Trendy Tuesday

2 Sep 2014

This morning I have been very gainfully employed by the following:

1. Yelling profanities at my phone because it reminded me of the Government’s hypocrisy of worrying about the Syrians and Iraqis fleeing violence while they are in Syria and Iraq and determinedly locking them up when they come to us for refuge;

2. Worrying that Jane Caro has early onset dementia because for an articulate and intelligent woman whose chutzpah I admire, she seems to be talking in riddles and provocative soundbites these days;

3. Being thankful that even though my mother was one of those completely embarrassing mothers who gave a shit the whole way through high school, she NEVER once went on a public affairs TV show to talk about giving up her job to become a prostitute.  (Thanks Mum.  We owe you one.)

So I almost forgot I am a fashion blogger now and have an adoring public who has probably gone to work naked today without my sartorial guidance.  To your colleagues I apologise.

Today I am settling in for a focussed day of writing and research for a couple of my clients – so comfort is essential.  The weather is overcast with the possibility of rain but I’m not sitting outside, so that is totally irrelevant.

Today’s look is a black t-shirt, a black zip up top and soft pants from Rockmans.  The t-shirt and the top have no labels in them so just choose your favourite brand and that is DEFINITELY what they are.  The shoes are exactly the same as yesterday but I assure you, underwear and socks have been completely changed.

The washing on the floor belongs to the children and I’ll remember to move it for the next fashion shoot.  It’s not particularly an on trend fashion prop – even I recognise that.

I had a revelation about my hair though – that is not regrowth my friends – that is Ombre or Balayage hair.  It’s the hottest hairstyle going in 2011.  So hot right then.

So now that you are able to get dressed, feel free to start yelling profanities at your phone with me – your colleagues will find a fully dressed woman yelling profanities much less alarming than the naked version you’ve been until now.

As you were.  (Fashion bloggers must get a lot of sleep – this being inspirational is EXHAUSTING and I’m only up to day two)

    

Not just a raving leftie.

1 Sep 2014

While under the influence of conversations that included motor-boating, racists, blood types, books, somebody’s misguided hatred of Paul Kelly, clairvoyants, paper mache shoes and other perfectly logical topics, I committed to a four week challenge for this blog.

That’s what happens when you hang out with hilarious and clever people.  You get hoisted on your own sarky petard.  As Carolyn would say “Literally”.

So to prove I’m not JUST an opinionated raving leftie I’m exploring my ‘other personas’. So:

Week one. I am going to be a fashion blogger.
Week two. I am going to be a food blogger.
Week three. I am going to be a fitness blogger.
Week four. I am going to be a ‘niche’ blogger.

In case you don’t know, fashion bloggers are people that inspire readers through their creative use of fashiony things to help them dress well, look good and generally be awesome.  They experiment with their own wardrobe and provide useful ways of creating capsule wardrobes and what not.  They are thrifty, clever and generally can name a brand of clothing.

I can name types of clothing.  It’s close enough.

Today’s styling is in the colour blue.  Let’s pretend it was a deliberate choice.

This look is perfect for ‘working from home’, ‘taking the children to childcare’ and also can be used as ‘signature look’, ‘excellent for travelling’ and ‘clean’.

Jeans are Lee Cooper (Big W), Cardigan is very old and probably from a shop near the train station when I forgot one going to work one day, shoes are blue but are basically Converse ripoffs that were meant to be a fill in until I got some more Converse and have now been worn for about 100 years and the t-shirt is Target (last year I think).

Now hair – note what I’ve done with it here.  This look is called ‘brushed’. It is also known as ‘softly accented with grey highlights’ and ‘I am totally getting a fringe again’.

This is called ‘a bag’.  Or a ‘capsule wardrobe’.  Basically my entire wardrobe fits in this bag (I’m really not kidding) so I took it to Problogger so I had something to wear. I hadn’t unpacked by this morning so I had to ‘trust the capsule’ to make sure I did not leave the house in yesterday’s t-shirt and knickers.

I swear Styling You and Hair Romance are shaking in their boots.  There is absolutely no doubt who will be the best selling fashion blogger at next year’s PB event.

You’re welcome world.  You’re welcome.

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Hello 3 am

26 Aug 2014

I can’t be the only one that does this.

Sound asleep.  Snoring loudly most probably because I do that.

Then BOOM.  My eyes snap open.  Wide awake.  Brain goes from 0 – 100.

Take a sip of water.  Snuggle back down under the cover, eyes screwed shot and silently counting sheep once I’ve decided what they are jumping over.  Slowly.

Then a few nursery rhymes.

The old school songs.

The sawdust meditation.

Brain gets louder.  Agitating.  Banging on my eyelids, frantic for attention.

Brain says – NOW.  NOW WE HAVE TO SORT IT OUT. World peace. Finances. Parenting approach. Lack of fashion sense. Things left unsaid to people whose surnames I no longer remember. Lists. Missed opportunities. People who drive without their lights in the rain. The Government. Weight. Exercise. Living long enough to do stuff. Where is the charger for my camera.  What if… what if… what if….

Lordy me let me sleep brain.  Don’t you know that a lack of sleep is bad for you?

Reach for phone.  Look at time.  Three fucking am.  Again.

Try mindfulness.  Mindfulness. Mindfulness.  I wonder why that become the buzz term?  Language is quite interesting isn’t it? Maybe there is something in yoga? Do you think they named Yogi Bear for Yoga?  Hippies.  Man my butt is big. What is it with the Kardashian/Minja butt thing? They just look weird. But it sells. Maybe I could do something weird.  Man, what time is it now?

Three fucking oh two.

What if I did x instead of y? Maybe we could move to the country.  Then I could walk more and get chickens for eggs. The girls would like that.  Well Tully would. Cass hates chickens.  Funny little thing. Shit, do we have milk? Nick so does snore sometimes. Listen to him.  Oh, he’s stopped.  Is he awake? Probably not. Is that a tap dripping? Oh god, I hope we don’t have to ring the real estate agency again, that woman is a nightmare.  Maybe I could be a plumber? Change direction completely? That could work.  Yeah, what time is it now?

Three fucking oh two and a half.

And so it goes.  Round and round and round and round in a circle.  For an hour, maybe two.

Until my eyes eventually struggle back down over my brain, gagging it so I can get some more sleep until the children come in, pretty much still asleep, just wanting cuddles and to share the same one centimetre of pillow.  With my eyes still closed I hurl them around the bed until nobody is breathing on anybody else’s pyjamas and sleep as well as I can balanced on one thumb, a bit of hip and holding onto the sheet with my teeth, resolutely ignoring the bit of my brain pleading “You’re not really asleep, come on, wake up… waaaaakkkkkkeeeee up, we haven’t even started on how much of a loser you are!”

And then it’s morning I’ve had a strangely unsettling dream about falling out with Kylie Minogue about banana bread.

My brain is an arse.  Anybody else suffer from the same cantankerous grey matter?

    

Four years a parent

25 Aug 2014

Today my first born celebrates four years of being alive.  Well she’s not to be fair.  Her father and I are the ones high fiving each other in the kitchen as she scoots around on her new bike, in her Anna dress covered with her stethoscope and other Doc paraphernalia and yelling at her sister not to touch her stuff.

But I find myself, on this day, a parent of two girls – both glorious, funny examples of the human race and how genetics, environment and personality combine to make people so wonderful you feel like hunting down garden obsessives and yelling ‘CARROTS? Ha! I grew PEOPLE! IN MA’ BELLY!’

But you don’t.  Because that would be weird.

And I’m not the parent I thought I’d be.  I’m making it up as I go along because it turned out that the kind of parent I thought I’d be would require me to be a person it turns out I’m not.

I’ve learned that there is an awful lot of parenting that goes on in this world because ‘what will people’ think.  We talk about the insidiousness of mass marketing telling our children what to look like and how to dress without thinking twice about making them do something because we want them to do it, or because their grandparents won’t like it, or because ‘slippers are not okay for the supermarket’.

Why shouldn’t they have bad days? Why shouldn’t they talk back when they don’t understand why you’re asking them to do something?  I’m not talking safety and manners here.  The girls have boundaries and we are uncompromising on treating people with the same respect as you expect from them.  But I’ve spent a lot of time thinking about what I ask them to do and why – and if you told me four years ago I’d be that parent, I’d have thought you mistook me for some kind of idiot.

I’ve learnt that it’s okay to spoil my children.  Because I can spoil them without them feeling entitled.  I’ve learnt that embracing their defiance as an example of them trusting me to love them anyway, is a great way to work out what they don’t yet understand.  I’ve learnt that yelling at them because they are pressing every single one of my buttons is okay, if I’m mature enough to apologise for being a grumpy arse, so that they know how to do it too.

I’ve learnt that if I do things at their pace and not mine I get to have conversations with them I would never have had otherwise.  I have learnt that if we change the way we do something because the other way doesn’t work they’ll roll with it. I’ve learnt that they prefer standing in front of the neighbour’s trees for photos rather than ours.

I’ve learnt that I don’t believe in smacking children because I recognise that in doing so I’m demonstrating that I’ve lost control, not them, and that I’m teaching them that violence is an acceptable way of making them do something.  I’ve learnt that reading aloud to children is just as boring as reading aloud to adults and that I have a capacity for craft that has lain dormant for a good many years.

I’ve learnt that the sound of my two girls laughing and not sharing the joke with their parents fills me with confidence about their future relationship. I’ve learnt that I don’t care if they tip oats all over the kitchen floor because they want the independence to make their own breakfast.  I’d rather they make mess, wear their good dresses to jump on the trampoline and wear wellington boots to bed if it makes them happy.  Because these things don’t matter.  They don’t matter at all.

What matters to me is that they know how to treat people kindly.  It matters to me they have the confidence to go boldly out into the world and find things to do.  It matters to me that they hug freely.  It matters to me that they know who to trust.  It matters to me that they value their friends.  It matters to me that they know how to apologise when they have erred and it matters to me that they can rage against what they don’t like and ask questions when they seek to understand.

It matters to me that they love words and they love ideas and they have an imagination which will keep them company throughout their whole lives.  It matters to me that they exist in the world they live in, that they embrace technology, environments, education, opportunities, sunscreen and ideologies which are reflective of their future, not the past which so many view with rose tinted spectacles and obvious memory loss.

It matters to me that they know that they are loved by both of their parents with a fierceness we didn’t know was possible, but that they owe us nothing.  Nothing.  For we chose them, not the other way round and it is up to us to be the kind of people they choose to be with once they know they have options.

Don’t anybody tell them too soon. Please.

I’ve learnt that some people like putting tomato sauce in their porridge and that blowing bubbles in your milk is hilarious.  I’ve learnt that four years passes so quickly I still haven’t finished some of the things on my to-do list from my first maternity leave.

I’ve learnt that if you mess with my children I am capable of vengeance in the style of Jules and Vincent and that people who can’t yet say their own name without a lisp can name every single type of dinosaur known to man.  Correctly.

All that in just four years. Who knew?

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Love will make a way

21 Aug 2014

Whether you are a believer or a non-believer, it’s quite refreshing to see the mischief that a group of ‘god botherers’ are getting up to around the country over past weeks and months.  And by mischief, I mean the turning up to the offices of MPs and sitting around praying.  I know.  Kids today eh?

And nuns. And like, just people.

And they don’t leave, which means they have to be arrested, and then they plead guilty and they have to be charged.  And it’s the nicest ‘god bothering’ story going around the traps at the moment because they are very politely pointing out that children shouldn’t be in detention.

And that the general approach to asylum seekers is completely rubbish.

But they’re not banging on about it.  Just taking their collective backsides aged from their 20s to their 80s, putting them somewhere semi-comfortable and praying.

Praying.

Turns out the silent act of conversation with the big guy IS an act of rebellion which will get you arrested, against a bunch of people who bang on about being guided by their Christian faith as they treat the world’s most vulnerable with a casual cruelty we call ‘policy’.

But we’ve stopped the boats.  Somehow keeping hundreds of people alive in horrific conditions that are described as ‘tortuous’ by experts, so that others don’t take a chance on catching a boat to Australia, is ‘successful policy’.  Or ‘behaving like a completely bigoted arse of a country’.

And it’d be nice to think that Scott Morrison is actually seeing that you don’t have to be a complete knob head to be Christian and that’s why he’s started releasing children from detention.  But only the ones that are on the mainland mind you.  Don’t get me wrong, committing to releasing 150 kids from detention is lovely, but wouldn’t it be even better if he released the other 750 living in our own tax payer funded hell holes and scattered them about the countryside too?

But no, it’s not because he went read the book again and did a refresher course on Jesus weeping OR the bit about Jesus asking for the children to be sent to him for they were innocent and good OR because Jesus said do unto others as you’d have done unto you, but because he’s pooping his pants as he’s got to front up to the Human Rights Commission and actually justify why we’re torturing people to deter the desperate rather than um, coming up with a humane solution to a global crisis.

Love will make a way.  I do believe that.  We can not sustain a nation on hate and bigotry.  The piping hot white sands are shifting. 86 year old nuns; Fr Rod’s billboard; photographers; baristas seeking work; comedians such as Corinne, Adam, Tom and Will; journalists like Gabrielle and Peter and Bill; politicians who actually are in it for the people; and defiant groups of ‘god botherers’ of all persuasions, are all proactively practising compassion and acts of inclusivity as small, non-criminal acts of treason.

And I love them for it.  I love them all for being the change they want to see in the world.  I love them for making small but significant steps around educating the public and being prepared to stand up and be counted.  I love the people in cafes, schools, hospitals, playgrounds that do what they can to demonstrate that we are mostly kind of lovely.  And we’re not sure how things got to be so bad, but we’re keen for change.

It’s those people, those every day, every single day, people, that represent Australia to me.

Yep. Them. Thank you. Mayyyyyyyyyte.

    

Blah, blah, BLAH

19 Aug 2014

There is a lady in a house, filled with herself, her lover and her two adorable children.  They aspire to live a simple life, a happy life, a meaningful life.  All at once.  She has single handedly changed the definition of ‘blah’ for me.  If I’m feeling ‘blah’, I’m feeling pretty awesome thanks for asking.

That lady is the brilliance behind Blah Blah Magazine.  She nominated this blog for a Liebster Award last week which is very lovely and gave me the chuffed feeling that most encounters with her leave me with.  I did the Liebster thing last year and so I thought I’d participate today in a slightly different way.  I’m going to answer Cybele’s 10 questions and then I’m going to share some blogs with you that I think are completely ‘BLAH’.

1. What are five components of a life well lived?

Compassion, kindness, confidence, love and personal responsibility.  They are the no brainers for me.  To live with these five things as the foundations of all you choose for yourself and for others is to give everybody the freedom to be the best person they can be, to live in a manner which is open to experience, to embrace all things as educational and empowering, be an active participant in their own journey and live devoid of the insidiousness of hate, bitterness or regret.

2. Do you prefer holidaying in urban or rural areas?

I’m a fence sitter on this one.  There are so many places still to go on this planet, both urban and rural, I’m just going to tick them off one after another until they’re all done.  I find it unfathomable that people can have a bad holiday.  A non-relaxing holiday sure, but a bad one?  Nope.

3. Is there a song that makes you cry?

Yes. Several. One that gets me EVERY time is Brandon Flowers’ “The clock was tickin‘” from his Flamingo album.  Every. Single. Time.  The other is Dusty Springfield’s “The Windmills of your mind” which I want played at my funeral.  It’s an amazing song.  It just makes you feel.

4. Has a view, artwork, building or similar taken your breath away?

One of my favourite views in the world is the rolling red dirt fields filled with crops that you see as you drive up the inland road heading towards the Queensland border.  There is something so naked, so magnificent, so endless about that vista which is uniquely Australian and makes me go all Dorothea Mackellar.

I find photography a more moving medium than art in general, but I am a sucker for anything my girls create.  If I had to choose a professional artist who I always enjoy the impact of, I would pick Sidney Nolan or Paul Gauguin.

Buildings – the older the better.  I love them all.  Tin sheds, stone castles, old queenslanders, cottages, verandahs, you name it.  It’s not so much breath away as that being surrounded by buildings that have borne silent witness to so much kind of feeling.

5. Favourite season?

Summer.  Because heat.

Oh, and the smell of dry grass, the hum of heat around the trampoline, the long evenings, the crackling of tyres on steaming roads, the hopping of small children and adults across concrete too hot too walk on.  And Christmas.  And my birthday.  And New Year’s.  It’s the very best season of all.

6. Your ideal Sunday?

A late breakfast at our local cafe, time to read the papers, spontaneous walks or park visits, hanging with the trio of happiness, visits with friends, an afternoon glass of wine, an easy dinner.  Anything which surrounds me with people that I value.  Then I’m all set up for real life the other six days.

7. A book, film or story that has had a big impact on you?

So many. So so many.  But I’m going to pick “To Kill a Mockingbird”as one of those stories that never ever stops impacting because so many elements resonate at so many levels.

I find the character of Atticus retains his relevance across the ages which is a positive. On the flip side, I find it sad that the book’s key themes are still playing out in real life in places like Ferguson, USA and Darlinghurst, Australia.

8. Why did you start your blog?

While I adore my two daughters with all my heart, the truth is that they were crap conversationalists when they were 2 and 20 months respectively.  And I had lots to say and explore and they just weren’t up to political debate, lamenting bigotry or hating on tuna.

They are much better at conversation now but we still haven’t quite reached a point where we want to talk about the same things.  We’ll see how we go once they get to school.

9. What is your idea of an amazing meal?

Anything I don’t have to cook pretty much.  But if you can somehow make it a full English roast beef meal – that’d be pretty dandy.  Oooh…. and popping candy topped creme brûlée.  That stuff was the bomb.

10. Are you the eldest, middle or youngest sibling or an only child?

I am the second of six children, eldest female and by far the most interesting it has to be said.  Right siblings? What? What? Not reading the blog today?  Phew.  

We are very well organised – boy, girl, boy, girl, boy, girl.  They got the looks, the brains, the coordination and the talent but I got generally hilarious and I genuinely enjoy Dad’s uninteresting tours of places, so it’s like we’re all winners really.

me. aged five. darwin.

People often ask if I’d have six children. The answer is no.  My parents, much as I love them, were obviously deranged.  That said, I’m rather fond of the four that follow me so I’m glad they didn’t stop at two.

And now I’d like to introduce you to the following BLAH bloggers.

Obviously go and check out Cybele at Blah Blah Magazine

In no particular order and with no offence mended if I have missed somebody I love, I invite you to meander over to the following places and check out: