Getting Older

So this photo says a lot about me, possibly too much.

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I find the older i get the more comfortable i become with being myself. I used to be the kind of person who would never admit to listening to Taylor Swift or binge watching Torchwood but now i don’t really care what you think? Does that make me a bad person?

On the weekend my new mummy friend (as in she is a new mummy but an old friend) and i headed out to Comicon in our local city and to be honest it’s quite a small affair but we had a lovely time, sat in on panels about voice actors (and saw Donatello the TMNT from a distance), watched some scrubs actors and faffed about the merchandise, it was a lush morning. Then i got to chat to her husband and hold her baby. so it got even better.

Also, the hair was a relatively spontaneous decision enacted by husband with his beard trimmers and i have received a surprising amount of compliments on it, mostly relating to something about the bravery of actually doing it but I’ll take that anyway.






Stressful situations

Do you ever have that feeling where life is just rushing past you, like you’re standing in the middle of a crowded place and hundreds of people are running by you, but you’re just stagnant?

I was really starting to feel a bit of that this last month. I let my workload get on top of me and became stressed and anxious because of it and i don’t deal with stress like most people would, in a ‘let’s get this done!’ kind of way. I’m more of a ‘let’s let this wash over me and then i will build a burrow of blankets and avoid the world for the rest of time’ kinda gal.

I’m not a very nice person when I’m stressed, the demons in my mind come out in full force and make me jealous and insecure. We could have been friends for decades but i will have myself completely believing that you think I’m annoying and a waste of time, that you’d rather we weren’t friends. It doesn’t stop their either, my husband cops the full force and i find myself obsessing over every little comment or soft drink can on the bench. Everything becomes riddled with meaning.

I never realised how much was involved with life until this year, attempting to find ways to share myself around full time work, part time study, a marriage, a home, a family and friends is really difficult, and sometimes i need some time for me, too. Like 2 hours to sit in a little French cafe and eat a St-Honore, without a friend, or a text book. Maybe I’m just selfish. Is it selfish to say no to seeing a dear friend because at the end of the day all i want is 2 hours of quiet without doing something?

I have absolutely faith that i can do anything and everything i set my mind to. It might sound arrogant but sometimes you need to be the person who believes the best possible things about yourself, take them as a mantra and quiet that little voice in your mind that always wants you to fail.

Intense huh?



So yesterday i experienced something of a revelation. I finally decided what it is I’d like to do with my life, career wise. It’s something I’ve struggled with since i first started attending university in 2007 (A loooong time ago) I’ve changed majors, taken gap years and trudged along with a course i wasn’t completely dedicated to. Then i threw marriage and a calling to motherhood into the mix and i was officially lost.

I’ve been thinking, recently, about how i can actually picture my future (not as an ideal but as a reality) and i hate to say it but i don’t see myself at home full time. I still hope to be a mother and spend the first 5 or 6 years at home full time but I’m starting to consider a future past that, after my children are at school. I’d like to study law. Do a graduate degree or Juris Doctor and then maybe work in employment law, for the government or even a union but I’m starting to realise the decision I’ve made in the past in regards to my degree may just hold me back.

If this is something I’m truly serious about then i have two university options. My current university, which is based solely on academic merit. Even if i work my butt off for the rest of my course  i will only ever conceivably end up 1-3% over the minimum entrance requirement, which does fluctuate with demand. The alternative is for a Catholic university which considers your interview, references and a personal statement.  I have hope for the second path, i believe that if i could explain myself to someone they could see my potential but really nervous.

There is nothing i can do to change my past and i can’t avoid thinking about it, I have to embrace the choices I’ve made and move on with them, to my bright shiny future.




Every night, without fail, my husband falls asleep with his glasses on. It’s odd because he doesn’t wear them all day, in fact he very rarely puts them on when he’s meant to but the TV in our bedroom is tiny and he can’t see it without them.


Every night, without fail, I wander into the bedroom to check on him. I pull up the blankets, take his glasses off and give him a kiss. Then I check with George to make sure he’s ready for the night shift. He’ll lift his head and stare at me as if to say ‘Turn that light out woman, I got it.’


Sometimes I wonder what would happen if I wasn’t here, would those glasses stay on his face? Or end up in the bed, get rolled on one too many times and break? Or would he wake himself up and take them off?


Sometimes I wonder if I find too much meaning in simple things.




So, It’s been eight days since my last post.

It’s strange how somedays you have so much running through your mind that the only way to quiet your mind, not even make sense of things, is to write. Even if it’s drivel, which the majority of what i write honestly is. And then there’s other days, like this past week where your mind is silent. There’s nothing bouncing around in there except for the repeated mantra of  Wake Up – Dress – Train – Read – Work – Eat Lunch (find somewhere to sit, why is this so hard!) – Work – Train – Eat Dinner – Sleep – Repeat.

I started a new job last Wednesday and it is officially the cruisey-ist job i have ever had in my life, i wander around chat to customers and unpack stock. Sometimes they let me fold the tiny baby clothes and then i go home. It’s wonderful. I’m bored already.

I’m considering setting a little writing challenge for myself based on this book I’ve been reading. It’s not so much of a book as a collection of letters that different people have written on a theme and then read aloud at ‘literary afternoons’. Entitled ‘Women of Letters‘ it’s given me some seriously great reading moments on my morning commute and i highly recommend it. Missy Higgins letter is probably my favourite so far but there are so many jewels it’s hard to pick only one. One a month? seems like a realistic target?

I heard a rumour Downton Abbey is back on so i must away





Ikea Backpacks

The other day we were at the Ikea, for some reason I had a sudden urge for more wooden hangers and convinced the hubby that the half an hour drive there on a very warm day was worth it, I would even buy him lunch.

We arrived at 12:50pm on a Saturday. Worst. Decision. Ever. It was a mad house, we could barely find ourselves a space in the windy queue for terrible food and after battling the super high stools Ross always insists we sit at (I’m a small person! Sometimes I swear he likes watching me struggle with tall things) we ran fast paced through the model rooms and found ourselves in the children’s section.

I wanted a new toy for George and I had my eye on a Bambi but I needed the perfect Bambi so as I searched through the dump bin of toy deer with collars on Ross watched the chaos around him. There were children running everywhere (I was loving it) and Ross firmly announced, out of nowhere “When we have kids I’m dominating the child in the back pack concept.” I swooned, secretly. Could there be anything sweeter?

A giant man, with a tiny backpack, with a baby in it.

‘Nuff said



Is anyone else uncomfortably warm in here?

So, you know how the other day i was cutting sick on the fact that it was 39 degrees and i was officially outraged? Well yesterday it reached 43.2 degrees. Yep, that’s 109.7 (some parts of Perth recorded 46 degrees but i prefer to believe that is an urban legend, because that is seriously whack.)

Oddly enough it almost feels cooler than 39 because you’re prepared for it, you put on your attack face and if you’ve got errands you make sure you’re home before 9am to lie under that air conditioner and waste the day away. In our little home there is a H.D.P.O.A. (Hot Day Plan Of Attack, if you will)

Step One involves moving all small animals inside the house, Guinea Pigs on dining tables and Rabbits in Toilets (luckily we have two bathrooms so no one is attempting to use this while Adelaide is in residence, though my mum was caught out one time and had to, but that’s another story…)

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Step Two is moving our bed to directly under the only air conditioning unit in the house, which is far too small to cope on days like these but far superior to a ceiling fan. When you move beds things like this happen at 2:30 in the afternoon.

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Step Three is George’s responsibility, he places himself on his favourite armchair directly under the air conditioning vent and pretends it’s winter.

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Step Four involves many icy glasses of diet coke.

I hope you’re somewhere far cooler than here