When I was four years old I made my dad a Fathers Day Present at preschool, which he loved and despised simultaneously. It was a glass-jar-penholder. I’d lavishly coated it in glue and rolled it in rice for a textured finish and then painted it red and blue. It was to take prize place on his desk at work and remind him of me….and remind him it DID, many times daily, as it shed copious amounts of rice all over his important documents. One day, rather sadly, he confided to my mother that it accidentally fell into the bin. I was none the wiser about this for a good three decades, until he finally ‘fessed up about how bad he felt. By then some of my own children’s artworks had accidentally fallen into the bin and I was able to be quite forgiving about it. Continue reading “What to do with the craft crap kids bring home from school”
According to the Urban Dictionary a ‘Hot Mess’ is defined as, ‘When one’s thoughts or appearance are in a state of disarray but they maintain an undeniable attractiveness or beauty’.
I like to think I’m a Hot Mess, but my hotness is more due to hormonal flushes than ‘maintenance of my undeniable beauty whilst in a state of disarray’. The ‘Mess’ part is due to my lack of ability to make my appearance a priority.
I planned to take my girls apple picking with a few friends and, as the day drew closer, I was getting quite excited. It was one of those wholesome activities every parent longs to do with their family. While sipping on my tea, I paused with a smile and a faraway look to indulge in a brief fantasy. I imagined us all skipping through the orchard with our wicker baskets collecting rosy apples. Oh, how we’d all be smiling, throwing our heads back with laughter. There would be talk about coming home to make a delicious apple pie for dessert that night and the children would be thanking me profusely for the incredible experience of learning where apples really come from….
Fast-forward one week to apple picking day
We had a minor morning mishap with a Weet-Bix spillage causing us to run slightly late, and even though the Labrador had chewed my new bushwalking shoes, nothing could dampen my enthusiasm. I was basking in the glow of freshly picked apples, the sun shining, the birds singing. This was freaking Mother-of-the-year-award-winning stuff. The Weet-Bix incident was promptly dealt with. I put on my slightly chewed shoes, while simultaneously breaking up a squabble about who’s Zhu Zhu pet belonged to whom (and mentioned they could only come if their batteries were removed). I told Clairey my 4-year-old to put on her old sneakers, and NOT her new sparkly sandals. I checked off the list: Continue reading “Parenting. Reality vs. Expectation”