12 Questions About Life – Princess, Take Six! BoyChild, Take Three!

It’s a cold Saturday and the kids are getting restless, so I decided to do this again. We last did it back in April, when the kids were a lot younger, and also before moving was even on the cards. So, a lot has changed since then.

Princess doesn’t like to get things wrong, she has a real desire to please people, so it took a little bit of explaining of the process this time, and that she couldn’t get the answers wrong, because there were no wrong answers. She even said to me, “Ok Mum, you can start but I hope you are right. I don’t want to get the answers wrong!”.

She’s a thinker, that kid. And, when asked what frightens her the most, her answer was “my imagination”. I think a lot goes on in that head of hers.

Here are the questions and answers (previous answers in brackets)

12 Questions About Life – by Princess, 6 years, 3 months

1. What is the meaning of life? Love

(That’s too hard)

2. What do you want to be when you grow up? A vet and a zookeeper

(A teacher)

3. What makes you most happy? Cuddling Mum

(When I laugh)

4. When do you feel most loved? When kissing Mum and Dad

(When Mummy cuddles me)

5. What are you afraid of? My imagination

(When my teacher dressed up like a ghost at Halloween and scared me. I screamed)

6. If you had one wish, what would you wish for? Puppies

(Another American Girl Doll)

7. What is the funniest word? *insert strange noise*

(Tickle bum. No – shake your boooooooteeeee)

8. What is the easiest thing to do? Cartwheels and handstands

(Make loom band bracelets)

9. What is the hardest thing to do? Backflips

(Clip the ‘s’ clip onto the loom band bracelet at the end)

10. What makes you mad? BabyGirl biting me

(Babygirl hitting me)

11. What is the meaning of love? God.

(Going to school. Because I love my teacher)

12. If you had all the money in the world, what would you do with it? Buy lots and lots of toys

(Buy a Lego Friends Shopping Mall).

12 Questions About Life – BoyChild, 4 years, 9 months

1. What is the meaning of life? I dunno

(What’s that mean?)

2. What do you want to be when you grow up? A train.

(A cat)

3. What makes you most happy? Talking


4. When do you feel most loved? Friends

(With Dad. No, Mum)

5. What are you afraid of? Frozen Movie

(Shaun the Sheep Movie)

6. If you had one wish, what would you wish for? A heart


7. What is the funniest word? FRUIT!


8. What is the easiest thing to do? Playing with trains


9. What is the hardest thing to do? Trying to get the car out of the box in the toy room because it’s stuck and I can’t get it out

(Play Bingo)

10. What makes you mad? Crying


11. What is the meaning of love? Hearts


12. If you had all the money in the world, what would you do with it? Buy trains.

(Get a Paw Patrol Garage)

And here are the previous ones, if you are interested. Hopefully BabyGirl will soon be old enough to start answering them as well :)

12 Questions About Life – Princess, Take Five! BoyChild, Take Two

12 Questions About Life – Princess, Take Four. BoyChild, Take One.

12 Questions About Life – Princess, Take Three

12 Questions About Life – Princess, Take Two

12 Questions About Life – Princess, Take One


Not Giving a Crap #inmyactivewear

Recently there was a hilarious parody video that went viral on social media, called Activewear (view it here). If you’ve not seen it, you should. It’s freakin funny.

But, since that video has come out, there has been a shift in attitudes towards women wearing so-called “activewear”. Or, perhaps the attitude was always there and I just didn’t notice?

Well, I have a confession to make.

I go to the supermarket in my active wear.

I do school drop-offs and pick-ups in my active wear.

I go shopping in my active wear.

I grab a coffee in my active wear.

I put petrol in my car in my active wear.

Strangely, I also go to the gym in my active wear.

You see, I am busy. I cart a relatively (read:incredibly) independent-minded and determined two-and-a-half-year-old with me where ever I go. I also go to the gym. Now, I’m not a small person by any stretch of the imagination, but since moving down here I decided to fill my time by going to the gym every day, and I love it. It is my only “me” time. I have lost body fat, I have increased my body muscle mass, I have lost weight – and, most importantly, I have gained body confidence.

It didn’t even occur to me that people might look sideways at me popping into the supermarket after the gym, still wearing the clothes I just did a workout in. Hell, I went to the gym for a month before I even realised there were change facilities there! And, despite that new found (and, I realise in hindsight, pretty important) information, I often don’t get changed at the gym anyway. Have you ever tried getting changed with a two year old around?

Furthermore, by the time I drag BabyGirl out of her creche, go through the not one, but two button operated doors at the gym, toddle to the car stopping every few steps to look at a rock, or a “boooootiful fwower”, get into the car, let her close her door, then wait another, oh, ten minutes for her to sit in her seat so I can buckle her in, I no longer have that attractive, red-faced, hideous post-gym glow that I get after a workout. So, once I finally make it to the supermarket, or the petrol station, or, heaven forbid, the coffee shop, I look pleasantly refreshed. My point being, I don’t look like I’ve been to the gym.

Recently in our local paper’s “whinge” section, someone wrote a scathing letting about “fat, unfit, hideous women doing school drop offs and going to the shop in their activewear” and I found myself getting really, really upset. Who are they to decide whether these women (god, they could be talking about me, for all I know) haven’t either just been to the gym, or are going? And even if they aren’t, who gives a crap? Maybe these women walked there. Maybe they just like their comfy pants. “Tidy yourself up”, it said. “Buy a nice pair of jeans”.


Find me a nice pair of jeans, a comfortable pair of jeans, that won’t require me to sell my first born child in order to afford them, and I will get them. I dare you.

Suddenly I found myself to be self conscious. I started to allow extra time at the gym so I could rush into the change rooms and get changed before collecting BabyGirl (thus cutting back on workout time). I suddenly became very aware of what I was wearing. And then I woke up and thought, you know what?

I. Don’t. Give. A. Crap.

If I want to go out and wear my cropped pants, my sports bra, my singlet top, my hoodie and my running shoes, I’m damn well going to. Because in what world do we live, where women (or anyone) have lost the right to wear what we choose? It’s not indecent. It’s not offensive. And, most importantly, it’s COMFORTABLE and it makes me feel good. It reminds me of the hard work I put in every freakin morning at the gym. Work that I am proud of.

I understand the parody video, I thought it was hilarious, but lets not carry it over into our everyday world. Ladies. If you want to go shopping in your activewear, do it. If you want to pick up your kids in your active wear, do it.

Instead of attacking women who wear these workout clothes, lets applaud them, for giving exercise a go. Even if it is just to walk to the letterbox, it’s still lapping all those people on the couch.

I know what I’m asking Santa for at Christmas.




Twenty Seventh!

Princess had her very first Cross Country yesterday. These are an institution here in New Zealand. I remember my own school cross country races fondly. I grew up in a relatively rural town, so our cross country race involved running through the bush, scaling fences, all the while wearing either bare feet or, if we were feeling fancy, jandals.

It’s nice to see nothing has really changed. I mean, they had to wear shoes, but it still brought back memories of my own races. The line up to start. Taking off, running their little hearts out.


Princess was really excited about this race, she couldn’t stop talking about it. She selected her clothes specifically, laid out the night before with her running shoes. She had been doing a lot of training at school, and even received a certificate last week for her “improvement in school athletics”.

I couldn’t believe how excited I was about the race. There is something about seeing your child participate and do well in something, that just melts your heart. Now, I’m no Tiger Mom, but I do want to see my kids do well. Did I want her to win? Hells yes, that would have been awesome! But more than anything, I just wanted her to do her best. I know, right? I’m such a grown up some times.

And so, it was time. They lined up all the Year 0 and Year 1 girls together (there were a million of them) and boom, they were off. And by “off”, I mean, they disappeared out of sight. Down to the river, to run along the river bank. The race was only 500m so I was surprised at how long the kids were gone for!

We waited … and waited … and then we saw a little girl emerge from the bushes. Was it Princess? Goodness, no. This kid? Usain Bolt, I tell ya. She was miles ahead of anyone else. MILES.  And then came more. And more. And more little girls, all wearing, it seems, the same as Princess. I began to wonder if I’d missed her. I looked towards the finish line – nope, not there. More girls came, and there she was. My heart? It died. It puffed up to six million times its normal size. There was my big kid, running her hardest. She wasn’t winning, but by gosh was she trying.


She overtook a couple of kids on the home stretch, and ran across the finish line.

I won’t lie. I was yelling. Calling her name, jumping up and down in a manner that will most certainly embarrass her in years to come. I mean, no one else is going to cheer for my kid. That’s my job. 

I was so happy, I nearly cried. Ridiculous, really. But it’s that crazy pride thing that we parents get. That crazy pride thing that makes us nearly lose our minds at times, I swear.

And, as Princess ran up to me, beaming from ear to ear, she proudly held up her hand and said, “Look, Mum. TWENTY SEVENTH! That’s MY number!”. And with a kiss and a giggle, she was skipping off to her class with her friends.

Did I want Princess to win her race? Sure, that would have been nice, for her to get up onto the podium and get a certificate. But she is 6. She doesn’t yet have the drive to need to win, and that’s great. She had a wonderful time, she later said to me, “I’m so proud of my race, Mum”.

And you know what? So am I. As far as I’m concerned, she might as well have won that race. So we went out for celebratory frozen yoghurt, and Princess got extra sprinkles, because she came TWENTY SEVENTH.


Diamond Pasta Footy Shapes Review

Kidspot is a great online resource for kiwi parents, and has a section called Mums Say, where parents are invited to be selected for product reviews. And we all know how much I like to review things!

Last week I was excited to receive a package of Diamond Pasta Footy Shapes.


That’s right – pasta shaped like, well, rugby stuff. They are a-freakin-dorable. A little boot, a little rugby player, a sock and of course, a ball!

I think the only down side to these was their size – when I say little, I mean they are tiny, even when cooked. Nevertheless, the kids loved them. They were SO excited, particularly Princess, who did an “are-they-cooked-yet-are-they-cooked-yet” dance while they boiled away on the stove.

My kids aren’t big sauce eaters so I served the pasta as is, with some frozen veges and grated cheese (for Princess, since BabyGirl is allergic). The girls had a wonderfully creative game of “rugby” before giggling and chomping the pasta shapes down.


Definitely a hit with the kids, and Princess asked me to make them for her lunch at school as well. So that’s a win, I say :)

For those of you who might be interested in more reviews like this, head over to the Kidspot page and sign up. It’s fun! And, for more information on Diamond Pasta, click here


Anatomy of a Six Hour Car Ride

We just returned from a two week holiday back to our home town and, in order to save well over $1000 in flight costs, we made the choice to drive six hours to a major airport rather than flying direct. Good idea? Sure. I mean, saving that money makes it worth it, right? I mean, how hard can a six hour drive be, with three small kids?


I know, I know.

And so, this is the summary of our trip.

The Questions

Oh my, the questions.

Why is one eye round, and one eye normal?

Why are my cheeks red?

Are you asleep, Mum? (note: I wasn’t driving. And yes, I was trying to sleep)

What do brother sheep look like?

Is it dinner time yet? (note: 10:30am)

Are we there yet?

Who scratched my face? I think it was me?

Why is snow?

Are we almost at Grandma’s house? (note: we are not going to Grandma’s house)

Are we there yet?

Is it dinner time yet? (note: 11:30am)

Where is the lake? (note: right alongside the car. A very large lake)

Where is that bus going?


Why are we driving?

The Games

The Finger game. How many fingers am I holding up? How many fingers am I holding up? How many fingers am I holding up.

(note: I won’t lie. I held up my middle finger on more than one occassion)

The Car game. We pick a colour each, and then keep a vague count of each car. We’ve played this game so many times and the kids still haven’t figured that picking silver, white, red or black gives you significantly higher chances of winning than picking, say, purple or orange. Nevertheless, we play.

The Animal game. Two points if you see a sheep. Three points for a cow. Ten points for a llama. 17 points for a monkey. 460 points for a dinosaur. 6,000,000 points for an elephant. This game is thrilling.


We do, after all, live in New Zealand.

The Fights

Princess looking at BoyChild.

Babygirl putting her foot on BoyChild.

BoyChild singing.

Princess singing.

BabyGirl singing.

BoyChild is looking at Princess.

The wrong cd is in.

The window is open.

The window is closed.

The Threats

On at least six occasions, it was threatened that at least one child get out of the car and walk.

On at least one occasion, the car was stopped to remove one child from the car.

On at least three occasions, I requested the car be stopped so I could get out and walk. Once was while driving past a Cidery.

The Scenery


We saw some wonderful sights. We drove through some of the most amazing scenery in this beautiful country. And we enjoyed it, as we drove through it. Note: we drove. We didn’t stop. Because, you stop, all three kids want to get out. And all three kids don’t want to get back in. There is no such thing as a quick stop. Oh, except the one time we pulled over simply to clean BabyGirl who had managed to smother herself in ice block. I quickly hopped out, wiped her down and off we went. With the car boot open. Yup. I did that. My bad.

The Hilarity

We drove through an area with canals. I said to the kids, “Did you know there are two types of canals? The near canal and the far canal?”


And I laughed and laughed and laughed and laughed at my expert wit. Mr T rolled his eyes. BoyChild laughed along with me, because he’s awesome (and laughs with anyone). Princess asked me, “Where is the canal?”

The Final 45 Minutes

I’m not sure what it is about a long car ride, but no matter how long it is, the final 45 minutes is always the longest. The kids suddenly snap and have had enough. Mr T and I have had enough. The final 45 is packed full of tears, games, songs, jokes, anything to keep the kids from ripping each other’s hair out. And from me ripping out my own.

Princess decided she needed to poop.

BoyChild decided he was hungry.

BabyGirl decided that 5.5 hours of me sitting slightly out of her reach was too long and she NEEDED TO TUDDLE ME RIGHT NOW.

I encouraged the kids to count to 153, and that we would be home once they were done. They got to 17 before BoyChild declared the game OVER.

BabyGirl cried some more.

I stroked my bottle of cider and whispered, “we are almost there, my precious”.

The Home

And then, we are there. Home. Oh, my lord. Home freakin sweet home. The kids leap from the car, all tears suddenly dry. BoyChild runs to his room and instantly tips out all of his toys. Princess and BabyGirl run to their room and start playing. I run to the loo (I’ve had three kids, remember!).

And just like that, we are done.

Next time, I think I’ll pay the extra $1000.


Snazzipants Modern Cloth Nappies

Cat Nappy Pocket Front (small)

I recently got given the opportunity to test and review some of these Snazzipants modern cloth nappies (or, MCNs). Now, Babygirl is still in nappies, but is on the tail end of it (self imposed toilet training – which really means, take off your nappy as soon as there is even the slightest dribble of wet in there. Which means, many, many wasted nappies). So, I jumped at the chance to trial a cloth nappy. Anything to save money!

I am no stranger to cloth nappies, I had some with the other kids, and we used them relatively regularly in the summer months, though I found the washing and drying too hard to keep up with in the winter. But the cost was certainly a major draw card. I had, however, handed these on to another friend when we made the move a few months ago, and regretted the decision!

I convinced BabyGirl to wear these Snazzipants (a job made easier by the gorgeous cat print!) by calling them her Fancy New Cat Knicker Nappies. Give it a fancy name and they are all over that! Babygirl wore this nappy on days when she just didn’t want to wear knickers, or on days when we had experienced accident #4 or #5 and Mummy just didn’t want her to wear knickers any more. She loved it. They are comfy and cute, as well as being absorbent and practical.

These nappies really are great – they come in three styles:

  • The All-In-One – easy to wash and dry, has an insert but this is not removable.
  • The Pocket Nappy – I think anyone who knows MCNs will find this one the most familiar – you can remove the insert and wash it separately, which makes drying time faster.
  • The Pul Cover – This essentially is just an outer, you use it with a cotton inner, folded on top. These are good in that you can change the inner, and continue to use the outer (unless you are struck with a poonami situation. Then the whole thing goes in the wash).

I understand that cloth nappies aren’t for everyone, but it’s one of those things that didn’t think I would be into, and surprised myself. I had myself pegged as far too lazy to mess around with these, but realised when Princess was a baby that it wasn’t as hard as I thought. Taking a pic of a two year old wearing a cloth nappy? Now, that is hard!

IMG_0681 IMG_0680 IMG_0679 IMG_0678