Let not Insomnia spoil a carefully planned Easter Egg Hunt

People who know me on a personal level, also know that I'm a raving insomniac.

Normally it doesn't interfere with my normal day to day stuff, except for the usual battiness, but I never knew it would make me miss out on one the most yearly treasured events a mother can partake in..... The Annual Chocfest! AKA the Easter Egg hunt.

*Wake @ 2.20am, roll around, toss & turn.

*Try to wake hubby - nothing happening there.

*Make Tea - successfully turn on Mac.

*Facebook says good morning.

*Finish 5 games on Words with Friends

Adzing isn't a real word, but it's a cool scrabble word - score 65 points.

*Stroll around the front yard. Finish lukewarm tea.

*Confuse the bejeesus out of the cat - move food bowl 2 feet to the left.

*Still dark - think about the places to put the little Easter eggs.

*Must remember to count hidden eggs - found some under a fern last month. Could have been there from last year or even the year before. 

*Still in good condition. Won't tell you if I ate them or not.

*FB friend suggest I read her new blog. She’s excited.

Read her blog. It had 2 lines – exhilarating stuff potentially, maybe.

Any story that starts with “This is my story so far. Share the journey with me as I take you………” has the mega movie deal potential attached to it.

*Sit on front porch again with 2^nd cup of tea- cat still looking for its food bowl.

*Discover possible money making venture - lady made millions on a book on how to lose weight by walking around her clothesline. Hmm, looks at own body, this could work.

Walk down path, across the front, up the driveway, across the porch - walk circuit 10 times - gets bored. Maybe not.

*Navigates house in complete darkness to retrieve hidden chocfest stash from bedroom -extra bodies on the couch - asleep. Envious.

*Is it light outside yet - no.

*Has argument with front door - finally closes.

*Sits down at desk, peruse all the funny parenting FB pages - laughs silently at copious posts.

*Front door opens again.....

***Sigh***

*Ignores door.

*Don super fantasmagorical earphones and let the poignant dulcet tones of Pete Murray caress my ears while losing as many Solitaire games I care to.

*Draft comes through front door to tap me on the shoulder as if to say “Hi remember me”

*Brrrrrr.

*Scoop up bag of little Easter eggs and torch.

*Place all 127 chocolate delights around the entire yard – comes inside wearing more cobwebs than intended.

*Sneak into couple of children’s rooms, place their personal Easter eggs on their pillow – older daughter rolls over, egg rolls down and conks her in the head. Exit quickly with the silent stealth of my orange octopus shoes (a must have for all insomniacs)

*Insomnia is a lonely time and I intend to keep it that way.

*6.30am – almost light

*3^rd cup of tea and a spot of predawn gardening.

*Succumb to a breakfast entrée of a lone solitary egg that was whispering “eat me, eat me”

*Is the total 126 eggs or 125 now?

*Cat has finally found his food bowl. Not the smartest feline in the street.

*Come inside – check FB again, just like my mind, it’s only half loading.

**Sigh**

*Feel something crawl on my back – eek!

*Do the hot potato clothes evacuation – almost naked.

Finds curled up dried leaf on floor - movement in corner of eye.

*Spots Little Miss Mischief standing at the entrance of the office – holding an Easter Bunny in one hand and a Judy Moody & the Not So Bummer Summer DVD in the other. Her mouth is wide open and her jaw is on the ground.

UM, um…..

“Watch this with me, I’ll make the tea” Her eyes have Oscar worthy drama.

*I let her - she makes awesome tea. 

*Snuggle up on couch together, watch the opening credits………..

*Eyes open to see 3 faces peering down at me over the back of the couch.

“She’s alive” Must be a shock to them.

*Look out the glass door to see beautiful warm sunshine - the clock is lying saying it is 12.30pm.

                                     Shite, shite, shite!

The Easter Egg hunt! - 

*Image appears - all the eggs melted into a mush that only the ants would adore.

“Don’t worry” says hubby triumphantly, “All ready been done”

*Little Miss Mischief holds up overused hot pink Barbie Easter Egg pail.

*Both have unbelievable cheesy grins.

“Wha……..t, it’s…… already……. done” whimpering meekly.

*A moment of epic mother disappointment; I have never missed an Easter Egg hunt in all of my 27 years of parenting.

*It’s my right of passage. I laid the eggs. I fought dangerous cobwebs. I tripped over backyard junk. I travelled bravely through the long dark fern alley yielding only a torch for guidance and security.

Fern alley - beautiful by day, terrifyingly spooky at both midnight and at 4am.

*Sudden onset of childcare mother syndrome – Crestfallen that someone else witnessed my child’s first steps.

*Little Miss Mischief disappears into the backyard – glimpse secret wink to dad.

*In the kitchen, Teenage Troll sets a new world record – How many eggs can fit in his mouth. Ghastly evidence on chin as his friend falls over from hysterical laughter.

*The coffee machine is blurring away competing with the sound of Missy Zip’s mobile phone.

*A playstation war game is trumpeting a cacophony of battles cries from The Chefs bedroom.

*The TV is blaring.

*The phone is ringing.

And I slept through all of that for the last 5.5 hours!

*Little Miss Mischief returns- drags me outside.

“Don’t cry mum” - I wasn’t crying.

*5 little golden eggs in my hand later – my mouth smiles but my stomach says, oh no!

I hope everyone has a had a wonderful & entertaining Easter as we did.

P.S.

Insomnia is not taking credit as it kept me awake, pointing the blame to Sleep instead. Sleep says "Hey, don't blame me, its not my fault you kept me waiting"

all photos gratefully sourced from Google images, because I'm a lousy photographer and cartoonist. 

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

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 partner a ‘push or birthing’ present, I always advise ‘To stay out of the silent doghouse I would strongly recommend you show her some gold”.

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

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

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

Here in Australia though it is still somewhat contentious.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Dad suggested he run instead.

A few hours later with a noticeably large bump on his already receding forehead and a major headache to match, he emerged from the local jewellery store (in close escort of my tight lipped, narrow eyed, unhappy parents) with a lovely black onyx & cubic zirconia necklace & earring set.

At the hospital, I asked him what happened to his head.

“I had an argument with a frypan and lost”

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

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

When I met Maurie and Little Miss Mischief was on her way, 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 in everyway. Some years later a wedding band was crafted to fit in with it, as I never wanted to get engaged, because I never wanted another ring to replace it.

18 months ago, on a cold June Sunday, I was gardening when I noticed that my hands were bare. Panic erupted along with a tsunami of tears and unstoppable wailing on my part; everyone took to digging up the garden. Nothing.

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

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

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

The guinea pigs are such great lawn mowers, we haven’t physically mowed in months; we just move their bottomless cage around the yard every morning & night. With the Christmas frenzy they were left in the same spot for a few days and the result was a bare ground patch, completely devoid of grass and weeds, just their poop.

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

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

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

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

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

Keep you posted.

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

Enjoy!

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

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!

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

The first time I made a 'Mini Moe' was when Missy Zip was 6 years old, she is now 21. 

The Baby Born doll was the biggest fad since the Barbie, and like all the other girls her age, high on the Christmas wish list. 

Month before Christmas, as the queue for the doll reached frantic level, I still needed to find tidbits like clothes & accessories for the doll, running out of time, I brought in the cavalry to stand in line, my mum. 

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

One hell of a ferocious person just by her look, mum never stood any line for anything very long. 

Mean mums come in handy for moments like these.

I was still 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 doll leaving behind a trail of curse mutterings from those still left in line. 

She demanded we leave real soon, or there might be a posse of irate mum's waiting for us in the car park.

"But I haven't got any clothes for the doll........"

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

Looking past me, she said "Quick, give me the sling". I didn't need to turn around to know that there was a troop of angry shoppers with an agenda coming up behind us.

Transferring sleeping Troll in sling from me to mum was done in less then 30 seconds, she shoved me aside, pushed out her boobs, cracked her knuckles one at a time as she faced her self induced foe.

It worked every time, they slinked away.

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

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

That night I made Missy Zip and the Baby Born identical twirly floral dresses with matching flip up hats and a coordinating stripe Mini Moe dolly sling. I had to wait till she went to bed before commandeering The Chef's body as a guide for the Mini Moe dolly sling. Just 2 years older, he was used to being a live mannequin for all the Aster Moe Kidswear designs; boys & girls wear alike. 

Couple of years later it was a different story as I had to chase him around the house to get 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 I pleaded in hot pursuit "I just need to check dimensions that's all. Honest it will be quick, pleeeaasse"

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

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

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

 

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

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

I have experimented with the Mini Moe Dolly slings for a long time, but kept coming back to our original version, thinking that maybe a ring sling version might give better sizing to accommodate different shapes & rapidly growing bodies. I experimented with parachute style versions, thinking that little kids could relate easier with that style, but there were already a few on the market and it seemed to contradict what we were about. Mostly parents spoke about their little toddlers grabbing the sling that was used for them and putting their teddies in, but it was too big; so back to the original once again.

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

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

Nothing is more heart braking than having your design that you have spent countless hours researching developing only to have it stolen away by the lack of an A4 sheet of paper. I've seen it happen to so many people in the past and it's not such a big process once you've don't it once.

We're really happy at the response we have had within our control groups, the retailers who have 'proof tested' the product and at Perth's PBC Expo last month a hit with the general public.

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

The staff & I just can't seem to settle on a favourite, so we thought it might be nice to have our fans & readers have an input in choosing the new logo for our 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