Bubba Moe Slings

Should a man give a 'Push" Present or not - Um yeah!

2012-01-13T11:21:00.000+11:00

The Rite of the Birthing Present or the Push present or how not to get hit in the head by a Frypan

When any men ask me about giving their wife or partnera ‘push or birthing’ present, I always advise ‘To stay out of the silentdoghouse I would strongly recommend you show her some gold”.

Joe, another business owner in our complex, and Ioften share a ‘cuppa in the car park’ each morning. He was telling me the otherday when his wife was pregnant for the first time, he sacrificed 2 beers a weekto put away some money to buy his wife a ‘baby bauble’ gift.

“It was difficult but I managed the sacrifice butbuying the gift was a painful labour of love” he quipped, cheekily adding thatafter a mammoth, complicated, scarring 27 hour experience (showing me where hiswife gripped his arm so hard and left nail marks that after 10 years are stillvisible), he needed to buy her a bigger better gift. Something the size of ababy’s head in relative proportion he gathered.

In Europe the wonderful act of a father giving anheirloom gift, usually some form of jewellery, to the woman who just gave birthto his child is eons old.

Here in Australia though it is still somewhatcontentious.

When my grandmother was born in 1903, in a tiny bedroomjust above where the cows were housed in a little farmhouse in rural Holland, mygreat grandfather presented my great grandmother a sapphire ring surrounded by10 little diamonds. The 10 diamonds were to represent the amount of childrenhe’d hoped to have. I wondered if he had to rethink that ring when the 17^thchild was born many years later, well after my own mother was born.

In Holland, there is an unspoken rule that if a manfails to present his wife the obligatory ‘birthing present’ all the women inthe community would line up armed with their frypans and clout the man intosubmission. Let’s say a few men over the course of history didn’t live to rectifytheir error.

The other rule is that when the mother passes over, thechild inherits that heirloom so that they too can pass it down. That’s how Igot to have my great gandmothers ring that I still wear today. Someday it willgo to my oldest daughter, Missy Zip.

My mother was born on a very cold November day in 1930in the heart of Amsterdam, as her mother lay in her bedroom, puffing &panting surrounded by her mother, sister and several female neighbours, theyoung male neighbour who lived directly above them was pounding his floor witha broom “hold up with the moaning already!” sending debris on top of thelabouring group.

In Holland women give birth at home and except forsmall pockets of rural areas, everyone lives in apartments, packed in likesardines with paper-thin walls. Women of the block usually mind older kids andstand at the ready whilst the men are sent outside to play chess or mostly goto the cafes to drink Beer and smoke Drum tobacco, waiting for one of themessenger kids to tell of the good news.

Once my mother was finally born, her grandmother armedwith the frypan from the kitchen marched upstairs and pounded on the door. Whenhe opened, she greeted him with the frypan; she had walloped him that hard, itknocked him out cold. She left him on the floor where he fell.

He hid in his apartment for 4 days too scared to facethe furore of women waiting outside, all armed with their frypans andunforgiving tempers.

Having watched the movie ‘Tangled’ last year, I haveto wonder if the writer is in anyway Dutch?

My grandfather presented my grandmother a beautiful marquisettebrooch to commemorate the birth of his first daughter. Hailing from a good CatholicSpanish descent Dutch family, the other tradition is the inheritance of thefamily first name; names that originally belong to the descendants. That’s whymy mother has 17 Christian names and we her children, thankfully only got one.

I only remember the first 6 or so; Frederika MariaTeodora Fransica Margueritte Eugenie (pronounced OO-shon-ee, she was quiteadamant about that) and when it came to filling in official forms that requiredher full name, she would look at the 10cm of line space and say “Well thatsucks”.

On my first wedding day, mum presented me with hergrandmother’s ring, her mother’s brooch. As I slid down the isle, I wore jewelleryfrom 3 generations of women, women that I owed my very existence to.

As the last child in my family, unnaturally, I was thefirst to procreate, as my much older brothers were very good at shootingblanks. My son’s birth was a long awaited occasion, so my parents hit up hisfather as to what the ‘gift’ should be.

Being very young & just plain dumb, he naivelyreplied “Huh? Nah, we don’t do that here”.

Unfortunately for him, that conversation took place inmy parent’s kitchen. Mum pulled out the frying pan, tossing it around in herhand when my future ex-husband said,

“That’s a good idea, I’m pretty hungry after such along night. What ya gonna cook Rika”

Dad suggested he run instead.

A few hours later with a noticeably large bump on hisalready receding forehead and a major headache to match, he emerged from thelocal jewellery store (in close escort of my tight lipped, narrow eyed, unhappyparents) with a lovely black onyx & cubic zirconia necklace & earringset.

At the hospital, I asked him what happened to hishead.

“I had an argument with a frypan and lost”

When my parents suddenly left the room and echoes oftheir hysterical laughter filled the hallway, I assumed he had tried to cooksomething for himself, which he had never, ever done before. In that moment, Iwas so proud of his attempt I gushed with chick flick gooy-ness.

With the following 3 kids I managed to acquire abracelet, diamond earrings and a watch. All very special, all very meaningfulto me still to this day.

When I met Maurie and Little Miss Mischief was on herway, Maurie & my kids searched everywhere to find the elusive ‘gift’.Nothing seemed to be quite right, till Missy Zip spotted a ring in a bric- a-brac store. That was it.

They paid a pittance for it but it was perfect ineveryway. Some years later a wedding band was crafted to fit in with it, as Inever wanted to get engaged, because I never wanted another ring to replace it.

18 months ago, on a cold June Sunday, I was gardeningwhen I noticed that my hands were bare. Panic erupted along with a tsunami oftears and unstoppable wailing on my part; everyone took to digging up thegarden. Nothing.

The heartbreak took hold at times, as I had nothing topass down to Little Miss Mischief other than my love and a portfolio of unsoldartworks, which I’m pretty sure no one else wants either.

This Christmas just gone Maurie & little MissMischief, giving up the idea of finding my beautiful rings purchased a goldnecklace with a pendant that says “I Love You’ instead.

That afternoon after the truckload of guests left, heasked if I had fed the guinea pigs yet. If looks could kill, I’d be organisinga funeral right now.

The guinea pigs are such great lawn mowers, we haven’tphysically mowed in months; we just move their bottomless cage around the yardevery morning & night. With the Christmas frenzy they were left in the samespot for a few days and the result was a bare ground patch, completely devoidof grass and weeds, just their poop.

Maurie took out some carrots and celery sticks andcame running back inside, in his hand was my wedding band!

I can just imagine the guinea pigs frustration - “Heyhumans! We wanted 9 carrots not a 9 carat for Christmas!”

Two full days later and that area of the garden becameto look like an excavation site, still nothing.

Maurie, the gem that he is and rather determined thatwe find my precious ring, ordered a metal detector.

It arrived this morning…......fingers crossed, here’shoping hey?

Keep you posted.

Photo's are from personal files, my uncle Dolf Krugar and the rest greatfully sourced from Google images

Enjoy!

When a Pet Dies

2011-11-18T06:27:00.001+11:00

I thought we'd share an email we were sent about a heart warming act of kindness by a stranger who helped a broken hearted child, when they beloved pet died. Children have such a strong bond with their pets, more than we can imagine at times, but when they die, the heartbreak is something as parents we need to help our children through.
One mother decided to help her 4 year old daughter write a letter to God to look after their dog Abbey. She never expected an answer!

So here's the email, you might need a tissue though!

Our 14 year old dog, Abbey, died last month. The day after she died, my 4 year old daughter Meredith was crying and talking about how much she missed Abbey. She asked if we could write a letter to God so that when Abbey got to heaven, God would recognize her. I told her that I thought we could so she dictated these words:

Dear God,
Will you please take care of my dog? She died yesterday and is with you in heaven. I miss her very much. I am happy that you let me have her as my dog even though she got sick.
I hope you will play with her.. She likes to play with balls and to swim. I am sending a picture of her so when you see her You will know that she is my dog. I really miss her.
Love, Meredith

We put the letter in an envelope with a picture of Abbey and Meredith and addressed it to God/Heaven. We put our return address on it.. Then Meredith pasted several stamps on the front of the envelope because she said it would take lots of stamps to get the letter all the way to heaven. That afternoon she dropped it into the letter box at the post office. A few days later, she asked if God had gotten the letter yet. I told her that I thought He had.

Yesterday, there was a package wrapped in gold paper on our front porch addressed, 'To Meredith' in an unfamiliar hand.. Meredith opened it. Inside was a book by Mr. Rogers called, 'When a Pet Dies..' Taped to the inside front cover was the letter we had written to God in its opened envelope. On the opposite page was the picture of Abbey & Meredith and this note:

Dear Meredith,
Abbey arrived safely in heaven.

Having the picture was a big help. I recognized Abbey right away.
Abbey isn't sick anymore. Her spirit is here with me just like it stays in your heart. Abbey loved being your dog. Since we don't need our bodies in heaven, I don't have any pockets to keep your picture in, so I am sending it back to you in this little book for you to keep and have something to remember Abbey by..

Thank you for the beautiful letter and thank your mother for helping you write it and sending it to me. What a wonderful mother you have. I picked her especially for you. I send my blessings every day and remember that I love you very much. By the way, I'm easy to find, I am wherever there is love.

Love,
God

Wow! how something kind of wonderful is that!, it blew me away reading this email, albeit with a tissue in hand. A stranger at the postal dead letter office went out of their way to ease a broken hearted child, a blessed soul!

We lost our faithful dog Pollie, a grand dame of 16 years nearly 2 years ago. A framed photo of Pollie is mounted on the wall next to Little Miss Mischief's bed. Each night she says 'good night' and plants a kiss on the photo. Last week when it was her dad's birthday, the restaurant had some helium balloons on the table as a centre piece. LMM took them home, which she wrote on one

"Dear God, please give this to Pollie, she loves balloons and I miss her so much"

We walked outside in the dark, holding a candle in one hand she let the balloon go in the other. The breeze took hold of it and it floated upwards, then seem to hover at one point, not moving further upward.
Under my breath I said with fingers crossed behind my back "please keep on moving......please" then whoosh! it flew away. Phew!.
LMM said "For a moment there I was worried that maybe God doesn't allow balloons Mum in heaven".
Then she asked the question that I think is long overdue
"Can I have a puppy for Christmas?"
I looked my treasured garden and gulped...............

Have you had a pet that has died? what did you find hard or how did you explain it to your children?

A Day in the life of a Supermum. Oh really!

2011-11-09T16:54:00.000+11:00

How do Super Mum's live anyway?

Every morning at around 3.30am I wake up embracing the day, though it's still dark outside and the birds haven't started their morning song as of yet.

Drink a relishing tasty health tonic and escape into the shower.

Don my sport clothes for a 5km jog, travel another 2km power walk, add a 30 minute course of cardio aerobic exercise finishing with a dessert topping of a 4 lap swim.

Shaking my wet hair into a 'naturally dried, I don't need to do another thing to my hair because it's already awesome as it is'. Slip easily into my size 8, superlicious jeans, cup my boobs into a 10B bra and top that off with a stylish, 'you look yummy mummy hot' top.

With enthusiasm and gusto, make every one's lunches, pre-prepare tonight's gourmet dinner, unload and reload faithful dishwasher, clean an already clean looking house, lay out children's daily clothes, make son's power shake, hang out the laundry, pre-program the next load of washing, feed the pets, sit down with a cuppa to answer personal emails, answer online comments, finish social media strategy plan by the last drop of tea and head to work for morning start of 6.30 am.

SLAP!
Sorry about that, I was dreaming again.

Is life really that simple to traverse, yet we seem to think that other mums do.....the idealistic super-mum. The mums that seem to sail through life effortlessly, with beautiful well mannered children, vogue styled home, and an impressive income of her own. She has the Midas touch, everything is easy.

Last week, a friend asked me to watch a web-video on a 'Mogul Mum" who seemed to have it all, she is by all accounts on the surface a super-mum. Watching this well known personality speak about her success, I noticed her body language, her shoulders were hunched a little and her eyes, well, a little less than smiley.This is a woman with some personal troubles or just plain tired, but the talk was there, the hype was there, smacking of "Look at me, look at me, I am so successful". Oh really.

The last time I spoke at a parenting conference I was introduced as an inspirational super-mum, which took me back a little. Liking the compliment anyway, but I am as ordinary as the mum next door.

In reality, I wake up at around 3.30am with a groan. I'd love to meet 7am, I hear its a really good time.

Turn the light on, gasp at the state of the kitchen, make a cup of tea and turn the computer on.
Read emails. Lament at the still dark exterior......
Basically everything else above is the same minus the enthusiasm & gusto, the over achieving exercise routine, the size 8 body, preferred boob size, the hair and clothes thing too, but as soon as there is light, I do go for a 3km power walk and ho hum the joggers that zoom past me each morning. I wouldn't dare jog out of fear that my hefty cleavage will give me a set of black eyes. I'm still not trim.

Today's society expects all mothers to be superhuman, super trim and super good looking and super talented, super committed and super financially independent. No excuses.
Women everywhere are trying so hard to meet these standards and they are secretly killing themselves emotionally & physically to meet the demands.

I think about the generation of women that came before me, like my mum.
My mum's generation were the stay at home wives. Girls who worked in their youth to be typists, secretaries, check out chicks till they married and had kids.

The conversations that mum & her friends used have on their regular get togethers; the lounge room would be filled with ladies puffing away on their cigarettes, drinking their coffee and chatting about how stressful their lives were.
Guaranteed each mum in that lounge room spoke about their daily dose of Valium or diazepam (something that sounded like that), who's husband was having an affair, gossiping about who didn't clean their windows last week, what type of roast to make, the latest in knitting techniques and had anyone tried the latest craze, macrame yet.
No one spoke about their gym routine, because gyms didn't exist then.

It intrigued me as to why all of these women were on Valium or similar in the first place. Valium is a calmative, sedative, that was often prescribed to help the then modern mum through the day without breakdown.
Were children so hard to raise in those days?

The only hardship I can possibly think off for my mother was that I asked more questions than she could ever possible answer, but basically we were all kicked outside to have our own adventures till dinner time. It was great.

Fast forward to the now generation of mums, life is far more complex and convoluted, the demands so much higher, all striving to reach the super human everything, and we are doing it without the aid of Valium.

Conversations now centre around who has found the latest apps, their careers, latest business technology, cloud computing, dropbox, latest google find, FB updates, diet & exercise regime, websites, new retail stores and cafes, best new parties, music and sometimes if you listen very carefully or look at the body language, there is a little subtle hint of "I'm drowning in competition here".

Majority of mums work, so career paths are critical to reach supermum status rather than just jobs. One dear friend returned to work once her children started school as a 'check out chick' at a local supermarket, rather than her previous corporate role. "I love my job really, it's the school hours so I'm free to be mum to my boys, I dont have to worry about after school care. I leave without taking work home with me, it's ideal in every way but I'm embarrassed to mention what I do in the company of other women that have executive positions, because they look down their noses at me as if I'm not important".

In reality, women in front line roles such as retail & customer service are far more important to us on a daily level than one woman at CEO level of a major corporation that we would not normally affiliate with. Just imagine if there was no one working in the supermarkets, or no supermarkets at all, we'd be back to growing all of our own veges (which is fun), slaughtering our own chickens & cattle (which isn't fun) ourselves or standing in long, long queues.

Many mums have also become business owners. The new breed of mumpreneurs, have the added stress of single handedly building the entire infrastructure of their company from the ground up, continually pursuing business education. Elements outside the initial product or service, such as employees, marketing, social media expertise, presentations, meetings, sourcing, business & retail relationships; the list is endless.
Yet every week the benchmark lifts a little higher and the mumpreneur has to work yet harder.
Last week someone mentioned I wasn't on Pinterest. "Huh?"

No matter what society expects from us, as mother's we are still in charge of doing the same motherly duties of looking after our children and partners as our predecessor did plus a whole lot more.

Take the outside work mum, who has to get the kids up and ready, the partner too sometimes, so that she can get to work on time. I have watched mums struggle into the day care centre in our home street, holding a tearful baby in one arm whilst dragging a defiant, cantankerous toddler in the other, come back out brushing a tear a way or wait till they get in the car and thump their head on the steering wheel, taking deep breaths. Their stressful day started a while ago and they haven't even arrived at work yet.

As our children reach primary school age, there's the struggle to get them to school on time, only to have the little darlings say at the school gate "Mum did you get my bag?"

Not to mention the plethora of after school activities, when mum becomes the taxi service, circumnavigating afternoon traffic across a couple of suburbs if she has more than one child or maybe a few to cart around.

Juggle the taxi service in between the second most important meal of the day, which is also the most time consuming and complex meal to make - the evening dinner. Add a few rounds of homework supervision (or battle standoffs), the bath time, the kitchen cleaning, folding the laundry, the bedtime routine (or war), it's not surprising to find many an overwhelmed mum not yet out of their work clothes at 9pm, trying to make it all fit in.

Mums seem to push themselves at the expectation to perform at a top knot rate endlessly throughout their day & night in all areas, to prove 'I am woman, hear me roar! I am woman, I am invincible" as Helen Redding sang the song that inspired women to change their lives from that day forward.

In hindsight someone should have put gaffer tap over her mouth!!

Something has got to give? but what?

Aside from the the secret wishful thinking of a few hours of 'free me time', as mothers, we wouldn't trade our children for anything.

Weekends are lost on the catch up of domestic chores, leaving most working mums without the option of critical battery recharging that the kids and non helpful partners enjoy the abundance of.
We're supposed to do it with a smile to!

As we battle the 'must have clean nest' syndrome internally, we endeavour to make our lives easier; we look, we search, we share tips, ideas, suggestions. As women we do that well, we also set the benchmark, the standards, we compete, we show off, because that's what women do. We are our own most significant 'frenemy'.

A friends daughter will be turning 10 at the end of this month, so she was scouring the bowels of google, blogs, websites and Pinterest for fab ideas and came away completely disheartened, somewhat depressed, if not impressed with her finds.
Looking on one blog site, her eyes feasted, her creative juices flowed and her heart sank
"Is this the new standard for little girls parties" she groaned "I can't compete with that, now I feel lousy that I can't, not only do these things, didn't think of them in the first place and just don't have the energy to coordinate it all?" she sighs.
It seems that Mcdonalds parties are no longer acceptable for that age group.

So the hangup begins again...... 'why can't I be a better mum like that mum'.....or 'mums like that make mums like me look real bad'..

Honestly, children really don't care if their mum can't master cloud computing, spreadsheets, diverse applications or make fancy sugar iced dolly clothes for dolly cookies, they love mum for who she is; their mum.

All mums are awesome in their own right!

Laugh at the chaos,

Take a 'good' break weekly (locking yourself in the toilet for half an hour, counting to 10 over and over again isn't considered a good break)

Don't stress about having to make the beds before you go to work in the morning; an empty house doesn't care. I have never known a house to have a sign on its front door "My owner didn't make the beds today"

Baked beans on toast for dinner is more than perfectly acceptable, we just don't get enough legumes in our diet anyway.

Don't compare yourself to other mums, they are probably doing the same to you.

Toys and baby paraphernalia scattered around is a sign 'My Family lives here'

Have an FFYD (Fend For Yourself Dinner) night at least once a week if you can. I've started to partake in that great invention.

If your are totally overwhelmed (and who isn't at times) find another mum to talk with and get things off your chest. She might need it too.

Believe in yourself, your kids do.

and,

"No one ever says on their death bed, I should have spent more time in the office"

Enjoy!

ACCC is not an authority on safety - a must read!!

2011-10-11T20:51:00.000+11:00

What if you are in the market for a new car. You've done the research, you've thought about it and came up with a decision on a particular car. What if you read an article from an authority you believe is an expert on all things car related. This authority, this car expert steers you away from your decision, saying it's a bad choice, don't go near it. You decide on another type of car from the findings of this expert. What if, a few months down the track you discover that this expert doesn't know the difference between a motorcycle, a truck or even a station wagon. How would you feel? ripped off? angry perhaps? annoyed about being lied too? steaming at the ears because your original choice would have been perfect to suit your needs. What would you do? speak up?

I spent over an hour 2 weeks ago speaking with Tony Mintura from the ACCC, who released to the media that cloth slings are dangerous and shouldn't be used. A sort of Armageddon type statement that smacked of innuendo that if you put your baby in a sling it will die, it will suffocate instantly.
Yet no baby actually has. The first one last year was the famous 'hang the baby on the door knob' case.

OK I warrant that it was a 'bag style sling' that had 2 layers, elasticised opening and the baby was strapped to the bottom of the sling and hung off the door knob so the parents dogs couldn't get at the baby. It might have sounded like a good idea at the time but it became a fatal one. The elasticised opening closed up as a natural reaction, the dual layers of fabric stopped airflow and the baby was at the bottom of the bag carrier breathing in stale air. A mistake that can never be repaired.
Infantino recalled all of it's bag style carriers for review, while most of the industry had again repeated what they all thought when it first appeared on the market.....WTF! We all still do.

The ACCC went into fight mode and the newspapers said that if the ACCC have their way, all slings will be banned. Shock waves hit the industry, contacting the ACCC was harder than a needle in a hay stack, so emails were written, phones calls - all unanswered.

I saw more than 15 years of hard work, research, study, testing, go running out the door faster than my family when I offer Brussels Sprout Pie is for dinner.

Only those who are fans, didn't read the article, or tish-toshed the ACCC antics away that we are still here today.

Looking at the photo's in this blog, it looks nearly impossible on how a baby can suffocate. Rule of thumb with any product, you must be able to see baby's mouth at all times.

With the death of a 2 day old newborn baby in SA worn under the mother's jumper, the ACCC is at it again, trying to blame the death on slings. Most people will agree carrying a baby under a jumper without visible access to baby's mouth is never a clever idea, regardless of being in a sling or not.

The coroner handed down the judgement that the death was indeterminable, but the ACCC once again tried to focus the blame on a sling. The point is that with any type of suffocation, there is clear forensic evidence, such as cell & tissue damage, explaining it simply. This was not evident in the baby's autopsy.
Again we approached the ACCC with a 'please explain & why are you scaremongering the public!"

No answer again until I decided to follow protocol and make a complaint about the ACCC as a jeopardising monopoly, which by the way is illegal. The only government body who can approach in times like this is the ACCC. So the ACCC had to follow mandatory protocol and investigate itself.
My outcome - result! A phone call from the man himself, Tony Mintura, the expert on sling safety, except he doesn't know the difference between any of the different types of carriers on the market.

I'm not joking!!!!!!!! this man who made the statements, the press releases, doesn't even know the difference between a hammock style carrier, a parachute style, a wrap style or the dreaded bag style (ok most of us in the industry want to see this style go, because we are all in the know). I had to spend some time explaining how the different styles operate, the benefits, the whole kit & caboodle. I also asked him if he had ever used one, though I suspected the answer - no, "I just doesn't like them" he said.
This is the man that is trying to govern what you are allowed to use, like the car expert who knows nothing of cars.
Our industry was ever grateful to Kidsafe who immediately got on TV to feature how safe slings are.

What or who is the ACCC anyway? What do they do?
The ACCC was formed as a watchdog to protect businesses and consumers from pricing & practise monopolies.
They are not an authority on product safety.

Mostly this organisation was established as an outcome from the insidious dealings of the building industry, then became a protective blanket for all industries.
As one example, in our industry, some years ago, a private organization called INPAA, aka Industry Nursery Products Australia Association was formed as a regulatory group to list safe products that had undergone or met high safety standards, including legislative, such as car seats or non-legislative products, such as baby carriers etc.
Initially this non-government body was an ethical group determined to make Australian babies & children's products safe, but with a changing of the board of directors over the years, an insidious practise started to emerge.
Around 5 years ago, Bubba Moe Slings was the first to achieve product liability for soft baby carriers within Australia. I approached INPAA to become 'certified', and was rejected without any comment. Numerous phone calls were never returned and we at Bubba Moe were left scratching our heads as to why?
It wasn't till we were at a baby expo in Melbourne we were told the truth by another sling competitor who also had trouble gaining any entry into this elusive organisation. Having done some research herself, she found that another competitor of ours was one of the board of directors of INPAA, therefore any other soft baby carrier company would not be allowed a certificate of approval. Of course INPAA approached retailers to become a part of their group (retailers paying a hefty annual fee to display a sticker in the window) and then telling the retailers to clear their shelves of any non-INPAA products. A monopoly formed.
Many retailers bucked at the cost and the loss of some of their favourite products. It was a pram manufacturer (who wishes to remain anonymous) who found that another board member was also a pram manufacturer, that contacted the ACCC. This is were the ACCC is an authority. The board members were sacked, a new practice protocol was put into place under the guidance of ACCC, and we in the industry sighed a hefty sigh of relief.

For the record, Australian Standards & Kidsafe have never been in any association with the ill-fated INPAA. Though INPAA is still trading (eyebrows raised) it doesn't have any clout or bearing and most people don't even know of its existence. The former board members who eagerly wished the demise of their competitors all went out of business themselves (karma always bites back)

The strange thing is that why is ACCC getting involved? They along with the ABA (Australian Breast Feeding Association) are trying to set a standard on baby carriers personally. I feel that this is INPAA revisited all over again. ABA themselves don't have a breastfeeding carrier except for their 'apron' style carrier that has been rated the worst carrier in history for it's tiny shoe string straps and no infant head support. They approached me around 2 years ago to redesign this carrier to be more supportive, user friendly and most importantly breast feeding friendly! I was eager until a change of staff (there's a lot of staff changes) left me dealing with their project manger........ in short - I quit!!!!!!!!!!!
I, like all their previous staff wanted to hide on the Sahara side of Timbuktu.

In the Media industry, they are often referred to as the 'WHO', but these people have some clout.
Do you know why you never or very rarely see advertisements on bottles or dummies? The ABA is responsible for that. Whether you are a member or not, all new parents are under the wrath of the ABA, who themselves are creating a monopoly - which is illegal.

New parents are being denied access to knowledge of an item that they might or have to use. No parent should be made to feel ashamed for using a bottle, after all what is a bottle really? It's a drinking vessel, like a cup, glass, pop top etc, its just something to drink out of.

Our caricature (mascot) is a derivative of a photo of my 2nd son 'the Chef' & me when he was 5 months old. In the photo he is sitting in the sling chomping at the side of his mouth a dummy (great for teething instead of me) with me looking at him with motherly love. We cant use our mascot because of the dummy.
For me it's a homage to my son who made me start the business of Bubba Moe.

We were incredibly poor, faced with a moral dilemma when he sold his 4 rabbits to produce $20. Do I use the money to buy food or buy fabric to make some more money maybe? when I had my first non-family customer. It was he who said "If you do this, our lives will change"
The next week, when she paid for the sling, we bought something that we hadn't had in a very long while - ice cream.

help us choose a Mini Moe Logo and win one for the little mothers

2011-09-12T19:42:00.000+10:00

The firsttime I made a 'Mini Moe' was when Missy Zip was 6 years old, she is now21.

The BabyBorn doll was the biggest fad since the Barbie, and like all the other girlsher age, high on the Christmas wish list.

Monthbefore Christmas, as the queue for the doll reached frantic level, I stillneeded to find tidbits like clothes & accessories for the doll, running outof time, I brought in the cavalry to stand in line, my mum.

I lefther with a look that smacked of "be nice" I went in search for theextras, surmising that it would be at least another half an hour

One hellof a ferocious person just by her look, mum never stood any line for anythingvery long.

Mean mumscome in handy for moments like these.

I wasstill gulping back the cost of the hefty priced outfits, which started at $48,and the Baby Born carrier was double that, when mum came up with the dollleaving behind a trail of curse mutterings from those still left in line.

She demandedwe leave real soon, or there might be a posse of irate mum's waiting for us inthe car park.

"ButI haven't got any clothes for the doll........"

WithTroll, a then bub in the sling, it was mum who suggested or more like aninpatient scowl "make them yourself" as she pointed to the sling.

Lookingpast me, she said "Quick, give me the sling". I didn't need to turnaround to know that there was a troop of angry shoppers with an agenda comingup behind us.

Transferringsleeping Troll in sling from me to mum was done in less then 30 seconds, sheshoved me aside, pushed out her boobs, cracked her knuckles one at a time asshe faced her self induced foe.

It workedevery time, they slinked away.

Mum wasas embarrassing as many times as she was right about things.

I guessgrowing up in the slums of a European city ravaged by war & otheratrocities, she came accustomed to casually stepping over fist fights in thestreet as she did stepping off a curb to cross a street.

Thatnight I made Missy Zip and the Baby Born identical twirly floral dresses withmatching flip up hats and a coordinating stripe Mini Moe dolly sling. I had towait till she went to bed before commandeering The Chef's body as a guide forthe Mini Moe dolly sling. Just 2 years older, he was used to being a livemannequin for all the Aster Moe Kidswear designs; boys & girls wearalike.

Couple ofyears later it was a different story as I had to chase him around the house toget him to try on an outfit. "I'm not getting into a dress, FINAL!"he protested, hurdling couches, sliding across the kitchen bench island, as Ipleaded in hot pursuit "I just need to check dimensions that's all. Honestit will be quick, pleeeaasse"

Icouldn't wait till Christmas for missy Zip to have the Baby Born Doll and thevarious other outfits I ended up making. That doll was going to be the bestdressed doll in town.

As withMissy Zip it was a hit as it was for our Aster Moe customers.

Mini MoeDolls Clothes was born that Christmas and lived for another 10 years, sellingat all the various markets we did. All the designs were replicas of theof the Aster Moe range, many times the dolls clothes sold out before thechildren's clothes did. At Christmas time there would be queues of people, 4 -5deep grabbing at the dolly clothes. These days there is case of left overMini Moe dolls clothes and a naked Baby Born, which has Texta makeup to rivalthe scariest clown in town in permanent non use under Little Miss Mischief'sbed. I guess she didn't like Baby Born's as much as Missy Zip did.

The MiniMoe Dolly sling though, is in rampant use by little Miss Mischief & her BFF- Bailey. Sezah, her rabbit along with Snowy & Jasmine the resident guineapigs all get daily rides as LMM lullaby's them with her own fairy & unicornsongs in the garden.

I'mthinking, singing lessons might not go astray in the new future..............

I haveexperimented with the Mini Moe Dolly slings for a long time, but kept comingback to our original version, thinking that maybe a ring sling version mightgive better sizing to accommodate different shapes & rapidly growingbodies. I experimented with parachute style versions, thinking that little kidscould relate easier with that style, but there were already a few on the marketand it seemed to contradict what we were about. Mostly parents spoke abouttheir little toddlers grabbing the sling that was used for them and puttingtheir teddies in, but it was too big; so back to the original once again.

Like alot of things in our lives, we put a lot of projects to the back burner, due tolife as we know it being so full as it is.

This timeI did I got the legals in process before anyone saw the revised Mini Moe DollySling; a little but very important thing called IP protection!!!!

Nothingis more heart braking than having your design that you have spent countlesshours researching developing only to have it stolen away by the lack of an A4sheet of paper. I've seen it happen to so many people in the past and it's notsuch a big process once you've don't it once.

We'rereally happy at the response we have had within our control groups, theretailers who have 'proof tested' the product and at Perth's PBC Expo lastmonth a hit with the general public.

Theproduct itself is finished, though we are still finalising the choices oflogo's done by the fabulous Bec Marr from RubyRuby designs andthe marketing material such as packaging and other things that go with a newproduct......... so much to do!

The staff& I just can't seem to settle on a favourite, so we thought it might benice to have our fans & readers have an input in choosing the new logo forour Mini Moe Dolly Sling.

As a reader of this blog, there's a chance to win a free Mini Moe Dolly Sling, from the following concepts, which logo would you choose? Post your answer in the comment section below. Who ever chooses the final design will get a Mini Moe of their choose, there's are 15 cute selections to choose from

Love your Dad Today

2011-09-04T09:02:00.000+10:00

With Fathers Day today, and just like every Fathers Day, it brings a tinge of sadness and excitement for our household.
I love spoiling my husband Maurie, he is such a great father not only to our own Little Miss Mischief but to his step children, 'my other 4'. I also think of my own dad, and Maurie's dad too, this is where the sadness comes in.
The one thing I wished I had done was tell Dad more times how much I loved him, I don't think I said it enough.

SO, if your Dad is around, love your Dad today!

I often think of my Dad, who was as soft as my mum was tough. Dad was an all round good guy, who loved to help anyone who needed a project completed, something built, something fixed. Wherever Dad went, so did his tools. Being an engineer, it suited him.

Dad was always around, helping us build our extension, building pathways, cubby houses, the pool etc. Everything in our home has a hand from Dad.

There wasn't a thing he wouldn't do for me or his beloved grandchildren.
Have a problem - call Dad
Need a fix job - call Dad
Want something built - call Dad
Need some babysitting - call Dad
Help at the markets - call Dad
Build a spud cannon - Call Dad
Take kids to sport - Call Dad
Flat tyre - call Dad
Driving lessons - Call Dad
Frames for my art work - Call Dad
You name it, "who ya gonna call" - Dad

While I was heavily pregnant with #2 (the chef), I found it difficult to drive with such a big belly. Being short had a lot to do with it, with the seat set at the closest, my belly got in the way. Dad to the rescue again, constructed a set of pedal extensions, which I used in all of my cars, until our family car, a Nissan Nomad, dubbed the Freedom Van, died a premature death at the age 19.5 years. Vans are not designed for paddock bashing, the much older 'Chef' found out. I forgot until it was to late to retrieve the pedal extensions my Dad had lovingly made. A stab of pain hit my heart so hard, no longer possible to get on the phone "hey Dad....."

I remember at one stage when the boys were little I wouldn't let them watch South Park, an animated series, rather controversial and definitely not to my liking, definitely not to my approval. I had given strict orders to my parents that my children were not allowed to watch the show, which my parents didn't seem to know anything about. Having watched mostly documentaries & British sitcoms most of their lives, I felt confident that they wouldn't approve either.

Suddenly each Monday, Dad would religiously collect both the boys for a sleepover at Oma's & Opa's, under the guise "I'm helping them with their softball training", where I assumed that they would spoil the boys with chocolate & chips.

This went on for a few month's until I discovered that secretly my parents thought the show hysterical, that I was a stick- in- the- mud, and it was their weekly time together for silly fun. My rules didn't count when it was their time together and besides, what I didn't know wouldn't hurt me.

Over the next few years mostly for my parents sake, in particular Dad who really enjoyed the charade, egged on by the boys, who thought it a real hoot to bypass their mum's rules, I kept the 'no South Park what-so-ever' a permanent rule.

After they left each Monday, I would chuckle at the rebellious 4, Dad, Mum, Ry & the Chef indulging in their weekly cheeky dose of authority defiance.

After Dad passed away I did confess to the boys, that I knew the real Monday reason (softball my arse). We all laughed. The boys, now young men, even after 10 years still miss those Mondays.

The one thing I wished I had done was tell him more times how much I loved him, I don't think I said it enough.
SO, if your Dad is around, love your Dad today!

Bubba Moe discovers the Levity Layne Breastfeeding cover

2011-08-27T17:56:00.000+10:00

While I was at the PBC Perth Expo couple of weeks ago, I discovered some wonderful products that I think you would love to know about!

The first one that had me more excited than...... anything

is the

Levity Layne

Bamboo Breastfeeding Covers

At only $39.95, not only great value for money, also fuss free, easy to wear, with timeless understated elegance.

I want one too!!

Made from Bamboo, the cool scrumptious feel that's drapes divinely over the body is almost heavenly.

Really who could resist not wearing this as a fashion item long after breastfeeding days are over?

Kerry Bryson, the intrepid designer of Levity Layne, chose bamboo for her product for its pure properties.

Why Bamboo?

Antibacterial - keeps you odour free, feeling and smelling fresh
Tremendously Absorbent - keeps you and your baby dry while feeding
Impressively Insulated - keeps you cooler in summer and warmer in winter
One of the softest fabrics on the planet - you'll love the way it feels on you and your baby
Natural UV Protectant - protect yourself and your baby from the suns UV rays (great pram cover while in the sun)
Hypoallergenic - natural bamboo does not cause allergic reactions
Made from the most eco-friendly plant on the planet - help save your planet

Visit www.levitylayne.com.au

Hungry on the streets of Perth

2011-08-19T05:39:00.002+10:00

August every year I fly over to Perth for the annualPBC Expo. This is the only expo that I go as our own rep for Babyland and otherstores that stock our slings.

I love Perth, so it’s never a case of coaxing. Itnever ceases to amaze me how friendly, warm-hearted and open Perth people are,and besides their city is beautiful too!

Each year it’s the same, I get in a last minute flap organisingeverything for the staff I leave behind. The day I was leaving for the flightover I was at the factory before 6.30am, 10 am I raced home to finish packingmy suitcase, as my stomach started to protest, realising that I hadn’t eatenanything except a few teas, a coffee and a Chai since 3am that morning.

Scoffing down 2 slices of toast I made a mental noteto catch something more significant at the airport before the late afternoonflight.

Ok, that didn’t happen as I got sidetracked at a cutechildren’s store in the transit lounge, buying something for Little MissMischief. Racing towards the gate I managed to get in on time, well, I’ll getsomething from the in flight menu.

6.30 pm, with tummy protesting louder than it did thismorning, I grabbed the menu. Hmm, the ‘Masterchef’ Salmon pie made my nose turnup and the skinny chick salad wrap was equally unappealing. I’ve had the giantcookie on a previous flight, I didn’t like that either.

I turned the menu around a few times just to check ifthere might have been something I had missed. I didn’t feel like Alcohol, andthe coffee, I remember was enough to send shudders down my person.

Mental note to myself, don’t be so fussy, but fussystill won out so I ignored my tummy and thought, I’ll catch something at theDome Café at the airport. They’ve always got a good selection.

Arriving at just past midnight in Perth, I ignored therush of passengers to the baggage carousel and headed straight for Dome.Ordered Chai, as per usual, but their remaining food was on the thin, not to mytaste side. Deep breath, don’t be fussy, just be pick something, anything forgoodness sakes. Nah, I’ll get something at the Hotel. Collect lonely bag fromcarousel.

Arrive at hotel, check in, and head the long, longwalk to find my room. Back tracking along the way, because suddenly the roomnumbers go out of sync. Criss-cross the main corridor a few times only to findit’s the very last room, in the very last nook I look in.

Head straight for the fridge in anticipation of a wellstocked mini bar, chips will do nicely right about now.

Open fridge to find 3 little sachets of milk andnothing else. Stick head inside just in case I missed the spot that held thenormal offerings of chips, chocolates and nuts. Nothing, zilch, zip.

Light bulb! There is always the complimentary freebickies!

Head for the cupboard that has the tea & coffeesachets, only to find just that! No bickies. For an expensive Hotel (because Ileft the booking rather late) this was unacceptable. No bickies, scratcheshead.

Light bulb! Room service! Dial for room service onlyto find that they closed 10 minutes before hand. This can’t be good.

Make tea using the 3 tiny miniscule sachets of milk,not that palatable, reminds me of the type of tea my mother used to make. Imiss her, but never, ever have I missed the woeful tea she used to make. A splish,splash & drop of milk makes any tea a blah experience. I like mine to looklike a golden-bronzed Aussie, full bodied & richly flavoured.

Grab my Mary Poppins style handbag, which always hassomething left over from LMM’s ‘I don’t want to carry this anymore’. Rummageneatly then turn the bag upside down to tip out its contents. Immediatelyregret decision, looking at the carnage on the floor.

There it tumbles, rollingon the ground, with a glowing halo pulsating from its shiny wrapped being, aWerther’s original.

Cheesy grin erupts on face!

I don’t know how long its been in my bag, but itswrapped, so its still good according to my completely depleted stomach.

The last little sliver manages to lodge in a deepcavity that once a tooth resided. Claw at ceiling in excruciating pain till itdislodges itself with the help of a rather forceful tongue. Mental note tooneself; get over stupid fear of dentist and their horrible dose of torture,get the multitude of almost extinct teeth fixed.

Face plants the bed, complaining to no one but myselfabout the single cotton cell blanket that provides the only form of warmth inthis cold room.

4.30am, wakes with the trumpeting pain of a stomachembarking on a full scale war!

Light bulb! All McDonalds are open at 5am in most citycentres if not 24/7. Dresses, sips a black cup of tea to waken rest of body.Stomach yells at rest of body to hurry up.

Walk the darkened deserted streets of Perth Citytowards McDonalds. It’s a long, very cold 6-block walk, but considering thatsince I have given myself lately a hefty dose of ASTC (Ass Stuck To Chair) Ishouldn’t complain.

Turn corner, startled by a man like figure lurking inthe shadows. Jump sideways, heart goes a little further. Phew, its one of themany bronze statues that adorn the city fair.

Catch heart before it splatters on the road beside me,push back into chest and quicken the pace.

Arrive at McDonalds only to find they open at 6am. Ohjoy!!

There are people around, but they look like thehomeless variety.

Mental note to oneself, next volunteer work I do willbe to help feed homeless people, considering they would feel like this on adaily basis.

2 young girls walk up, pyjama clad with sloppy joesthrown over the top. The 3 of us look hopelessly into the entrance of the emptyMcDonalds and start talking.

Half an hour later we are still pacing likeprotesters, when a troupe of runners dash past. One girl claps and cheers andtells them they are doing a great job, keep it up she yells out “You’reTrojans, pillars of society”

I like this girl; she’s fun even if she still has lastnight’s makeup caked on. I look worse, more like a walking train wreck.

Some of the early morning workers turn up. We getexcited at the very soon prospect of food. The next half hour is sheer agonywhen the make up girl starts singing the David Jones Food Hall song “Food,glorious food” which I think was taken from the musical Oliver.

The wondrous chime of the Perth Town Hall clockheralds the 6am we were waiting for.

6.05am girls start clawing at the window, I join in toscare them into opening on time. No such luck.

6.10am girls start to slide down front glass doors, Itry but my jacket gets stuck, bare of back touches ice-cold doors. Howl at theshock of it, all the while the staff continue to ignore us.

6.15am and finally, they open! Girls rush to counterfirst, they’re bigger & by the looks of it hungrier than me if that’s atall possible.

Manage to order a hotcakes meal, though it took 4attempts to get the young employee to understand that I really only just wantedthe hotcakes. Repeating far too many times in her very broken English “Yu wamel” ***sigh*** Ok, I have meal then. Just give me some food already.

Sit down to eat as a homeless man walks in with a coinloot of $1.50. Employee says coffee is $2.95. I dig out coin purse to help payfor coffee but the manager waves the employee aside and gives the man a largecoffee for the coins before I can get to the counter.

The homeless man sits at the table next to mine,savouring his coffee. I can’t eat the hash brown or the last hotcake so I askhim if he’d like to continue enjoying the hot, freshly baked hash brown andhotcake for me.

He smiles and nods as I hand over my no longer neededfood. I’m full, take sip of coffee and nearly choke. I’d forgotten how tar likethe McDonalds regular coffee is.

As if by instinct the homeless man holds out hand, stillcoughing & spluttering, I gladly relinquish to him the poison he seems tolike so much.

I get up to go, chirping off a ‘see you later’ hewinks back with a smiley “Your trip here will be very successful”, the mannerof the voice not quite matching his look. Scratches head.

Skip all the way back to the hotel, stopping only tosay “boo” to the statue that startled me before and a quick pit stop for realmilk at the now open convenience store enroute.

Life’s happy as I enjoy a real cup of tea back at the Hotel.Find a stash of blankets in the wardrobe, which makes me feel better about not freezingto death over the next few nights.

A couple of hour’s later head off to the first day of whatwill be a complete sell out of Bubba Moe Slings.

Very successful Expo indeed!

Co-Sleeping - It's official, It's healthy as researchers say to do it

2011-08-02T07:12:00.000+10:00

Well in this weeks newspaper that is, researchers arestating it’s healthy and promotes emotional intelligence. Not that it comes asa surprise to those who do so, either voluntarily or by default.

We all know that sleeping with someone makes you feelmore close to him or her, more attached, more loved and more capable of lovingin return. This is especially true with our children, as it extends bondingopportunities, especially for working parents who feel time deprived and quiltridden. It’s a super bonding time without the effort. How easy is that? Aparent doesn’t even have to think.

Co-Sleeping provides more comfortable, efficient andcosier environment for night feeding especially in winter when its too ‘friggin’cold to traipse the long cold hall down to the other side of the house whereyou have delegated baby to sleep. Ok so you’ve done a fantastic job withdecorating your baby’s room in the months waiting for your precious bundle toarrive, it doesn’t mean it’s going to waste; there are plenty of years yetwhere it will get trashed by growing bub.

For those who deprive themselves of even further sleepby doing the nightly bed hopping yo –yo routine, simply stop killing yourselfand get on with some sleep.

I’ll guarantee my life that one morning you’ll wake upand they wont be there. I’ll also guarantee that the first response you’ll getbefore the rejoicing hits; is a disappointed “oh”.

I’ll also guarantee that you will sneak into theirbedroom just to make sure everything is ok. You’ll know in that instant as yousee your precious child still in a snuggled sleep, as your heart pangs and thelower lip will drop ever so slightly, that your child is growing up. Thedrawing close of an era is at hand

He or she, who would steal into your room in the deadof night with stealth, yet launch onto the bed with the diplomacy and grace ofa over zealous bouncing chimpanzee as they wedge their way in between you andyour partner to get prime position and double-sided cuddles is now quite happyin their own bed.

As you remind yourself of the many mornings waking upcold, greeted by a blanket of tickly hair splayed across your face, an armdraped over your chest and the blankets kicked off by the intrepid mite; oneleg in and one leg out, as the sounds of gentle snoring and their mouth open& drooling as you hang on the very edge of the bed by a smidgeon, how cansuch a little person take up so much room?

How can you protest when hours earlier, they’vecuddled up to you, planting their cold foot on your warm leg, “I wuv youmummy”.

I’m often asked from parents “Should I take my childback to their own bed and force them to stay there?”

I used to answer why? Why do such as thing, but now Iask them “what do you think is the right thing to do, don’t answer me with whatyou think is the ‘right’ answer or what you think I want to hear, but what do youthink, what do you feel?”

It’s funny how most times the answer is roughly thesame. When parents feel unburdened by judgement or acceptance but answer withtheir own thoughts & feelings.

“Actually I like it, I feel so much closer to mychild, I feel its wrong to force them to sleep by themselves when they arescared or needing me” Is the usual response, so there’s your answer.

I remember my hairdresser telling me her daughter’sresponse, when she told her daughter that she was a big girl now and she shouldsleep on her own “How come if I’m a big girl and have to sleep on my own, youstill sleep with daddy and you’re bigger!”

After 4 months of this nightly battle with herdaughter at the insistence of her cousin (telling her that she posedirreversible damage to her daughter if she allowed her to sleep with them), shecouldn’t answer the most logical argument presented. My hairdresser picked herdaughter up, hopped into bed and snuggled up tight.

“I never stopped her from coming in again, wasting 4months of sleep & sanity on trying to appease my cousin, whom I have to addhas a lousy relationship with her own kids anyway. My husband enjoys her beingthere as he is a shift worker and doesn’t get a lot of time with her”.

If you are still worried then look at it logically

1) How many 25 yr olds do you know still sleepingwith their parents? – None hey?

2) How many 18 yr olds do you find sleeping withtheir parents – I don’t think so

3) How many 15 yr olds do you find sleeping withtheir parents? Not on your nelly!

4) How many 12 yr olds do you find sleeping withtheir parents? Maybe on the rare occasion if they are very sick

5) 5)How many 10 yr olds do you find sleeping withtheir parents? Maybe on the rare occasion after a nightmare or sick

6) 6)How many 8 yr olds do you find sleeping withtheir parents? Maybe a tad more than 10 yr olds, after a nightmare, sick orwatching a scary movie they thought they were up for.

7) 7)5 yr olds and under – definitely a lot morebecause they know only mummies & daddies can keep the wardrobe monstersaway.

Can you see the pattern? There’s no need to worry buta couple of tips though

1) Get a really good bed! and 2) In times when your child or children has a severe case ofbed hog, make sure you have a comfy couch that’s long enough to sleep on.

ENJOY!

The Birth Plan - Ha Ha, ROFLMAO

2011-07-19T05:20:00.001+10:00

The funniest birth plan I ever came across was that of my marketeer colleague, Keisha. Keisha's stall was on one side of me and on the other side was Catherine, mother of 2.

At each weekly market her plans became more concentrated, more precise, more calculated, more organised down to the drift of vanilla scented rose petals scattered before her feet as she made her way into the birthing pool with specially selected cd's of the sounds whales traveling majestically through the oceans in sinc with each stage of her labour.

As Keisha went off to serve a customer, Catherine said rather quietly "In my day the birth plan was how to get to hospital in time and not kill the husband. She doesn't have a clue, what are they doing to these young mums? Feeding them a romantic notion that they are in total control at all times?".

We both had tried to tell her that giving birth, though incredibly beautiful the end result is, is far from the romantic tribal, heavens will open up and angels will sing at the blessed event, that Keisha perceived, or far worse, expected it to be.

Amazing as giving birth is, we feared that Keisha's view of amazing was a whole lot different from the real amazing that it is.

We could only wait and see, we both concluded, though Catherine did stipulate that if Keisha's plan did go off, then Catherine was going back to the maternity hospital, demanding a refund.

We both knew from Richard that Keisha never swore, never ever. Catherine did warn him on this occasion, she might.

Keisha and her husband Richard had the plan worked to military precision. They scoured, interviewed almost kidnapped a Doula for the planned home birth of their first child.

She preferred her child to be born a week early, so that the babe would still be a Taurean and not a Gemini (her brother is one).

With strict adherence to yoga and pilates during her pregnancy, she was assured of a supple easy, short labour.

Her disciplined diet nourished her body to optimum peak levels to sustain the labour, while simply focusing away the duration of each contraction, using the mental exercises she had been religiously practising.

In the rest time between each contraction she would be waited on hand & foot, with luxurious massages from Richard, both their mothers and 7 of her best gal pals, who would also offer the reflective girly deep & meaningfuls to the beauty of life, marking the first of the friends to embark on the glorified journey into motherhood.

Herbal teas, exotic fruits were ordered along with the 14 hours of compiled whale & dolphin sounds while a labour completely drug free of pain relief was underway. With her Doula, guaranteeing to be there every step of the way, Keisha planned the weekend labour to begin as the sun shone mid afternoon with the beauty of the breaking dawn heralding the arrival of the most beautiful child ever to grace the earth. The beauty of their son Aaron, was the only part of the plan they got right.

2 weeks overdue and completely over it after a few false alarms that had everyone jumping around in nervous fits, Keisha went into labour in the middle of the night. Soaking her husband's pyjama's as her waters broke in bed.

Keisha's calls to the Doula went unanswered, as Richard frantically scoured the house for the box containing the wadding pool bought several months ago. Both soon to be grandmothers wanted a few more hours sleep. Most of her girlfriends had to work so they'll be in afterwards, a couple did turn up, but ended up going home for some sleep and a change of clothing by the time the grandmothers arrived. The day was wet, cold and windy; not the sunshine Keisha assumed.

14 hours later, as Richard tried to massage his wife's back, she told him to shove off mid contraction. Escaping to a hot coffee in the kitchen whilst the next contraction was in full swing, he heard his wife scream out "Fuuuuuuuuccckkking hellllllllllllllllllll". The next 5 minutes is completely censored.

The Doula turned up at 3pm, having come directly from another birth, told Keisha after examination that she was only 4cm dilated.

4 more hours later, Keisha was yelling for someone to "Turn off that f$#%&ing music before she personally strangles every f&%*ing whale on the planet or any person left standing in the room".

24 hours later, the single girlfriends had long since gone home, the newly married ones double checked their pill dosage and Richard's hair was getting curlier with every agonising expletive filled groan that erupted from his wife's normally demure and very pretty mouth.

After 30 hours, Richard and the 2 grandmothers were getting a little anxious about the labour along with Keisha's screaming pleas for the monster inside of her to get out now.

Keisha was strong, she wanted pain relief ever so badly but didn't ask. There was no point really, her birth plan included the complete eviction of any pain relief from house prior, lest she be tempted. A real mother doesn't use pain relief she told us on her last market day, she rejoices at the pain of her labour bringing her closer to the divine goddess state of Motherhood.

Catherine & I took bets.

After 36 hours of solid labour, the Doula called it quits to a home birth this time and called the hospital. As Keisha was being settled in the ambulance, it didn't take them much to suggest a shot of Pethadine to take the edge of the contractions as she was too exhausted to argue.

4 hours later, the early evening night devoid of shining stars, blackened even more by the onslaught of gale force freezing cold wind & rain, little Aaron was finally born. With just a little intervention such as forceps and a lot of pain relief, Keisha boasted at needing only 2 little stitches to push out a baby that felt like the size of a f@*&ing elephants head.

3 weeks later when Keisha came to the markets to show off their beautiful baby boy we couldn't wait to meet, she honed in on Catherine & I.

"OK which one of you won? You must have been laughing at my birth plan! I must have sounded like a raving lunatic! an evangelist naturalist or something! why didn't you tell me, come on!"

I put up my finger and said "I gave you 12 hours, Catherine gave you 5 hours before you called for the drugs. I am impressed, 36 hours and we did try and tell you"

Keisha laughed, "I'm telling you now, next time I want to be sucking the happy gas as soon as the first contraction hits"

Catherine & I thought it was a good sign that she said 'next time'.

3 years later, Aaron is brought in by his grandfather to meet Hunter, his new baby brother. Born at home after a 6 hour labour using the wadding pool, surrounded by just the Doula, Richard and her mother with absolutely no f@*&ing whale music, as Keisha colourfully quoted.

Remember Birth Plans shouldn't be on how the birth will proceed but 'How you wish to be treated' during the birth and how to get to the hospital or birthing centre is still very, very important, trust me!

Take into consideration the following

1) If you havent had a baby before, no matter how much other woman describe their labour & birth, its like no other experience you ever had before or can measure against, until you have had a baby.

2) Each labour will be different but the stages will be the same.

3) Dont be stubborn! pain relief can be beneficial! Having the edge taken off, so to speak, allows women to flow more with the tide of contractions progressing the labour productively.

4) Listen to good advice and your gut instinct! if your gut instinct says NO then its NO!

5) Consider your own or family's personal beliefs and or religious protocols.

6) Consider a few worst case scenario's. I know its not nice to contemplate, but it should be well thought through. Best to expect the worst, hope for the best and take whatever comes.

7) Old fashioned I know but, "How to get to hospital, birthing centre or the lounge room" in 10 different situations plus having a call upon drop list of emergency "Drive me to the hospital quick, because I cant get in touch with my husband" people is a real must. Trust me on that one, I know!

8) Dont be disapointed to come home with the baby you wished for but not the birth you wanted. At the end of the day the best outcome is the 2 of you coming home together. Please dont succumb to feelings of being cheated out of the birth you wanted, as nothing will cheat you from being the mother you are. Children will remember their mother & father not their birth.

9) The Birthing/Push present. Make sure to write that down and place in several distinctive places where your partner cant miss. One note of advice, circling a piece of jewelry in a catalogue in bright red texta and placing on the fridge is a hint that most men dont get, trust me!

Try in his lunch, pinned to each one of his undies, gaffa taped to his steering wheel, on his computer screen, recorded in his appointment dairy, daily.

school holidays on a nano budget

2011-07-11T19:49:00.001+10:00

Last week was the first week of NSW school holidays. Leading up to the week that I was going awol from work, I had the staff prepared and the 2 new trainees settled. I was quite confident to slip away unnoticed by many.

I had an activity plan all devised for both Little Miss Mischief and I. The Troll now the grand old age of 15 wasn't at the least bit interested in coming at all. Too attached to his playstation and online gaming to grace us with his presence visiting museums and parks.

I expected this as he is currently ranking #3 in Australia for one particular online game. There are times I don't know where the playstation ends and he starts, the 2 seem to be a fusion of one.

The only time he extricates himself is to raid the pantry several times a day to feed his lithe ravenous body.
I know that he has also some serious training to do for next years tournament in California. Darn, being a minor, I must accompany him. I have the brochures ready for all the places I am going to have to visit to occupy myself while he is battling the rest of the worlds top 100

Little Miss Mischief had devised her own plans too. Her week planned with mum was definitely different to the one I had in mind. A whole lot cheaper too.

It makes me realise that you dont need a lot of money to have a fun time with kids during the holidays, so for those on a less than a micro budget, or a nano budget bordering on a nonexistent budget, there is still a lot of fun & joy to be had.

Forget about the empty purse, laughs come for free.

Out went my
Monday - Australian museum
Tuesday - The Powerhouse Museum
Wednesday - The Aquatic park
Thursday - Featherdale Wildlife Park
Friday - Ice Skating

Replaced with LMM's plan complete with pictures that she drew
Monday - Gardening with a backyard picnic lunch (teddies too)
Tuesday - Cycle to 3 different play parks with a picnic lunch
Wednesday - Cycle along the causeway with some kite flying at the end
Thursday - Walk down to see the performers at the local shopping centre and some bungy jumping (this did cost $5)
Friday - make some homemade play dough & choc chips cookies, build a fairy wonderland on the coffee table (all 36 barbies were invited to this operation - missing a few more flowers from the garden too)

The whole week I was out of pocket $10 as LMM wanted to go bungy jumping twice, but the smile on LMM's face was indeed priceless.
I must admit I had a lot of fun too, even battling last weeks heavy wind trying to keep the kite under control.
At one stage the kite lifted LMM of the ground and I went for a flying tackle to pull her back down. We were rolling on the grass for ages cackling ourselves silly at the notion of her flying through the sky, just like a wayward Mary Poppins.

Telling her dad on Friday afternoon that she had the best week ever as her eye's sparkled and danced around with grin that almost was too big for her face.

Needless to say I had a great week too

Awesomeness Parcels

2011-07-07T20:03:00.000+10:00

From the Kitchen of "The Bare Cupboard Chef"
This recipe is easy peasy, even mum can cook this one!

Makes around 16 parcels

You'll need
greased cup cake tray
1 BBQ chicken - flesh shredded (use around 3/4 quarters, rest for sandwiches & skin discarded)
4 sheets puff pastry
1 cup milk
1 cup of fozen mixed veges cooked, drained & dryish
2 cups shredded cheese
2 really heaped tblsps cornflour
60gms butter
1 tblspn of garlic steak seasoning
1 teaspoon of keens curry powder
1 teaspoon nutmeg
salt & pepper

preheat oven to 200 degrees

using a largish saucepan melt butter on medium heat on the stove, add cornflour, garlic steak seasoning, curry powder, salt & pepper & stir to smooth paste
add a little milk at first to make disolve paste then gradually add the rest
stir till it thickens, add the veges & chicken stir for around a minute
add nutmeg and stir again to mix through
add cheese and mix through till cheese has melted.

The mixture should be very thick and cluggy (dry)

Set aside to cool while preparing pastry.

cut all sheets into quarters then cut a slit each side
line each cup cake insert with pastry, using the slits to fold the pastry around the round sides
fill each with 2 tablespoons of mixture
fold over the pastry points

heat in oven for 15 minutes
enjoy!
nom nom nom

WAHM of Note - Emma Cook of 'Wired to the Moon'

2011-06-28T20:09:00.000+10:00

This is a guest post from Emma Cook, founder of the wonderfully named photography business 'Wired to the Moon'
Emma, a newbie flying soloist, has a business that allows her to juggle kids & family life, definitely the envy of most WAHM's & GTWM's

Whilst Emma has turned her passion into a business, like many new solo businesses, she has done so with some learning, discovering, hurdles & triumphs in between the good & the bad days, along the way.
As Emma says, its all very exciting and daunting at the same time.

I've been doing photography as a hobby on and off for around 10 years. And started taking it seriously 3 years ago just after my daughter was born. I am completely self taught, and everything just clicked and I started with just taking LOTS of photos of my kids, and in February I decided that I wanted to take my passion, and start a business. I realised life is too short to be doing something you don't love.

I love taking my camera and creating beautiful images. Portraits are what I love doing, I love capturing those moments when a child is playing and exploring, and just doing what they naturally do. I steer towards doing natural light and outdoors sessions as I find I capture the persons true essence as they are not posed as such in a studio. I specialise in portraits - children, families, couples and adults. Working in western Sydney and the locations I shoot at are good for people who live closer to the city or north west and also people who live in the Western Suburbs.

I worked in customer service before I had kids, then when I had kids I found I lost myself to being a mum, which I love, but I also needed something for myself, to get my creative juices flowing and photography is the perfect thing for me.

The struggles I have come across is getting my name out there, and getting clients. I learnt very early on that marketing is a huge part of being a photographer, which led me to designing flyer's and business cards, and actually branding my product so that it is a distinctive Wired to the Moon Photography product.
This includes my site http://www.wiredtothemoonphotography.com> my flyer's, business cards, CD presentation etc. So I'm proud of how my brand looks, as an artist, how I present my work is very important, and I did it all myself so that has been a triumph in itself!

I guess some unexpected things have been that there is a lot of help out there if you know where to look and who to ask, I was always really apprehensive about contacting other photographers but I have found them to be really friendly and helpful and encouraging which has been lovely.

The thing I recommend about being in business are:

- Start from the beginning. Figure out what you want your business to be, who your target market are and know your product or service before you start charging for it. Be confident in yourself, and your abilities and as a photographer I know that every photo I take is for my portfolio.

My worst day since being in business is when I've had a challenging session and I come away from it feeling deflated and the best day is when I do have an awesome session and I click with the clients and we have a great time shooting, and the images the come from the session are gorgeous!

I do most shoots on weekends so that dad can have the kids, and I have a lot of late nights of editing so that I get the most out of the day with the kids. But so far I haven't found the work/life balance to be a challenge, and because I love my job, I don't find it hard to balance it!

My clients have found me through word of mouth and my Facebook page (www.facebook.com/wiredtothemoonphotography <http://www.facebook.com/wiredtothemoonphotography> ) and a few through the flyer's.

Emma

Moe Tie- just like a Mei Tai but with a twist of Aussie Simplicity.

2011-06-20T19:53:00.003+10:00

When I designed the Moe Tie years ago, it was with my friend Rachel in mind.

Rachel had a serious car accident when # 2 baby was just 3 months old. Having loved the Bubba Moe sling she used for her older daughter Brooke, she couldn't use it because of injuries from the accident, but more than anything else she needed help to carry very large & heavy Declan.

15 different ideas and prototypes were made till we settled on the current version. Moe Tie, which Rachey aptly named became a god send for her as she recuperated and until Declan had grown out of it at 3 years old. A few of her friends that, ahem, mistakenly bought parachute style carriers came knocking on the door as well, so will forgive them that.

By the time most babies are around 9 months, carrying their weight from the shoulder causes pain, stress and damage to the parent's body, then there's the standard issue hardened plastic cross brace that digs in unforgiveningly. As the designs seemed to have copied each other.
I wonder what some designers were thinking with this approach.
Golden rule! never buy a carrier of any sort that has any hard plastic parts located on the back!! Even if it professes to have "lumbar support".

Upright carriers with a hip band offer far more support but if the sashes are too thin, they will ride up into the waist and dig in further, causing loose flesh to bulge out, usually referred to as muffin top, and not offering any support at all if anything increase the downdrag even further.
A well balanced and and correctly curved sash will stay put and help support the lower back, where it is needed the most.

Most mums end up with lower back problems because of the constant over emphasis of placing baby on the hip. For Rachey, the hip sash supporting the lower back was such a comfort she sometimes wore her Moe Tie even without Declan in it.
This is why the Moe Tie is popular in its own right without marketing, without support. A lot of parents who find themselves with an out grown parachute carrier, but not an outgrown baby often buy the Moe Tie. Frugal parents that purchased a sling in the first place, won't have this problem, because the sling is a great hip carrier and piggyback carrier.
There is also the trend amongst parents to have more than one type of carrier to suit the need or occasion, which I think is quite intelligent. Why be bored?
Having a few different types of carriers, increases the longevity of baby wearing which is a bonus to everyone.
Also when siblings arrive close together, the Moe Tie for the oldest & the sling for the youngest with both parents carrying on a trip out is so sweet to see.
In Japan, sales of the Moe Tie outstrip any other carrier over there, even our slings. Keiko, our Japanese distributor, self sourced and engineered the packaging specifically for her Japanese clients. Really she is all too blame why we never seem to have enough time to work on finishing the marketing of the product here in Australia.
I have been charged with neglect over this fabulous product according to our retailer's when they ask "Is it ready yet".

18 months ago after going through so many various new packaging designs, we finally settled on one. After 3 long months of waiting for 10,000 units of packaging to arrive, the sizing was all wrong. Talking about lost in translation literally. I threw my hands up in despair and went 'mweh'. I'll get around to it when the next Epiphany strikes.

OK! 2 months ago I decided it was time to 'reinvent' the Moe Tie, still gearing for 3 months of age and upwards (the correct physical age for upright carry). Being a very big supporter of WAHM/D's (no bias on some fab dads) I found the fabulous Bec Marr from Ruby Ruby designs who we have commissioned, is working earnestly on all things marketing and packaging for the Moe Tie and another fantastic product that we cant mention as of yet....but soon.
I and the Crew as I call my staff are very excited and the staff think its about time that this brilliant carrier had it's time to shine. I've been busy working on some real design improvements and about to source a control group of local mums to get the final product on the shelves everywhere!.

There are still some original Moe Ties left at a great price, down $30 from original price, yet if you type in Moove the Moe in the promo code section at the checkout you will get an extra 15% on top.
The new ones will be much more expensive than the original but still a very compatible price in comparison to others on the market, yet remarkably better when it comes to comfort and ease......

Bullies & Gangs not to be invited on a night out

2011-06-17T23:31:00.000+10:00

Adult bullying – thuggery at its worst

I’m a Thrifty Thursday kind of gal, so out comes the slow cooker to ease my pain. Thursday afternoons like any other parent on the planet, is an afternoon carting kids to various after school activities, so the slow cooker rules supreme. The very best of fast food.

Yesterday it was Chicken Noodle Soup, a dish I can actually cook without epic fail or mass voluntary eviction of my homes’ other occupants- the hubby, the kids and the guard cat.

Racing inside the cold dark home before anyone else arrives from work or uni, The Troll, Little Miss Mischief and I were greeted by the wonderful aroma of the soup. A deep breath in, I start every mother’s daily rite of passage- extracting the obnoxious bra from one’s body!

The kids never fail to complain at this process as the boobs fall from their support a few feet southbound and with the quick ripping off the jeans to replace them with my flanney pants, my transformation into ‘comfort mum’ is complete. These pants are so comfortable, so well worn, that they have become embarrassingly ‘holy’. I find my two other trusty apparel friends, Ugg Boots and the dressing gown, wrapping that around me just as the others start to filter in from their day.

“YUM” as they breathe in the mouth watering aroma. Zip has a crusty cob loaf with her and we just cant wait to dig in.

Yep, life is incredibly normal in our daggy household.

There are always people dropping in, usually the kids friends, who are completely comfortable with seeing me in complete comfy dag state because their mums are the same.

2 mouthfuls in and a chomp on the delicious bread, conversation is flowing and Zip is just about to tell us her ‘great news’, there’s a strong knock at the door. Zip was expecting Jade to pop in, but she’s more of a little tap and ‘hello’ as she walks right on in. Quick glances around to each other and no one is volunteering to leave their dinner unattended. “OK I’ll go” as expected. Saunter away towards the front door, I almost do my dramatic pull open door and bellow with arms outstretched ‘HELLO THERE BABY”, but I have been caught out lately, scaring the bejesus out of the poor unsuspecting person on the other side of the door.

Really glad I didn’t do that this time either; it would’ve have looked bad.

2 rather tall imposing policemen are standing there looking very official and I am suddenly very conscious of my attire.

They want to speak to #2 son and for once I am grateful that the office is the first room in the house. I am very grateful that I actually cleaned the office thoroughly on the previous wet long weekend; it was looking good.

September last year, the very first of my son’s friends is getting married. Like all males the bachelor’s party is something the blokes look forward to. Thursday before the wedding they all went into the city for the big pub-crawl. My son staggered in at 4am the following morning, past the office straight to his room. I thought he was staggering because of the alcohol consumption as I hear the taxi pull away from the house.

Few hours later, he emerged from his room with a blackened swollen face and suspected broken ribs. Apparently the groom and some of the others had fared worse; the night had become more than just a good time for celebration but a near death battle.

#2 son told me that they were waiting outside a nightclub, where a young couple were leaving. The man was quite drunk so his girlfriend had him sit in the gutter as she hailed a taxi.

Along came a gang of youths, out for the night also. What happened next shocked everyone. One of the thugs took a full kick swing at the seated drunk, as if his head was a football. Then the others started kicking & punching the now unconscious body of the boyfriend.

“Everyone froze, it was supernatural, a twilight moment” My son explained. When the poor girlfriend tried to help, the thugs turned on her without any mercy. My son, his friends and others tried to intervene and protect the girl, an all out brawl ensued. While the fray was happening another bystander called 000, as the boyfriend lay convulsing on the ground.

Arrests were made as the police turned up and several ambulances ferried the injured to hospitals in different directions.

2 days later the makeup artist spends more time on the groom and his entourage than on the bride and her bridesmaids. The photographer has her work cut out post wedding as she uses all available Photoshop skills to erase any evidence of the many war wounds. Stiff and sore they all try and enjoy the wedding that was 18 long months in the planning.

Its now June, and the legal process of that night is now in full swing. The officer’s are in the process of building the case naturally. After half an hour they ask my son to come into the station to make a formal statement, as the other members of the party will be doing as well. We oblige naturally.

I drive as my son sits quietly in the passenger seat. His father is waiting at the station already as we arrive; some of the others are there with the support of girlfriends and parents. All of them are immediately placed under arrest, which sends a wave of panic amongst us. None of us have ever been involved in any incidence like this before; we are unaware of the protocols & procedures.

An officer with extremely good communication skills quickly explains with empathy why the boys are being arrested. They are all herded into separate interview rooms with family allowed to sit with them.

In the course of the next 2 and half hours, we hear the full story of that night. Where the boys come into the picture was at the tail end of a 5-hour rampage of terror by 5 youths aged from 17 to 24 on a bender fuelled by alcohol and drugs.

The boyfriend had proposed to his girlfriend that night. He has permanent head injuries and is still residing in rehab, his girlfriend had to have a plate put in her head and is suffering from a severe case of post traumatic stress syndrome. The newly engaged couple were fresh out of university and embarking on promising careers. Not any longer.

None of the injured knew their assailants. The couple were only 2 of 5 very seriously injured people from that night.

Most of the thugs had already notched up prior convictions. One of them a mere 18 yr-old, had already 22 prior charges and the mind boggles how these children were raised. Having the mindset to randomly attack another human being with such ferocious force just because they sat in their path is beyond comprehension, beyond any form of normality.

3 hours earlier my family was living a completely normal life, as it should be. I thought of the young couple whose lives have now changed from their original plans through no fault or design of their own. No amount of ‘bully-proofing’ could have repaired or even change that couples fate. I thought of their parents, family & friends, whose relationships and own lifestyles have changed, caring & attending to a loved but damaged young person.

If it had been my own child I would have wanted to kill.

This is the sad part, the fatality, the destruction caused at the hands of violent bullying.

“It takes a couple to make a child, but the whole village to raise a child” as the saying often goes, has left me with the question; have these children, damaged goods themselves, ever had love or empathy in their lives at all? Where were their ‘village’ if not their parents to give them at least that? A few precious lives might have been allowed the right to live a full and happy life

“Love the whole world and the whole world will love you”

Good Sleeping Habits starts by not being conned by controlled crying.

2011-06-06T21:02:00.000+10:00

On any night, anywhere around the world, you're guaranteed to find an adult grappling with insomnia. Find a Doctor, a Chemist, a herbalist, a naturopath and you'll also find a patient desperately seeking sleep.
Each will ask the same uniform question, "Are you stressed? anxious? are there worries and concerns that need to be addressed?"or the likes there of.
A person doesn't even need to be the brightest candle on the chandelier to know that a troubled anxious mind scares away sleep, that a mind needs to be calm & relaxed to have healthy sleep.

So why the heck would anyone think letting a baby scream itself into exhaustion is a good thing?
If it doesn't work for the adults, how the hell will it work for babies.......

Oh! the celebrity 'baby whisperer' said so and she has sold millions of books, appeared on Oprah, GMA and such other programs. But doesn't the fact that she, has never had a baby herself or has even been in charge of a baby overnight, worry anyone just a little bit?

In all truth be told I can get your baby off to sleep within 5 minutes flat, if sleep is what your babe needs. I use a sling but you can do that too.
A sling is a great tool for effective sleep settling in a far more gentle, emotionally rich manner, but a parent needs to know why a baby cries first.
It sounds a bit absurd needing to know why a baby cries, but people that use the controlled crying technique, really don't know why a baby cries or they wouldn't use it.

Its all about language and communication.

Adults have the advantage of many things, a vocabulary.
Talking through their problems, seeking advice, reading, yoga, meditation, counselor etc. Babies just don't have that luxury, but they do have the best thing possible; their parents, parent or carer.
Babies don't have an established vocabulary so they need to use what they do have, a voice.

Since Newbie parents enter the world of deciphering baby without an instruction manual, they will have to quickly learn a new skill set and take on the role of artful detective. The job could be a lot simpler if they understand what they use their own voice for - to communicate. Uncannily so does a baby.

Babies cry for many reasons, they are always bonafide, because they haven't learned to lie yet. If we could put words to what babies are trying to tell their parents through their cries, they might sound like
1) I am hungry.......feed me
2) I am wet............change me
3) I am cold..........warm me up please
4) I am hot...........take a few layers off
5) nappy wedgie.......quick, its riding up my Khyber pass, please its annoying, irritable
6) Clothing tags are irritating my skin........ouch ouch ouch, its a stinging itchy pain that I cant reach, please take it off
7) I have a wind bubble in my stomach and its so painful but I am flat on my back, you left the room, please pick me up, it hurts, it hurts, pain pain, please come back
8) I have a nose full of bogeys please take them out......please its irritating,
9) my jumpsuit is pinching my toes
10) the elastic around my ankles, waist is digging in
11) Lynx might attract fallen angels dad, but it gives me a headache, I don't like headaches! it hurts my head.
12) Hey don't leave me here by myself, I thought we were just having a good time, snuggled up against you felt really great.
13) hello, hello is anyone there? anyone, anyone at all? someone talk to me, I'm all alone in the world.......
14) I don't feel so good...
15) my ear is really sore. I don't feel so good.
16) My botty is stingy sore
17) I'm lonely, I feel that you aren't around
18) I just slept! you want me to sleep again...... oh come on, I just got here, I'd like to have a look around.
19) Its too quiet here.
20) there's just too much noise around here
21) I want my bath, my nice warm bath

You can add your own reasons, I'm sure there's plenty that I have left out.

When a baby cries they are trying to tell you something, they are not being nasty, vindictive or naughty. They are communicating with you that something is wrong.
Basically a tired happy baby will go to sleep, just not necessarily the time you want them to sleep. The younger the baby is, the more hours of the day the baby sleeps, as they get older it diminishes naturally.

The fact that baby is communicating with you is one thing, but what sort of message do you create when you leave your baby to 'cry it out'. The message is "I am not going to solve your problems, you're on your own here baby. I am not listening, you cant rely on me, I am not here for you".

Eventually the baby starts to figure this out and the first chink in the chain starts to appear. Specialists with years of research have proven that this is how relationships between child & parent break down as early as preschool years, with toddlers becoming unruly and unmanageable or ending with teenagers going on 'benders' becoming authority deviant. When a parent attends to their infants needs the relationship becomes far more stronger with less behavioural problems especially in the teenage years.

There is also the devastating nasty side of SIDS. With some deaths directly attributed to the controlled crying strategy. Babies that get overworked and overstressed by intense crying, tend to vomit. Vomiting is a concern with babies lying on their backs which has become the trend over the last few years instead of on the side.
A friend of mine lost her 8 week old son this way.

Sleep is important not only for baby put for parents too. A safe and sensible approach does take more time & discipline, and far more sacrifice, but the benefits will last a lifetime.

When it comes to helping a baby settle into sleep, one great asset is using a proper baby carrier such as a sling, as they have a sleep inducing reclining position will help with sleep or night settling.
Unfortunately any upright or parachute style carriers are not recommended for good sleep practices because of the absence of this position, actually most specialists recommend that parents not allow their baby to sleep at all in any of these types of carriers due to the lack of support. These carriers are only good for wake time.

A baby can be laid down to sleep within the sling, as the parents 'smell' has bonded on the fabric, giving baby the security to stay asleep longer. Though it is not recommended using ring slings for this purpose as there is far too much fabric around baby, and babies fingers can get entangled in the rings, so a closed end sling like the Bubba Moe is a much safer option as they are lighter and have less fabric.

Death by bombardment and how to be unliked by fans

2011-06-01T07:42:00.000+10:00

Blogging used to be the domain of artists, thespians, budding wordsmiths and some unrequited authors, much like 'The Mean Fiddler' a once was, uniquely styled pub, that attracted the likes of same sort of people, has now become over run by the masses.

No longer do artists, writers frequent 'The Mean Fiddler'. Their muse has made way for underage clubbing, pub crawling of the weekend and family bistro on Sundays.
I hear it is now on one of the most violent pubs of Sydney list. ***Sigh***.

It is now mandatory for all businesses to have a social media side whether they are good at it or not. Thankfully there is a new merging business trend on Social Media skills building, which I, like a few thousand others are learning.

One is bombardment, apparently never appropriate.

Take a look at the novice trying to uploads some photos of new products on Facebook. Last week, one could upload to an album then share when finished. Remember those days! life was simple then.
Then it changed, one photo at a time please........
This week the novice, after 3 photo's realises something is different, scratches head, tries again, only to find they are shut out of their page for spamming
Sniff, sniff, sniff..............pouted lips.... I was only trying upload some photos. Enter the 'inadequacy syndrome'.....or DODIFS (Dear Oh Dear I Feel Stupid)

I am in constant trouble from all sorts of people about this blog. Well consistency should be a hallmark of all businesses I agree, so I am consistent about one thing; being in trouble.

OK, so I haven't included much about 'Slinging' I was under the misguided belief that's what the official website is for? "But a blog will give extra tit bits and info" my Virtual Twitter man emphasises on the phone. Well when it comes to the numbers game he is right, he is winning hands down compared to my efforts on Facebook. Between you and me, I don't know any of those Twitter people. I might know several languages but Japanese isn't one of them. I do know the wonderful people on Facebook though.

To appease my VA, I started an article on Sling safety using a few different types of carriers as well, cant seem, nor do I want to be appear biased.
I came across an American site that is the guru of baby wearing safety, cool beginnings I thought, until I saw some of their photo's. After a few minutes I managed to collect my chin that had fallen down onto the desk and pushed back my eyeballs before they popped and caused harm..........WHAT THE FRIGGIN F>>>>>>>>> (censored)
Karen Fantastic turned off the heater with a quip "Its suddenly gotten hot in here?"
Steam was erupting from my ears.
I downloaded the offending 'safe' photo's for this blog and decided to make a photoshop copy of each to show the correct way. After several epic fails on photoshop, I was trying to reconstruct a babies leg which kept turning out more like a pasty sausage salami looking appendage. ****Sigh****

3.30 am I haven't been to bed yet and its at least an hour after I normally get up (2.32am and I are long standing friends) The first of, what seems to be a few thousand daily inbox drops from a company called www.makeuseof.com greets me with a large hello via Entourage's distinctive loud chime.

Normally this would irate the bejesus out of anybody, definite breach of social media etiquette and candidate of the year for "bombardment", but inside every single notification is something I can use or entertains me. At some point of the day I peruse each one. At this rate of education I will be a certified geek by years end. Whoo Hoo, get to wear the dusty mortar once again.

I found this site after my most famous DODIFS moment ever in my living history, no one was around to witness this vital crucial moment of epic fail proportions, but I did have the tissue box to help me though.

A project of trying to get a 'live' inventory accessible to our sales reps led me to seek out my brother in law Andy, the computer programmer extraordinaire!! thinking this was a completely logical & safe move.

I can out 'Excel' and database anyone at 10 paces but MySql is language that I don't speak either, but Andy thought I was up for it, confident, even insisting "I am quite confident that you should be able to set up a simple database access within 2 hours live on the Cloud" he left me with that. 6 Hours after that conversation I vowed never to speak to Andy ever again unless I do some serious physical harm first.

The one thing I have learnt in this modern time is that if you have a problem of any kind, then 'google it'. Guaranteed some poor misfortune soul has had that problem before you. Once I set up the Bubba Moe's MySql, which was incredibly easy, the blank black page appeared.......blink, blink, gulp.
Headed straight for Google for any possible life rafts that might have been floating on the sea of despair & humiliation.
I found 'Make Use Of', within an hour I could initiate a simple programme on MySql. Trying to get the programme working on the level I needed it to be was eating at my sanity, while trying to push aside an epiphany that arose somewhere in between.
Being a classic Taurean, the stubbornness meant I couldn't stop till I could do it, then I went for the far more intelligent user friendly system called google doc's which Make Use Of recommends.
What I like about Make Use Of is that its not all serious software & gaming & business solutions & articles but a whole list of seriously funny bits, as picured in this article.
One cartoon all about 'blogging' of all things, managed to surface on my Mac dashboard surrounded by my sticky notes instead of my downloads. So I am off to Goggle again with "How do I get a clip file that has appeared on a dashboard?"
Oh look! there's the answer, some other idiot has done that too!!

OK the Safe Slinging article coming soon

Stranger Danger or Steward Granger?

2011-05-28T19:33:00.000+10:00

Steward Granger, my childhood hero, my heart still swoons at his memory. The Brad Pitt of my parents generation, held many a woman's heart to ransom, captivated children around the world with his daring swashbuckling pirate escapades, made ordinary men's eyes roll in annoyance while Mills & Boon rubbed their hands with glee as the muse of all romance novels increased their profit margins beyond staggering levels.

Oh, did I mention he probably saved me from potential harm? and the fact that grown-ups don't play might have helped too.
During my preschool age, in which there was no preschool in those years, I lived a life that most kids would seem like a dream; total freedom.
My family occupied the only house in the middle of what was bushy industrial nation. Our lonely little house was on the edge of a brick works plant which was flanked on 3 sides by untamed bush, on the opposite side new buildings were going up along side a couple that had been there for a while. One road dissected the strange location. There were no neighbours, no human play mates.

I know now how tiring motherhood can be with 5 children, several ring-ins, an overwhelming business and some more study for extra punishment. Then my mum was tired too; she slept for most of my waking hours.
I was too young to understand she suffered depression.

Her only activity was the cranky mornings filled with coffee and a dozen cigarettes while she cleaned the kitchen, muttering away in her native dutch with some German expletives thrown in between the sentences. I understood both languages, as our family had not long immigrated from Holland. Now we were all learning Australian.

Dad was the engineer and plant manager of the brickworks we lived in, so he was out of bed and at work before 5am. My brothers who were almost a generation older than me, had discovered the beach, were gone by 6am to surf then off to high school or Tech as it was called in those days.

The one good thing about the lack of supervision is that imagination comes out to play unfettered.
If I wasn't roaming the very large area of the brickworks amongst all the workers looking for my dad, or hitching a ride on the forklifts around the columns of bricks, I would be sitting on the floor watching the midday movie which usually showed more than a far share of Steward Granger starring as the handsome daring, romantic pirate or renegade with a conscious.
I was a little, long shaggy haired, bare footed urchin, clad mostly in just knickers, with a see through chiffon curtain cape draped over the shoulders most of the time. After each movie, spurned on by the adventure packed action and high drama, I would race outside with a pirate sword in one hand and my trusty ship mate, Poppy, our Kelpie dog-nanny close in tow. I would wrap a red bandanna around Poppy's neck to suit the part but the cat had long since mutineered, protesting about the wearing hers.

Like most days while mum lay asleep in a darkened room, Poppy & I went off to our 'Treasure Island'.
Treasure Island was really the scrub across the road, as the road became the sea, the cars became the man eating sharks. Most days we didn't see many sharks at all. We spent hours across the road traipsing through the tight scrub.
One day I wanted to take my little pull along cart with us. Maybe it was overloaded, for it tipped on the side of the road. While I was trying to put everything back in, I didn't notice a car pull up on the opposite side.
A man called out "Hey little girl where are you going?".
"Treasure Island!" I throw up my sword skywards dramatically.
"Well get in the car and I will take you there, it'll be quicker".

Now I thought about that for a second or two. I imagined him driving the car through the scrub to my little cubby house made from boxes. No, I thought, a car wont fit and it didn't seem like fun because I liked to swish swash the branches out the way with my sword.
"It wont fit!" I called across the road back at him.
"I know another way, can get there by car, down the road a bit then around the corner" he motioned the direction with his hand. "It'll be fun, we'll play together"

I was still thinking about the whole car ride which is never fun with grown up,s as they always tell you to stop talking. Whereas I could talk to Poppy as much as I wanted, she never complained, actually she liked it. The constant licking of approval was anything to go by.

Then a bigger thought popped into my head, grown-ups don't play! they cant! that's what makes them grown-ups!

"Grown ups don't play, they don't know how to!" I yelled back at him. I looked down at Poppy, speaking to her in dutch "I wish this man would go away, I don't want to play with him"

The man called out again "But look what I have got" He was jiggling what looked like a white paper bag from his hand out his car window, with a big cheesy grin.

I looked down at Poppy, whose eyes where darting from him to me. Again I spoke to her in dutch, "He's not normal, he wants to give me a white paper bag, I cant play with that, he's just not normal!"
I was getting rather annoyed with this man.
He called out again "Yummy sweets, I'll let you have them if you let me play with you"

I remember vividly the thoughts that went through my head when I saw the lolly he was holding.

I had seen children eating these things. I naturally wanted to try some as well, when mum warned me of the dangers of eating Australian food. To her, Australians eat weird food, safe for their children but deadly for Dutch children. She reminded me of how raw herrings were poisonous to Italians. Mick an Italian man who worked with dad wanted to try one. He gagged and cursing so loud, he kept calling out he felt was going to die.
And because at under 4 years of age, you believe everything your mother says.
At that time my mother, like many new immigrants regarded Australian food with trepidation, having spent 6 weeks in an immigration camp, our introduction to Australian cuisine was, well, not very palatable, if anything, completely disgusting. It could have also have been mum's weapon on pester power

I got so angry, what would pirate Steward Granger do to his enemies? I looked at Poppy, pointed at the man and yelled "ATTACK!" at the top of my voice. On cue she bared teeth snapping & growling at the car.
The man took off in his car down the road as fast as he could go with Poppy chasing furiously after him. Once he was gone around the bend she stopped and started back towards me. Every few paces she would turn back in his direction, bark & growl. I can only assume it was her way of saying "And don't even think about coming back here"
I remember not wanting to play any more, so we both went back inside the yard. Poppy found her shady spot and I tiptoed into mums bedroom, slid into bed next to her. She rolled over pulling me into a close tight embrace, I fell asleep in the safety of her warm arms.

Of course years later when the reality of how dangerous that situation was, I often think if he had've shown me a Barbie doll for instance, as I was desperate to have one, would I have been more inclined to get in the car? Since I was quite comfortable occupying myself for long hours at a time, I was ignorant of the concept of loneliness, but what if I wanted a playmate, would anyone do?

Though my mums depression lasted another 2 years or so, it had started just after I was born. The dramatic change of lifestyle, language barriers and the isolation from her own family & friends augmented what she believed was post natal depression. Women suffered in silence as it was a taboo topic, but the attitude is very much different today thankfully. With quick intervention upon recognition, many mothers make a better recovery sooner and without the social stigma that once was.

Bully, Bully, Bully, is it Truly, in an Ideal World- Part 1

2011-05-20T18:01:00.000+10:00

Little Miss Mischief is playing the soundtrack of Mama Mia, in the background I hear the eternal words of ABBA's song Money, Money, Money, it must be funny, in a rich man's world.

As a mum, I am heartbroken.
As a parent, I am angered.
As a citizen, I want justice.
As a writer, I want to tell the world.
As a world occupant, it has happened to so many, so many times before.
As an opportunist, I see this as an ideal learning enterprise to review, enhance and implement changes that will benefit all mankind.

As a realist, I have to make a decision because..........

There are 2 empty chairs in a classroom at our local school.
Yesterday, today & tomorrow are school days, yet these chairs will remain empty, devoid of its usual occupants, 2 little girls caught in a battle that cant be won.

Both sets of parents are taking a stand.

One set wants the victim that fought back to be punished.
One set wants the bully to be punished.

One child's word against 6 others.
There are witness's of course, 5 of them; the bully's entourage.

It comes as no surprise to most in the know, the school has decided to punish the victim.
One child trust in her school is shattered as a complete betrayal of justice unfolds before her very young eyes.
A child, alone, guttered, traumatised, catapulted into a very adult world where lies and deceit rule. Bullies very rarely are caught, because they know how to lie so well.

In a 'blind' spot of the school, there are 7 children.
4 of the gang stand guard.
The victim, held from behind in a tight hold by the 5th child is forced to face another.
The victim is so terrified of the impending contact of a fist hurtling towards her, did what she could to avoid the blow.
A defenceless 7 year old girl now becomes the aggressor; the 'voilent' perpetrator that has a record, There isn't even a mark on the Bully that a microscope could detect.

The bully and her gang raced to the teacher before she could. Strategically, pointing the finger at the real victim, bullies cleverly avoid punishment by acting as a victim themselves. Backed up by 'witnesses' of course, this squashes the real victim's attempt to counter claim. The obliging teacher was no longer interested in seeing the finger marks left on the real victims body as the child is dragged to the office.

The headmaster tells the victims parents that he knows the children lied, but what could he do? his hands are tied; the school is governed by a policy.

He & the other teachers know the children lied! but their hands are tied.
What sort of policy protects the bullies?
Ones written by administrators not child behavioural psychologists, experts in the field of behaviour.

According to many councillors this is how it always plays out, how it always ends up. There is nothing our school or any school can do except punish the victim.

After all there is always 2 sides, and like our country's legal system, the one with the most convincing argument regardless of evidence will always win. Truth doesn't count.

I am a firm believer that there is always an answer, but it helps if,

1) Teachers are not only wiser & more savvy than their pupils but act that way as well.

2) Investigate evidence from both sides anyway

3) Understand that bullies never work alone, nor do they attack a group on their own, let alone children that are much older or bigger than them.

4) The red tape that binds the hands can be cut. There is never a shortage of cutting tools.

For most victims, the school becomes an unhealthy & an unsafe environment.
Legally we cant expose our children to dangerous situations, yet legally our children must attend school.

Once a child has any record of 'voilence', no matter the infraction or the cause, the circumstance, admission to another school becomes almost impossible.

Last night we all rugged and up went for a walk. I know that walking induces talking.
By the time our guard cat Apollo stopped at his boundary a small block from home, she started to talk.
"They lied" she said.
We all agreed
"Aren't we supposed to tell the truth, aren't the teachers supposed to listen to the truth?" she said
Ritch wraps his arms around her shoulders, hugging her close and says
"Yeah, about that, I don't know who started that rumour.." 4 exaggerated coughs cue him to stop...immediately
Drue intervenes quickly "Yes, if people didn't lie, just think, we wouldn't have detectives, we wouldn't have police officers" Zip adds "And, stories, books, movies" with that Ritch adds "forensic scientists, imagination"
"Imagination! is that lying? is that a bad thing?"she exclaims
They all look at me (why do they do that)
"No honey its not a bad thing, its just that without lies the world would be a very different place"
"Can we play I Spy now" she jumps up & down.
We all look at Ritch and with group cursed looks we warn him, keep it simple!
Ritch is the master of I Spy, and not many can identify his object
After many lost rounds to Ritch yet again, he tells Little Miss Mischief how proud he was of her Karate move on the ringleader.
"yeah" she scoffs "should have seen her face! She didn't expect that I could do that", We all laugh at her theatrical impersonation of the girls face.
We are still enjoying mileage by making the fun of the gang of bullies by the time we are on the loop back and meet up with our cat Apollo who is waiting for us, she throws me the curly question

We know that for LMM it will be over, the girls will go after less confident kids.
Yet my anger revisits, we are all angry.
The school's anti bully policy is a complete farce, a joke.
Policies are in place only to deal with the end result of a situation, a band aid for political correctness to stem off litigation, they are never an education in themselves.

When a school or workplace states that they have a strict anti-bully policy, it really means if caught, regardless of being the bully or the victim, there are no exceptions, punishment is severe. Emphasis is on the 'if caught'.

I am a firm believer too in

a) Team Sports & Martial Arts b) A loving, warm, strong family home that is Sanctuary for a child

As a now non smoker, I really want a smoke right now.

Part 2 coming soon

Written once again by an author smoke free but on the verge of caving in..........

The challenge draws to an end, or maybe not?

2011-05-11T21:51:00.000+10:00

I am in the last week of my annual 6 week challenge. I relinquish my car, whom the family calls Milly, and take up cycling to raise money for Breast Cancer.
This year I will have raised slightly less than previous years, but this year I wasn't sure if I was going to be able to participate at all.
An eleventh hour reprieve by the Doc and I was victory- booty dancing on the spot

By heaven, by hell high water, a broken bone or few, a series of unfortunate circumstances and a dodgy blood supply wasn't going to rain on my 6 week parade!
However it did rain, a lot, literally.

Though I had left it a tad late to pull out the cap and say "please give so others may live", my regular sponsors didn't mind digging deep to help.

Dad the diligent lovely dad he was, wasn't going to let me learn to drive unless I could change a tyre on a car, but he never showed me how to on a bike!
One long lonely road, a drenching down pour and a flat tyre got me thinking. I took the opportunity while speaking with Sarah from NRMA in regards to extending 'Roadside Assist' to cater for bicycles. Sarah might have been laughing at the story but she loved the idea. I really could have done with the help, that is if help in the guise of a man with a 'Ute in dry armour' hadn't turned up. He had a towel too!

This year has been the first year the challenge has been tough. Physically I am at a low, so a few times I have had to stop, get off and rest; a first for me.

A few spare minutes while waiting for Little Miss Mischief to get her morning act into gear one morning, I chose the time to whip out the domestic goddess in me and clean the bathroom. Remind me NOT to invite her out again.
One slight misplacement and I went crashing face first into the bath tub while one foot slammed down hard on the ceramic edge. The pain, the swelling and the quick emergence of the colour purple spreading across the foot was enough to know I wasn't going to be able to cycle the 7 km's to our local hospital with LMM in tow.
LMM called 000 before I could yell out I was OK,
"Shh" she calls out "I'm on the phone!". I hear her talking to the operator . She lets them know I have fallen in the bath, I can't get out, I am not dead. I'm calling out "give me the phone". I'm panicking because it's not an emergency its just a catastrophe.
She walks in, in nurse mode, 'The lady wants to talk to you" handing me the phone. I realise how wet I am, lying there in the bath gritting my teeth and breathing gasps of pain. LMM holds my hand, stroking my hair, softly whispering it will be OK and can she stay home to look after me.

Explaining to the 000 operator that I am indeed OK, I will call my hubby instead.
He's stuck in a car park called the M7 when LMM calls him. He's luckily on the inside lane, so an easy u-turn and a dash home.
The doctor is in two minds about the type of cast after looking at the xrays. I ended up cutting the cast off a few days later. I don't recommend doing that.

My old bike like everything else, is too tall for me technically. A few falls haven't turned me off, but the cast and sore foot made me realise I needed to do this properly once and for all. A visit to Hawkesbury Cycles has me fitted with a specially designed bike that caters for short people like me or less agile. A vintage step through design, ergonomically enhanced, costing more than registering a car but worth it. Almost effort free to ride.
I christened her "Bessie" a vintage name for a vintage bike. My challenge companion.

I was excited riding Bessie home late last night after a Tafe class. I got to see how powerful her headlight was as I rode through the paddocks on my way home. The gel cushion seat cover my son Drue got me for Mother's Day was even more appreciated. Its a pity I cant get heating, so I rode faster and harder on such a cold breezy night.

Sunday might be the official end of this years chapter and the pledges come in, but I might just let Milly go into retirement for a little while longer as I really am enjoying this.

It's my own way of giving, helping, my little bit of paying it forward. Besides I owe somebody.

I owe to my best friend Maxine. A comrade in arms, a fellow adventurer and the only living person I know that really loved the fact that I was shorter than her. For a good part of the 37 years of friendship we had, she humoured me with her comic genius, her everlasting endearing smile outshone any other. She brightened the world where ever she went.
There's a emptiness so profound, so deep, I wonder if my heart will ever recover saying goodbye.

Dedicated to Maxine Lyons
1961 - 2010

Thank God for Childhood 101 because I am so sick of ERp, SAP,SFA, MySQL,CRM

2011-05-05T00:33:00.000+10:00

I am so thankful of Bec Marr of Ruby Ruby Designs for providing so many creative, fun websites that she works on as a graphic designer. Today I was particularly gratefully for a new site that she linked to me just cant be NOT shared.
I looked at the pages, posts and fell into a swirling bath of warm fuzzies. After the last 4 days its any wonder I'm still alive, though I am very doubtful of my sanity right now.

I can see it shred into a thousand tiny shards scattered over a various different location, when Bec sent me this link. After that I saw the footage from Australia's Got Talent of a young boy who sang me of my chair, my jaw scraped on the ground. After that I knew that there was a really wonderful world out there, and I wasn't going remain in DODIFS mode any more!!.

http://childhood101.com

This site is such a magical delight for the senses, I just wanted to wrap myself up in it. I'm so comfortable in the creative world, that it is almost torture to have to deal with 'suits', especially suits with an agenda. If I hadn't left behind a trail of utter destruction today I would have physically escaped with Little Miss Mischief, instead I imagined it.

I think I've seen 10,000 websites trying to find a process solution for our business. We want an easy web based sales taking system that allows our Reps to see whats instock right at the moment they visit the retailers. As they input the order the inventory is automatically adjusted and the retailers file is also adjusted to not what they ordered.
Quite simply really, do you think I can find anything, anything, anything that could meet our needs.
Don't get me started on the plethora of frustrating terminology. I found a blog site called CRM Coach who writes about the software for small business. I like him, he put it in simple language then put the abbrev. in brackets after it. He also went as far to explain what they really mean and how not to get trapped by the sales pitches (I saw through that already). I even went to the small biz forums to ask for advice. I think I unleashed a hornet's nest, because I was inundated with power sales pitches pushing to purchase their product first before trialing.
All 15 of these guru's had the perfect solution.....not.
I made up a new set of initials... DODIFS, which stands for Dear Oh Dear I Feel Stupid during one particular conversation with a young man was spieling out all the known initials that could ever be used in the software field.
I was quickly losing my confidence gulping down each & every one these profanities, trying to figure out what the hell they meant!

The first moment he stopped to take a breath, I jumped in with "Sounds great, fantastic, but I'm driving my staff and our processes away from DODIFS mode"
there was a second of silence when he jumped back into 'hyper sell mode- because I have to make my quota this month' and said exactly what I expected him to say "Yes, definitely, we'll make sure that we don't use that system for you". Chuckle, chuckle, chuckle.
I replied "Opps sorry, um I think it is now DODYFS. Thank you, we are currently compiling a short list of software applications that we think could suit our business needs. As soon as we have finalised that we will contact you".
This was a tutored response from the CRM Coach's blog on how to navigate the smarmy world of software resellers & partners. A really nice way of saying bugger off.

Anyway's I think that I'll let it rest awahile because I did something to make the web cutting machine die, so when my computer started to do poltergeist things the other staff took a protective stand in front of theirs, and the production manager quickly called out from the production room "Don't you dare come in here"

I have this odd habit of killing electrical things when I am upset. Last week it was both the dishwasher & the Dryer. Good timing for the Dryer to commit revenge!. Honestly all I did was look at the thing, and the entire internal engine fell from its housing.

Well another blog, written smoke free by a frazzled work weary "I shouldn't have it any other way" mum

I Lied to my Boss the working mother said

2011-05-03T11:54:00.000+10:00

5 years ago my childhood friend Katie lied to her boss.

It was first a feeling of injustice and discrimination that had been festering deep in the subconscious from 5 years earlier.
In a moment of crisis, the lie jumped out of her lips before she knew she said it. Katie laughs about it now but at that time for her it was a serious breach of fairness and she wanted answers.
"It was like 'who said that' it might have been my voice but it wasn't me who said it"
"I am glad I said it" she reflects.
That day was an awakening to the reality of working parents, and why working mothers will always be at the beating end of the stick.

Katie protests that working mothers are more vulnerable than working fathers. The inequality isn't just about the salary, its the hidden inequality. The expectation that working mothers must be completely flawless when it comes to juggling a career with children. Any thing in regards to the children must never comprimise the company that mothers work for. How many times have mother's called in sick, yet it was really one of the kids that was sick. When a father calls in to say he cant come because of a child, then its dealt with completely differently. There's no back lash on dad's like the backlash there is on mothers.

Older male bosses might be sceptical of working mothers yet female bosses, especially high ranking corporate women are the femme fatal of motherhood. The ones that are mothers themselves having fought and struggled to reach their position are the worst of all.

Within any career or position, the harsh reality is that, you are only as good as your last mistake. Sorry, that is the reality of working for a boss. For many mother's their mistake is usually child related.

The thing is she says, is that you can make a mistake with your children and they still love you. They love you when they see you in the nude, flab and all, they love you when you got daggy clothes on, your breathe stinks. With careers, if you get called away because your child broke their arm at school, then you are considered a liability, even if you delegated and orchestrated the project to other staff whilst running to the car.
It doesn't matter that you can devise first to market systems that are on-sold for millions of dollars with licenses for years to come. It does matter if your child is sick. If the mother is called away, instantly colleagues will see it as an inconvenience, having to take up the slack, even if they never need to; the potential is there. On the other hand, if the father has been called away, most colleagues will go into sympathy mode "Oh the poor dear, I hope everything is all right".

Right there is the battle working mothers can never hope to win!

That was why Katie lied that day, to protect the last 20 years of a life driven by a career. She also didn't want to appear as a mistake like last time.

Every working woman's nightmare; a phone call from the school. Miely, Katie's youngest daughter, had fallen from the playground equipment and had broken her arm. The brake was that bad, bone was protruding said her teacher. Miely was already in an ambulance on the way to the hospital.

What would you do?
I would leave.......immediately.

Kate sprang into action she said, quickly delegating succession to her team members whilst gathering her bag and keys. Within seconds she had all staff organised, project will not be jeopardised with her sudden exit . Katie might have been the head project manger, but she still had a supervisor she had to answer to. He stopped her in the hall to tell her she couldn't leave. She walked on past him as he was calling out "This is a mistake Katie!"

Whilst Miely was in surgery, Katie asked her husband Ewan, if he had in problems leaving his work so suddenly. He just shrugged his shoulders with a perplexed look and said "Why, my daughter has had an accident, no one is going ask me to stay". What angered Katie was that she was made to feel like the bad guy.

Back at work, the supervisor didn't say much but he did comment more times than most that working mothers are unreliable. Ewan, for a couple of weeks came home with muffins and teddy bears from his fellow workers.
6 months later, Katie was passed up on a promotion she had worked so hard for. Another childless woman from her team, far less competent, was giving the position instead. Katie, being Katie, challenged her supervisor. The decision not to give her the promotion in the end, even though she deserved it was because of her vulnerability as a working mother, it wasn't a good show of professionalism that she had left for her kid he said. "We need you to be 110% dedicated and focused".

Katie laughs "Ewan comes home with sympathy muffins and I get demoted, sort of. Ever since then I have hated muffins! I was so angry!

Not long after she was head hunted for a rival company. She found out later that her old supervisor lost his own job when the CEO found out why Katie left.
"Like I said you are only as good as your last mistake. He might have seen me as a potential liability, but the CEO saw him as a supervisor that ruled by his own assumptions, not in the best interest for the company".

5 years later, Katie having only just arrived at work, received a phone call that the car in which her oldest daughter was passenger had been involved in a serious accident. Siobhan was being airlifted to Royal North Shore Hospital with suspected spinal injuries. She was in a critical condition.

She called out to the CEO as she rushed out the office "I have to go, my husband has been involved in a serious car accident, he has spinal injuries".

Everyone flew to her assistance immediately.

"That was the injustice, the unfairness" Katie's says "That it was OK that my husband was injured, but if they knew it was one of my daughters they would've been far less sympathetic after the initial shock. They would have forced me to make a decision, rather than saying take all the time you need. The bastardry of it was that they were so nice and helpful".

Though Katie quit while Siobhan was in hospital and took a year off to dedicate to her daughter. "It was the fact that I had never driven my girls to school, that I paid some one else to raise my girls. It was the best career move in my life, I wish I had done it this way sooner. I might be a consultant that works from home, I work the hours I want to and I don't have the acerbic mentality to deal with"

I found it really ironic that no one on their death bed ever says "I should have spent more time in the office".

The tweenie clothing dilema- Bum wraps with studs or the twirl factor?

2011-04-20T08:03:00.001+10:00

I'd been through this before! I scratched my head with a deep sigh and resigned myself to the unavoidable, why or why did Little Miss Mischief have to become a size 8; the clothing available for little girls this age is just a smaller replica of adult wear except on the worse side of yuk.
Behind me stood racks full of delightful, pretty clothing that stopped at size 7. In front of me stood a couple of dishevelled clothing racks, a mish, mash, mosh of cast iron greys, blacks, dull greens and sickly looking blues. This is the appalling, dismal offer of clothing for little girls sized 8 to 12. Despite years of parent protests and the target market of the girls themselves, nothing has changed.

A mother standing next to me sighed in unison to my unspoken thoughts, I think she heard or saw the utter disappointment and frustration on my face. "When the public complain we sexualize our young children, its starts with the clothing that the designers put out! every where I have been the last week its the same stuff, boutiques and chain stores. All the same crap!! my daughter doesn't like to wear skinny tight black jeans or grey sloppy joes!" the mother blurted out. I agree, Little Miss Mischief doesn't like that type of clothing either, nor does it suit her. Little Miss Mischief, is a tall, willowy, fair headed, fair skinned, blue eyed little girl that has a sprinkling of sun kisses on her delicate elfin face. She also still believes in fairies, has 36 Barbie dolls and loves all the colour that comes with them; blacks, greys mixed with silver studded bum wrap skirts doesn't have a place in this picture.

OK! it seems that all the designers for children's clothing must have gone to the same design school, because the styles dramatically change from size 7 to 8. There's no transition at all anywhere. I voted with my purse and walked out having purchased nothing at all.

I might have made a statement by not buying anything at all from stores such as Pumpkin Patch, Target, Myer, Big W, Best & Less and I definitely didn't bother to hike to Kmart for my efforts, but the problem remained, Little Miss Mischief has grown out of her winter clothes and I just cant squeeze her in the size 7's anymore.
The one outfit I purchased the week before from our local boutique 'Bonnies' was a size 7L, which matched LMM's slender frame beautifully. The printed cord layered knee length skirt of apricots and baby blue floral was contrasted with matching stripe band and a long sleeve blouse to match. The colours looked divine on her, and most importantly of all, it passed the 'twirl' factor. It was the only clothing on offer.
No matter the generations, throughout the ages; all little girls love to twirl!. Watching my older daughter, 'Zip' now a young woman twirl in a new flowy dress she made, I think all women love to twirl!
My older daughter 'Zip' as she is affectionately called, is a sewing guru, with a blooming label of her own, has made a lot of clothes for her little sister for a few years now. Some things like jeans are out of the question only because we don't have the machinery to perfect the job. I know there is a gorgeous double breasted hot pink cord jacket with a floral flannel lining on its way for winter for LMM, but with Zip's current workload and demand, we'd be lucky to get anything else more than that.
I couldn't help myself, but I just had to prove that little girls really do love to twirl. Here are 3 of my favourite photographs of LMM twirling in an outfit created by her older sister for summer in our backyard.
Its probably the most beautiful fairy dress ever created, but it isn't going to make winter a warm one.
What to do! What to do! I could look online, this too is fraught with danger. Little Miss Mischief's peculiar shaping, though not obvious has proven an obstacle too many times. Its a 'try on b4 u buy' job with anything LMM. She is also the worlds worst clothes shopper, except when it comes to shoes...... Emelda Marcos reincarnate.

Last week's effort was a reward of one outfit but the trip to Big W (our only other store locally) afterwards was traumatic for me. LMM screwed up her nose, she could like this perhaps, maybe, as she looked at a top which was a 2 tone grey with a weird splotch on the front. Blah she said and we left it. Hmmmm.... school holidays, a trip to Parramatta might be in order suggested Zip. Gulp - crowds.

We girls 3, had some serious shopping to do anyway. I just wanted new underwear that's all, Zip had a list a kilometre long, which included shoes, makeup, jeans, books and fingers crossed a new wardrobe for LMM. Having Zip along meant our options decreased, as she is the reigning wardrobe police. All items of apparel must pass her scrutiny, not a lot gets through.
The shopping trip was planned for the day after my iron injection, I took an extra dose of vitamin B. I was good to go, I had energy.
Parramatta Westfield wasn't as busy as we were expecting, yay! Some of Zips items in bags already when we found the Kids Zone, all the kids stores in one central location- thank you Westfield.
LMM is out of Cotton Kids sizing, so we bypassed that store. Perused Pumpkin Patch, but not one item of apparel passed Zip's strict standards of style. The colours of the clothing was OK she admitted, but the "underage teenager going to the club with an ef me look" was a no go zone. I didn't think it was that bad, but Zip stormed out with a very disdainful obvious huff!
LMM & I caught up to her in front of a store nearby called Gymboree. With a smile larger than life and a finger already pointed to its front doors "we are going in here!". I heard a very loud long "Woooooooooow coming from LMM's lips as she stood transfixed in awe. Zip & I headed in different directions in excitement forgetting LMM, left still statuesque, with mouth wide open and eye's dancing over the front etalage of the store. Oops, I went back and dragged her in.
Within minutes we all had arms full of clothing for LMM to try on. Here was a store that had successfully bridged the gap from little, little girls to little girls to tweenie without any compromise on morals and ethics, needs and wants.
The colouring of the entire range from birth to 12 years is a breath of fresh vibrancy and happiness. Styles modern, contemporary yet age appropriate. Jeans with felt flowers on the hemline or down the leg, colourful cords, matching long sleeve t's with stripes and flowers. Dresses, tunics, coordinates, shoes, boots, hats, knitwear and much more to tantalise the eyes and feast the wardrobe.
A wondrous butterfly found amongst the fleet of dull, grey moths.

Though I am a very firm believer in buying Australian first, Gymboree is a US brand with the one store in Australia (more planned openings soon) I am a new huge fan. If an Australian childrens clothing company had catererd for the 'transitional' age such as Gymboree has done so effortlessly and simply, I would be the first to buy guaranteed.
Wake up Australian designers, get out there and research your the target market. You might just find out what all parents already know, little girls love to twirl, dress up, play and still be little girls.
Take a look at Gymboree by going to www.gymboree.com

The importance of Immunisation

2011-04-01T06:58:00.000+11:00

Not immunising your child is the same as allowing your child to ride in a car without a seat belt; unrestrained and completely unprotected. You might never have an accident, but then again a quick sudden slam on the brakes to avoid hitting something will cause your child to fly through the windscreen.
It seems almost 'unnatural', an emotionally impossible thing not to strap your child in. Guilt stops us; what if we have an accident?
Why is it not the same when people opt out of immunising their children? is it the misguided belief that the diseases we are trying to protect them from are antiquated and no longer relevant? or just like my own parents, who had the insane notion of a sinister government conspiracy.
Isn't it healthy for children to get Measles & Chicken Pox? actually no.

Speak to a mother whose baby died from Whopping Cough, as told in Practical Parenting magazine, "Her last Breath". Its a heartbreaking tale of a death that could have been prevented.

I met a woman a few weeks ago that proudly stated that she refused to have her child immunised. I was instantly compelled to commit grievous bodily harm of an atrocious nature on this woman. Being in public, I held that thought with a tight hold, but it was very hard.
Instead I took a very big obvious step back from her and said "My parents had exactly the same attitude as you. Every day for the last 20 years I have lived with the burden of my parents decision".

I am rejoicing in a government initiative to ban all un-immunised children from attending day care or schools. If you don't immunise your child, be prepared to home school and work from home for the rest of your child's youth. There is talk of government departments not employing non immunised adults in the future, which counts me out.

When my brother met his wife Barabra, a Chinese immigrant, he saw the most beautiful girl in the world. The rest of the family, on the other hand were confronted with a cripple, a girl with twisted mangled legs of not much use. After the initial shock wore off, we too no longer saw Barabra's legs, but the wonderful person that she is. Barabra was 4 when she was stricken with Polio. These diseases still exist because some countries don't have the resources or the respect for its citizens to protect them.

For all the love and care, and the great deal of sacrifice and discipline my parents took to raise their bunch of 4 in a 'earthy natural' environment, they had handed me a death sentence in the process. Their unintended consequences.
At 27, 3 very young children, a mortgage, a husband, 2 cats and half way through a mandatory career driven degree, I caught chicken pox from a lady who decided that she was bored staying at home with her infected daughter.
All I did was stand at a sandwich bar waiting for my lunch when both came to stand next to me. 5 minutes of conversation was all that it took for my health to change forever. I had walked into the cafe with an empty stomach, and walked out with a sandwich, a bottle of water and a ticking time bomb.

As an adult, chicken pox often turns into Shingles, just like Herpes from which chicken pox is of the same virus, it never goes away. If you're very unlucky, you get ITP (Idiopathic Thrombocytopenia Purpera) unluckier still, is the chronic type.

I'll spare you the long boring and most arduous story of what happened, but I will enlighten you a little bit with what life is like as a chronic ITP sufferer.

Anemia, abnormal blood cell structure, internal hemorrhaging, profuse bleeding from the roof of the mouth, gums (lovely sight when talking to clients or customers when this occurs) nose bleeds, external hemorrhaging, daily headaches, stomach and organ ulcers, mental confusion, extreme cold, fatigue, breathlessness, low blood pressure, blood transfusions, enlarged spleen, swollen tongue, curly fingernails, difficulty swallowing (how I love the choking bit), insatiable thirst, injections, monthly blood tests, Prednisone, radiotherapy, removal of the spleen, heart problems, stroke, dizziness, nausea. The trademark red lesion dots on the skin that come with the territory are so numerous now that Little Miss Mischief can draw 'join the dots' and cover my entire body without taking her texta off.

Because ITP is an autoimmune deficiency syndrome, which I never say in its short form, AIDS, because most people automatically think its THAT type of aids, and its not. Its the same type as people who have cancer etc, which means that I should have no immunity or resistance to colds, bugs etc which can quickly lead to death.
The ironic part of that is I haven't had a cold or flu since 2005, the only time I am sick is directly due to the disease itself. Apparently, pregnancy can increase remission periods to 5 years and revert the blood cells to normal structure and give a female ITP sufferer incredible protection, which I didn't find out until 2 years after my last pregnancy.
As the 'pregnancy insurance' is wearing out, and my last treatment took more than 16 days instead of 3, before I started to feel better again, I know that I am now walking a fine line as remission periods will get shorter and shorter.
When making decisions on your child's future, think very carefully. Again I say, never use your child to make statement of your own political or religious agendas.
If I had been capable as a baby of making the decision on being immunised, I would have gladly said "Yes Please"

Frankie slid into my bag and made my trip enjoyable

2011-03-17T10:04:00.034+11:00

FRANKIE MAGAZINE : Frankie is straight-shooting, funny, intelligent and inspiring. Frankie celebrates individuality - manifested in our editorial perspectives, design values, fashion coverage and a mindset that allows for an absolutely unique point of view. Frankie – change is one thing I don’t mind. (extract from the Frankie Blurb)

I am an anti-gloss magazine type of woman. I haven't bought one in years. The only 'gloss' magazines I read are business specific or relative to our industry. For more years than I can remember I have purchased Practical Parenting. I can safely say this magazine has accompanied me on the parenthood road like a trusty guide and companion in arms. To Practical Parenting magazine a heart thank you old friend.

Its the 'womens' mags that I don't take to all that well. I like to call them the 'bling, bling, ting, gloss & made up gos coupled with the over-expectation of the stiletto healed, permanently coiffured, plastic mannequin culture.'
Its great if you're into things that might include botox@20, budget outfits for only $700, revolving door boyfriends, acting the environmentalist life.

Most women agree, even if secretly, mags like these are a visual plastic surgery to cover the ageing cracks of reality. Shiny & pretenious, 'gloss' style magazines are 90% advertising, the remaining 10% is the content that pushes the realistic boundaries by portraying high end lifestyles as the minimal social norm; certainly makes a mockery of the lives lead by the everyday suburban women. An unreachable expectation that usually has most women breathing out a unrequited sigh. 'If only I could......

For years I have perused the stands for a magazine to sate my thirst, searched for something intelligent, something light, real and uncluttered with hype. Every so often I find a rare gem in amongst what I call "MagTriangulation", my 'sar-chasim' on the 3 main reading genres of magazines. I feel strangled by the lack 'unfearful' perspective on offer, or yet to uncover.

I also abhor the over use of advertising in nearly all of them. Articles seem to disappear in the ravines of tiny spaces between the mountainous domination of advertising. Oh joy! did I buy this expensive mag for a handful of 3 paragraph articles or did I pay for the 300 pages of advertising with the articles thrown in as a tokinal gesture?

I like to read about real people, they don't always have to be the everyday heroes, though I adore them too. I savour content that is true, non-hype, down to earth; a realistic read without the blah of social tweedom, havetobe wannabe's, social correctness and the pandemic of ever increasing environmental bullying rammed in between the lines
(must be pandemic level if anxious 3 year olds are tallying up their daily carbon footprint emissions before they go to sleep at night), I grew up with a simple prayer of thanks.

I like fashion. In general, I think it's a good idea to wear clothes.
I enjoy seeing apparel that is individual, gutsy, subliminally out there, wearable and reachable, with a bent idea of comfort.
Life seems to be a perpetual motion of fast paced 24 hour consumption of all things living. Yielding to the daily onslaught of regimentation, every moment accounted for. Rare is the opportunity to be an accidental tourist in your own day.

We even economise our time outs to simple micro stops, with a coffee 2 go, read and stand, waiting for the bus/train/taxi, emails in transit. On route publicly, we find that magazines are a friend, a buddy to keep us company in the awkwardness of waiting in a communal space shared with others.
A favourite mag that provides the literature of personal taste will be enough of a dynamic interlude to consider it a best friend of the moment.
Just like a chummy catch ups, a great mag will emotionally recharge the batteries until the next time, where we'll pick it up again, start where ever, no matter how long its been; both human & text friends are great value for that.
This is were advertising takes its place; in the consumers delight of discovery while in captured audience.

Sadly the success of advertising is no longer based on position but how much advertising is featured in the whole magazine; too much and the reader will automatically glaze over. Mag Readers might like to read with a balance of pictorial content, they also want to be swept away like a fling.
Conceptionaly, segueing articles and advertisements is extremely effective with lasting impact, but very rarely done. Spaces, like the tedious boredom of rote are permanently templated. Inside front cover is always the most expensive place to advertise, by that conditioning, consumers bypass it altogether.Sadly for the product owner it becomes a wasted financial enterprise.

Sadder still is the reader who faces the dilemma of being a Nigel.
Single, an unattached reader.
You see them hovering over magazine stands near train stations hoping to pair up with a compatible mag for their journey. Some will leave empty handed, for them its a case of 'I'm between reads right now' others will head straight for second best, the quick use & dump variety of 'The 30 Minute Stand'; politely called a Newspaper.
Sometimes its love at first sight and this is how we get to Frankie.

My daughter sent me a text on her way to Tafe, "Frankie slid into my bag and made my trip enjoyable".
followed a little later with a text "Bringing Frankie home, cant wait for you to see".

Gulp.
I hadn't planned on actually cooking.
I was going with the drag the feet and procrastinate approach till one of my sons, preferably the one that is an exceptional cook will offer to take over.
Its a parental revenge thing.

I finished cooking a lovely meal for all 7 of us +1, when she came through the door, alone.

"Where's Frankie?"
Blank look.
Ping!
Gasps in complete awe as she revelled Frankie from her bag.
Oh, it's not a person.
Jubilant and excited about her find, her secret garden, her butterfly amongst a gale of moths. Obviously she was smitten, stricken with the love bug. Once I finally got the chance to handle Frankie, I was more than half way there too.
While we are getting to know Frankie better, two of the boys battle tug -o-war style over Frankie's plate.

I must be the only person in the entire world that cooked dinner for a magazine. Well if there ever was a magazine that could be a person, it would be Frankie!

There was an opportunity that Frankie and I would get some one on one time while I waited at Little Miss Mischief's Judo class this afternoon, no, my oldest daughter has taken Frankie for the day, I will just have to find a Frankie of my own

Go find Frankie, the hunt for the shy flash of genius its well worth the treasure!
Another blog, written smoke free by the author. All rights reserved 2011 by Bubba Moe Slings Pty Ltd

Guiding your child through natural disasters

2011-03-15T22:54:00.001+11:00

The whole world is at a standstill. All eyes are on one location; Japan.
The graphic images of chaos, turmoil, grief and the forces of nature are everywhere.

While your child is a baby you have as a parent complete control on what your baby is exposed to, as your child's social world expands that control of exposure diminishes.
The permanent control you have as parent is how they learn about life in their journey towards adulthood.

There will always be naturally occurring events around the world. Events that can be catastrophic, it is during this time many children will become stressed and very frightened. The best thing a parent can do at this time is to give information in a manner the child can digest at their level.

If a child asks or shows concern about a disaster, taking the time to answer as best you can is important to their emotional well being. Even if an event like this occurs in another country and culture, far from home, it still has an impact.
Fobbing a concerned child off with a "Don't worry about it, it has nothing to do with us because it is in another country" parenting attitude, will probably set a precedent for general apathy, lack of care and disrespect in the child.
Telling a child to "Take a spoonful of cement and harden the f*** up" as I heard one father say to his worried son yesterday isn't going to cut it at all.
Seriously though, the child was logically asking for that cement. Cement being in this case, the metaphor for information. This is his son's world too, a little time spent answering his questions and concerns will help his son to comprehend the impact and adjust to the chaos.
Children expect their parents to know everything, they also have the uncanny knack to want to talk urgently at the wrong time; if this is the case, acknowledge your child's concern, explain that now is not a good time for what ever the reason maybe and set a time, talking after soccer practise e.g., so that you can give them your full attention. Assure them that you will answer any questions that they might have as best as you possibly can. It might also give you enough time to get some facts right first, hopefully.
To understand is to know, to teach in the moment, is to strengthen the bond of trust between a parent and their child.

Understand that children from a very young age are deeply empathic. At immunisation centres, the first baby that cries will set off all the others babies. Never disregard a child's fears, to them it is very real.

It is important that children are aware of disasters and all that they entail. In a non-rosebud way, disasters themselves offer the child an opportunity to learn, to develop social awareness and realise the world doesn't revolve around them only.
Sadly, it is a remarkable life lesson. Steering the child through this lesson, makes up the important part of the learning process. If you are not sure as to how much and how deep your discussion should go, take a cue from your child's questions, as to how much information is needed to satisfy their need. Start by allowing your child to ask questions first and answer it. If you are not sure of an answer, tell them, but suggest how both of you could find out.
There are ways to explain to a child what is occurring and why; there are also ways how NOT to explain to a child.

Supervise the viewing of all video coverage on any media, don't leave them on their own to watch broadcasts. Avoiding any segment that is a "A story that bleeds, leads" type. Children need to know what is going on, but some material can be too extreme and over exaggerated.

When children see images/footage on TV, computer, or any of the wide range of media available in this age, they feel they are there, it is about to happen to them. They see the events unfold before their very eyes, they feel it is in their space. Adults understand and comprehend the distance factor, children not so much, if at all.

For primary school children it is a good idea not to over complicate the situation by using this time to bring in your own political, social, cultural, environmental, religious or conspiracy views. If they ask, as most older children will, then its a natural time for them to know. My teenage son came home today asking about the 'Elite Globalist Movement", apparently a 'confirmed' source has stated that the earthquake and subsequent tsunami was deliberately engineered. He went into great detail on how this is not only a scientific possibility, but a feasible motive. I must admit he had me worried a little until we googled it.
I try not to stereotype people, but from my experience, the professors I personally know, have a distinguishable structural quality in their language, even when angered or insultive as opposed to these self professed "professors"who engaged in nothing higher than mud slinging, vile expletives that made my hair curl. It certainly slaughtered any credence to their possible theories. I left the site feeling remarkable more uplifted.

Ideally, every family home should have a book called an Atlas, a world globe and a state road map (maybe that one is in the glove box of the car). Often overlooked as the items for the nerds, geeks or even obsolete, it is at this time these items become incredibly valuable and powerful tools.

There is a specific psychological benefit to using these items first before heading straight to Google.

Tactile learning, where the child can 'finger' the globe, tracing a path with their finger from the event/country to home will give perspective, and reassure them they are safe from this disaster. It helps children to understand where they fit in globally at times like this. Children can relate to the 3 dimensional aspect of a globe, more easier to comprehend than atlas maps, maps will have greater detail. One word of warning though, avoid buying ornamental globes. I spied one that had Africa touching Australia, Papua New Guinea was no where to be found, curiously China and USA were rather large in comparison. Try Australian Geographic stores, their globes, like the one pictures display the countries in different colours for easy identification. Globes are great for general geographical knowledge

A child that is first reassured that they and their loved ones are safe, will then be able to understand the concept of help and giving aid. A critically important aspect into learning how to overcome hurdles, learn that there is always a way to rebuild no matter how bad the situation. It helps build social intelligence and self esteem.

I remember when I was 6, our relief teacher decided we should learn about volcanoes after a deadly eruption from Mt Etna had taken many lives. This is an example of how NOT to explain to children.

She explained in a very animated way how hot boiling lava flowed under our feet like a lake. Sometimes the lava was so hot that it exploded through the ground to release pressure. When this happens, people will die, it can happen at any time, any place, any moment. She ended her explanation with a very loud vocal 'boom'! The entire class flinched, instinctively lifting their feet off the ground.
If she wanted silence from the class, she had it after that.
Lunch time we all sat with our feet cautiously off the ground, when Debbie's apple fell and rolled away, she burst into tears, so did the rest of us. I just wanted to be home with my family if the earth was going to erupt at any minute.
Luckily dad, ironically a trip to Newcastle the weekend before and a pot of boiling potatoes came to the rescue.

Dad armed with the globe and the atlas put my fears to rest.
He asked me if I remembered the trip to Newcastle the weekend before.
I remember, it seemed to take forever!!!

At a pit stop on our way to Newcastle, dad had decided to put an end to the "how long is it going to take" pestering coming from the back seat.
On the bonnet of the car he spread the road map. We found Avalon, where we lived, then Newcastle, where we had to go. He showed me the legend and got me to work out how long it would take, which is a great maths lesson anyway. He also had me trace the route, which was the highway, with my finger. Right then I understood the concept travelling a distance.

Dad located Italy on the globe and I found Australia. Using the legend we calculated the distance, he asked me "How many trips to Newcastle would that be". I realised it was a lot of trips. But the teacher had said it could happen any where? Out came the Atlas and an attempted oral lesson on Teutonic plates, when we heard mum in the kitchen cursing at a pot of potatoes, boiling over. Dad had a better idea.

Standing at the doorway to the kitchen I could see the hot water splattering out from under the lid of the pot. "See where the water is trying to get out? its not cracking out from the side of the pot, or the handle, it's coming from the rim, which is the opening to the pot. The vent, this is how volcano's work, through vents that are already there " he said.
"If the pot is Mt Etna, then Australia is across the road in Marta's house. The bubbling pot is not going to hurt us over there is it?"
Right there I understood it all. I wasn't scared anymore, I felt relieved that they were evacuating the people who lived close to Mt Etna and how after the volcano calms down, the process of rebuilding would take place. In disasters like these, no one was left alone to deal with it
It was exactly the cement I needed to harden up.

We are using the same approach with our youngest Little Miss Mischief who is 7. We let her talk, ask, discuss as much as she needs. As a part of a large family, she has a huge support network flanking her. As a family we discussed all possible issues.
Though I was tickled pink that she rallied the other members of the family to donate money along with her stash; it was adorable when she cheekily asked a driver who pulled his truck alongside our car at a set of traffic lights, if she could borrow it,
"Cause Japan has a lot of mess to take away and a lot of wood and bricks and food to bring back in. That's going to take a lot of trucks!".
He said she could.

Another smoke free blog by the author. All rights reserved and belong to Bubba Moe Slings PTY LTD.

Mad Hatters Tea Party of sorts

2011-03-13T18:22:00.001+11:00

I am not a good sleeper. I never was really (as my parents lamented), I probably never will be, but I would like at least some.

Friday morning, 2am, a tad earlier than normal 2.32am wake up call. I have this internal alarm clock that can't be turned off, or hidden under the pillow, the next room or even in the bin. I cant even send it flying across the room where it will shatter on impact with the innocent wall of the bedroom. Nope, no can escape this voodoo.

Its OK, for I have company.

Beautiful, sweet smiling #1 daughter working with urgency on her latest project. Again, just like a literal Deja Vu, we have gone through this before, every garment has to be ready before 8am, Saturday morning. This time its a production of eclectic fashion come costume with a splash of colourful whimsy.

If she had became the scriptwriter that we as her parents had intended her to be, I might have actually been asleep. I still hope and pray that one day she will show the world the magic of her words. Just maybe.

In role reversal, I work for her. My fee is naturally exorbitant, payment includes hugs, sleepless nights, and a newly self trained ability to overlook a 'neatless' house.

I also have the honour of being the perpetual sounding board on constant tap; I'm available even if I'm asleep in my bed, lights off and at all.

"Mum, mum", she shook me awake, "Before you get into a deep sleep I need your opinion on this angle". By the soft light illuminating from her Iphone, I listened to her dilema on using a particular angle or another, she wasn't entirely sure which way to go.

Both Maurie and Little Miss Mischief, who had wedged her way in between us some time earlier in the night slept through the whispered discussions.

"Oh, now that you're awake, would you like a cup of tea?" she whispers, which I know really means, "I am in dire need of your help and since you're awake now, could you make me a cup of tea too?"

The tea making part I'll go with in a flash.

Its not that I am predantic and must have my tea a certain precise way, my daughter, as biased as I am about all things Zip, her tea making skills are legendary, actually they precede her where ever she goes. Even natives deep in the Peruvian jungle, not yet discovered by mankind, know she makes the worst tea in the world.

Its all worth it in the end. Throughout the week models have come and gone for their fitting, discussions with the photographer, the make up artist etc. Yet again, as we do every project, we congregate around the island bench in the kitchen or outside to eat and gaggle over dinner, the very large dining table is covered with fabric, design drawings, patterns, pins, boning and other strange looking implements.

The OH&S of this house is, shoes worn at all times, there's a sewer in residence, pins are rampant and abundant everywhere as some of us are painfully aware.

Saturday 6am, she's been awake for more than 36 hours already, there's a 21st party to attend later that evening, plus an almost full day on location; 2 outfits are yet to be finished' Of course one of these outfits had to be most complex of all; The Cage

7am, time is ticking away and we are in full swing of a frustrated and heated debate on the best way to construct The Cage. I say this way, she says nay. The baby next door is now awake.

Finally she gets it, and we start the way I suggest.

I always say to her "what starts well will always end well, its just the roller coaster in the middle that you have to ride through".

Saturday, 8.15am its all finished, and the crew hasn't even arrived yet. Zip flies into the shower while I hop up on the kitchen bench, cross my legs and lean back on the pylon to have a micro sleep or few.

I have to get ready for my Saturday art class.

Throughout the rest of the morning she sends me picture messages of the some parts of the shoot.

Most of the class know what is going on, so the phone gets handed around as the photo's drop into my message inbox. The picture quality of the new phones are amazing.

I love this age of technology, don't understand most of it, but I like it. Even if I am having more than a fair share of frustration trying to place photo's on this blog.......argh. Hey, I was around before ATM cards were invented.

One of the other students recognises Ashley from Home & Away. To us, Ashley is Ashley herself, we often forget she is an actress.

Gregory, who is very young for his age, exclaims "It looks just like a Mad Hatter's Tea party of sorts".

I tell him its the theme of the shoot, he wants to know which one is Alice.

Um.

I know I can't explain anything to Gregory, he doesn't understand metaphors or analogies, so I just say "I'm not sure". With his easel parked next to mine, he spends the rest of the class time, explaining to me that the girl with the rainbow corset is likely to be Alice, it confuses him because she isn't wearing an apron, but it must be Alice as she is the only girl there with long wavy blonde hair.

Gregory might be a simple man older than me, but I do wish I had his remarkable talent.

My girl 'Zip'

Like I said, "What starts well, ends well......"

Ah, that's were my chairs went to!.

Shops have what online stores don't - Retail Therapy!!

2011-03-09T16:54:00.000+11:00

Bubba Moe Slings like many other companies are known as a manufacturing wholesaler/retailer. We supply to the general public via our website, then to stores as a wholesaler.
In this era, a business without a website could be viewed with some suspicion as not being bone fide. Any retailable consumer product should be supported by a website.
For retailers, 99.9% of products sold, are researched online previously by the consumer. When a customer comes through the door, its up to the salesperson to sell the customer the product they need or want. When a customer walks in the door they mostly do so voluntarily, I have yet to experience where a salesperson has dragged me off the street into their store and forced me to buy something before I am allowed to leave.

There are many reasons why people walk in and a lot of reasons why they walk out, leaving empty handed and the shop's till just as empty.

Retailers hate wholesalers that have their own website because it detracts business from them. I can't entirely disagree with that, though it does attract business for them in the same token.
Most retailers will challenge that the wholesaler is undercutting their prices. I agree that a hefty amount of wholesalers do, yet those who do will ultimately sign their own demise, as it also increases consumer suspicion.
Why should a retailer stock an item which is priced 20-30% lower by the wholesaler, (with exception for reason), retailers cannot compete and will seek to stock items that don't come with a price battle. Unfortunately popular brands come can come with a price battle, unknown brands come with a sales battle. Little do most retailers know that they themselves hold a wild card. A wild card that can actually win them the battle.
Many retailers do suffer 'reconaissiance traps', where the customer comes into the store seeking as much information as possible, only to leave the store and purchase online. The sales person has spent a considerable amount of time and energy, completely educating the customer only to have another business benefit from that exercise, when that customer decides to leave the store to purchase 'online' elsewhere. Why do these customers walk out?

I'll tell you why I walk out
1) Not satisfied with information given
2) Want the product but not the colours available in the store at the time
3) Not happy with the service or general atmosphere
4) Need to process the information given a little further.
5) Not quite the right time to purchase, still need information
With options 1 to 3, it will be rare that I return to purchase that product, with number 4 & 5, I more than likely will return to purchase.
It boils down to one little but powerful human aspect- trust.

Very rarely will I make a decision purely based on price, unless it's extreme. Convenience will always outrank price. I will not travel 50 km to save $5, if it costs me $20 in petrol and $15 in tolls, nor will I order it online if it takes 2 weeks and a certain amount of uncertainty till it actually arrives just to save a buck or two.
If it's in the shop there and then, the salesperson is an expert, making me comfortable that the product will live up to my needs & expectations, I will feel more than 'special' walking out with it in a nice store bag on my way to a cafe for a conclusional Chai Latte while sporting a grin closer to a Cheshire cat.
That's what I call Retail Therapy.

I simply love a dose of Retail Therapy! its a hoot, its fun and its a complete experience. I work hard for my income and who doesn't, so I like my money to work hard for me. I want to be wooed, I want that feel good uplifting feeling that comes with the touchy feely of that freshly purchased product. I have it in my hot little hands and its mine.

The last time I bought something on line, it went something like this.
Pyjama clad, 5am cup of instant coffee by my side, 14 google pages with many repeated repeats of businesses I didn't care to visit, lots of image checks (which by the way, were woeful & tiny, causing eye strain), I made my purchase.
Whipped out the credit card, paid and was left with an email that said "Thank you for your order" and a headache bigger than Ben Hur. That's it! That's all I get, nix, nothing, nil.
I sat there drumming my fingers on the desk, quietly, for all the intelligent members of the household were asleep.
I was feeling a little empty, depleted, even a little under excited, for the purpose. OK I didn't leave the house, but I also had nothing to show for it. It equated to an anticlimax without ever getting to a climax in the first place. Retail Therapy in reverse
I realised that I did get something immediate from the exercise, it was a package called 'wait'.
Wait I did.
Four weeks after the dawn purchase, when it almost became a distant memory, it twigged that it hadn't arrived yet. It twigged because my daughters birthday was approaching at lightening speed, and this purchase was for her. A few emails, a few left messages, a few more emails, a few more left messages, all with no answer what so ever.
My girl's 21st birthday had come and gone without this special purchase arriving at all. I had no excuse to offer, because I had 21 years to get ready for this special day. The word 'heel' was, I believe clearly flaming across my head and no amount of visits to The Bad Mothers website will cover the disappointment my daughter felt at its absence.

Why did I buy it online in the first place, easy, because I couldn't buy one from a shop. None of the sales assistants would offer to order one in for me either.

Breastfeeding from the Right Hand side of the brain- part 2

2011-03-03T01:57:00.000+11:00

Women that successfully breastfeed, do so by using the Right Hand Side of the Brain, which I call RHSOB, cause it takes to long to type out. Mums do it either by intuition, by discipline or a dogged determination to make it work.
Just like drawing, people fail at drawing because they draw what their brain says, not what they actually see. Some times just by looking at the negative spaces around the object, you see the real shape of the object, weird I know, but it puts the object into real perspective. I can replicate a 'still life' composition to greater accuracy when I draw the negative shapes around the objects. It also works better when I relax and zone in on the job at hand, everything on the outer becomes a blur, sinking away into an oblivion of non existence.

Breastfeeding is similar, all else must be cast aside, yet so many mums find this hard to do.

Relaxation is the last visitor calling when the clothes are piling up in the laundry, an array of mess is scattered across the living area, dishes are precariously balanced on the kitchen bench, fighting for a place to exist. The phone is ringing again, and again. The just out of reach mobile starts and someone is knocking at the door.

Its already 3pm, still clad in pyjamas with shag hair, not caused by an actual shag. Anxiety sets in about the fast approaching 'Devil's Hour', silly name really, cause it lasts more than 4, and the unenviable task of cooking dinner, hopefully something edible, which needs to be sorted, possibly, perhaps, maybe, if luck happens to venture in and stay a while.

To add salt to the wound, everyone mum knows a mum that seems to cope with it all, still have a figure that's shows no evidence of ever having a baby, coiffured, manicured, complete with an equally pristine family & home. Actually these women don't exist, we just think they do.

A 'neatless' house is a sign that a woman has her priorities right; equally logical, there is something sinister about a spotless house where quiet children reside.

If the psychics of life isn't enough to deal with, then there's all the advice to contend with, whether its wanted or not. Women cant seem to escape it and it adds kudos to my mother's own mantra "She, who has boobs, can give advice".
Advice, is a right of passage for all mothers to part their experience on all other mothers, regardless of bra cup size; which confusingly always is as varied and as contradictory to all other previous information given by other mothers.
If that's not enough to invoke insanity, there's the plethora of books, ebooks, magazines, websites etc, which by the way is always written by mothers.
Breastfeeding or mothering advice should never be taken seriously if its been written by a man, seriously; its not naturally ethical. Its my soapbox thought on the topic, men cannot teach women how to be better mothers, only how to be their ideal dream mothers. The absurd idea of a man telling a woman how to breastfeed and mother, is almost as obnoxious as a man coming home to say to his wife "What have you been doing all day, you could have at least done something!"

Advice overload seems to electrify the already overloaded mind, a mind that's only just recently graduated from 'placenta brain' to 'lactating brain'. No wonder the frizzy shag hair stands on end when someone suggests the answer is to relax. Humph.

Its true, the secret to all successes is to relax. A relaxed frame of mind will achieve all desired goals easily and with greater success. Previous experience in Yoga & meditation not necessary.

Breastfeeding from the right hand side of the brain- part 1

2011-02-25T22:25:00.000+11:00

Most people would have heard about the technique/book called 'Drawing from the Right Hand Side of the Brain". Its mostly about drawing from a different perspective, but the principles can be applied for everyday life, business or personal.
The left hand side of the brain is the almighty governor of our thought processes. The right hand side of the brain is the creative, non boundary, imaginary part of our psyche; it also has no fear!

Most children up until school age, by natures call, dominantly use the right hand side to learn. The before school years are the most significant learning years of any humans life, we learn more in those years than we do rest of our lives. From school days onwards, we learn through conditioning, we slide the right hand side of the brain towards the back waters of our mind. From school days onwards, we learn to 'measure' everything with the left hand side of the brain. Everything must have a proof, have a reason, must be seen and must be explained. We develop fear as a part of the process.

When a woman embarks on the great baby expedition from whence there is no return, a lot of the baggage she takes with her on this journey comes packed with great expectations. The heaviest & most burdensome one of all is the one called 'perfection'.
All the while, the left hand side of the brain menacingly rubs its hands with glee, its about to get its full quota and plus some more, of control.
Its the perfection package that usually starts the downfall of breastfeeding.

We see in glossy magazines, beautiful cherub babies, healthy & robust surrounded by white. White the symbol of purity & perfection. In real life babies rarely look or act like their magazine counterparts, but the toll of the subconscious starts to partner with the left hand side of the brain with some parents feeling "why isn't my baby like that? thought fermenting away deep inside.

Drawing the right hand side of the brain out will quickly dispel any unsettingly feelings. The trouble with the elusive RHSOB is that it needs to be drawn out, coaxed, possibly given a kick start if it hasn't been used for a while.

Amazingly its the very young first time mums and older experienced mums that utilise the RHSOB better than any other parenting age. For the young ones its the wonderful adage 'ignorance is bliss', they tend to go with the flow so to speak and the older mums 'get it'.
To draw out the RHSOB, you need to relax. Relaxation is the key to many successes in life; breastfeeding is one them.

The very first uncertainty mothers question is "how much is my baby getting?" As mothers cant actually see the volume the baby consumes, the LHSOB starts to instill doubt, because people are conditioned from school age to 'prove' everything, to have evidence to support an argument. Breastfeeding mothers have to push this developed aspect aside and consider a relaxed common sense approach which uses a natural form of measurement. A weight gain of around 300g or more per week and at least 6 wet nappies a day is a sign that all is going well.

Some points to consider as guidelines
1) The smaller the baby the more feeds the baby will need. Larger babies are more efficient feeders than smaller, lightweight babies who tend to graze. Premmie babies will consume less but at more times throughout a 24 hour period.
2) Look at family genetic history, if the parents are grazers than the bub more than likely will be as well etc.
3) Hunger is painful for a baby, that's why they cry for a feed, so always feed a baby on demand. Never make the baby wait more than a few minutes. The old fashioned technique of closing the door on a screaming baby till it was 'its scheduled feed time' has thankfully been done away with, as having severe and detrimental consequences.
4) No comparison. If a mum from mothers group has a baby that feeds every 3 hours through the day, and sleeps 6 hours at night, and your baby doesn't; there's nothing wrong, your baby's pattern is their own.
5) There will always be good days and bad days.
6) Growth spurts, which is a great indicator baby is growing well also means baby will want to feed more. A few days of baby wanting to be attached at the breast permanently will be followed by a few days of longer sleeps, followed by you going shopping for clothes the next size up.

Baby Formula, is it becoming the new social No No or do my ears lie?

2011-02-11T00:31:00.002+11:00

I think I'll make February all about breastfeeding. The do's, the do not's, try this, odd cases and breastfeeding myth busters. It would fill up February quite nicely.

I had a great talk with Danella from the Bub Hub on Monday. We have known each other for quite some time and have a cackle each time we speak. I personally love the Bub Hub site and have used it many times to help parents, forward expert parenting articles, and not at all mentioning the few distress calls of help myself when it comes to all things Little Miss Mischief, under the guise of another name.

We got to talking about breastfeeding and the ethics of advertising on parenting sites. I didn't know that formula & bottle companies are viewed as the Smoke & Alcohol of the under 3's culture! There is such a restriction of advertising placed on these companies it seems almost not worthwhile.
Bottle companies cannot advertise unless they visually include a breast pump in their advertising or have a breast pump on their product list. Breast feeding must be promoted above and beyond any substitute.

Wow! I do agree with the healthy promotion of breastfeeding but I don't agree with forcing companies to obtain a product that might not be well designed just for the sake of appeasing the advertising Nazi's. This type of behaviour is walking a fine line between enforcing conformity and overstepping social correctness. What has me confused, is who or what organisation governs this anyway.

It's scary to think that down the track just like Cigarette companies are forced to put graphic distressing pictures of diseased body parts on their packaging, the same will apply with formula cans,
"Warning, the use of formula will decrease your breast feeding life, possibly make your child stupid, shun you socially and lead to the annihilation of the entire human race!" For help on quitting formula feeding call our quit line on 13....

Or in the near future when all smokes will have to be wrapped in brown paper, just like alcohol, which will leave all unfortunate smokers having to guess which brand they might be smoking or what strength, heaven forbid if you land menthol smokes! the same could apply to formula tins, it certainly heading that way.

I can see in the near future, mothers sneaking up to the brown papered tins in the baby isle guessing if they are buying the correct age, socially unacceptable product and stowing it in their handbag, not in their trolley, till checkout time, while they peruse the crowd for any familiar faces, it would be death by gossip if caught.
I can imagine huddles forming outside school fences, with educative whispering from experienced mothers to newbies on how to detect the correct unidentifiable formula by sense of smell alone. A whiff from 10 paces minimum, then the stealth, cunningness and grace of a 1950's cat burglar to swipe it of the shelf.

There have been over the years, some strong rumours circulating that if the pharmaceutical companies had their way, formula would only be dispensed by prescription only, they have enough money and underhanded dealings going on to make that a real possibility.
What about the mother? Would the mother have to go through breast feeding counselling, be assessed by a lactation consultant before formula could be prescribed? What about the other parent? the one without the mammary glands and the hair around the nipples?
Well, hope not, because mothers will go to their grandmothers and ask "How did you do it?", mostly it was cows milk mixed with sugar of milk, boiled and skimmed, to make the home made formula of the pre 1960's. It's also a recipe for disaster.

Would a mother have to also battle picket lines of Nature mums demanding the supermarkets stop stocking the formula. Of course I wonder how many of these mums will be around to wet nurse an infant, whose mother is sick, or has lost her milk, had a car accident, had to go back to work.

Wet nursing is very natural, and has been practised throughout the eons of history, I have done it myself for 2 babes.
My imagining would involve setting up a human dairy for mothers who find nursing someone elses baby a repulsive prospect. With no formula about there's no choice, lactating mothers could spend their days lining up to be paid for their liquid gold, find it Woolies that very afternoon under the brands such as "Diary Mothers" sold in 500ml, 1ltr or 2 ltr quantities.
There are already in place underground milk banks, where mothers who, for what ever reason, can no longer breastfeed their baby, can buy breast milk rather than using commercially prepared formula. I think that this is absolutely brilliant and would solve the moral dilemma immediately, except that the pharmaceutical companies put the kibosh on that by issuing statements that diseases such as HIV, could be transmitted through breast milk. Unfortunately they are not wrong.

I think commercial formula is as necessary a part of early parenting life as it is to teach them to drive years down the track, except formula should be less scary.

Another smoke free blog :)

The best of both worlds- Breast & Bottle feeding or no need to be a closet Comp Feeder

2011-02-05T11:29:00.001+11:00

Some time ago I wrote a blog called 'Breastfeeding and going back to work' on the benefits of 'comp' feeding; I awaited the backlash. Alas there might have been a small amount of complaints, but mostly there were many thankyou's. Thankyou's from closet comp feeders.

Comp Feeding for those not in the know, is where a baby is dually fed both breast and bottle. Bottle fed can be either formula or expressed breast milk.

I was delighted to read an article in the latest edition of Practical Parenting, called 'The best of both worlds', a commonsense approach to comp feeding. I did scratch my head as to why such an important article that could help soothe an anxiety filled situation for most new mothers, would be right at the back of the magazine.
Maybe we haven't quite broken the taboo of Comp Feeding as of yet.

Medically proven that breast milk is best, there is no argument about the importance of mother natures own liquid gold. The longer the breast milk is offered the better, but some breast milk is better than none at all.

The first few days after a baby's birth, is the most vital in getting the important antibodies. Colostrum, the 'first milk' (immediately available after birth and the first 3 days) is incredibly high and rich in immunity, these antibodies that will help protect our newborn babies from the nasties out there. We are talking about germs.
When the 'milk comes in' around 3-4 days after birth, this milk provides the nourishment that a baby needs to survive.
Most women are under the impression that the first 12 months is the maximum sentence handed down for breastfeeding, actually 18 months to 2 years is the optimus prime when it comes to feeding the liquid gold.

In an ideal world, the goal would be to strive for weaning that is baby led; where the baby denotes when they no longer want Mummy's Milk, which typically for most babes is around 18 months of age and only having 1 to 2 feeds a day.
In an ideal world there would be no obstacles, such as life, that would get in the way of that goal.
Life has a funny way of getting in the way of ideals.

A mum who is having a less than perfect time at breastfeeding, might give up all together, or a mum that needs to go back to work sooner than wanted might not give it a chance at all. A tired, frazzled, concerned mum on the verge of 'losing it' will feel the need to self correct the situation by ending breastfeeding with a horrible sense of failure and guilt thrown in for good self punishing measure.

What if all 3 situations could be eased and rectified by introducing 'Comp Feeding'. There would be a high chance that the baby would achieve being fed breast milk to the World Health Organisations & pediatricians recommendation of 18mths to 2yrs of age.
There is also the fact that mums might be offloaded the burden of guilt, which is always a good thing. A guilt free mum is a happy confident mum.
As society readily accepts working mothers and mums in jeans in our midst, we should also readily accept and encourage comp feeding as opposed to non existent breastfeeding.

There are many reasons why total breastfeeding isn't successful or tangible, almost as varied as how long a piece of string is. Each situation is unique and should never be judged harshly in comparison to other scenarios. In a lot of cases, Comp Feeding could have been successfully implemented, taking away the emotional trauma, trauma that for some mothers have spent years dealing with.

Comp feeding has benefits for families as well as mum, even if it is just a simple break time for mum. Fathers, often overlooked in the new baby care routine other than nappy changing and general house maintenance duties can emotional benefit greatly when feeding their baby the bottle. Fathers that actively engage from birth in bottle feeding and carrying their baby around in a hammock style sling will bond closer to their child earlier and make a far more confident parent in their own right. Dad will parent effectively, dad style.
Grandparents, siblings, aunts & uncles, cousins or friends or who ever makes up the greater family circle will also benefit greatly with the bonding of feeding.

Most mother's will substitute the most difficult feed of the day for the bottle, which statistically speaking is the 'devils hour' feed, anywhere from 3pm to 7pm. Mum is by this time of the day very tired, maybe dehydrated (a significant problem with milk flow), older children to cart around to after school activities, dinner to be prepared etc. Handing the baby over to either someone else to bottle feed if the baby is fretful or have some one else do all the chores, but return to breastfeeding for the feeds that are enjoyed, can eliminate so much stress and pressure rather than throwing it all away because its just too hard.
One of our graphic designers Luca, has successfully comp fed her 13mth old baby since she was 3 months old. I remember Luca fretting about her struggling with breastfeeding and the rigours of a busy family and work life, when I suggested that she should try comp feeding, rather than giving up breastfeeding all together. Luca replied "Can I do that?"
Luca has continued to enjoy what she calls 'our special morning/ evening time' with her bub.

I am certainly all for 'outing' closet comp feeders. I too, practised comp feeding for 5 of my children. If I had the guts to comp feed my first child, he too would have been breastfed till he weaned himself at around 18mths like his younger brothers & sisters did, except for Little Miss Mischief who was 3 and a half, when I decided I should start to encourage booby disengagement . Unfortunately for Ry, my beautiful chocolate eyed first born son, after months of battling the loosing battle, and feeling lower to the ground than an ants knee, I gave up.

I give up, I give in, I let go, lets begin (from the immortal words of songbird Colbie Callait) I gave him the bottle and packed away my boobs, wrapped tightly in wilting cabbage leaves. I felt so guilty that I couldn't do such a simple natural process such as feeding my son. I had lost my mothers right of passage.

After #2 was born, which I triumphed breast feeding quite easily, I was angered by the fact that the guilt was so incredibly needless. I felt guilty about feeling guilty when I didn't really need to feel guilty in the first place.

There are a lot of reasons why some women cant breastfeed at all, and those, who have successfully breast fed, should never lay blame or instill guilt, because woman who couldn't breastfeed have done enough of that already, OK.

Withdrawal Symptons; more unpleasant than you think at a smoke free blog

2011-01-31T14:14:00.001+11:00

Here I sit broken hearted, came to write, but I just can't get started.

Give it another try darling hubby says................

I wrote
.......The Troll emerged from his cave rambling about nonsensical nothings splashed with a dash of crazy. I could do nor more than return to sipping my tea and continue enjoying an imaginary cigarette......

Over my shoulder he read, than ended it with "look you've got it. You can do it" as rolled his chair back to his side of the office. With his back turned, I snarled at him, I wanted to throw something really, really heavy at his direction. If I knew I wouldn't miss, I would have given it a shot. Luckily for my darling hubby, I am the worst pitcher I know. At this moment I really don't like him either, because he his more right now about anything than he has ever been.

Giving up smoking was essential, if I wanted to continue living that is. A heart attack will do the trick; change the ignorant assumption that 'it won't happen to me!' trick that is.

With perfect blood pressure, perfect cholesterol levels and the fact I haven't had a flu since 2004, I wont mention the almost daily crucifying headaches, because they don't count, I was in perfect health. I could continue to smoke 40+ smokes a day and run like the wind till I was at least 92. That's how I figured it to be. I was wrong, but I was lucky.

It has been 4 weeks, 3 days, 12 hours and something minutes, since my last cigarette, though I have smoked at least a multitude of imaginary ones since then. I am also so sick of Wrigley's Extra chewing gum....blah!. By the way, has anyone lost 10 kilo's in weight recently, if you have, great! I have found it for you, and could you please pick it up ASAP, its a real drag carrying it around.

I need cigarettes to unlock the words that ramble in dangerous, out of control directions in my head, hence the 4 blogs, 6 unfinished (but could be finished literary works of sheer genius) novels and the 3 people, whom I dodge their phone calls, because I haven't been able to finish the articles that they've wanted since before Christmas.

If I could just smoke while I'm writing, I wont smoke any other time, I promise.

Maurie, my darling hubby, hit me with the reality checked awful truth. It stung, it hurt, it was cruel.

He looked sternly at me and pounded directly at me "If you stopped writing today, you won't shatter peoples lives, they won't be devastated, you wont ruin peoples lives, they'll move on to the next 10,000 writers out there and they will continue to live. If YOU died, then you would shatter our lives, there we would be devastated, those who love you the most will be forced to continue with their lives with a hole in their heart that possibly may never close!"

Hmm, he had a point that I couldn't argue against. Sniff, sniff for the insignificant writer. Maurie was right, but he didn't need to be that right, even though he too has given up smoking as well.

As a parent we obligate ourselves to give up our vices for the sake of our children. Simply, we love our children so much that we want be better people for them, to be there for them, always.

I gave up smoking when I was 21, the very moment I found out I was expecting my first child. I had smoked since I was 13 and had tried on so many occasions to do the impossible, give up smoking. A positive pregnancy test was an instant solution.

At 13, I was whisked away from my parents to attend an exclusive boarding school for gifted children. Hailed as a junior prodigy, the masterpiece that had everyone buzzing with excitement was written at 2am one morning, in the covert darkness of my parents garage while puffing away on cigarettes I had stolen from them.
Needless to say, the school waited with abated breath for me to produce another masterpiece for the schools impressive portfolio that never came. With no access to cigarettes, the creative was drought stricken. Had they known that was all that was needed to unlock the words, they would have eagerly snuck in the contraband, as they did for other students, but I didn't realise the connection myself.

With the coming of my first child and the many that followed, I was too busy being a parent to consider ever smoking again. Always ignoring the sporadic 2am wake up of words streaming through my mind like a Japanese bullet train; for they were usually gone before I could collate them to paper anyway.

Just after the death of my father, on New Years day, some years ago, I was left with a handful of half empty packets of smokes. My house, the venue for that years party, and as per usual there were the few standard, cliched NY resolutions. Alone later in the day, I was left with temptation that hadn't tested me in more than 17 years.
It began a tight, strongly fuelled marriage of smokes & words.
Within the year I had 2 novellas published, written a synopsis for a business that had won them so many awards that I still have people lining up to utilise my wordsmith qualities.

A few terrifying painful minutes alone in a very public place, was the demise of that marriage. Outside the ladies toilet, my son was waiting, wondering, 'Gee, Mum's taking a long time' while he was puffing away on his own cigarette. My son no longer smokes.

I did it though, I said goodbye to 40+ smokes a day, a truckload of rampant obnoxious words and my daily companion; the headaches from hell, in an instant.

I have done it because I love my children more than I love myself. Smoking might make me a better writer but it doesn't make me a better parent. I will always be a parent first.

In advance I offer my apologies for all future mundane, routine, smoke free blogs.

When Workcover isn't interested in employee's safety

2011-01-25T20:26:00.001+11:00

When you think of Workcover; an Australian government authority, you could be forgiven that you'd believe this government agency is all about the safety of Australian employees within the workplace. This is not entirely correct as I found out recently.

Luckily no one was hurt to find this out, it came to light within a tense conversation I had with a rather obnoxious tyrant of an inspector. He came storming up the stairs unannounced, throwing a flimsy business card at me, pulled out an generic officeworks notepad and started to fire away questions. I was taken back by the bizarreness of his actions, I thought, who the hell is this bloke anyway.
He demanded our complete attention, all work stopped, that meant no orders could be finalised and dispatched, which violated our very strict operating policy.
He drilled, he pursued, he hammered, he terrorised before I could stop and really look at his business card.

He had my production staff cowering in terror while the office staff made an escape down the stairs when his back was turned. Two staffer's quickly swapping their cool Havianna thongs for court shoes in the process. I did say no thongs to be worn, but it was very hot and one staff member is going through menopause at the moment which did get me into trouble. The extra fan I brought from home a couple of days prior, to help bring her some relief during hot flashes didn't have a tag on the lead, hence the fine. She murmured 'arsehole' under her breath whilst he was handing me the infringement notice. I gulped when I saw how much the fine was. It's a fan I use at home normally which doesn't require a tag by law. The next menopausal employee will have to suffice with the airconditioning we have.

While he was going through the process of inspection, at the back of my mind I felt a growing sense that something was amiss with this person, something didn't feel right about this whole scene. Something not right at all.
He started to ask me about prestart & and end day protocols. Having gone through a terrifying armed holdup a little over 2 years ago, which left a deep emotional wound not only in myself but in both my daughters who were present that fateful evening, I held back the tears of pain to explain what happened and how we now have a very strict policy on staff safety before and after hours.

His response was contritely apathetic "I am not interested if you escort your staff to their car after hours, or you have a secret code for emergency if they have been threatened by intruders, I want to know if you have a prestart meeting every morning outlining known safety hazards for the day!"
With that I said " You do know that women having finished work late at night are in more potential danger of being attacked or possible killed than by the absence of tag on a temporarily used domestic table top fan? You do know that some staff carrying the days takings have been ambushed causing detrimental emotional carnage for years onwards?"
he replied as he lazed back on my chair he commandeered while zipping up his fly in a condescending manner that made me feel more than uncomfortable "Workcover isn't interested in that at all" was his retort.
"Really? How very, very sad that Workcover isn't interested in the true safety of employees" I shook my head.
I thought of the fines produced that day from small businesses everywhere that were breaking protocols innocently. I left the offending fan at work while I waited for the electrician to come and tag it, at least my employee can still have some extra comfort during the hot flushes. I had already been fined. I also thought about the $3 million fine that filled Workcover's coffers after my son's accident and how little was the tiny speck of compensation he received, though his life would never be the same again. I also thought how the company he worked for folded and the livelihoods of 30 other men was extinguished as Workcover became all the more richer for my son's tragedy.
I would have thought that it was far more logical to have rehabilitated, educated and assisted the company to be safe in all aspects of operation rather than executing it.

A similar execution is now raining down on a dear friend.

Workcover must have released their 'dogs' in the vicinity of our area for a snoop operation as a friend, business owner and employer was also overrun by the workcover militia at the same time as us. The last month has turned her from a bubbly, happy, a much loved employer and person in general, into a dithering mess, now on suicide watch. What has she done wrong?
No faulty equipment, all leads tagged, all bars of soap in the toilets and washbay have techspec sheets pinned to the wall, anti allergy sheets in the lunch room, a full time employee that has been trained as a first aid officer, a full metal first aid kit with padlock, fire extinguishers, exit signs visible, an emergency evacuation plan, O, H & S folder, coffee, tea, chai and hot chocolate provided. My friend has a lot of love and respect for all her staff, and they in turn for her.
My friend's husband was called by a concerned staff member after hearing his wife on the phone to the Workcover inspector in a hail of tears wondering if she died in the next 21 days would her family then still be liable for the $15,000 fine and 6 months imprisonment. If she died would all the trouble go away. It was the final straw after being forced to submit a piece of paper more than 5 years old. A historical piece of paper of no value that she no longer had in her possession. She had 21 days to submit the no longer existing, expired piece of paper.
He collected his inconsolable wife from her office and hasn't left her side since. He is wondering how it got this far?
"For f@%k's sake he says to me it's a frigging piece of paper from 6 years ago and I am losing my wife because of it!!".

It might be the retrospective piece of paper that has my dear friend unraveling at the seems, but it started with a hand rail that was 3mm too close to a wall. A minimum clearance for those who might be unfortunate enough to have fat, chubby fingers, but a woman walking alone at night to get to their transport home is of no concern for Workcover.
My dear friend was given the option of demolishing an entire wall and rebuilding it 3mm further away. Her husband used a winch strap and buckled the rail inwards, away from the wall. The rail is now significantly bent, unsightly, but it passes. Then came the lighting issue, then came a folder which was named "The Methods Manual" by my friend, but it should have been named an Induction folder.
Couple of times a week he came in with notices for this, that or whatever, each time she went home biting her nails. Each time she managed to fix, find or resolve.

He finally found something that he could fine her with. He wanted to see a workers compensation insurance schedule for every year that she employed staff. My friend did what every one else does, throw out the expired insurance cover and file the new one. Her insurance company helpful as they were, could only supply the last five years of cover, finding the whole request odd themselves. With frantic phone calls back and forth, the inspector seemed to lighten up, seemingly satisfied.
A few days grace, with a return to normal work routine along with major catch ups, a letter arrived in the mail with the formal notice of the fine of $15,000 and 6 months imprisonment if the old insurance covers were not produced within 21 days. My friend buckled.

The iron clad lady of justice had come calling, shod with shoes of malice.

I had been suspicious about our inspector's actions so I did some research. There is a handout available directly from Workcover called "When Inspectors call". Much like the audit charter booklet I was handed by the tax audit officer at the beginning of our tax audit last year, it gave very clear guidelines and expectations about the whole process. This booklet is an invaluable source of information, easy to read and understand and it must be handed to all employers that are being inspected.
Sadly for both inspectors we are dealing with here, neither seemed to be aware that there a few rules inspectors must stick too.
I had already confronted my inspector about a few things, I haven't seen him since.

Workcover Inspectors can come unannounced, but they must show photo id. If they cannot produce a photo id, then an employer can exercise their right not to allow them onsite until confirmation with Workcover can be obtained.
They should be accompanied by an industry professional (always a min of 2 people) an inspector should never be alone.

The first time visit mostly involves assessment. The role of the inspector is to also provide information, education and advice on the requirements of OHS or workers compensation law.
Provide advice on the development and improvement of systems to eliminate or reduce the risk of injury and illness. For small businesses, stumbling with the anally retentive protocols of OHS will be offered a Small Business Starter Kit (catalogue No. 50)

Inspectors according to this compliance manual should only initiate prosecution action against negligent or reckless offenders.

Employers also have the right to appeal any infringement notices if they feel it is unreasonable.

This manual might just be the saviour for my friend to win the appeal. She's definitely not the murderer that could be freed on a mere technicality, but an innocent woman whose normally sunny demeanour has been crushed by a series of unfortunate Workcover events.

Joy Joy of Christmas and all the ballou

2010-12-24T07:59:00.000+11:00

The one thing about Christmas I raised my older children with, was putting the kibosh on the whole Santa thing. Santa is not real, but the original story is. The original Santa lived in Europe hundreds of years ago, a baron or a lord who loved to tinker with toy making. I loved the story, I love the fact that his legacy has lived on, albeit changed just like Chinese whispers and urban legends.
Though my older children understood the concept of gift giving, accepting the Santa myth, Little Miss Mischief's attitude is a whole different story. She utterly refuses to believe the truth behind Santa, angry that I have placed presents under the our Christmas Tree.
Scoffing to her older sister the other day "Mum, has put some presents under the tree, well that's just not right!".
My heart sank in the last week of school when the students were asked to write a letter to Santa. Her letter as she read out to me was

Dear Santa,
I would very much like a Horse please.
Could you please leave him in the backyard instead of under the tree, as I wouldn't want him to pee and poop in the house, it would make too much mess.
I have tried to be a very good girl this year I hope you think so too.

Thank you and Merry Christmas.

She wrote it so neatly and adorned it with beautiful drawings, a great deal of effort and time went into this beautifully crafted letter. Right at that moment I wanted to kill her teacher.

Monday, oldest daughter 'Zip' took Little Miss Mischief shopping for some pressies and some sister to sister time. Stuck in a long queue, LMM couldn't understand why Zip was buying presents for the family. Zip went into a long lecture about the beauty and love of gift giving and Santa was not really real, when a lady behind them interrupted the conversation with "I hope you don't grow up like your sister, because that would be a very bad thing. Only Santa brings presents for good children".
Zip sore red, and there was steam streaming out of her ears from sheer anger. I got to know about it when she fumed over a sedentary Chai in the kitchen upon their return, the rest of the world got to know about it beforehand via facebook mobile. I spent the time whilst they were at the shops wrapping LMM's presents, they were now under the tree and LMM was a tad more angrier about the growing stash under our magnificent tree. I guess watching the endearing Christmas DVD's over the last couple of weeks hasn't helped either.
We all spoke in turn with her about the meaning of Christmas, none of us at all successful, until her older brother Ritch might have just said the right words as she 'got it' after listening to him. She came bounding out of Ritch's room with "Dad, we are going shopping tomorrow, as we haven't done that together, and you need to buy some presents. I will help you, OK? it will be so much fun".
Maurie gulped.
Yesterday, after getting dressed in her favourite pretty clothes at 5am she was ready to go 'hit' the shops with daddy. Daddy was snoring away in slumber land.
I held her off till 6.30am when she presented her father with a high protein breakfast of bacon and eggs in bed. "Cant have you irritable for a day shopping!" Role reversal here I think.
8.30 am they were off for a day of Christmas shopping together.
Zip and I were free to do some major errands, Little Miss Mishief free, yay.

When they both got home later in the afternoon, she threw me my swimmers and towel and ordered me out the back door for a swim in our pool. There was some wrapping to do. She pushed me out the back door under strict orders not to return till she said it was OK. The water was very cold.

When she came out a little while later, she had me so close to tears of joy when she said with such a huge beaming proud smile "You are so going to love what I bought for you, so much that you'll want to squish me tight and love me forever, you are so going to love it!".

Over pillow talk with Maurie last night, he said how she went straight to a jewellery store and picked out a ring, before Maurie was even inside. I lost both my wedding and engagement rings 3 months after our wedding which hasn't sat very well with me. I have lamented over the loss terribly, and LMM knows. The ring she picked out had a price tag of over $5,000, which Maurie had to talk her out off, with your mother will kill me aspect. He assured me that they found something very beautiful that she loved even more. I can't wait, not for the gift itself, but for the love that has gone into it.

A very Merry Christmas everyone!!!!!!!!!!

Women are from Venus and Men aren't, thats why men are always in the Dog House

2010-12-10T23:17:00.001+11:00

JC Penney:beware of the Dog House

My epal Frank sent me an email with the above link of JC Penney: Beware of the Dog House. Laughed myself onto the floor while watching this so I just had to share it. Just click on it to watch the 4 minute clip.
I think most couples in particular the men could really relate to this video clip.

I can remember some years ago when my husband Maurie was placed into the Dog House for an almost eternity for the severest infraction a male could ever commit; Not Noticing the glam new Hair Cut!!!!!.

I had limp, waist length, deadpan straight blonde hair with a fringe that was too long. My hair was dowdy and I looked and felt just as dowdy, well overdue for a proper tidy up if not a complete overhaul.

I left Maurie at home in his office working away, while I found a hairdresser that could fit me in. A rarity in itself, we have 13 hairdressing shops to accommodate our tiny little town, they are always booked out for days on end, but that day the universe opened up to my needs, with a cancellation at the last minute, I was in.
2 hours later I emerged, the hairdresser having convinced me out of my decision to shave it all off, with bouncy layers of shoulder length honey coloured hair with soft highlights of copper to accentuate the layers. I looked fabulous, gratefully leaving behind 12 inches of hair on the floor of the hairdressers. A lot of hair really, a lot.
Before I even got in my car to drive home, 5 people had commented on the fantastic new haircut. I felt remarkably uplifted and there was a spring in my step to rival the Easter bunny as I bounded up our garden path into our home.
Going straight to his office, we spoke facing each other. As the conversation wore on with Mr Oblivious, as I silently nicknamed him, my heart sank further and further. He hadn't noticed, nix, nothing. He hadn't noticed that 12 inches of hair was missing, or the simple fact that it was now a completely different colour and a totally different shape.
With subtle hints such as the dramatic flick of my head, toying with it's now short ends, fingering the top layers of the hair to lift the hair for further bounce, as I spoke with him, delivered his lunch, a cup of tea, the phone, some paperwork throughout the rest of the day, he didn't notice. My demeanour got sharply colder as the day wore on.......

When I am angry or upset the house gets cleaned with a thoroughness to rival sainthood. When the kids arrived home from school the house was spotless and my lips were a tight thin line of anger and disappointment.
Zip was first to arrive, as soon as she opened the door and saw me she screeched an excited "Love the new hairdo mum, wow you look amazing!".
I heard a loud "Do'h" excrete from Maurie's mouth which was still in the office along with the rest of his 'I am incredibly stupid' body. Seconds later, Ritch came through the door with the exact same reaction as his sister. Maurie was not game enough to leave the office.
Drue and Ryan weren't that far behind either, both went 'WOW" instantly. Drue scanned the house and realised by the looks of it something was amiss with his mother. It didn't take a genius to work out why.
He walked into Maurie's office finding him there plastered at his desk with his face buried in his hands, "you didn't notice mums hair cut did you? Oh man are you in the dog house big time!".
Not lifting his face away from his hands Maurie's reply was "Women are from Venus and men aren't ok".
Maurie slept on the couch for the next week.

After that near grounds for divorce fiasco, Maurie never missed a hair cut, that is until this year when I found out why he never missed such an important event.
Zip is always the first to know whenever I go get a hair cut, she would text message Maurie and the boys "Warning! Mum has new hair cut!". The boys, just to be on the safe side would forward the text or ring Maurie to make sure he didn't blunder again. Of course I was none the wiser.

So a few months ago, when I had a scheduled appointment for a hair cut, Zip promptly texted all the members of the family. I arrived at the hairdressers only to find that it was the wrong day. Not to worry my hair wasn't that bad, it could wait another week, I took the time to see a friend who was having some trouble with her business, so I was away for a couple of hours. Arriving home each of the family in turn said how great my hair looked.
I was confused because I hadn't done anything different with my hair?.

Tim walked in after dinner, he didn't say anything till he started to look for his phone that he left behind the day before, as he turned it on, the ting of copious messages rang through. After reading a couple, he looked up at me and said "Um, your hair looks really good,"
SPRUNG!!!

The Gift of Giving on a Microscopic Budget

2010-12-08T23:04:00.000+11:00

It's the silly season and it's also Christmas.
My son is online asking me what I would like for Christmas. All I want is my family together, good times blended with good food and I'll be happy. It will be good food if my son Drue cooks.

That is easy he says, but I can't wrap it and put it under the tree he comments.

Each year since my oldest was born, the kids pick a label from the charity tree in our local shopping centre and get a gift for that person before they start to buy anything for their family or friends. I like the idea of giving someone in need a smile for Christmas. Someone you will never see their face when they open the gift you gave, I hope each year it puts a smile on their face.

This year I picked a label that said 'Mum, Dad, Boy 5 & Girl 7'. What does one give to a family that lives locally that are really doing it tough? In all practicality food hamper might go down well, clothing perhaps?
I decided on entertainment. I know from experience when the world around you is shattered the ability to step away from it even if its for only a couple of hours can be uplift any one's resolve.

I remember a year of not being able to take my children to the movies, when all their friends raved about the latest movie they saw. It was a choice of being able to eat for the week or go see a movie? which really meant there was no choice. Though the kids never complained, my heart sank at our situation, if a parent couldn't even afford to take their kids to the local cinema on cheap Tuesday night, even once in the year, it must be desperate.

With some great kids movies coming up for the school holidays I bought a family pass and put it in the envelope. It looked pathetic, this thin thing. Zip suggested a movie munch box, because a movie without the munchies is like rain on your holiday. So we bought 4 lots of sweets & chocolates, placed them along with the tickets into a large gift box. I felt better now.

Last year, walking along on one of my evening walks, overheard a young couple in their front yard lamenting about the cost of plants. Their new acquired first home was hitting the budget more than they expected. The garden would just have to wait a long, long time. The young woman seemed to be on the verge of tears. I have at home so many seedlings and cuttings that I usually give away to our local charity garden, I am sure they could miss a few for once. A week before Xmas, Drue and I delivered at just past midnight, just like Santa, except donning dark clothes instead, driving up their street with no headlights on, we put 3 trays of plants on their front lawn. Each of the 30 fledgling plants had label with the name and whether it was for sun or shade.
A year has gone by, all the plants were planted and the garden is looking great. I didn't cost me anything to make someone so happy.

In what was our 'Year of Living Perilously Close to Nothing' we had the best Christmas ever. Zip made me a CD rack. I only had 5 cd's but she made the rack to hold 10. A small plank of wood found in the shed, some nails for the dividers, and paints from my studio to embellish it, I still use it today, now that I have 10 CD's. Drue made a booklet of hand drawn vouchers aptly named "Son on Call", which gave me tickets to trade in for various things such as mowing the lawn, hanging out the washing, tea in bed, making dinner etc. Each voucher had quirky drawings and funny sayings. It was a gift that lasted most of the year.
It seemed to me we were trying to prove to each other that the lack of money cant stop happiness from appearing. There was no bickering, sooking about the gift received, but not really wanted, no fighting at the shops for parking, no time lost on impossible queues, no historical skeletons came out of the closet. We enjoyed what each of us creatively and ingeniously came up with.
We had everything poverty couldn't buy; happiness.

Do kids really need to have that very expensive present?.
Does your love and devotion to them only amount to the value of the price tag? if it does, then the true meaning of Christmas is lost, Christmas should never be conditional.

I know one condition that will be added to Drue's annual "Son on Call" voucher book. The movie date ticket will have the rule "No Chick Flick's". Last year I embarrassed him with handing in the 'Movie Date with my Mum" voucher for him to take me to see the Twilight movie Eclipse. He sank so low in the seat with his hoodie pulled as far over his face as possible, terrified of being recognised. He might have been annoyed at my choice of movie, though he still upheld his promise to take me anyway, but his snoring was annoying!

Blended Family Reunions

2010-12-05T09:12:00.002+11:00

Last night, as a blended family we celebrated my/our oldest daughter's 21st Birthday. OMG! how did that come around so quick!.
My ex husband along with our girl chose a restaurant in Sydney's Leichhardt suburb, called Tuscany. Usually a tad over an hour from home, it took us more than 2 hours in a gridlocked road called a freeway accompanied by torrential rain.
Before we left, Zip was running late with the demands of being dressed to the nine's in a stunning, yet daring outfit and all things a young beautiful girl needs to do to look even more beautiful. Then again it's her night and it's her birthday.
The 'boys', her older brothers, came online before we left to talk while I was braiding a squirming Little Miss Mischief hair. Simultaneously, one hand typing, one hand braiding, feet were trying unaided to slip into a tight pair of slingback shoes under the desk, I had it all under control.
Ritch emerges from his bedroom, having prized himself begrudgingly from his computer to actually get dressed, asks if he looks alright. Scanning his flannette shirt and daggy shorts, I tell him "upmarket darling, scale it up a bit". Scratching his forehead with a 'do I have to' look he comes back a second later, having changed only his shorts.
Men don't like getting dressed do they?

Finally on route, the car pelted by bullets of heavy rain, I'm glad they chose inside seating. It isn't very long at all when Little Miss Mischief asks "Are we there yet?". Sigh, insinc we all say "NO!"

For 2 hours, the family is sardined in Milly, my car. For 2 hours I hear Zip scoffing at Ritch's attire, both of then in turn, snapping at Little Miss Mischief wedged in the middle of the two, bouncing around more than a cat on a hot tin roof, the ting of constant text messages, the ring of phones and a radio not offering any sort of music that any of us enjoy at all.
At one point all of us bar Little Miss Mischief are talking on the phone, she's not happy with that, "Why don't I have a phone too?" she sooks. Ritch and Zip argue with her that she's only 7 and doesn't need one, she promptly returns a list of classmates that have mobiles. It seems every child in her class has one except her.
Milly begins to fog up, there's a little too much heat in the car.

Maurie, behind the wheel answers his phone (its' OK we are not moving at all) from a business partner, I answer a call from a friend, Sarah, who is in Port Douglass on a family sabbatical of road tripping around Australia. I am following Sarah's blog about up rooting her family from their luxury home and lifestyle in exchange to a life on the road with Vera, their camper van. All is not going too well for the newly aspired family of gypsies.

We finally arrive to a town that's come to life, people are everywhere. This is the part of city life that I miss, the hub, the hive of people living and entertaining, of being out there. A miracle happens; we find parking immediately and the 2 hour frustrated commute is just as quickly forgotten.

For a white linen napkin restaurant, unexpectedly Ritch blends in completely with the other patrons, Zips way over dressed, but serves to be delectable eye candy for most of the men in the restaurant. Mum, dad, step dad and step mum are so proud of our girl that I can feel a Stevie Wonder song coming on "Isn't she pretty, isn't she wonderful....."

The restaurant fronts the famous Norton Street, though open to the elements from the front we are protected from the rain by the large canopy. Across the road was once the SoHo gallery were I had an exhibition some years ago, it's now an all night book store. Many buses drive through the famous street, all the drivers are dressed in Santa suits, bellowing out reverie from their window, little Miss Mischief is excited about all the Santa's, racing out onto the sidewalk to greet them back. There are many groups of people from hen's parties, bucks parties and a few obvious birthday parties. The atmosphere is alive and electric.

The food is divine and the company even better. The one grandparent left, Nan Betty is there, not long flown in from England. For Betty, my ex mother in law, seated next to her new daughter inlaw, she is glowing from her new lifestyle of jet setting widowdom. Most of my ex husband's family are now scattered across Australia and the globe, Betty has many places to visit when the whim arises. For Zip & Ritch there are Aunts, Uncles and cousins, plus a step sister on the very long table, there are plenty of people to talk to. Little Miss Mischief dances around all of them, asking if they are her cousins too.
Technically she doesn't belong to my ex husband's family as she is mine & Maurie's daughter but she is warmly welcomed by them all.
I'm glad that both my ex husband and myself 'buried the hatchett' years ago, because if we hadn't, then this fun night of celebrating together would not have been possible.

To my beautiful, darling, gorgeous daughter, Zjarie my 'right hand man' for most of her life
Happy 21st Birthday Sweetpea!
May the road rise up to meet you.
May the sun always shine where ever you are.
May luck walk with you every step of your life.
May life present you an answer whenever you come to a fork in the road.
May providence smile when you smile.
May the Midas Touch always be at your fingertips.
May your beauty last longer than naturally fair.
May love warm your heart and cool your woes.
May your life be an uplifting roller coaster ride
May the sunset and each morning sun be as beautiful as you are in your long life
May love and happiness live in your life as much as I love you.

In future years both my ex husband along with our new spouses and myself will need to get together for occasions our children will put us through, such as wedding's, birth of grandchildren (fingers crossed) birthdays etc. For many people that have divorced parents, events like these are an emotional nightmare, often resorting to double celebrations or even secrecy.
A friend of Zip just recently engaged is going through this type of nightmare. The whole joy of their happiness is being marred by warring parents. After a couple of weeks of heated phone calls, the bride to be on the verge of a total emotional breakdown, the groom to be called all the parents (both sides are divorced) and laid down the law
"We want the people that we love and matter the most in our lives to celebrate this wonderful time. Stop being so incredibly selfish, self centered and cruel. Come to our engagement party as proud loving parents, but your issues are definitely not invited, not wanted, they are the partners you can keep at home".
Well the phone went quiet he said, the official engagement party is next month, lets hope his young, wise words of wisdom work.

Mummy Maintainence Moment

2010-11-30T13:58:00.000+11:00

Most mornings for eons in my mummy life I would hear "Mum, Mum, can’t find this, where’s that" etc, yet it seems to become uncannily far more urgent when I am trying to have a shower! Barging in on my shower as if when mums not available everything becomes a critical emergency that just can't seem to wait. The shower is supposed to be my 'me' time, my daily maintenance body cleaning time, for goodness sakes, I'm naked here! Though the kids don't care what I look like, as long as I am available to divert any crisis that arises in the nanosecond I step with all my vulnerability into the shower.
Of course if the role was reversed, I walked in on them having a shower I would be met with a blatant scowl of "Muuuuuuum, I am having a shower here! helllllllllo!!"
One morning when Ritch barged in with my purse, for me to get the money out for a school event, with my wet hands, I said, "isn't the bus leaving in well over an hour? couldn't you have waited another 2 minutes?"

Ritch made cute sign in woodwork for me after a frantic morning of lost socks, uniforms & recorders. It said

“Attention

The Mum depart is closed for daily body maintenance.
Please hold all questions, queries & crisis until depart is open again.
Approx wait 10 minutes.”

I chuckled as he hung the sign on the bathroom door. The next morning no one barged in, no frantic knocking at the door, no nothing, that is until I opened the door. There they stood in a curved row, an onslaught ensued, maybe they had the notion, that the first in was going to be answered most civilly.
The next day I took my time getting dressed. I opened the door carefully to find no one, looking left, looking right, there was no one, it was was strangely quiet. Blinking away a confused thought, that maybe I had opened the door to an alternate reality it was that odd, unusual. I start to tip toe towards my bedroom when Ritch calls out “mum I couldn’t find my socks” but before my shoulders could fully slump he adds that its ok he found them in the sock drawer.

The next morning, I did the same, I took my time getting dressed. I even thought about blow drying my hair. Again no one there as I opened the door, with a cheesy Cheshire smile and an even cheekier thought, thinking that I might make this a habit, nice smooth hassle, crisis free mornings. With me not being on call, they continued to solve their own problems.

My sister in law Janey who is a Faculty head at our local Tafe had the same problem but with her staff. Every morning as she raced up the stairs, she was greeted with some sort of catastrophic crisis, mostly multiple ones from her teachers. Every morning was spent dealing with them, which left precious little time to do what she really needed to do. Work came home; projects left abandoned until one day her car broke down on the way to work.

More than an hour late she arrived. No one was waiting at the top of the stairs; no one was waiting in the office. This morning she actually got started on some of the necessary projects that would need to be submitted very soon. Lunchtime came and the conversation was centered on how much trouble there had been and how it was fixed. Janey thought there is some thing to this, and the next day she arrived deliberately late; late enough for all the teachers to be already in class. Janey had accomplished quite a great deal that day. From then on she starts her day after classes start, the incidences of problems also vanished in a short time. Though Janey leaves later and puts in the same hours, she now accomplishes more, much, much more. Having gone to various time management seminars previously and being quite a discipline stalwart, she still couldn’t draw enough hours out of the day. All along it wasn’t time management that was needed, but system management.

David versus Goliath: getting the big companies to pay the small ones

2010-11-22T07:32:00.000+11:00

With a sigh of relief, the worst kept secret in the Nursery Industry is out. Babies Galore did the dirty.

Way back in March this year, we received a flood of purchase orders for each of the Babies Galores stores, totalling over $8,000. My heart sank as each one of them dropped into the inbox like a troop of unwanted gate crashers storming into a party. Different scenario, different scene but the side effects the same, we had to deal with them. All I could think was "How much of this are we NOT going to get paid!"
I felt the bile of anxiousness rise up to choke my throat.
Zjarie, our sales manger took one look at them and said "Oh, no, no, no, they are not getting any of those!, not until they pay up the over-dues". Before the new purchases orders arrived, we were still owed more than $12,000, with some invoices older than 9 months. For most part of the previous year of 2009, we struggled to get payment for most of their orders.

Up until 2 years prior, we never had a problem with payment, but then again Babies Galore was then owned by the original owners, the Etkinds, a family business. The new owners, a corporate finance company hadn't continued with the well oiled, successful business model that once was Babies Galore, the Master & Commander of the retail baby goods industry. Business with the then Babies Galore was a dream come true for a small product specific business like ours and many, many others.

Many are now hurting, most are now beyond repair and are looking at closing their doors due to the financial annihilation of the Goliath. For many of the small businesses now reeling, the last year was spent financially supporting a monster in the dark. A monster with some very sinister tricks up their sleeve.

Fortunately for us, we pulled the pin in March, summoned the Hercules courage needed to fight them for our rights. Not only the right to be paid, also the right not to have our product stolen from us, as was the original intention from this insidious company.
Their intention was to cripple the small businesses out of their products, the best selling innovative products were chosen to be manufactured under the Babies Galore brand. As products went secretly to China to be replicated, the businesses that owned the products were investigated for legal loopholes in the intellectual property area. Deliberately not paying, to financially cripple a business from starting litigation against Babies Galore. A mole, an employee with a conscious, from the company alerted the owners of each of the products to be prepared. When he spoke to me, I felt the world had caved in. Our product was being stolen right from under our noses, what could we do?
In between phones calls from other frantic suppliers, we spoke to my IP lawyer. He slammed my laziness for not obtaining the Madrid Protocol, as he had suggested years ago. "It's only 15 thousand dollars, you idiot!" he rammed down my throat through the phone. I sat down, burying my head in my hands, and howled a river of tears. It seemed at that point we were going to lose our product, our income, our way of life, everything we and my family have sacrificed everything for, losing it all to a few sheets of A4 paper.

I stopped sleeping, eating, took up smoking and in the first time in 20 years drank coffee. Life for 3 months was me fueled on nervous energy alone.

Our lawyer came up with a loophole within their loophole, and I was asked to rally all the affected suppliers, some still stupidly continued to supply the doomed trader. In the meantime we were asked by the lawyer to act as supplier mushrooms; left in the dark and fed bullshit. We had to pretend we knew nothing.

There was still the matter of getting paid.

Just before the March orders came through, I and Dom, our accounts gopher, had been on the phone numerous times in the vain effort to extract payment. The lies started to surface.
The reasons and our answers are as follows
1) Invoices over 6 months old were no longer going to be paid. It is up to the supplier to send statements. (um, we sent you statements and overdue notices every single month)
2) That purchase order was cancelled, so payment can't be made, even if the PO was cancelled long after the goods arrived. (goods weren't sent back, so BG is still liable for payment)
3) Goods never arrived. (we use Eparcel - sign on delivery, I will fax you a copy of the acceptance signature)
4)The store didn't fax through the invoice, so we can't pay you for stock we can assume didn't arrive (we shall fax you a copy of each invoice on despatch)
5) Invoices that are older than 9 months are on our old system, no longer operational, we can't pay as we don't have a recall system to check if payment has been made ( I'll fax you through the last 12 months of remittances advises your company sent to help you with that)
6) the one and only accounts payable clerk left in the company isn't in today. (I'll call tomorrow, the next day and the day after that)
7) You still need to supply the goods as a part of the supplier agreement (Sorry, according to our agreement called Terms & Conditions, any company with outstanding debts over 120 days has their account suspended or cancelled)
8) You will need to supply all stores with fixturing and models at a cost of $2,000 per store from your own pocket which will become a part of the BG assets. (Oh Hell No! we only lease the fixtures, therefore retain title of ownership, to companies that have their account in good order, unfortunately you don't)

The list goes on, but after the March purchase orders came through which we never sent, I stood my ground, kept patience in calling a hundred times a day, everyday until we finally got the last cent in June. I had to put my heart in a locked box safely out of reach, because it was interfering with my head. I had to make the decision purely as a business one, not a heartfelt one. My heart was grappling with the early years of start up and the then Babies Galore helping us in so many ways. My heart felt like a cheat if we stopped stocking the company. My head said to my heart "Get real, it's not them any more! and really reputation wise, no bugger in SA, WA, NT, Tas, Vic knows who they are anyway!". Those were the same words I said to all the other suppliers who rang us and asked what to do, whilst holding a truckload of purchase orders in their hand. No don't supply, unless you can safely afford to lose the money, go belly up, broke or bankrupt.

After the account cleared, we sent them a formal notice of infringement of trading terms, account had been cancelled, that we would no longer supply BG unless orders were prepaid. They didn't like that, as it also coincided with the warning from our team of lawyers shot in their direction.
Fortunately for all of us, the owners of Babies Galore, the Allegro group ran out of funding to have the clone products made, and with the knowledge that a class action would be made against them by a small army of suppliers and a savvy team of intrepid lawyers, they had ultimately fallen on their own sword.

Rule of thumbs
1) never allow a company to have more than 20% of your business sales, for each big company store have at least 3 independent stores as stockists.
2) never allow a debt to go over 30 days. Phone calls to later payers frequently will stop a precedent in habitual late payment. Those who will flaunt the rules will do so.
3) work with financially stressed stockists. A payment plan, albeit very small, will see the debt cleared and relations kept.
4) visit business forums and websites such as Flying Solo for networking and skill sharing.
5) Always have title ofownership of goods on all invoices as well as Terms & Conditions when supplying a company on credit terms.
6) Never be ashamed to ask for monies owing once a company has become overdue on their account, no matter who they are, afterall you are financing their operation.

The sexuality clause

2010-11-21T14:19:00.000+11:00

I'm neither here or there when it comes to homosexuals. I just hate the word; it's downright awful.

The one thing I hate more is having to declare it. To be defined only by your sexuality is an insult.

A few months ago at a business seminar I was introduced to wonderful young man. He said straight away "Hi, I'm Nick, I'm homosexual", ho hum with a sigh, I said "Hi, pleased to meet you Nick, I'm Sjorcha and I wear purple underpants". He could only let out a strained chuckle, obviously not impressed or just didn't get it.
When it comes to people, I'm interested in them as a person, not their sexual preferences. I have many friends fall into both categories, a lot of my family on dad's side are homosexuals, people around me. I don't care. I love and cherish them for who they are as a person.

My dad though absolutely hated homosexuals, he was vehement. It was the only time my normally calm, loving, generous dad hit the roof. The one character trait about him that to this day I can't understand; did he not grow up in a house full of homosexuals, bisexuals and heterosexuals. An avante garde, bohemian upbringing that turned him into a prim and proper conservative family man?

When my youngest nephew was 3, we had a family party for one of the kids birthdays. My dad took one look at his grandson who came dressed in the most prettiest pink frilly dress, lacy socks and shiny black patent shoes, he jumped in his car, drove off and didn't return till late into the night when he was sure my brother was gone along with the offending grandson. I personally thought my nephew was playing dress ups, we all had an inkling about my nephew, but no one said a thing, after all he was only 3.
When dad returned, he just stammered out "That kid is gay! a poofter!" Harsh as it was to say at the time, but yes my dad was right, 16 years later my nephew blurts out in an argument with his dad about an unrelated issue "Dad, I'm gay!". We all replied uncannily in unison "yeah we know, we have always known".
For my own dad, he despaired about his grandson and sadly refused to bond with him. Yet my dad's own mother was an open and very controversial bisexual. Of all her own 8 children and the other 6 children that my grandfather sired to various other women, who all lived together in one open community, dad was the only one who came to despise the living arrangements.
My grandmother was the matriarch of the community, the head 'wife', though none were legally married to my highly famous artist grandfather. My grandmother also had sexual relationships with a few of the women within their unique family throughout the years, with one 'aunt', it was a lifelong loving relationship.

To me, my grandmother was wickedly awesome!

Travelling to Europe in my youth for the opening of my grandfathers art academy. After the bronze statue of my grandmother was unveiled in the front gallery, I climbed the statue, to kiss it's cheeks whispering into the ear that could not hear "I will love you always". Stepping down, I repeated the words to the real woman whom I adored, with a kiss and a hug. Arms wrapped over each others shoulders, and with 'aunt' joining us later we toured the grounds before she was whisked away for interviews.

It's was only fitting that she stood there, albeit in statue form, in front of the art institution named after the man she stood behind and spearheaded his career. She was the woman behind the man. My grandfather, who as an artist was brilliant, but as a businessman and self promoter, was as useless as windows in a basement. Without her, there was never going to be the artist as the world knew him.

Years after her death, interviewed by a reporter compiling stories on grandchildren of famous people, he asked what was the impact of my grandmothers notorious bisexuality had on me, to which I replied "None, it is as normal to me as someone making Tea and Toast for breakfast". He actually quoted that in the article.
As a charismatic woman of remarkable inner strength, tenacity, gusty determination, an innovative entrepreneur, she was an enigma. It's those qualities that she possessed that made the most impact on me as a child growing up, as a young woman, as a mother and now.

For my grandmother "I will love you always".

Marks on the wall that children leave

2010-11-21T04:40:00.000+11:00

We have extended the house twice since we bought it. Turning a dilapidated 2 bedroom fibro cottage with its black ceilings, poo brown walls and frugly green carpet into a 6 bedroom masterpiece.
Just as the second extension was nearly finished, which we built ourselves over the course of 3 years, young Ritch who was 3 at the time burned most of it down. Only the very old part of the house remained. 20 minutes was all that it took to destroy years of hard work and the love that went into it.

My dad was baby sitting Ritch for half an hour. Fire alarms had been installed but Dad who suffered industrial deafness didn't hear a sound while he was sawing the last kitchen cabinet door in the open garage, when Ritch walked in and told him there was a funny noise and smell. The smoke billowed in behind him. Dad threw Ritch out onto the front lawn and raced inside to try and put the fire out that had started in Drue's bedroom. Within minutes most of that part of the house was alight, neighbours came to help followed soon after by the entire Hawkesbury fire brigade.
I was at the hardware, slowly picking out handles for my new kitchen, sipping on a hot chocolate in the isle, enjoying a few minutes away from Ritch who could talk the ears of a statue.

As I turned the corner back into our quiet street, I was greeted by 6 fire trucks, a local reporter, a plethora of onlookers and my dad, son and neighbour on the road completely covered in black soot.

Furniture strewn over the front lawn in a shambles made an odd site as the front facade of the house was perfectly intact. The pretty quaintness of the front was a stark contrast to when I opened the front door to whole different picture of destruction and blackness. The only parts of the house left standing was the front 2 rooms and a laundry.
I, a few days later was very thankful for my usual laziness. Our insurance premiums had increased sharply, I was going to look into much cheaper insurance companies, for a better deal. It was one of those tasks that get held off for another day. This time I was grateful I hadn't gotten around to it. A representative of our insurance company was at the scene within 2 hours much quicker than my ex husband, who finally arrived 8 hours after my distressed phone call.

Funny how you hear of insurance horror stories in situations like these, finding out about the callousness of a few budget insurance companies, the ones I was thinking of transferring to, just to save a couple of dollars. So glad I didn't. The one time I needed my expensive insurance company, they delivered top care immediately, helping us through situations before they arose. Thank you to Westpac Insurance Services for organising accommodation, clothing, food, counselling and rebuilding our entire house within a flash. We didn't have to do a thing.

Though we were left with only the clothes we wore that day, most of the material things were replaced quickly, but it's the things that couldn't be replaced as we started to realise in the the aftermath that stung our hearts. In a collected sane moment we could go through our minds and inventorize what we would take first. Sometimes there are things that cant be picked up in the hurry to safety. For us it wasn't till much later, on an unmovable item, we were thankful that it wasn't lost in the fire. A wall.

Not just any wall, but a wall of importance to us as a family. This wall in our laundry marked the growth of our children and foster kids over the years, from the time they could stand.

Had I planned the wall correctly, like knowing how many children would live in our home over the years, there would be 9 neat columns. It looks more like a rampant vine clawing it's way to the ceiling, the names, dates and ages acting as leaves growing over the vine. Chris, a foster son, is the highest leaf, at a staggering 6ft 3in, I had to stand on a bar stool to reach high enough to mark his height.

When the rebuilding had been done, the painters came in to paint the house, they intuitively hadn't painted over that wall, leaving us a sweet note and the left over paint cans on the floor. "Didn't have the heart to paint over this wall, left paint if you want to".
So we have one wall in the house, not only is it a different colour to rest of the house, a smudgy shade of darkened soft pink, it will never be painted over, ever!

Synergy of Siblings

2010-11-19T07:07:00.000+11:00

My number 2 son Drue isn't normal, and everyone around him knows that. He has the gift of foresight and an incredibly strong one at that. From the time he was 18 months old he started to say things that seemed utterly impossible but they all came true, very true. At 2 and a half years of age his remarkably foresight saved my life.

He also became renowned in the market circuit as the "Baby Conjurer". He would know when a woman was going to have a baby, even before they knew it. There were times that there were women lined up at our market stall just to see him, word had spread about the boy.
Mostly these were women who had experienced trouble in conceiving or had multiple miscarriages. One of our fellow marketeers, Jacqui, had 4 miscarriages and on the verge of giving up when she came to see Drue. He told her that she would conceive a baby girl naturally in 20 months time and another baby girl would be born 18 months later. Be happy with both girls as there will be no more he said to her. She skipped and clapped all the way back to her stall. 20 months later, Elli was conceived, when Elli was 18 months old she had Abigail.

I wasn't planning on having anymore children. Drue, then 16, was drinking a cup of coffee in the kitchen when I walked past, he asked "So when is my sister coming?". Thinking he was referring to my oldest daughter, I told him she would be home after school naturally, "Not that sister, the other one" Taken back a moment, he said "She's here already, I can feel her". I wasn't aware that I was pregnant, but he did.

Late into the pregnancy, we were going off to see a play with a large group of friends. Drue came after me with my 'bag' and placed it into the boot, with a 'you'll be needing this' remark. After we left, and playing baby sitter to young Ritch, he told the others not to go to their friends house's that night as the baby would be born. Half way through the play, I went into labour. A few hours later Little Miss Mischief was born, 6 weeks earlier than intended.
A couple of years ago when Drue was backpacking around Europe, he rang me just before Xmas to say he wasn't going to make it home in time. Sadly I told the other kids, I went outside to drag the washing off the line with Little Miss Mischief. Half a load off, she jumped down from her chair she used to reach the line and raced towards the house, calling out behind her that was going to wait at the front gate for Drue.
Sigh.
10 minutes of standing at the front gate with her, trying my earnest to explain time frames and coaxing her inside, she cemented herself to the gate and refused to budge. She wasn't going anywhere until Drue came come, she was adamant it would be very, very soon. I threw my hands up in the air in defeat, leaving her there, there was still the rest of the washing to get off the line, diner to cook and everything else mums needed to do. She would get bored with waiting soon soon enough.
A few minutes later, I heard high pitched squeals of excitement coming from Little Miss Mischief, who was still waiting at the gate for her brother. Drue had indeed arrived home. Calling me from our local station, his way of surprising me. I told you, I told you he was coming home she declared jumping around him.
Yesterday Drue, now working in another state, rang me to say he would would be home just after Xmas for a few days. The Xmas days spent working would be more than valuable to him, I was expecting that. Little Miss Mischief told everyone in our office that Drue would be home tomorrow. I had to correct her, 'Nope, tomorrow night' she said.
Drue rang me just a few moments ago, boarding a work plane that was bound for Sydney and with a few days off decided to catch a free ride home. A spur of a moment decision made just a couple of hours ago. Little Miss Mischief is right again. "Well your sister knew you were coming home before you did" I said, he chuckled at that.
Best get the spare room ready.
There are times she would wait at the phone, or even have the phone in her hand already, when he rang. The odd thing is that he never rings at a regular time like my oldest son, who rings every Monday night at precisely 7.30pm, yet she knows when it's Drue, even saying "hello Drue" before really knowing who is at the other end of the line. One time she got it wrong, and told the person to hang up because her brother was about to call. She'd had already hung by the time I got there, I had to hurdle a couch to do so. As she hung up, the phone rang again, this time it was Drue.
I guess there will always be an empathic bond between the two even with the 16 year age difference.

I have heard from many other parents that they experience similiar things with their children or with their own parents or siblings

Bakers Standards 1981

2010-11-15T06:25:00.000+11:00

What do we do with the things that our parents had when they die?
Do we keep them all? ranging from clothing to furniture to those little nicky nacky things that they accumulated through their own lifetime. Somethings are meant to be kept, such as heirlooms that are financially or emotionally valuable, as well as family traditions no matter how odd or quirky they are.

The Dutch tradition of giving the wife a piece of heirloom jewellery for every baby born is an easy one. I was given my grandmothers ring that marked the birth of my mother when I married. The beautiful sapphire and diamond ring was given to my mother when she married and I will pass it to one of my daughters when they marry, hopefully sometime this century.
Endearing pieces might be fought over by the children, but it's the other little things that are retained that are hard to deal with.
My dad was an engineer, I have my house to thank him for as he built the 2 extensions to it over the last 20 years. The tools of his trade were mostly left to my brothers and my sons, and I have been holding on to his technical books since his death almost 10 years ago.
My dad would do anything for anybody. If they needed something built, he would answer their call. He'd rally the troops, roll up his sleeves and stay till the job was done, even if it was his last dying breath. Reward him with a BBQ, a great cup of coffee or a batch of home cooked Anzac biscuits and he'd be yours forever.
He would give people, familiar or strangers, anything of his own if they needed it more than him, he was that generous type of person.

Our garage was incredibly full with stuff stored over the years that last month I couldn't get to the large deep freezer without near disaster. With a twisted knee, a large gouge out of my calf after trying to navigate my way perilously through the warren of precariously stacked items, I thought enough is enough! Garage sale time!!!!!
As I sifted through the junk, found things long since forgotten and a few yucky items that should've been tipped long ago, I came across my dad's book of Bakers Standards, 1981 edition. Nothing to do with cooking, but a builders bible of all things to do with structural elements of building. He had used it religiously and faithfully for any of his building projects over the years. I was hit with a dilemma, after the waves of grief subsided, what do I do with it?
Knowing dad he would have wanted it to go to someone who would use it as lovingly as he did. None of my brothers would need it now and my older boys have gone into far different trades. I asked Ritch, but being 14, he just gave me a perplexed look of uncertainty.
I decided to put it with the 200 other books at the garage sale and carefully scrutinise any who might want to buy it. It needed to go to someone special.
Saturday the big garage sale day, saw most of the books gone, by Sunday morning it was left with the few stragglers, and I was still coming to grips if I was doing the right thing.
My oldest daughter on Sunday morning borrowed my car as her little red vroom vroom car was being serviced. She was only going to be 2 hours. Towards the end of the day, with very little left including my dads book, Zip was overdue by 4 hours. She wasn't answering her mobile either, a slight tinge of panic was sitting on my stomach. When a police car turned up at the front, my heart sank, had my daughter been involved in an accident? I waited to see if both the officers took of their caps, then I would know. They didn't! finishing their shift they saw the sale and came to have a look. Phew!

One officer, called Brian saw the book and went into a hysterical song and dance act of joy right on the spot. An odd sight for a big burly man of over 6 foot in height. He had had the same book, same year, but borrowed it out to a friend who ended up loosing it. He had been on a quest to find the rare book ever since. His original one was his father's and it caused him a lot of grief not having it. Being a budding builder he felt incomplete without it.
We spent the next half hour talking about dad's in general; the good, the wonderful, the funny.

My dad's book went to exactly where it was supposed to go, to someone who would love, appreciate, honour and get great value from the book, the same way he did. It would live on I know, but after they left, I had to race inside for a handful of tissues.