Should Cinderella Be A Sex Bomb?

My daughter thinks she is a princess. Or, at least, she plans on becoming one. She really believes it to be an achievable goal in her life. And good on her, I say.

We are fast approaching her 5th birthday and she is having a Princess Extravaganza party. You know, for a change from other years – last year she had a Princess and Pirates party, the year before it was a Pink Princess Tea Party. I’m making the most of it this year because I feel it might be the last Princess party for her.

Her party is going to be pretty big, by my standards – don’t let the “extravaganza” in the title fool you though, I pride myself on low-budget, low-cost parties – watch this blog for more about this party in the coming weeks!

Which leads me to today’s conundrum – why is Cinderella a sex bomb??

I thought a nice surprise for Princess’s party would be an actual Princess coming along. She has said to me a few times how great it would be if Cinderella, or Rapunzel, or *gasp followed by audible whisper* Elsa! came to the party. I don’t actually know any of those Princesses (“Yes, you DO know them, MUM! You saw them in the MOVIE, MUM! You DO know them!”), I searched around for an alternative. And came across an amazing friend who is dressing up and coming along to surprise Princess and her friends at her Princess Extravaganza, as an actual real Princess.

Simple, right? I’ll just hire or buy a costume. Done. Easy.


Because, apparently, you can’t hire a Cinderella costume. Or a Snow White costume. Or a Rapunzel costume. I mean, you can hire one of these:


or one of these


or, oh look! how about this one?


Now, I’m no prude. I’m all for fun, sexy dress ups for parties and events that call for it. I even think these outfits are cute – for the right occassion.

But, what message are we sending our girls, our little Princess-obsessed 4-and-5-year-olds, when this is the only adult option out there?

That, if you want to dress up, sexy is the only way to go? Our girls admire these Princesses, they look up to them, they want to be them. Do I want my daughter to aspire to the above images? I’m just not sure that I do. I mean, sure – when she is in her 20s and invited to a “Fairy Tale” party or something, then by all means, don the short busty dress. But there are other reasons for Princess outfits, aren’t there? Like, kids parties?

I was shocked at my own response to this situation as well – I’ve always considered myself to be liberal. Yet this really tugged at my feminist heart strings. I found myself disappointed in women. Why can’t an adult live in the same fantasy world that a 4 or 5 year old girl does? If not just for one afternoon.

Thankfully, after yelling at the computer for hours and spouting off to anyone who would listen, about “the youth of today” and “blah blah sex bomb, blah blah COME ON WOMEN!”, I was able to find a hire company who, at the back of the store, behind all the racks of short dresses and knee high boots, had a beautiful yellow Belle dress. Set aside for occasions just like this.

And, all is good in the world again.

Belle will be at the party! Shhhhh, don’t tell Princess ;)



What I Say vs What My Kids Hear

My children, they don’t listen to me. Well, that’s not entirely true. They listen, they just hear a different version to what I’m saying. Selective hearing, if you will. Princess is particularly good at it, and sometimes I really wonder if I am speaking the same language as her. BoyChild is nearly as bad – his forte is replying a multiple choice question with a yes/no answer. Actually, this may well be a male trait, as my brother in law did the same thing yesterday – “Did you want peanut butter on your toast, or jam?” “Yes”. (note: that was an example of the question I ask BoyChild, not my brother in law. I’m not in the habit of making him toast. Not against it, mind. Just not something I do often).

I read somewhere recently that being ignored evokes the same internal reaction as physical pain. True or not, I see sense in this. Being ignored makes you want to blow your lid like a volcano, I tell you what. One of my most common Mum Phrases is, “What did I JUST say?”

And so, this is what I say, vs what I’m sure my kids hear me say.

Please don’t kick your brother.

Please, don’t kick your brother. But, I’m going to look away now, so sneak a quick one in before I look back again.

Someone very important is coming over shortly, lets just put away your toys.

Do you know what toys you guys haven’t played with in ages? ALL OF THEM! Lets get them out and have a toy FIESTA!!!

The baby is asleep, please do not yell.

The baby is asleep, I think a great place for your game of “who can yell the loudest” is outside her bedroom door. In fact, open the door and check she is still sleeping, that’s a great idea.

No, you can’t have another biscuit this close to dinner time.

No, you can’t have a biscuit, but if you yell and scream and kick and push and shove, you can most certainly have one.

No, you can’t have another biscuit this close to dinner time.

Please, go grab that chair and climb into the cupboard and help yourself to the biscuits. In fact, share them around.

No, you can’t have another biscuit this close to dinner time.

I am going to starve you until you just can’t bear it any more, because I really am the worst mother in the world.

It is bed time in five minutes, please settle down now.

Bed time is scrapped tonight, jump on the couch some more!

Can you please set the table?


How was school today?


Get your foot off your sister’s face.

Put both feet onto your sister’s face

Don’t stand on that stool. It is NOT stable.

Stand of that stool there. And, see how much you can dance before it topples. I dare ya.

Keep that door shut, I don’t want the dog to come inside. Or the baby to go outside.

Hey – you know that door there? Let’s open that. And then close it again, with the dog inside and the baby outside. Switch-arounds are FUN!

If you kids eat your veges for dinner, you can have an ice cream



I might as well quit while I’m ahead. And, by “ahead”, I mean, “very, very far behind”. Perhaps I’ll have more luck talking to my husband.

I know, I laughed out loud as well.






You Are An Awesome Mum!


I recently met with a young mum. She is a friend of a friend, and I came to know her because she lives not far from me and is at home with her 4 month old son during the day. And, she is not happy.

I headed around there one day to introduce myself and see if she was interested in getting to know another local mum. I didn’t take my kids with me, because, well, I didn’t want to frighten the poor girl. I love my kids but they are loud. And destructive. And somewhat intimidating to some people!

It didn’t take me long talking with her to get the idea that she was miserable. You can just tell when someone isn’t overly thrilled with their life.

She is 25 and her gorgeous son is 4 months old. He is not a great feeder, not a great sleeper. She doesn’t know a lot of people with kids and, quite frankly, she feels like she is failing. Daily. Hourly, even. She is not happy with her son, and she is not happy with her life.

Now, anyone who has suffered from Post Natal Depression is probably nodding at this point and saying, “yup, been there”. And, people who haven’t suffered from PND but had a baby who didn’t sleep, didn’t feed, are probably thinking, “ohhhh yea, know that feeling” as well. Goodness knows I’ve been there. I’ve had moments where I’ve looked at my kids and thought, “just go back to where you came from, strange noisy loud baby”.

As I was walking home after meeting her, it really struck a chord with me that she felt so alone. Yet, there are mothers out there who have been in the same position. A lot of them, in fact.

How great would it be, if new mothers were handed a booklet of reassurance when their baby is born. A booklet that says, “hey – you are actually doing a great job!”.

Because sometimes, that’s what you need to hear. Sometimes, it’s nice to know that you aren’t completely failing.

If I were to write such a booklet, this is what I would include:

  • You are not failing your child if you want to have an hour without them. You are not a bad mother for wanting some time away from the baby. I offered to come over one day soon and take the baby for an hour or two, and her face lit up like it was Christmas. Which was great except it was immediately followed by a shy, “No, it’s ok”. Don’t be shy about letting other people hold the baby. Give yourself a break!
  • Sometimes babies don’t sleep. And it sucks balls. “They” talk about babies who don’t sleep at night. But people don’t talk about babies who don’t sleep in the day time! Having a baby who sleeps 8 hours at night is all well and good, but if they don’t even have an hour in the day then you, the mother, can’t do anything! Even worse if they are grizzly but just will not sleep. Front packs are handy, unless the baby screams like a banshee while in one. Rocking baby swings are handy, unless your baby screams like a banshee while in one. You are still doing a great job.
  • Breastfeeding is hard. Making up bottles at 3 in the morning is hard. Babies are needy and hungry and demanding. It is hard. But stick with what you are doing. And if it really isn’t working, try something else. You haven’t failed your baby. Some people breast feed and it’s awesome. Some people bottle feed and it’s awesome. You are still doing a great job.
  • Babies aren’t born as the smiling, laughing characters that you see on tv. They actually don’t do a lot for the first few months, aside from sleep (or, not), feed (or, not), and poop. A lot. But, persevere. Once they hit that 6-8 month mark, they become awesome little people. They laugh, they play peekaboo, they do what babies “should” do. And it is fun. Make the most of it as well, you will miss it when they turn two!
  • No one expects you to have a tidy house, a well dressed baby, cooked meals every night and be well presented every day. Gosh, if I achieve even two of these in a day, I pat myself on the back and reward myself with chocolate. And, if people do expect these things of you, tell them to piss off. You are doing a great job.
  • Lastly, if you really are feeling like you are sinking, ask for help. No one (NO ONE) is going to look scathingly at you and accuse you of failure. NO ONE. If some kindly (if not a little random) neighbour with three strange children turns up on your doorstep and offers to look after your baby for a morning, take her up on the offer. If someone offers to grab you some milk while they are out, accept the offer. And ask for chocolate too. Anyone who has had kids knows what it feels like, around that four-month-mark. The thrill of a newborn has gone, the sleep deprivation has kicked in, and you are probably starting to miss your “old” life. That’s ok! Get a babysitter (if you can – I know some people don’t have that option!) and get that man of yours to take you out for dinner. And, there are people you can call. Your doctor will listen.

So, if you know a new mother who might be struggling, go and offer them some guidance. They may not take you up on the offer, but they just might. As luck would have it, the week after I met with this woman, my kids got ridiculously unwell with a passing cold so I haven’t been back to follow up on my offer (because I did NOT want to make her baby unwell!), but I will be back. Because I remember being at home, not knowing anyone nearby with small kids, looking at my crying little thing and thinking, “why is it so hard when everyone else seems to find it so easy?”.

And, if you are a new mother – it is hard. Other people don’t find it easy. You are not a failure as a parent. You are doing a great job. You are an awesome mother. You are.







Tantrums: The Definitive Guide


Ah, tantrums. One of the best parts of having kids. I mean, my kids certainly never throw them. This is purely from what I’ve observed of other kids.

Yea, I’m lying. Of course my kids throw the ol’ tanty. All normal kids do (she tells herself).

Tantrums come in all shapes and sizes, so I thought I would take the liberty of describing a few for you. You are most welcome.

The Leg Shaker

Ah, a personal fave. Read: not a personal fave. This one is particularly popular with the four-year-old-girl sector. It starts with a slight leg wobble, often before I’ve even finished saying ‘no’, or ‘probably not’. The whine builds up, in sync with the leg wobbling. From a slight “uhhhh” (leg shakes moderately) to a full blown “UUUHHHHHHHH”, complimented by the legs both shaking and stomping and, if we are particularly lucky, the arms join in too.

Sometimes a, “BUT MUUUUUUUUUUUU” is thrown in there for good measure.

The Terrible Twelve Months

You hear about the Terrible Twos. Why, oh-dear-lord WHY does no one talk about the Terrible Twelve Months?!

The toddler can walk, and knows what they want. But, they may not have the vocabulary to tell you what they want. So, they scream. And/or squeal. And point. And squeal. And then, for good measure, throw themselves onto the floor, spread-eagle like a reverse snow-angel, and go for it, buns blazing and limbs flaying. This one is relatively manageable, because said toddler is likely still small enough that (a) they can be lifted and removed from the situation, and (b) they can be distracted easily.

Toddler: screaming uncontrollably.

Mum: Look! Where’s Mumma? Boo! Boo!

Toddler: *giggles*

The Body Board

Ah, the Body Board. The plank. The “I’m going to make my body so incredibly stiff that you can’t move me. You can’t position me. You sure as heck can’t get me into that pram/highchair/car seat”.

Often silent – probably because all their energy goes into stiffening their body like a 2×4. Very, very difficult to maneuver. Leaving you with two choices – (a) force them to bend. (b) wait it out.

The Classic

Oh yes, the classic tantrum. The one that gives tantrums a bad name. The one that you will endure at least once in your career as a parent. Most likely when it is least convenient for you. Some really neat places for the Classic to take place – a library. A supermarket. A small boutique shop in a rich area. When you happen to be walking past someone you know. Like your ex. Or your employer.

This one is a free for all, a no-holds-barred event. There will be yelling, there will be crying, there will be grabbing. And that’s just the adult.

You might be in a toy store and it’s time to put the Thomas train down and leave. You might be, say, needing to urgently pop into the supermarket for a minute, but Child simply does not want to comply. The hypothetical scenarios are endless. But, one thing is constant – the volume. Oh, lordy, the volume. They scream. They kick. They lie on the floor and flop around like a stranded fish. Then they lash out. Then they cry. And yell some more. And wriggle from your grasp when you try to scoop them up. And, if they are that way inclined, they run away, forcing you to chase them in a way that never, ever looks graceful. I think even Usain Bolt would look silly chasing a tantrum-throwing toddler.

The best way to deal with this one? Keep calm. SO much easier said than done, this is for sure. But, do try. Do your best to remove them from the situation, ignore the looks from strangers (because, of course, Mrs McPerfect-Parent will be there, you can guarantee it. Scowling and whispering about “kids being out of control” blah blah).

Don’t try to reason with a kid pulling off the Classic. It’s wasted breath.

The Love Me Tantrum

This one is a funny one. They want to yell and scream, they are So. Very. Mad. But, at the same time, they want you to hug them and make them feel ok. Even though you are the reason they are mad. I know, I said it was a funny one.

“NO! Why can’t I have another BISCUIT??? WHY NOT MUM! WHY????? Give me a BISCUIT!”

quickly followed by,


side bar: I should mention, I typed this particular segment with a mock frown on my face, hitting the keys with precision and force. Just saying.

The Silent

Oh. Now, this one is complicated. And difficult to decipher. They are mad. And, appear to be dealing with the injustice that has been bestowed upon them in a grown up manner. Until you realise, they are simmering. While this is by far more preferable to, say, The Classic, you can bet your bottom dollar that this is the one they save for when you are at home. In private.

Child A takes toy from Child B. Child A gets told off and asked to return toy. Child A scowls, folds their arms and huffs off in to the corner of the room. She sits, legs up and arms folded, and glares. And glares, eyes narrow and brows down. You tentatively ask her, “are you ok?” to which she replies with a stiff, jutted jaw and even narrower eyes.

Scary, I tell you what.

The Sobber

There is crying. And then there is loud, dramatic sobbing.

“Uhhhhhhhh *hic* ah – ah – ah – uhhhhhhhhhhh – ah – ah – ah – uhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh – ah – ah – ah – uhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh *hic*”.

And when you dare intervene, it just gets louder.

This one I try to ignore. With headphones on, if needs be.

The Teenager

Now, don’t be deceived – The Teenager tantrum is not only for teenagers. On no, parents of girls especially beware – these hit at a frighteningly early age!

“You ruined my LIFE. I HATE you. How COULD YOU DO THAT TO ME? You are so UNFAIR. This isn’t FAIR”

*door slam*

I can’t wait.

The Grown Up

And, of course, because if tantrums were only limited to toddlers, that would be grossly unfair – the Grown Up tantrum. Especially for adults.


These are almost always met with a united stare of, “my dear, you are too old for this behaviour”.


And so you have it. Tantrums. Love ‘em or hate ‘em, they are there. Manage them how you best see fit, different strokes for different folks and all that – what works for one kid may not for another. And, don’t take them too seriously. Kids throw tantrums, it’s their way of communicating and learning to deal with the big bad world out there! Adults? Well, bit less sympathy for them.





Sleep. And the Six Stages of Sleep Deprivation.


We know that having kids mean that we are going to lose sleep. We know this. Everyone knows this. This isn’t new information. Right?

I think the surprise comes when your kids enter the stage where they should be sleeping through the night. But, they don’t. Did they not get the memo? Do they not realise it’s night time? Can they not see the bags under Mummy’s eyes? I mean, astronauts in the International Space Station can see the bags under Mummy’s eyes, for goodness sake.

I should mention at this point that I am writing this blog under the influence. That is, under the influence of No Sleep. I had two hours of broken sleep last night. Yes, you read correctly. TWO. HOURS. Two. TWO. Sigh.

BabyGirl is not a great sleeper, let’s be honest. Actually, to be fair, she can sleep 8-10 hours if she wants. But, her 8-10 hours generally starts at midnight. Or, in last night’s case – 3am. THREE. A. M. I just can’t even.

So, after a few hours of tears, feeding, playing, me dozing in my chair as BabyGirl literally runs circles around me, and many, many false attempts to get her into bed (you know, the “I’m asleep until you put me in my cot, at which point my eyes will shoot open, I’ll flash you my cutest smile and be wide awake again” moments), she finally dropped of at 3am. I quietly carried her to her room, in pitch darkness (heaven forbid I turn on a light and wake her) and tenderly place her in her cot. I back away from the cot, begging my joints to please not squeak right now (because, in the dead of night, I seem to suddenly gain the body of an arthritic Nana), and slump out of the room. Nothing. Not a sound. Oh my goodness. Perform a mini victory dance in the hallway before going into my own room and flopping onto the bed, eyes closed before I hit the pillow.


I just. What? I mean, really? How do they KNOW?! HOW DO THEY KNOW?! Literally one minute after I got into bed. ONE MINUTE.


I open my eyes to find BoyChild climbing into bed with us. “Please go to sleep” I whisper to him. “YOU OK, MUM? YOU OK, DADDY?”. Sigh.

After an hour and some of being kicked in the head, pushed off the bed, slapped, kissed, cuddled, yelled at and damn near falling off the bed, I packed a huff.

“GET INTO YOUR OWN BED” I whispered through clenched teeth. No more Nice Mummy.

I think the clock said 5-something. It could have said 6. Heck, it could have said 12. I don’t know, I couldn’t comprehend anything by that stage. I dozed on and off from then.

Mr T woke me around 8:30 to say he was going. I asked him where. He replied that Princess had kindy. Oh, that’s right – Stage 1 of Sleep Deprivation – Memory Loss. Remember the days when, pre-kids, you could pull an all-nighter and sleep the next day? I don’t. We’ve got ‘sponsibilities nowadays. Grown up ‘sponsibilities. Like children.

Once Mr T came back from kindy drop off, I bundled BoyChild into the car and went to our Friday Coffee Group. I couldn’t have gotten that coffee into me any quicker. If they had a direct-to-vein-via-iv option, I’d have taken it. The morning wasn’t bad, considering. Mostly because I was comfortably in Stage 2 of Sleep Deprivation – Everything Is Hilarious. You know, when your friend drops her phone and can’t be bothered picking it up, and you laugh and laugh because she can’t be bothered picking up her phone? Right? Hilarious. Or when you think of a story but can’t formulate the words in your head, so you make up a word, then laugh and laugh because words are funny. And, to top it off, you snort while laughing, which just sets you off again. What can I say, I’m hilarious.

After I picked Princess up from kindy at midday, I came home and had lunch. I use that term loosely, because I am pretty sure I stared blankly at my cup of soup, stirring it slowly. Mr T asked me if I needed a nap. I’m not sure I replied. Stage 3 of Sleep Deprivation – Dead Tiredness.

I should say, I was very, very lucky today to have Mr T on a day off, otherwise I could never have completed Stage 4 of Sleep Deprivation – The Nap. The Glorious Nap. I slept, and I slept hard. For about an hour. Stop it.

Alas, I’ve woken deep in Stage 5 of Sleep Deprivation – Don’t TALK to me. Don’t LOOK at me. Don’t COME NEAR ME. Captain Grumpy Pants has arrived. And, to quote Alicia Keys, This Girl is on Fire. I love my kids, and I love how they have sensed my Captain Grouchballs and raised me a “let’s give Mum space”. I just adore those little dudes. The ones sitting on the other side of the living room, playing quietly.

The day is dragging, but before long it will be witching hour. The kids will have dinner, have baths and go to bed. And then, poor, sleep deprived Mumma can sit on the chair and enter Stage 6 of Sleep Deprivation – The End. The release. There may be tears, there may be giggling. I’ll tell you what – there will defo be chocolate. But, at least I would have lasted the day. And, tomorrow is another day. But, please-oh-dear-lord-PLEASE can BabyGirl go to bed before midnight tonight?! Please? Please.

“Hey! Yo! BabyGirl! You go to bed ‘fore midnight, ya’ hear?!”

She says no. With that cute smile and nose twitch. I just. Sigh.









Movies According To Princess (Age: 4)

Madam Princess has some awesome interpretations of .. well, everything in the world around her. And I have a particular fondness for the way she describes things – her use of words, and the way she sees things is so different to the way I see things (and, to be fair, the way most other people see things!) that I thought it time I record some of these.

Princess isn’t a big movie person, she didn’t see her first movie in it’s entirety until very recently. But, she knows what she likes …

and knows what she doesn’t.

Here are some movie plots explained, according to Princess. In case you were wondering.



It’s about Ahhhhhhhna and Elsa. They are sisters. Even Andrew at kindy likes Frozen. Elsa freezes Ahhhhna’s heart. Hans tries to cut Elsa. Kristoff is Ahhhhhna’s best prince. Sbent is a reindeer. Olaf is a snowman, he has a nose from a carrot and it’s SO funny! I like Frozen. It’s my favourite movie actually.

Monsters University


Monsters Anniversity is with Sullivan and Mike-Wizowskee. They are monsters. They are scarers. Sullivan and all of the monsters try to be scarers. They are at anniversity and they are all monsters! I like Monsters Anniversity. It’s actually my favourite movie.

The Lion King


The Lion King is about that .. um .. little tiger’s Dad is dead. That’s he isn’t alive anymore. He wants to be king. I like The Lion King. It’s not my favourite movie because it’s sad but I like it, it’s my favourite movie actually.

Cloudy With A Chance of Meatballs


Charmy-is-a-bowl-of-meetballs is about .. I don’t know. Meatballs. I like it. Let’s watch that movie. Please?

The Little Mermaid


This is about Ariel. She has got a mermaid tail and she flashes and the witch comes. I love this movie. I want to be a mermaid. No, I want to be Elsa.



This movie is about Rapunzel and she has long hair and a purple dress. And a tiara. And she hits Flynn with a frying pan. HA HA HA HA HA HA HA. I want hair like Rapunzel.



Planes is about Busty. I don’t know what happens in this movie, me and dad left the movie.

The Pirate Fairy


It’s about Tinkerbell and Serena. They see a pirate. I want to watch Charmy-is-a-bowl-of-meetballs.

The Smurfs


I don’t like the Sweerfs.


And, there you have it. Now you know what movies are worth watching, and which aren’t! Or, you don’t. Never mind – you’re going to have to watch them yourself!




How Will My Children Remember Me?

I often wonder what my children are going to be like when they reach adulthood and venture into the big, bad world. What are they going to be like as people?

And, what are they going to remember of me and their father, and of their childhood? I’m not necessarily talking in the instance of my not being here, because, obviously, I’m hoping (and assuming) that I will be around for years and years and years (and years) to come.

What do I remember of my parents, and my childhood? I am one of four children, and I know from conversations with my sisters that key events that I remember from my childhood differ from events that my sisters remember. Different children, different childhoods, even within one family. For example, one of my fondest memories of my mum is watching her turn cartwheels across the entire lawn, laughing and laughing along the way. I’ve mentioned this before and at least one sister had no idea what I was talking about.

Which leads to the question, How will my children remember me? And, perhaps more importantly, how do I want my children to remember me?

  • Firstly, and most importantly, I want my kids to remember the love in this house. Mr T and I have always made the point of telling our kids that we love them, no matter what. This has never come into question, no matter how angry we are about things they have done. We might not like what they are doing, but us loving them and caring for them and being there for them should never come into question. Princess tells me she loves me regularly, and I never get tired of hearing it. If we tell BoyChild we love him, he replies, “Love you too, dude”. Bless him!
  • I want my kids to remember the fun and the laughter. Mr T and I love to laugh, we both share a silly sense of humour, and I hope the kids pick this up and take it with them. The playtimes we share as a family – after bath time when the kids run around and we play “boo” or hide and seek, and we all end up laughing and laughing. I want them to remember the times like today when we were out at the doctors and got caught in a sudden downpour. Princess was walking alongside the younger kids in the pram and it very suddenly started raining. Rather than get upset, we laughed. We ran, we jumped in puddles, it was a really nice moment in what was otherwise a very stressful day. I made a big deal about getting the kids into the car before we all melted, they all laughed and laughed as I hustled them into their car seats, and then we laughed some more because my glasses were so wet I couldn’t see who was who! On a day like today, I hope that they remember times like that, not the yelling or the growling or the bossing.
  • I hope that my kids remember my fashion sense, the makeup I (very rarely) wear, the perfume I choose.
  • I would love my kids to remember my love of baking – the cakes we make together. I remember this from my childhood with such fond memories. And, my cooking. I would be quite pleased if they consider me to have been a halfway decent cook throughout their childhood! And, maybe when they come across a dish in their 20s, they can suddenly recall me making it years earlier. And, perhaps, call me for the recipe, just as I have done with my own mother many times before!
  • I want my kids to remember me being in their lives. Taking them to classes, driving them around, being active in their lives. Being their mum.

And, of course, the flipside. I hope my kids don’t look back in thirty years and think of their mum as a grumpy person, a screaming banshee. Because, I’m not ashamed to say it, I am those things some days. But, how people perceive you is so much dependent on how you perceive yourself. So, I am working on not being a grumpy person, a screaming banshee! The way I figure it, my kids are going to remember, in all essence, the person they see me to be. If I want them to remember me for all those things I mentioned, I need to be all those things mentioned.

Take the time to play with your children, laugh with your children, let them make mess sometimes, love them, hug and kiss them, provide for them and treat them like they are the most awesome creatures around. And, it will all pay off when they are Proper Grown Ups and they turn to you and say that you, in fact, are the most awesome creature around. I can’t wait!