Breakdowns, Friendships and last minute School cupcakes.

You know the funny thing about good friends?  They know when you are in crises.  And the funny thing about good husbands?  They make the call when you’re too weak to, or when you cannot admit that it needs to be made.

The past 6 weeks has been a haze of new employment, ex-employment, mental health breakdowns, learning who friends really are, and learning which family members really matter.12000096_1041252729259823_1160635930_n (1)

Now as controversial as this may all sound, it has all been extremely beneficial and positive in my life!  If I hadn’t had that short stint of employment, I never would have had the kick up the arse that I needed to get my own business back off the ground…  One week in and I already have three new clients!  If I hadn’t had that mental health breakdown I never would have realised how attentive my husband actually is…  even as we live interstate from each other.  He made the call to the right body of people and got me the help that I (wouldn’t admit that I) needed.  I also wouldn’t have realised how amazing my friends are.

One of my girlfriends was on my doorstep within half an hour, ushering me out the door to have some relief time as she put my kids to bed and I managed to get myself to my happy place, where I could inhale fresh ocean breezes and adore the beauty of the full moon.

It’s come to my attention this past month also that I am but a speck in this world.  Seeing the images of dead Syrian refugees flood my social media newsfeed shocked me, and brought me into a fit of ugly tears in the doctors waiting room.

My children have seen all my ugliness this last month – but they’ve also learned how to ask for help, as they’ve witnessed me doing this.  They’ve learned through me that pride has its place, but sometimes it needs to be allowed to be knocked over by that kind hand reaching out to give love and support.  They’ve also learned that it’s okay to cry ugly tears… that ugly tears, the ones full of yesterdays mascara and last weeks hurts are the most healing kind of tears.

I’ve learned that it’s okay to ask my children for their forgiveness.

And all of these lessons will be ongoing.  And they’re going to hurt even more next week than they do today.

And all of this realisation was triggered by this…  the last minute school-party-plan.  When I picked my son up from school this afternoon I was kindly informed that I have to make 15 packets of sushi for his school party tomorrow.  No wait, I have to make two dozen cupcakes.  No not cupcakes.  No I want you to bring in cheerios.  With tomato sauce.  No actually I want hot dogs.

What the actual farrrrrrk?11904733_10153535489549098_6582091192100365890_n

Then I receive an email from his teacher, outlining what the kids have to take in…  TOMORROW.  So I figure banana bread is kind of cupcakey’ish (the thing that my son has been set to provide for his class in 12hrs time)…  and this is the result.  Fucking coconut sugar everywhere.

But instead of crying.  I laughed.  And poured myself a glass of red.

Cause I’ve got this shit.  Hells yes.  I’ve got it.


I’m not crying… I’ve just been chopping onions…

There is a point in every defence spouse life where she is allowed to break down.  She must fall to pieces.  She has to cry it out in the shower.  She has to avoid wearing eye make up for a whole day because she knows she’ll be panda-eyed by the end of the day.  She must remove herself from every military WAGS page on social media and ignore the nay-sayers and all those who shout “you knew what you were getting yourself into…”

Fuck you nay-sayers.  This shit sucks.

Sure, last week I was feeling awesome.  I had my shit together.  Actually for the entire fortnight before that I was flying pretty high.  But then that ridiculously good-looking full moon the other night drew to the surface every ounce of energy that I had remaining and left me feeling entirely empty.  And lonely.  There’s nothing like staring at a huge golden dollar in the sky to make you feel a million worlds away from your beloved.

I know that tomorrow is a new day – fuck, today is pretty much a new day since its only just past 8am.  But til then I’m going to play this on repeat.  Screw you Monday.  I’m eating carbs today!

101 on How to Earn Positive Karma Points

At my kids karate last night another pseudo-solo-mum had her grumpy 3yo in her arms. I could see that look on her face… you know the one… the one where you know it’s been a fucking long day and that 3yo is pressing all the buttons to make you lose your shit and you’re desperately hoping it doesn’t end up in a public meltdown.  Yeah, that look.

So I took her for a walkaround the carpark. The 3yo, not the Mum. She then sat on my lap as the belt presentation began and I could see the visible relief on her Mums face. I don’t know how the rest of their night went… but I do know that 5 minutes break and a helping hand can make a shit-fight of a day seem not-quite so bad anymore.

If you ever feel like you need to get the good samaritan vibe going or you need to turn your screwed up karma around – I swear, helping an exhausted mama is your ticket!


PMS. The one thing that unifies women everywhere.

Most of the time I love being a woman.  I love being curvy, I love wearing perfume and smelling pretty, I love being able to do my makeup and hair.  I love that it doesn’t matter if my arse wobbles when I walk.  I was a lucky one and really enjoyed being pregnant and breastfeeding… and I absolutely adore being a mother.  I love being able to get marks on my clothing and blame my children and everyone believes me!  I really do love being a woman!

But every 28 to 30 days the devil visits me and leaves a trail of destruction.  PMS is the fucking pits.  I feel angry for no reason, I get shakey and grumpy.  I feel like my eyes are going to burst into fountains of tears for three days straight.  I feel like poking annoying strangers in the eyes for eating their food too loudly.  I know I have to cut back on the caffeine during this time of month because I’m near on manic and the buzz from the caffeine could very well just throw me over the edge and I may actually begin hurling dirty dishes at the back fence.

Well yesterday was that day.  And though I survived (just) the kids were begging to go to the gym creche so I could do my pilates and meditation classes (cause they know I’m always happier after meditation!  Clever kidlets.)

Anyway I walked into the class, set up my mat and waited patiently for all those bloody late-comers to sort their shit out.  For fucks sake, don’t they know I need to get my meditation on??  Fortunately my gorgeous instructor is very intuitive.  As she went through the motions of checking that everyone in the class was physically and emotionally well before commencing, she made very clear eye contact with me.  I mentioned that I was feeling a bit bloated… probably because I had just eaten my sashimi way too close to beginning the class…  and then the word vomit began…

“My back is pretty good this week, but my tummy is a bit bloated.  Probably cause I just ate dinner on the way here but also my period is due and I’ve been PMS’ing all day and I feel mummy-guilt about the kids being in the creche and I just found out that my husband won’t be home until a few weeks later than I had expected, and I just want to cry…”

Then the most remarkable and unanticipated thing happened to me.

I noticed one of the women straighten herself and forcefully marched her way into my personal space.  I thought she was about to slap some sense into me and I braced myself.  But what she did shocked me even more.

She wrapped her arms around me and squeezed me tightly.

A hug.  Oh that hug – I cherished that embrace from that random stranger!  She squeezed me – and as I began to pull out of her locked arms she squeezed me again…  she knew exactly what I needed in that moment.  As it turned out she is a defence spouse as well, and her partner is away too…  so no doubt she needed the hug just as much as I did.

So PMS – I hate you…  but thank you for making me raw, honest and emotional.  Without that outburst I never would have made a new friend.  So thank you.


Partner on night shift.

I don’t know how you do it.

Woman has six sons.

I don’t know how you do it.

Daycare Mum keeps house clean for 3 days straight.

I don’t know how you do it.

WAHM (Work At Home Mum) runs successful business with four young children at her feet.

I don’t know how you do it.

Single Mum meets the ex and says goodbye to her babies for a week.

I don’t know how you do it.

Full time Working Mum keeps her career going whilst having children.

I don’t know how you do it.

Defence spouse says goodbye to her partner without knowing when she will see them again.

I don’t know how you do it.

Mother grieves for stillborn baby.

I don’t know how you do it.

Woman supports her partner through major depressive illness.

I don’t know how you do it.

Family has a horrific car accident and mother is left in crippling pain on a daily basis.

I don’t know how you do it.

Devastating house fire takes everything.

I don’t know how you do it.

Heartbroken woman gets her three children to school after discovering her partner has been having an affair.

I don’t know how you do it.

Child accidentally pulls television set on them and passes away.

I don’t know how you do it.

Woman is mugged at knife point and needs to re-learn how to leave the home.

I don’t know how you do it.

I don’t know how you do it.  Seven seemingly insignificant words, all joined together in a chorus of misdirected quasi-support. This phrase must be the single most unhelpful phrase ever… because when you have no choice but to do it, you just do it.

Please don’t use this phrase.  Instead, try – Let Me Help You Do It.

The end.

PS – don’t ever say this phrase to me.


Disinfectant, product reviews and vomit. In no particular order.

A few years ago I signed up for a pretty cool online initiative that involved me getting shit for free.  Basically it was a product review kind of company that was an online community designed to provide their stuff-reviewing skills to manufacturers when releasing new products.  I thought it seemed like a cool way to get free shit.  But I was NEVER chosen.  You see, there is a screening process to get the free stuff.  You have to fit a select criteria in order to be selected to review a product.  Which makes sense – I mean, my babies were no longer requiring jarred baby food, so of course they wouldn’t send me that – but other stuff like chocolate bars and mobile phone SIM cards, and pre-made packets of soup mix…  I would SO be down for that stuff!  BUT, I always answered the selection criteria incorrectly.

When I realised that only pinterest mums got the free shit I knew I had to change my answers.  I must Think like a pinterest mum!  And wouldn’t you know, I got sent a mop with disposable antibacterial sheets, all-purpose antibacterial wipes and about three bottles of disinfectant.  Clearly the aim of the game was to get clean.  Righto – I’ll use this stuff.  I’m normally a non-chemical kinda gal, and I generally prefer microfibre cleaning products.  But hey, beggars can’t be choosers and you don’t know what you’re going to receive until it lands on your doorstep…  maybe this would be the gateway to receiving more useless shit that I have to review?

So I did my review like a good pinterest mum, and attempted to answer everything in the same mind-frame that I’d used when I completed the original selection criteria.  Faking has never come naturally to me and despite all these cleaning products sitting on my benchtop, I felt entirely dirty because of answering the questions without personal honesty.  I decided never again would I embellish the truth on those questionaires EVER AGAIN.

Well until a few days ago…  I received an email from the same review company searching for bloggers!  Oh my goodness – I have a blog!  Pick me, pick me!  I couldn’t answer half the questions properly (mostly about site traffic etc) because this blog is so new but felt pretty cruisy answering most of the questions.

Most importantly, I didn’t feel the need to fake at all!…  until I reached this question…


Eh..  great.  Here I am faced with maybe, possibly a pretty cool blogging opportunity.  I’m not even halfway through the bloody selection criteria and I know already that they’re not going to like my answer.  Do I put on my pinterest mum hat and pretend to have a spotless home?  Do I claim to project joy and happiness and shoot rainbows out my arse?  Or do I remain honest about my children currently having more clothes in the washing pile than in their wardrobes… and about making my daughter eat her breakfast at the same seat every day so I only have to use the paint-scraper to dislodge the weet-bix concrete from the tiles below her seat every few days?  If I pretend to have my shit together then I’m gonna need to fake it in the most amazing way possible…  do I have the energy for that?

Ummm, No.

So I answered honestly.  “I pride myself on keeping a lovely home, and showing it off to my friends.”
– Disagree

And of course, as you can expect, honesty was not appreciated and I was shut down.  My ‘disagree’ response was not in my favour and the gods spoke.


Meh.  I don’t want your stinky arse blog opportunity anyway.  Real people with real lives don’t care about what their friends think about their house.  If they are real friends THEY won’t care about their house either!  If I have to fib and fob my way through a blogging opportunity it had better be for a freaking good reason – and this, dear online community, is NOT a good reason.

Families need to see what is REAL.  Faking it only works for so long – you end up being caught out, sprung and hung out to dry.  Online-Life is fickle.  You can be remembered for a week and forgotten in a second.  One bad review, one un-inspiring screen-shot, one step out of perfect alignment and your reputation is shot into smithereens.

I far prefer the honest route.  My house is clean’ish.  My kids know how to run their own bath and brush their own teeth.  I feed them pretty awesome food most of the time, and sometimes we even wipe the table afterwards.  My life is not perfect – and the thing about perfection is that it doesn’t exist.  My version of perfect is entirely different to someone elses version – and the version presented to us by pinterest mums and whoever is looking for a house-loving-blogger is certainly not anywhere NEAR my universe.

In MY universe, my carpet stinks cause one of my minions gorged themselves on choc-chip cookies and nutella croissants, then woke at 1:30am and proceeded to hurl a recycled chocolate-fest over every absorbent object in their wake.  Fortunately I had some chemical loving cleaning products from an old review I once did to clean it up.  Keeping it real peeps.