Everyone is emo at 4am

Hey look, I'm back again. 

I wanted to tell you the story of the first time I was woken up at a stupid hour by a small child.

The year was 2011.  Wonderboy was about 6 months old.  Alright.  It wasn't the first time I'd ever been woken at the asscrack of dawn.  But it's the first time I can actually remember, so it still counts.

So I stumbled to the lounge room, blankets and pillows in one arm, crying baby in the other.  'cartoons.  STAT.'  I thought. 

And then I saw it.  Every mother knows that sinking feeling when you see the static menu screen on abc4kids. 

'NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!'  I fell to my knees and sobbed.  (or more accurately, said 'fucking hell' under my breath and made a coffee).  The realization suddenly hit me.. that I'd never been awake early enough to notice that a) cartoons don't run 24/7 and b) 4am is a thing.

Luckily for me (and my offspring) coffee is also a thing.  So the obscenely large, caramel frappe coffees with whipped cream also became a thing.  It seemed like the natural progression to me.

Flash forwards to this morning.  There's that fucking menu screen again...... with the snappy jazz tunes.  Excuse me, but if 4am is too early for kids programming- it's too early for jazz, a.k.a inappropriately loud trumpet.

Just saying.

Now, you would think any half decent ninja would just put on a movie.  You'd be way off, buddy.  Doing that is pretty much a garauntee I'll be sentenced to an entire Saturday of arguing over which movie to watch and uncontrollable crying when it's over.  Sorry dudes, but if I have to sit through Toy Story ONE MORE TIME......

I will run screaming into the night.  (fitness- mum style.)

I can't even remember where I was going with this pointless tale.  I'm that tired.  I'm that drained of life force from the crazy cluster feeding 2y.o........  something something and stuff.

Join me next time for a frank discussion about toddlers who can't survive more than 20 minutes without a nipple in their mouths.

Uuuuurrrrrrggggghhhhhhhh!!!!!!!

The Ninja Code- How you know you're nailing it.

I know I promised we'd talk about the ninja code next week.... six months ago. 

Sorry about that.  I'd explain if it wasn't a boring story about mould and the logistics of moving house.

So let's just pretend I haven't been neglecting my blog and am still an actual writer.  Ok, great!

As promised six months and a week ago-  The Ninja Code.

Never get cocky.  Don't tell the lady at the checkout how well behaved the kids were at Woolies.  Or Coles.  If you do-  they WILL start crying immediately and really loudly.

How you know you're nailing it-  You can sense an un-brewed tantrum and make it to the car before the screaming and thrashing starts.  This is an extra useful skill for those days you need to swear loudly or facepalm yourself.

Always bring a cardigan.  They're excellent for cleaning up spills or shielding a head from bashing a trolley-side mid tanty.

Always allow 3 hours to tuck everyone in at bedtime.  You wouldn't want to accidentally partake in some alone time, or read something intelligent.

How you know you're nailing it- You can't remember the last time you watched tv and actually paid attention.  You don't know where any books are and you don't care anymore.  Because sleep.

Be succinct in your authoritarian speeches.  Don't become an explain-o-tron and spend 15 minutes 'splaining the crap out of why chips are not a breakfast food.

For example:  Wonderboy wants chips for breakfast, and starts to flail at the predictable NO. 

"That's not how we roll.  It's toast or cereal."  *more flailing*  "or nothing."  *less flailing*

Yeah.  You heard me.   Chips are not a breakfast food!!!  Energy conservation is an important ninja skill.

Become fluent in the language of the ninja.  Don't ever refer to dinner as dinner.  It's food time.  Breakfast is something to eat, and lunch is yummies.

How you know you're nailing it-  You don't call anything what it actually is anymore and accidentally ask an adult if they want to grab some yummies.

Know your fellow ninjas, and party with them.  I don't know about you, but give me a ball of wool, a coffee and several ninjas to converse with about our ninja encounters....... and I'm partying.

How you know you're nailing it-  The definition of party has become whatever you say it is.  Late night fb messenger chat with H-dawg?  Party.  Early morning coffees with J-dawg?  Party. 

And what's the opposite of party?  Parenting.  Lol.  So we should probably cover discipline too.  Even the strongest ninjas find it hard to set boundaries.  It's important to remember that although you're rad, your kids probably won't appreciate your ninja skills.  And they don't know about that one time you did shots all night and fell over in the backyard at 4am.  You've got no street-cred.

But that's ok.  Because one day they'll be the ninja.  And they'll thank you for being badass enough to parent with confidence and pizzazz.  And coffee.  And sometimes wine.  For those times you're fresh out of pizzazz.

Speaking of coffee.... I can't even.... because no coffee yet.

Stay tuned for another riveting installment next week.  Or month, or whatever.  I'm not committing to anything.

Confessions of a Ninja

I was sitting on the couch while the boys had their nap today.  Quietly eating half a muesli bar I found discarded under the beanbag. 


This wouldn't be a confession if I didn't do embarrassing things, people.  I don't give a fuck.


So, as I chewed my salvaged treat, I got to thinking about an article I read yesterday.  It was shared by one of the elite ninjas I happen to know.  I'm pretty sure it's my absolute favourite article ever.  Here's a link if you haven't already read it.
The subtle art of not giving a fuck


There it was.  All of life's great mysteries summed up succinctly using the F bomb something like 127 times.  Hey, if it works, who am I to argue with it?


I try not to give a fuck about stupid things.  It's all part of the ninja code.  rule #7 - flip the bird.  Potatoes gonna potate.  And so on.  (Coming soon- The Ninja Code)


And so it dawned on me, that the code of the ninja is very much based on this random guy's beliefs- and more particularly, about not giving a fuck.  Perhaps it'd be clearer if I called it "Only give a fuck about important shit" but it doesn't quite have the same ring to it.  As ^^that guy, Mark Manson said- not giving a fuck doesn't mean you don't give a fuck.  (seriously just click the link.   I can't say it any better.)

He doesn't give a fuck most of the time.  He's really quite a revolutionary child if you look at it that way.


It takes a certain amount of wisdom for an adult ninja to keep their fucks in check though.  A....... ninja like restraint, perhaps? 


I seem to have started a bit of a list-writing tradition, so in light of this ground breaking new information, I have some confessions to make.  In list form!  These are some things I shouldn't give a fuck about..... but do.


1. I can't drink coffee without cream in it anymore.  I'm that spoiled.
2. I don't have the balls to leave the volume up on the car stereo at a red light.  Sha-aaame.
3. I don't reverse park because I look like a damn fool.
4. Bakery bread or no bread.  I may be a tightwad, but not with the bread.
5. I prefer to be alone with my junk food because I don't have to share it.

More confessions to come.  HurriKane has arisen.......

Next week we'll talk about the Ninja Code.  Until then!

Life Hacks

I don't know about you,  but I love a good life hack.  Those little clippy things that keep the doritos fresh... excellent.   Making new stuff with old sauce jars- awesome.   But what about the daily stuff.

I'm pretty creative but I don't have time every day to be gettin' my craft on.  There are small ninjas afoot, afterall.  Getting into small ninja mischief.

So here are my top tips for being your best ninja, and overcoming the daily problems of #mumlife.

1.  No bathtub.

Buy an inflatable pool for $10.  Stick it in the shower.  Voila.  Instant kid's bathtime excellence.

2. Sick of cooking

Make twice as much of everything.   Everything?   Yes.  Smoothies in the morning can be poured ready for the afternoon if you double the batch.  Spaghetti.... sauces.... dough.... freeze everything.   What's not to love about a treasure trove of mystery meals?

3.  Sick of cleaning

Load all the junk on the floor into a basket.  You can either a) hide the basket of junk or b) put everything away room by room using your trusty basket.  Serious timesaver.  And upper body workout.  Nice!
4. Climbing kids

Tie the dining chair legs together.  You heard me.

This is why.  It's just easier than worrying about head injuries.

5. Outnumbered by kids

Babywearing.  Most of the best ninjas I know are babywearers.  I actually don't know how to leave the house without a sling or something.   Wonderboy and Hurrikane are getting big now and shit gets real if one of them isn't safely snuggled (restrained from running off!!) in the sling.  I am not an octopus, and I accept this limitation by babywearing.

6. Fussy eaters driving you half mental

Blender bender.  No, not margaritas.  At least not for the children.  Smoothies!  Wonderboy won't even smell a strawberry in its natural (apparently offensive) state.  Blend it up though and he practically inhales it.  Blend all the stuff.  Freeze some of that, too.

7. No time to scratch ass

Take shortcuts.  Rinse and repeat.  Dishes not done?  Rinse and stack.  If they don't stink you're ok.  Laundry piling up?  (see attempted laundry 101) -pre-dig for the required clothes the night before you need them.  Ran out of small nappies?  Use the bigger ones you have and wing it.  Bust out the cloth, even.  What's the alternative?   Crazy rush to buy expensive chemist nappies?  This ninja says no.

Those are my top 7 ninja hacks so far.  Stay tuned for developments!

Being THAT woman (ninja)

Ok, look.

When I became a mother, I didn't suddenly lose my sense of style or my personality.  I didn't become this dowdy, unappealing, uninteresting shell of myself, as some might have you believe.

I feel like I need to tell you all it's ok- even desirable to be THAT woman.  The one everyone judges but secretly wishes they had the kohunas to be like.

I didn't stop listening to the music I like, and I didn't stop being me (rad).  I still dye my hair crazy colours and I have a vocabulary just as colourful.  I just levelled up, that's all.  (learned to quell my enthusiastic swearing a little bit.)

It's probably time for one of those excellent DO and DON'T style posts.  In two parts- because this blog is overdue for a cliffhanger.  So here's what I don't.. do.

"Don't do what Donny Don't does!"

Um.....

Shall we?

Things I don't do. (Society.  LOOKING AT YOU.)

1. Join the coles/woolworths/other super-mega-corporation baby club.
Because having a super-mega-corporation tell me how to parent just seems like a bit of a drag.

2. Babywear because it's hip.
I do babywear.  Because I don't know how the hell not to.  My pram is beautiful but useless.  And how are you supposed to do 'jazz hands' to other random mums at the shops if you don't have both hands free? 

3.  Avoid pink things because I have boys only.
I like pink.  Do I need a reason to not abolish an entire colour from my life?

4.  Find ads about various baby accessories/products informative.
I find them misleading and kinda patronizing if I'm honest.  'All the best moms are feeding their baby [insert processed food here]'  is how it comes across.

5.  Critique every other woman's performance as a mother.
A lot of the judgement mums face is indirect.  Kinda like fear of being judged, before it even happens.  I don't know about you, but I'm not out there looking to scrutinize some poor sleep deprived woman.  I'm looking for coffee.  With cream.  If anything, I'm judging myself........

6.  Require a massive circus-tent style nursing cover for public feeding.
I don't buy a lot of crap I don't need.  People have necks.  People have boobs.  They should probably turn their necks if they're offended by boobs.

7. Spend $80 on a single nursing bra.
Again, no.  Crap I don't need.  Beautiful, but crap.  Nobody was looking at my bra.... they were too busy awkwardly shuffling, trying to avoid potentially seeing a boob.

8. Give a fuck if the other mums at kindy don't say hello to me.  Truth is.... I don't want to talk to anyone at that time of day. 

9. Adopt the fashion sense of an old lady the instant I reproduced.  (TARGET, KMART, BIG W looking in your direction...)

10. Understand why nursing tops have room for a 9 month belly in them.  Usually you're breastfeeding AFTER the baby is born.  Not before. 

Riveting stuff.  To be continued.....

How to take the day off

Today is my day off.  Both of the baby ninjas go to kindy on a Tuesday, and usually DaddyO has the day off too. 

Ooh.  Lah di Dah!  Two parents attempting to relax a little bit.  I know.  The controversial luxuriousness is enough to make you want to judge the shit out of me.  That's alright.  I understand.


Anyway, here's a quick instructional piece for those of you who might not know what a ninja does on his or her day off.


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Wake up super early and fumble around in the kitchen until you have two full lunchboxes.
Throw toast in the general direction of the children, and feign interest in Yo Gabba Gabba.
Find pants.
Apply pants to ass.
Repeat x2, until everyone is wearing pants.
Find shirts, perform sniff test, and apply to torsos.
Reapply any shirts you find thrown on the floor while you brushed your teeth.
Try to quell rage as somebody smears toothpaste on you and somebody else jumps on the bed.
Assemble children, bags and shoes in that order.


Usher everyone to the car.  Make sure to carry everything.
Hurry before one of the sippy cups rotates itself upside down and drenches your back and the contents of the bag.
Argue with Wonderboy over which way he should face in his car seat.
Beg Hurrikane to stop flailing so you can buckle the straps.


Execute a swift kindy dropoff.  Hugs, high fives and kisses. 
Run.  Just run.
Drive back home. 


Change out of toothpaste smeared attire, and reapply something else.
Attempt to look presentable.


Add dirty clothes to Mt Washmore.
Swear about Mt Washmore.
Prepare coffee.
Smear makeup on and around face.
Walk near some perfume and think about having some breakfast- but don't actually do that stuff.  No time.


Find the coffee you made and forgot to drink.  Pour that shit down the sink.
Almost lock yourself out of the house without your keys.
Drive to local shopping centre and attempt to find a park.


Drive around for 20 minutes and give up, realizing there actually are no parks.




No shit.  No parks.  Stupid Christmas eve-eve.




Pull over to enjoy watching the temperature gauge in your car falling from the HOT zone.
Have a quick sauna waiting for the car to cool down.
Start driving again. 
Decide to live dangerously and get yourself a fancy drive-thru iced coffee.
Overheat again on the way back from getting said iced coffee.
Drink your iced coffee free of regret.  It was worth it.
Pull over 3 times on the way home.
Swear a little bit.
Drink some more coffee.


Arrive at home, dump 2L of water into the........ place you put the water in a car.  *cough*
Agonize over whether or not to bail out on appointment to inspect a new rental property on the grounds of shitbox car struggles.
No!  Decide to power through.  Your middle name is danger.
Think about breakfast again.  But don't do it.
Bravely leave the house again and head in the general direction of your appointment location.  (30mins away).
Overheat within 3 minutes. 
Pull over and call the cavalry. 
Finish that coffee and update your FB status.  Why not?


Be escorted to the safe zone by the cavalry, riding his mighty steed.  (er, DaddyO, his workplace, and work van)
Overheat some more but just make it to the safe zone without pulling over.
Join DaddyO on his mighty steed on a delivery driving adventure.  Not exactly what I had planned, but Okay!




(Yes, DaddyO is working on his day off.  Because that's how HE takes a day off, apparently.  Lucky man he is.)




Complete our annoying mission of stopping at the butcher to pick up meat for elderly co-worker who can't take a hint.
Feel guilty for not feeling very Christmassy.
Arrive back to the safe zone and fill the radiator of the shitbox with water.




Alright it's not a shitbox, but I'm really irritated right now so let's not get all technical and dissect my choice of terminology.

Summon your courage to get back in the car and face the highway again.
Realize you don't know who you're praying to.
Drive all the way home without any more problems, and thinking about breakfast, still.
Arrive home and dress in your least decent attire.
Drink a litre of water and collapse on the couch.
Write a ranty, whiny blog post outlining the shithouse day you're having.
Feel slightly better.


Re-strategize the afternoon and think some more about a meal.
Realize there's no actual food here, and add food shopping to your afternoon strategy.
Decide to attempt a power nap until DaddyO gets home from performing his elderly co-worker home-droppage daily taxi service.
Feel smug and sarcastic.........................................................




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The moral of the story?




Ninjas don't do days off.  You may find you're actually a ninja too, after reading this easy to follow guide. Do you rise above the general annoyance that is summer, tourists, the Christmas rush and crazy car problems with style and pizazz?  Do you manage not to karate chop anyone in sheer frustration? 




If you answered yes to any of these questions- you're probably pretty badass.  You're also allowed to swear and stuff whilst awesomely overcoming adversity.  I know I do.


Hey,  I'm not a fricken wax model of motherly perfection.  I'm a ninja.

Attempted Laundry 101

It's like my laundry has sex with itself and multiplies.  This is especially true in the post-ninja apocalyptic zone of destruction.

It sounds simple enough.   Wash clothes.   Dry clothes.  Put clothes away.   Wear clothes.  Repeat as necessary.  Well... allow me to introduce you to reality.

It goes more like this :

Wash clothes.
Cram too much in the dryer.
Wash another load while first one dries.
Realize later that load in the dryer now stinks as it sat half dry for hours because you overloaded it.
Throw that on the floor.
Move second load from washing machine to dryer.
Put most of first load back in washing machine.
Kick the rest into the corner to stink.
Turn on washer and dryer.
Go to bed.

Return at 4 or 5am.
Note- dryer should be open now with half its contents hanging out.
Make mental note to nag partner about trashing the joint.
Procrastinate instead of emptying dryer.
Drink coffee.
Attempt to scrounge an outfit for the kids from the dryer.
Dress kids.
Empty dryer.
Get interrupted.
Move yesterday's first load back to-  shit.  it's all stagnant smelling again.  Procrastinated too long.
Re-wash first load for the third time.

Go about your day and forget about it until the next day.
Re-wash a fourth and final time.
Move that load to dryer.
Gather stinking pile of rejected first load moistness from the corner you kicked it to.
Put in washing machine and add some more from the epic pile you've accumulated whilst the machine was occupado.
Carry dry clothes upstairs and throw haphazardly on spare bed.
Go back and collect everything you dropped on the way.
Almost fall down the stairs because you're rushing.

Later, check on dry clothes and realize they need a little longer.
Swear a little bit about bad weather and how you don't use the washing line when it's sunny either cause you ain't got time for that.
Go to bed and forget the load in the machine... wet..... stinky.....

It just dawned on me that I haven't completed the task of laundry in about 5 years.  Mount Washmore, and Mount Foldmore are permanent fixtures in my life.  In fact, they take up so much of my time,  they're like children.

When Wonderboy and Hurrikane are both at kindy, I'm always comforted in the knowledge that I'm in no danger of slacking.

Stay tuned for the next episode in this instructional series:  How to take the day off.