Too much of a good thing

Good morning!

Yes, this is me. Smudgy mascara from not removing yesterday’s makeup, pjs still on and a bucket of coffee to boot!

How was your Easter weekend?

I’ve eaten far too much chocolate and naturally, indulged in a little too much wine.

Just after midnight, my poor little 8 year old woke up (in my bed) and yelled, “Mum! Mum! I think I’m going to be sick!” Dazed and confused I jumped up, switched on the dim wardrobe light (so not to wake the other children) and yelled “Well, run to the toilet! Quiiiiiiick!”

Now, if you know me personally, you’d understand my sleeping arrangements in my house differ somewhat from the ordinary. We have a king sized bed which normally hosts myself (husband, when he doesn’t have a 3am start) and one or two children. We also have a futon which pulls out to hold another child and a double air mattress for the remaining children.

When my husband has to work early, (like this morning) he normally commutes to the girls room so that he can get a solid few hours of shut eye in. (Perhaps, rather than “girls room” it could be better described as a storage room that is home to their toys and wardrobe. It is NOT a room in which they actually sleep. This goes for ALL my children!)

So, last night poor Tyler happened to be situated on the far right side of the bed, which meant he had to squeeze past the air mattress and shuffle between that and the futon to make his way to the bathroom.

Its difficult enough when you’re taking your time and it’s daylight, let alone, when you’re tired, it’s dark AND you’re rushing to make it the bathroom before…you…puke!

Think he made it? Ha.


He was just CENTIMTRES shy of the tiles and ended up producing a lovely thick blanket of chocolate vomit all over my white carpet. (Cheers, Easter bunny!)

Not to mention, on route to get to the spot on my white carpet just before the tiles, poor Tyler was desperately trying to hold it in as he hopped through the maze of sleeping obstacles which resulted in a few chocolate puke sprays and dribble all over the array of blankets and pillows, carpet and, potentially unknowingly, sleeping people. 🤷🏼‍♀️

At 1am, Poor Tyler stood, pale and exhausted in the bathroom, while I scrubbed and scrubbed the awful stain from my carpet with carpet cleaner and disinfectant. (Dry retching in the process.)

Ugh. Spew. I have THE worlds weakest stomach. The smell of vomit makes me gag. I struggle with nappy changes, cleaning toilets, changing my cats kitty litter, seeing maggots in the garbage. I’m not built for cleaning up gross things and yet, I’ve been doing it all non stop for years. Still, my skin doesn’t get thicker and my stomach fails to show any signs of getting stronger or becoming immune.

So here I am, second coffee for the day. Third load of washing on. Tyler woke up after a sleep in and had a bath. He seems to be perfectly fine now. I’m grateful it’s not a bug. Likely, it’s from consuming too much chocolate.. which brings me to my other issue;

In the past 3 weeks, I have consumed approximately 9 Cadbury chocolate bunnies.

It’s all catching up with me now. Ive been feeling sluggish, Ill and even, constipated 😭(TMI?) I haven’t exercised in weeks and I can’t recall the last time I ate something green!

This morning I decided to do an Epsom salt cleanse. Until recently, I didn’t even know you could drink them! I thought they were just for bathing in when you had sore muscles. Apparently not!

They taste awful though. In fact, I’d highly recommend continuing to use them purely for muscle soaking and not for drinking. For 40 minutes, me and my weak stomach sat there uncomfortable and sweating as though I’d just had a row of 10 tequila shots!

This afternoon I intend on going for a run. (Unless of course I’m on the toilet!) it’s time to get healthy and clean up my act. I’m putting myself on a chocolate ban, a serious alcohol “cut back” (oh come on! Baby steps!) and later, i intend on making my way to the shops… to purchase some broccoli.

Happy Easter!

Today started off with a bang.

Not the good kind of “bang” though.. (or the naughty kind, you perverts!) the kind that just rips you out of bed, turns you upside down and kicks you up the arse while laughing at you, kind of bang.

It all began when I decided to head to Kmart with my two girls for some last minute Easter preparations and look for an upcoming birthday party gift.

I left early because I had GREAT intentions to be organised and beat the rush as I know how insane Saturday during an Easter long weekend is! Everyone loses their wits! It’s either they are leaving their Easter shopping until the last minute or they are freaking out because OH MY GOD there’s another TWO holidays after this day and I need to get… SHIT!

So, I got a car park nice and close! I got inside the centre with 10 minutes to spare until Kmart opened . We joined the 30 or so extra keen people (also trying to avoid the rush) and raced on in as the doors slid open.

We got the things we needed. I chose self service as the queue seemed to be moving quicker and I scanned my items. The girls had behaved well, so I had awarded them with these sour licorice things they’d picked from the shelves.

And then it happened.

My card wasn’t in my purse. MY CARD WASN’T IN MY PURSE! I frantically flipped through my purse, eyes burning on me from the huge crowd of people desperately seeking an available register. My heart was beating faster, pounding at my chest. Misplacing my card, keys, phone is all too familiar for me. So, along with the paranoia, also comes frustration!

Willow says to me; “Mum.. what’s wrong? Can’t you pay?” Sophie says “Have you lost your card again?”

Ugh. Noooo… I pull every card out, I hunt through my disgustingly full hand bag (decorated with 6 month old tissues, 5 lip balms (3 without lids) some tangled headphones, my sons epi pen, Asthma puffer, more tissues.. and still, no card.

Then I remember, I took it out along with my license and placed them in a smaller bag which I took with me to boxing the other night.


So I call the attendant over. “I’m so sorry”, I begin. “I don’t have my card. I’m an idiot. Can I please leave these here while I go home and retrieve it?”

Thankfully, the young lady was very helpful and organised to have them placed aside for me to collect when I returned.

The remainder of the morning didn’t improve much. The girls and I stopped for a coffee and milkshakes (naturally, because they bribed me by agreeing that, “Silly mummy couldn’t pay for our sour licorice and we were good! That’s unfair!”

Then, I put pepper in my coffee. Pepper.

Again, I was fortunate to have great service. The lady who served me came over with the milkshakes and while I tried to laugh it off and scoop the dam pepper out, she warmly insisted on making me a fresh cup. She even cheekily stated she’d pop the sugar in for me. Ha.

Second trip to the shopping centre was not so easy to find a car park. There were cars and people everywhere. Drivers tooting their horns and pedestrians angrily dodging past one another in a flustered rush to get to their cars, trolleys loaded with Easter eggs and groceries.

After a while, I’m lucky to find one. I almost reverse over a lady with a trolley who yells bitterly at me “Oh, don’t worry about poor old me!” She rants on, as she storms past my car window.

I’m already so angry because of how my morning has planned out that I want to scream at her, “I’m not worried about you! Shut up! You didn’t get hit, did you? Why are you walking behind me!” But instead, I swallow my pride and just mutter a half arsed apology. It was my fault, after all.

Watching her walking ahead and still shaking her silly looking head at me had me quickly regretting my apology and wanting to yell at her, again.

The next few steps go something like this;

Pick up my bags. Get back to car. Misplace my keys. Empty handbag. Again. Find them in my HAND. Car won’t start.

Fabulous. Call RACQ.

Thankfully, it actually does end up turning on and after waving many impatient shoppers away who are eagerly stalking my car park, I get my girls in and we leave.

I grab a few bottles of bubbles on the way home just for good measure.

I was supposed to catch up with an old friend tonight in the city, but I had to cancel. I was so rattled and so over myself I just felt as though I was a potential hazard to society.

Today wasn’t fabulous. But it wasn’t awful! It was just a silly girl having a silly day, but ultimately it could have always been worse. Much worse.

on a lighter note, I’ve just poured myself a crisp glass of wine and ordered pizzas to be delivered. That’s my day and night wrapped up.

So, Happy Easter to all. Have a safe and enjoyable weekend. x

Forget tomorrow

Today I feel exhausted.

I’m exhausted because I’m sick and tired of feeling like I’ve wasted yet another day.

I’m exhausted because in January I promised myself this year would be different. This was going to be my year.

I’m exhausted for feeling like I’m failing and not living up to my aspirations each and every day and for falling short of reaching my goals.

Mostly, I’m exhausted for thinking about being exhausted.

I was going to get outdoors more, live life on the edge, wake up with the sunrise and dance while it sets beyond the beaches.

I swore to myself I wouldn’t waste my days doing pointless things that would leave me feeling empty and unaccomplished.

I’d run more and drink less. I’d volunteer more and spend less. I’d get my kids off their devices and instead, take them outdoors on adventures!

I wanted to do things I’d never done before and go to places I’d never been. I had planned on checking things off my bucket list.

Importantly, I’d stop putting myself down and accept myself for all my flaws.

I’d love myself more. Heck, I even blogged about that.

And once again, here I am, back at square one. Im doing everything I was doing last year, where nothing much is of substance and I’m feeling as though the fire within me that was shining so bright just weeks ago, is starting to fizzle out.

I’m looking at at my reflection in the mirror, seeing a girl with too much make up on and no spark in her eyes. She looks tired. Bored. Frustrated.

That girl who is looking back at me right now, she exhausts me.

That was yesterday…

Turns out, after a good nights sleep and some much needed clarity, I’ve come to accept we just have…shitty days.

While so much positivity and self proclaimed “self love” is basically being shoved down our throats all over social media, we are forgetting that we are actually human and we can’t in fact, always be happy. We most certainly can not love ourselves every day. Well I know I can’t anyway.

Admittedly, I often loathe myself.

And while I appear to be a huge advocate for living a positive, upbeat lifestyle, behind the scene, I’m the biggest hypocrite. I’m a liar. A fraud.

The other day I dropped my kids off to school and I had no shoes on along with no bra. I went home to the most enormous mess and 3 baskets of washing. I picked up the breakfast plates, glanced around at all the chores I had to do, and then, I suppressed my guilty conscience and took myself back to bed.

Lazy, pointless, pathetic morning, right? Perhaps. But how can we possibly live every single moment of our lives being who society tells us we “should be”. People inspiring us left right and centre with their travel journal blogs and motivational videos. All these quotes. All these dam hashtags.

#fromwhereyoudratherbe #lovinglife #goodvibes #acaiiislife #blessed

Ugh. How about #Fuckoffff.

Yet, because we are addicted to our screens and always wanting more, like idiot robots, we watch. We stare as if we have no eyelids. We can’t look away. We want what they’re are selling to us so badly, and then when we can’t have it, we fall in to despair, desperate to spice up our own basic lives.

But like myself, they too, are frauds.

I get myself in to a state sometimes. I might have a trivial argument with my husband or get frustrated at myself for falling off my two week exercise regime. I’ll start feeling negative and emotional and subsequently, Ill get trapped inside my own head which, can be a hard place to escape.

Today, I went to do my groceries after school drop off, but instead, I decided to get out and enjoy some fresh air. I needed to get out of that dark place in my head. So rather than driving 10 minutes up the road to endure the hustle of the shopping centre and commence my mundane weekly grocery shop, I turned left. I pulled in to the service station, put some diesel in the tank and spontaneously hit the road to embark on a 40 minute journey toward Cedar creek falls.

So there I was. Sitting on the rocks, surrounded my the lush green forest of tambourine mountain, filling my lungs with the tropical air, my shoes off beside me and nothing but white noise from the cascading waterfalls blocking out the noise in my head.

I had no company. No washing. No groceries. No chores and no immediate plans.

Today, I acted on impulse. Instead of sticking to routine, I listened to my soul.

The drive out to the water falls was a beautiful scenic, country route and the walk was even better. It was soothing to escape reality for a few moments and temporarily put my mind at rest.

The reality is, this was beautiful and yet, I still managed to slip on my butt and land in the waters edge. The jacket I had tied around my waist was wet and muddy and a middle aged couple saw me slip, but pretended they didn’t. (which I think actually makes it more awkward?)

I trekked back, a little dirty, a little wet, but feeling revived.

On the drive home, I cranked my music. Old school Silverchair and the Dire Straits were blasting over Triple M on the speakers.

I was singing along really loudly.

I thought about going home and changing before I hit up the grocery store, but I decided against it. I didn’t care.

Was I feeling empowered? Maybe? Suffering a miniature breakdown? Probably more than likely.

Ha. Whatever you do, don’t believe the hype. No one lives a perfect, carefree life every single day. You can have great days, sure. But it is perfectly acceptable to have crappy days. Occasionally being an arsehole, or staying in your pjs all day and having a glass of wine at 10am is ok too.

*Cheers* (Wait, what?)

Don’t put too much pressure on yourself to check off your bucket list and “live the good life”. Instead, try living for now and take each day with a grain of salt. Sure life is short, but for each minute you spend beating yourself up over unproductive days, or whining that you’re missing out on things, you’re only stealing away precious minutes of your today. Stop validating your bad days with, “It’s ok, I’ll start fresh tomorrow” because that’s bullshit. Accept that today was far from perfect, but you got through it. You learned something and you know what, you’re still bloody breathing.

And that’s what matters.



Speaking of now, it’s time for me to venture in to Aldi and assume my grocery shop. (I’m not getting out of that one!) I am damp and dirty, still mid argument with my other half, not really inspired and hardly motivated. I am however, content and I’m happy to be alive.

And that’s a start.

On a side note, I’ve just checked my reflection in the review mirror and… dam! I look almost illegally ugly today. 😱

If I was a good friend…

I’ve recently found out that a friend of mine who has been battling with cancer is now, terminal.

She has but only days to live.

I found this out via Facebook after seeing a “go fund me” page which has been set up by someone to assist her family while her husband and young children spend the remainder of her days by her bedside.

The reason I found this out through social media is because, I am in fact, not a good friend at all.

If I was a good friend, I’d have made an effort to check in on her after the football season ended.

If I was a good friend, I’d have kept in contact when she moved house. I’d have offered to help with the move, to watch the kids while she rested and brought her flowers to brighten up her day.

If I was a good friend I’d have built our established “acquaintanceship” into a true friendship so that she had more support. I would have made her laugh with goofy jokes and held her hand when she was unwell during chemo. My children would have played with hers while we had a chat over a cup of tea and then, we’d laugh some more about the cake I’d most likely burned.

If I was any kind of friend, all of this may have played out. If I was her friend, I would have known she was dying.

But I didn’t.

I didn’t know, because I didn’t put in the effort I should have. I made promises I didn’t keep and ultimately, I got wrapped up in my own life.

I should have. I could have. I didn’t.

Now it’s too late.

This morning I woke up to a true friend of Kylie’s, who has set up this page to assist Kylie’s husband and her four young children through this distressing time. This lovely family have no income protection or insurance and no funds to cover bills and expenses which can only make Kylie’s last moments even more difficult.

After I shared the link to the go fund me page, it really got me thinking how very easy it is to attach a quick “sad face emoji” to a post or a story and then forget about it within 5 minutes.

I am guilty of doing this. We are all guilty of this. We don’t donate, heck, we don’t even share the post! In fact, after we throw it a “like” or acknowledgment (if even that!) we then continue to scroll right on past. That night, we will probably go online and buy an $80 dress, instead.

It’s not because we are horrible people, it’s because it’s not happening to us. We aren’t living that terror, nor do we want to feel that terror by putting ourselves in their shoes and trying to comprehend what they are going through.

We are afraid.

It’s not happening to us and so, we continue to live in our untouchable bubble of denial. The thing is, we are not untouchable by any means. Maybe it’s not our time yet, but it will be. Tomorrow, maybe. A few years. 50 years? And when our time is up, some people will care and others, well others will scroll right on past, unaffected by your life and untouched, by you.

Feeling helpless as well as awful about my ignorant behavior I went online to find a video about a young lady I’d watched a few weeks back.

You may have heard of the Australian woman, Holly Butcher? You’ve probably seen the emotional letter by her, made into a video which went viral on Facebook. She lost her battle to Ewing’s sarcoma, a rare form of cancer at the age of 27.

Holly’s letter urges us to forget the trivial things like getting stuck in bad traffic, having a bad nights sleep because of your beautiful children keeping you up or chipping your new fake nails.

She said, “Let all that shit go. I swear you will not be thinking of those things when it is your turn to go. It is all so insignificant when you look at life as a whole.”

Holly’s words are a grave reminder that one day, we will all meet our fate. It’s inevitable. Her message is to live life to the fullest. Stop sweating the small stuff and be grateful for every new day.

Her words ring so true. I am so sick of taking life for granted and whining about petty things. I’m so tired of spending time with my face buried in my phone instead of living life with the people I love!

Most of all, I am so sick of being a shitty person.

When one of my closest friends had a miscarriage, I seemed to think it was fine to “text” them or worse still, to even just “think of them” (without even telling them!) How could I have been so horrible? When my family members have babies, I think it’s perfectly acceptable to keep saying, “oh, I want to meet him, I do! I’ll get there soon!” I sound like a damn broken record.

It’s really just not good enough.

Ugh. My excuses for my behavior are pathetic. YES I am busy. YES we all get busy, but it’s a lame excuse for putting people we care about on the back burner! We can make time! We can make an effort! We can live a happier and more rewarding life and we can do it with people we love.

I am done being a robot, marching to the same lifeless beat of the drum. I am done hearing news of people passing away without having had the chance to really know them. It makes me so sad.

I am done with complaining about the little things.

“Try replacing every “have to” you say with “I get to” and tell me that doesn’t alter your entire perspective of the privilege you have of life”



A friend of mine tagged me in this quote (above) the other day and it seems now, more apparent than ever.

What a difference perspective can make!

I am going to use this. I’m going to make it my mantra and practice it each and every day. Most days, I am a positive person, but by habit, I do fall into that pattern of whining about situations that really aren’t that stressful. In fact, after considering all of this, they really aren’t stressful at all.

Not even a little bit.

I am so fortunate. I may not be the most wealthy, the most successful or the most talented, but my god, I am lucky.

I am going to make more time for people I love and people who need to be loved.

I’m done with being a half-arsed person. Simply thinking about someone or something just isn’t good enough.

Our next sunrise is never guaranteed, just as the people in our lives can be snatched away at any given moment.

Life is the most precious gift. Hold it tightly and savor every droplet. There are people all across the globe who are taking their final breaths and wishing they could have just one more day.

Stop taking life for granted.

Stop taking people for granted.

When it’s time to go, I want to know I’ve lived. And when it’s time for the people I love to go, I want them to know that I love them.

Please support Kylie and her family, by following the link below. No donation is too small, even if it’s worth giving up just one coffee.

Go fund me – Support Kylie and family

This is dedicated to Kylie, Luke, Mia, Aiden, Nate, and Cade. Sending all our love and strength x

Who are you?

Stop burying the parts of yourself that you don’t understand…

The earth will just keep returning them until you plant them into something that will grow.

-April Green

There are quite a few parts to me that I don’t entirely understand. For such an enormous chunk of my life, I’ve kept those parts buried. My past, my thoughts, my dreams, my voice.

After much encouragement from my husband and friends, I decided to take this writing thing a step further and introduce my blog page which has enabled me to express who I am and how I feel through writing.

I refuse to filter my thoughts. I don’t sugarcoat the raw stuff and I most certainly never shelter from the emotional stuff.

In just a few short weeks, I have rediscovered the girl I’ve been hiding for far too long. The girl who used to sit in her bedroom for hours, drawing and creating poetry. The daydreaming stargazer, who was always very intact with her emotions.

Then one day, I just closed up. I lost that passion for expressing myself, because I was afraid.

I was afraid of being judged and not fitting in to a particular mould, more commonly associated with being “normal.”

This blog I’ve posted below, is one I wrote recently, but initially decided against publishing. It’s a pretty personal one and I guess I was hesitant to knock down all my walls and let everyone in.

But then, I’d never be able to prove my point. – To be brave, one must first be vulnerable.

We need to stop hiding. We need to love every part of ourselves – the quirky, the bad, the ugly and the sad. After all, It’s those unique things that make me, “me” and you, “you.”

So, without further ado, here’s my little story of where it all went wrong and then, made itself right, again…

When I was a girl,

I spent most of my childhood in my Grandparents’ garden. I would play amongst the gardenias and pick the pretty faced pansies from their garden bed. We’d make flower chains, hunt for four leaf clovers and climb high up in the tops of the trees.

My cousins and I, we would hunt for butterflies, make mud pies and create “soup” out of vegetables, dirt and peculiar things we would discover in my grandfathers garden.

I would chase floating dandelions from the garden out to the back paddock where I’d wish for the same thing every single time, “I wish for my grandparents to live forever!” and then, I’d disappear in to the long wild grass with my siblings, cousins and neighbourhood kids on a mission to explore and create.

When I was a girl,

I believed so fiercely in the magic of Christmas, the Easter bunny and the tooth fairy that I refused to acknowledge my friends who would try to discourage me by telling me otherwise. I remember the day my mother broke me the news, fearing I’d enter high school still looking for Santa Clause in the sky. My heart broke into a million pieces and I cried for days.

When I was a girl,

We would spend our summer days at the local pool, lying on the hot concrete paths to get warm. We’d devour hot chips with tomato sauce followed by red frog lollies or Golden rough chocolates on the hill.

Friday evenings we’d take our sunburned bodies to the local roller skating rink where we’d just let go and skate for hours to the rhythm of Bon Jovi, blasting inside its walls.

When I was a girl,

We’d disappear all day on our bikes or our roller blades. We’d head off to the local corner shop for a giant bag of mixed lollies or a bubble o’bill. We’d spend all day building tree houses and cubbies and recording plays with our cardboard box video camera. It’d be dusk before we returned, or we’d succumb to our rumbling stomachs, whichever came first.

Our imagination was endless.

At night time, when they started destroying our paddock with development sites, we would climb up into the wooden rafters of the new homes where we’d share secrets under the stars.

My friends and I would head down to the river where we’d swing from the rope or jump from the cliffs or the bridge. The water was murky and filled with all sorts of things from dead cattle to shopping trolleys, but we didn’t care.

We were fearless.

When I was a teenager,

I experienced what loss was. Losing my Nana was one of the most paining memories of mine, to date. She was warm, affectionate and sweet. My grandfather (pappy) lost his soul mate. I still remember him that day, reeled over the kitchen bench, in pain. It was as though he’d had his heart torn from him and it went with nana when she left. Within a few years, he too, would leave this world to join her and life as we knew it would never be the same.

I remember their voices, their smells and the pattern of their heartbeats from when I’d nestle on their chest as a child. Pappy, smoking his Marlborough reds in his favourite chair and nana, humming a little song or “resting her eyes” after reading a chapter from one of her mills and boon novels.

It seemed that no amount of dandelion wishes could have saved them.

When I was a teenager,

I rebelled. I snuck out of windows and I began to drink at an early age. Memories were forgotten as quickly as they were made.

I dabbled with things other than alcohol and I went through depression which tossed me into a sea of darkness.

I was kicked out of home and taken in by a friend who picked me up and got me on my feet. I later joined the Defence Force to get myself on track and start a career.

When I was a teenager,

I’d continue to make poor decisions and put myself in stupid, vulnerable positions. Some mistakes would be at my own hand, which I’d find hard to live with and others were not my fault, yet it would take me years to speak to anyone and to finally accept that I wasn’t to blame.

When I was a teenager,

I’d finally meet a boy who would take my hand and guide me out of the devastation I’d come to know and then, piece by piece he’d start putting me back together. He would open my heart up and allow me to revisit my childhood memories because again, like once before, I was finally at peace. It was time to figure out who I was.


I am a woman who,

Has the fondest memories of a childhood, lived. Because I spent so much time outdoors during every season, I have learned to love and appreciate it all. The colours of the whispy leaves through autumn that dance from the trees, the warmth of the summer sun that prickles on my neck, the distinct smell of a summer storm approaching and the cool chill on my nose and cheeks during the winter. The aroma of the flowers in Spring get me all nostalgic and the scent of December Christmas beetles has me reveling in an almost childlike festive spirit all over again.

I am woman who,

Knows how she should be treated and how to treat others. I love my children, husband and friends and I am not afraid to let them know. I am convinced, actions speak louder than words which has led me to be extra affectionate with those I care for.

I am a woman who,

Understands what loss is and is fully aware that tomorrow is never promised to any of us.

I am a woman who,

Grew up with a cheeky and adventurous spirit which I’ve now carried with me into adulthood. I make mistakes and I do impulsive things, but I understand that life is short and we need to embrace our inner child – always.

I am a woman who,

Loves the sound of music and listening to the lyrics. I love sweet verses of poetry and quotes and stories about old-fashioned romance. I am raising my children to be inclusive and considerate and above all, to choose being kind over being right.

In a time where violence, terror, and suffering are at an all-time high, our focus on raising compassionate children should be paramount.

They are our future.

I am a woman who,

Will stop at nothing to protect those I love and have them know that they always matter.

I still wish on dandelions and stop to smell the roses. I love the feel of the rain on my skin and the distinct roughness of the tree bark beneath my fingertips.

I’ve no regrets, for that would mean given the option, I might go back to change the past. And why would I want to risk changing one little step? That one slight shift in my past might send a rippling effect to alter my future and everything as I know it, might be different.

I choose this.

When I’m an old lady,

I plan to be relaxing in a swing seat on the verandah of a beautiful old home, a wine in one hand and my husband’s hand in the other, soaking up the air and reliving it all.

Every fun moment. Every heartbreaking moment. Every wild moment. Every loving moment.

Every magic moment.

I know who I am. I am not ashamed of any part of me and I live this life with no regrets.

Look in the mirror and try to remember who you once were. Find your inner child and listen to their voice. Don’t let this world harden your heart or break your soul.

Embrace who you are before this sweet little taste of life you get, is over. Where did you start? What did you want? Where did it go wrong and what can you do to get back on track? How can you make it right?

figure it out.

“Who are you?”

Hey mama

Hey mama,

I see you anxiously looking about the shopping centre as your child throws himself on the ground in yet another screaming fit of rage.

It’s hard not to notice the scowl on your brow and the colour rising to your cheeks.

Although I can’t physically hear your heartbeat, I’m willing to bet it’s beating hard and fast enough for you to feel the frantic thud in your ear drums like a hammer to your head.

You’re feeling hot and flustered and your hands are clammy. You’re avoiding making eye contact with any passers by because you just know they are looking at you and you can’t stand to feel their eyes on you – judging you, accusing you… or worse still, trying to sympathise with you.

I feel you.

Hey mama,

Congratulations. You’ve finally got your baby girl. She’s everything you’d ever hoped for. She’s beautiful and angelic, a miraculous gift for you to love and call your own.

Everyone tells you so.

Then it’s no wonder you feel too ashamed to admit that sometimes, you don’t agree.

In your mind, this perfect little miracle is a demon who purposefully deprives you of your sleep, demanding too much of your time and stripping you down to a mere shadow of the woman you once were. You have no independence anymore. When you look in the mirror all you see is an ugly ghost staring back at you. The light in your eyes, gone.

How can you possibly explain this to anyone though? For how selfish of you! How could you ever think such horrid thoughts! Those voices echo through your head, “Be grateful you have her!”, “It’ll get easier, I promise!”, “Oh come on! You’re just fibbing! She’s amaaaaazing! Look, she’s sleeping now!”

I hear you.

Hey mama,

I know it must be hard doing this on your own, raising three school aged children the best you know how. You refuse to allow the stigma of being a single mother determine how you will parent. I see you trying to balance school life with extra curricular activities. I notice you looking frantically at your watch during school pick up, stressing the traffic will delay you getting to your son’s soccer training on time.

I know you do your best to be organised, by making school lunches and pre preparing dinner. I understand how it must hurt when your children barely touch their food, neglect to say thank you for all the running about and proceed to scream, “I hate you!” when it’s time for bed.

You’ll cry yourself to sleep tonight after downing a bottle of wine to try and take “the edge off” because you lost it. You lost your shit and you screamed so loud that all the neighbours probably heard you.

I get you.

Hey mama,

Yes you, the working mother who constantly struggles to find a balance between being a mother and a full time/part time worker.

I see you holding back the tears when you have to drop your four year old boy off during his first week of school only to rush off because you need to get to the office in time.

I know you work a job where you most likely feel undervalued and overworked to make ends meet and that just adds to your guilt, doesn’t it? It leaves you questioning your worth. “Why am I even here?”, “Why can’t I just quit and be just a Mum?”, “It’s not fair!”

When you get home late, you’ll still have chores to do. You’ll also need to break it to your daughter that once again, you’ll be missing her school swimming carnival.

I see you.

I wish I had the solution to make this parenting journey more comfortable for you and you’d believe me when I whispered, “It’ll get easier” but that would be like pointing to the light at the end of a dark tunnel that you still can not see.

I can however, offer my hand to walk this path with you.

Even with plenty of practice and ample support, these overwhelming feelings of hopelessness and frustration don’t discriminate. After all, we have decided to embark on life’s most complex challenge and that is, raising a human! And because there is already so much evil in the world, we want to succeed in raising a strong, compassionate and good human to not only survive in a dog eat dog world, but to contribute in making it a better one.

We put ourselves under enormous pressure to do this, which in turn leaves us neglecting our own needs and desires. We forget that we too, need caring for. Lean on your partner, your family, your friends, write down your feelings or get some outside help. You are never alone on this journey even if you think you are! You are most certainly, never a failure. Consuming ourselves with feelings of inadequacy are an unfortunate flaw in our genetic makeup.

With no professional guidance and armed only with the experience of motherhood myself, the best I can preach to you is that if you are trying your best, then that is enough. You’ll have good days and then, you’ll have bad ones. When the sun goes down in the evening, it’s another day passed and when it rises again (which it will!) it signals the beginning of a new day and ultimately, the chance for a brand new start.

Keep at it. You’re tougher than you know.

Hey mama,

You’ve got this.

The feels

Its funny how sometimes you can forget what you did yesterday and yet, certain memories, smells and feelings can stick with you for the rest of your life.

That crazy, euphoric feeling of nostalgia that nestles somewhere within your subconscious, waiting for the trigger to take you right back to an exact moment in time and where for just a few intense seconds, has the ability to take your breath away all over again.

I love that feeling, particularly when it takes me back to a time where I met my cheeky Army soldier with his boyish good looks and all the charm to make me wobbly at the knees. With just a smell or a song, I’m right back there in Darwin, during the sweltering wet season build up of late 2002.

On that one particular balmy night, I am squished in the back of a station wagon with some new friends after fleeing from a secluded beach and Lifehouse’ song “Spin” is blasting over the stereo speakers as we make the bumpy journey down the dark, windy passage back to the main road.

If I am to hear this song today, I’m still there, butterflies making me feel sick and my trembling hand, gently brushing against his, with the sweet smell of my Ralph Lauren perfume lingering in the thick humid air surrounding us.

Up until this moment, I can honestly say I’ve never felt like that before. Sure, I would still experience nostalgia from time to time where I could recall childhood memories from the scent of coconut oil and zinc from days in the sun, but until I met Adam, there hadn’t been any songs or smells that attached themselves to a particular memory from any previous relationship.

I turned 35 recently. It seems the older I get the more I understand that there’s a part inside of me that refuses to acknowledge the amount of candles that decorate my cake. It seems that part of me, who still giggles like a child and dances with demons is in fact, having more fun than ever. As the years pass by, I am becoming more comfortable within myself, confident in my marriage and committed to my dreams and it feels as though, in many ways I am turning back the clock.

For my birthday, I received this gorgeous novel I’d once pointed out to Adam, that I desperately wanted. It’s a book that’s hard to describe as its not a regular kind of book. It’s a mixture of old fashioned romance and poetry combined to make up several short chapters. It is the perfect read for Shakespearean fans or for those who appreciate beautiful words.

Waking up to this little book, with its simple cover whispered so much more to me than just the poetry it held within. As Adam watched me silently, I felt the words he didn’t need to speak: “I listen to you, even when you think I don’t”

Upon opening the book which had traveled to me from the US, I found it was hand signed by the author. I burst in to tears, all over my incredible pink SUP board, another thoughtful and exciting gift that also had me in tears.

You see, I am a romantic. I love all things amorous and magical. I get swept away by romantic gestures, movies and books where I spend many a day living in my own little whimsical daydream. Nothing in my head is black and white. I live in a world of colour, regardless of the darkness that might at times, surround me.

I don’t cry often over things – but I DO cry like a baby when I feel grateful and overwhelmed by the people whom I love.

I am incredibly fortunate to have with me on this journey, a man who supports my unconventional way of living, who encourages and motivates me to be creative and to embrace my quirkiness and who never fails to make me see the sunshine on even the cloudiest of days.

You are my rock, Adam. You are the fire in my heart and the wild blood that runs through my veins. I can sit silently in a room with you and feel at peace or I could run with you through a wild fire and know I will come out, unscathed.

I love that I am living this life with my best friend. Love is too often hidden or avoided these days. It’s not a dirty secret. It is one of life’s most spectacular gifts and I am sick to death of people cowering from it. There is nothing scary about love and if you haven’t found it yet, then when you do, embrace the crap out of it and shout it to the stars.

You have one life and tomorrow is never promised to any one of us. Don’t spend your days in the shadows, holding back. Use your voice, engage your mind and open your heart.

Be weird. Be awkward. Be alive.

Start soaking up the details of memories you create with people you love. Inhale their scents deeply, listen carefully to the words and the harmony of the music and savour every precious second.

Start developing that nostalgic memory bank of yours and join the resistance! Love over all.

Happy Valentine’s Day ❤️

I wish to breathe silent words in to your ear

That convey something of my understanding

That life is short and precious

And I intend to benefit all of society,

And that I require a match,

A princess,

A fellow troublemaker

And whom to make love

And mischief

– Waylon Lewis

Take a break from self-hate

Over the weekend I had a lot of different ideas about what I wanted to write about. My crazy mind drafted up close to 100 topics I felt a need to share. I “accidentally” polished off a bottle of Sav Blanc on Friday night, which I normally steer clear of these days (that’s another story) and at the latter part of the evening, I popped up some random post on my Instagram account regarding vanity and how superficial the world has become. I referred to a picture of my younger self in my Army uniform and compared it to a different version of myself during the height of my selfie-taking (and rather insecure) phase. I wanted to demonstrate how once, I seemed comfortable in my own skin – makeup free and untamed eyebrows yet, I wore an authentic smile, one which represented both pride and a curious lust for life.

I think my intention was to compare that photo to a time several years later, where I felt lost, unsure of myself and with a desperate need for validation disguised in the form of “likes” on a filtered, airbrushed (and most likely), filtered again, selfie and show the evolution of personal growth from then to the present day.

I deleted my Instagram post, because, at the peak of my “vino high” I was in fact, executing a false sense of confidence. I hinted that I was beyond the insecure phase and that I had somehow, woken up one day to discover the secret to self love and acceptance. I insinuated that I was now some kind of empowered “confident woman”.


To be clear, am I confident? In some ways. Have I learned to accept myself for all my flaws? Not really. Do I still take selfies and wack on a filter? Well, yes, but these days I prefer to use my camera phone to capture events and memories rather than my face . I’ve also long dropped the airbrush tool. Thank goodness.

I have four children. I don’t want them to see me constantly in the bathroom with my face masques, makeup and fake tan. I wish they could see their mummy throw on a tshirt and track pants and head out to tackle the world, makeup free, rocking a “DGAF” smile. No matter how much I run this dream through my head though, I don’t think I’m anywhere close to making it a reality. I wear a slither of foundation to spin class for Pete’s sake! Yes, I KNOW it’s only going to sweat off and clog up my pores! My fake tan sometimes sweats through my light coloured tank tops too and I look like I’ve been rolling around in clay and smell like a rotting coconut. Ew.

It’s funny how it all works though. How many of us can see the beauty in others and aren’t afraid to let them know, “Your skin is beautiful” “You are such a caring friend” or “Congratulations on your promotion. You work hard and deserve it!” Accepting a compliment however, without being over-modest and shrugging it off or feeling the urge to respond by self-deprecating, is a challenge for many of us.

We can be successful, kind and compassionate. We might be raising articulate children, living a healthy lifestyle and outwardly, looking like we’ve dam well got it all worked out.

We can also have everyone fooled.

I don’t have to stand in front of a mirror to recite all of my physical “flaws.” I know each and every one better than the back of my hand. My head is too big for my body, my teeth are chipped and crooked, my nose is too wide, I have a double chin when I look down, I have scars all over my stomach, stretch marks on my boobs, cellulite on my thighs, I can’t wave excitedly, for fear of my “tuck shop lady” arms joining in on the party. My heels are so dam dry, they look like cracked mud plains. In fact, they’re so dry and cracked they look like an earth quake has erupted on each of my feet.. and they hurt when I walk. Yikes.

So that was kind of brutal.

Last night, I quietly cried to myself under the covers about something I recently felt excluded from. Childish, perhaps. I can beat myself up about things sometimes and I overthink and over assume and it can cause my heart all kinds of agony. I had my 6 year old daughter, Sophie next to me, and although it was pitch black and I thought I hadn’t made a sound, I felt her little hand reach out to me and touch my face. I don’t know how she knew or if she even did, but she gently patted my hair and held my face as though she could sense my sadness.

I wiped my tears and I snuggled close to her. I’m not even sure if she was awake or asleep, but that one little act reminded me of what my purpose in life is.

I am a a mother and I am loved. I am a wife and I am loved. I am a friend and I am loved. I am flawed, and still, I am loved.

And I love, right back.

I may pick my physical self to pieces which results in spending too much time in the bathroom but I am pretty content with the person I am on the inside.

This week, I have been truly overwhelmed by all the love and support I have received from family, friends and acquaintances surrounding my new blog. The encouraging and heart-felt words have really aspired me to take the reins and see this thing through. I can’t remember the last time Ive had a good dose of “determination” and how bloody amazing it feels to have some goals. Thank you.

Today, I’ve decided is the day that I stop picking myself apart and instead, I am going to transform every negative thought I’ve held of myself in to a positive one.

I might give myself a hard time about the 9 years I’ve spent out of the workforce instead of building a career, but instead, I’ve been fortunate enough to spend that time being a full time mumma and guiding my four children through to school age.

My feet are cracked and sore, but I’ve got two strong legs to stand on. My teeth are a little crooked, but I’m lucky enough to have good dental hygiene. I look like a bobble-head, but that head of mine is host to a creative mind. Ive got scars and stretch marks, but those are a constant reminder of my ultimate honour – being fortunate to carry and deliver four healthy children.

If I could flip myself inside out and put my heart out on display, you would see that every part of me is sincere and I would never be afraid to show that to the world.

I AM confident in my character.

I hope that for any of you who are reading my blog and who lack confidence and the inability to see what others see, can take something away from this. Together, let’s start practicing how to love ourselves and take care of ourselves. We don’t have to be cocky or over confident, but we do need to give ourselves a break from time to time.

I’m a work in progress. To some extent, I think we all are. Some of us are harder on ourselves than others and many of us are just better at focusing our attention, elsewhere.

I don’t know if I’ll ever hit the gym without a tiny bit of “something” on my face, and I can’t promise I won’t revert to hair extensions if these sparrow feathers of mine don’t hurry up and grow!!

And, while I work on my ability to genuinely accept a compliment on my appearance, I’ll continue to do my best at just being an all- around good human – and so should you! ❤️🙌🏼

If only, people could see their souls, instead of their faces in the mirrors they hold – Sulekha Pande

Beauty from the inside, out and the outside, in

I actually wrote this little piece a while back, so to those of you close to me, it might ring familiar. It was a little rant I had late one night on my Facebook page after downing a couple of glasses of wine. A lot of the time, this is when I get the itch to write about the things going on inside my mind.

My mind is like something you might see in the comics, with all the thought cloud bubbles surrounding some poor, confused looking cartoon. Day and night the bubbles fill up, sometimes with trivial things like, “I need to ask my neighbour what those strange fruit like things are hanging off her tree?” Or “I really need to get my nails done. It’s almost February and I’m still flossing Christmas colours from when I was feeling festive” to more niggling things, “Why won’t my children sleep in their own beds?” “Am I doing this right?” “Am I doing Anything right?” Eventuality, there are no bubbles left to comprehend my husband when he starts talking about tax and BAS “stuff”. I just nod and stare blankly at him like a deer in the headlights. Sorry babe. There are zero bubbles left for that kind of talk around here. 🙅🏼‍♀️

Another thing I do think about, that often fills my bubbles is how to bestow confidence within my children. How do I fill their cup every day so that they feel positive and accomplished? How do I ensure I’m doing everything in my power to enable them to grow up to be self-sufficient, contributing members of society?

I might not know a lot about what goes on at the accountants office, but I sure do know how to insist my children feel loved and humbled each and every day.


Setting: One silent evening in late 2017, approximately 11:30pm. Drink of choice: Likely a Brown Brothers prosecco or a drop of a crisp De Bortoli Villiages Sav Blanc. Feeling: content

I didn’t grow up being told I was “pretty” or “beautiful” by my family – Any such praise was reserved for things such as performing well in sport, or acing an English exam.

It’s important of course, to know you are much more than face value, (which is a credit to my parents) however, I’ve only recently learned to be more outwardly confident – and for me, it’s still a continuous work in progress.

I tell my children every single day how smart they are, how talented and kind they are and I do not forget to remind them of how beautiful and/or handsome they are. I need my children to face this world with the utmost of confidence so that their little hearts are less likely to crumble at the harsh words of a bully.

Confidence not only comes from within. You need to feel comfortable & beautiful within the shell that carries that gorgeous soul, too. You need your child to be able to look in that mirror and see what you see. Otherwise, without that confident exterior, it makes it hard for all that special stuff on the inside to shine through.

It’s not perfection – it’s contentment we strive for. It’s not vanity, it’s self acceptance & self love qualities that we want our children to carry with them in to adulthood.

I hope that by doing this, I am giving them the tools they need to be less susceptible of falling victim to this materialistic & plastic world we live in. I don’t want my children wishing they looked like the model they follow on Instagram. I want them to want to look like themselves.

I want them to know, that there is absolutely nothing wrong with that.

K x

Children who grow up feeling loved deeply become adults who are prewired to love deeply. – Karen Salmansohn

My Sophie bear. The epitome of beauty from the inside, out (and the outside, in)

The Journey Starts now

Good company in a journey makes the way seem shorter. — Izaak Walton

Oh my goodness! I can not believe it! I am so very excited! After all these years, casually blogging away on my “free” blog site to deaf ears (literally) and occasionally filling up my friends’ newsfeeds (whether they signed up for it or not) with my attempt at sometimes sarcastic, often heartfelt essays, I’m proud to announce that today I decided to actually set up my very own website! A “proper” personalised website, just for me! That’s right! One that has required me to temporarily cease my morbid affair with Afterpay, opt for an $8 wine over a $12 bottle and instead, invest a small amount of cash in to a domain in my own right. 🤗

About me

For those of you who don’t know me (Though, let’s face it, this being my first official entry probably means most of you will be friends from high school, a fellow Mum from my kids school or a family member) my name is Kristin.

I am 34, a mother of four children and I am currently at a crossroads deciding what path I should take with my life. I have been married for 13 years to a man I met 16 years ago in the Australian Army which began with an insanely passionate kind of love (think, tattooed names on bodies after only mere months of dating and a very early engagement announcement) – 19 and no fear of the unknown! Thank goodness we have lasted the distance or else I’d have to frantically find myself another “Adam” and convince him I had the tramp stamp placed there only recently for him – to which, he would surely run for the hills! 🤭

Like I said, thank goodness it has never come to that. 😓

Yesterday, I farewelled my youngest daughter who joined her siblings and slid in to the ranks at big school. It was also my eldest sons first day of high school. It was an emotional day for me as they have been my everything for the past 12 years. They still are of course, but I suppose now I feel some what anxious and lost as to what comes next for me. I feel as though my identity has rested entirely on being the “crazy mummy of four little kids” for so long now, that it’s going to take some time and a considerable amount of effort to put some new goals in to place and redirect my path.

So here I am, doing what I love, second only to loving my family and friends; and that is writing. I do hope you enjoy my stories. I hope I can make you laugh, or feel understood. I’m a bit of a soul bearer, so I’m guaranteed to shock some readers with my habit of over sharing and delving a little deeper in to your veins than most. I am however extremely truthful, and that these days, could be considered a rarity.

Please be patient with me while I find my feet and adapt to navigating around this page. If I bore you, firstly, I’m sorry. I am always open to suggestions and stepping out of my comfort zone, so don’t be afraid to throw some inspiration (or challenges) my way!

K x