soak up.

While we were gone a business decided to send me some food to try out and sent me an email while we were on the road to let me know.

I requested they try another day but apparently the courier was already on its way. 

So while I am super proud of the Aussie invention of the esky, I didn't think this food would last too well for a few days out in the heat.

I started texting a neighbour, to ask if she could grab the delivery and to also please feel free to eat it. 

She said she could grab the package, but surely if I ordered this I needed it. Right?

I texted it was for this blogging thing I do, that she should just eat it, she would be doing me a favour by picking it up. 

(I hate the waste of food these days and thinking of this just going in the bin annoyed me).

Now, think back to when you had never read a blog and didn't know what they were. Now imagine someone texting you to go grab some food from a door step, because it has been sent there for a blog.

Blogger food? 

So this is just one way one of my neighbours is hearing about this blogging business stuff.  Our other neighbours think I have a job that allows me to review cars sometimes. I am not sure where they think I work.

Which of course got me wondering. Do your neighbours know you blog? Did you tell them, do you even tell anyone? 

And if you are not a blogger, if your neighbours text you to go pick up food parcels from their doorstep...I reckon you might have a blogger right next door.

Note: This image of Immy has nothing to do with this post. It was just her dancing again today, because  when you are three every little hill is a stage, and every tree an audience. And she is cute as crazy in that kaftan with crazy pigtails flying everywhere.

White Space gone mad?

Image

On the weekend Mr H and I took off for our first weekend together sans kids in over six years.

Amazing that it took that long, but that is just the way things worked out.

The place we went to was a little on the fancy pants side and we decided to eat at the restaurant there too. Mr H was starving when we arrived, as was I, but that is a constant for me now as I am on this rather limited diet.

He ordered the lamb, I ordered the superfood salad. I suggested that we order a side salad but the waitress confirmed that the lamb was one of the biggest dishes on the menu and came with veggies and a serve of mash - or pommes to be precise.

Mr H was served a very very large plate.

While in much of my design work in marketing I request white space and in brochures and adverts white space is often your friend. This is not so when serving a hungry man.

From deep inside of me I willed with all my might for Mr H's bogan heritage not to rise up. But my mystic powers are long gone.

He called the waitress over in her crisp starched uniform and informed her he had indeed requested the main, not the entree. Yes sir, she replied, you have been served the main.

He gave the death stare of the hungry man who is served three mouthfuls of food when they are paying a hefty price for the privilege to eat somewhere.

When we finished our mains, three seconds after they hit the table, I suggested we order dessert. I had to coax Mr H to even look at the menu, so keen was he to just jump in the car and head to the next pub for a decent meal. One where white space on the plate would be filled with side salad or chips.

We did have a lovely time away, finished a conversation and a bottle of wine. But we wont be returning to view the beauty of white china.

Do you love fine dining and huge white plates or prefer to leave a restaurant without still feeling hungry?

I am taking up some new offers

Is this the cutest image of 'help' ever? Sourced from here

Getting the kids looked after by other people hasn't really happened much here. Not for any real reason,  just no family close by, moving around a little, not originally being from the area, lack of funds for baby sitters at times, everyone having their own kids to look after, which when they are babies is hard enough.

But Popps starting school has made some management things tricky in the Huey Household. Mr H can not be relied upon to do a single drop off or pick up.

Prep kids need to be dropped at the class room and picked up outside the building, none of this sitting in the car and letting them walk to you business. No, no dropping them at the corner and making a mad dash to the next destination of work.

So it was that I reluctantly booked in to use the after school care program, there are 80 kids in prep. So far none of the kids in Popps' class are in after school care, the guilt at sending her was sitting there, but with a few meetings coming up we were just going to have to be the first.

But then some other Mums including some I barely know have offered their help.

"You can leave her with me"

"Drop her with us"

"I can do pick up on Friday"


Have all been phrases sent my way over the last month.

I hesitated.

I said I would think about it.

I wasn't sure.

Could I really pass over the responsibility of my child to other Mums, who had their own busy lives already, some whose homes I have never set foot in.

Yes, I could.

I have.

It is working well so far. Popps enjoys the visits at peoples houses. She and one of her new little friends have been bragging about how they are going to have breakfast together.

And the reason this came to be is simple. I am more than happy to help these Mums on my day off, or at Saturday dancing or swimming lessons or weekends when appointments need to be met.

This is Mummy Bartering.  An economic activity that has long thrived and prospered through all the GFCs of times gone by.

Are you a Mummy Bartererererer too (was that too many erers?)

Wordless Wednesday: Cross Promotion

Blatant Cross Promotion of my (paid) work. - Click the image to check out what I have been working on.

How cute is that baby?