Monday, August 5, 2013

Toyotas are noisy and all the dumb stuff.

In typical Laura style, I couldn't even get through a trip to Sydney for surgery without something dumb happening. 

T'was 8am, the morning after my surgery and I was literally busting my guts open to get in the car and home to my babies. 
We were in the car park, trying to put the enormous amount of the crap that I packed, positive I would need but didn't even use half of, into the car. 
The car wouldn't open. 
It's been happening a lot lately, the keyless not working, and I for some reason decided it was just because it was cold, because it always eventually worked. 

Turns out the battery was actually going flat. And decided to go completely flat whilst in Sydney. 

Me, being clever and stuff, pulled out the emergency key thingy in the keyless thingy and unlocked the door. I was all high fiving myself until the car alarm started. And wouldn't stop!! Turns out using the actual key to get into your car is the same as breaking into it, and Toyotas like to scream their heads off about it! 

After a good 45 minutes of the car yelling and screaming and flashing its lights, and me swearing while the husband, having the brains and all, read the manual, we managed to shut it up. And start the car. And then we drove. And drove. All the while the car telling us that we didn't actually have the key, which was a big fat lie! 

I prayed that we wouldn't stall. The husband prayed that we found a Toyota dealer before we needed to stop for fuel. 
We did the latter, thankfully. 

The moral here? 

Change the freaking batteries! 
And all the dumb stuff happens to me. 

Tuesday, July 23, 2013

Keep Calm, There's a Royal Baby.

















So, there has been a Royal Baby born. I know this because it is the only I have seen on facebook, twitter, the news, EVERYWHERE.

It got me thinking of a few years ago when my youngest was born. We had not long moved from one One Horse Town to another and knew almost no one. We knew our everyday baby was on its way and we relied on family to help us out, having two other kids already.

My sister came on my due date, and for the start of 4 day labour. When she left, my inlaws arrived to take on the job. Then my pop called, and thought he might "just duck over for a visit".

"umm, yes you can, but I'm about to have a baby" I said.

"That's ok, I'll fix up those wardrobe doors, they need doing" he replied.

"Yeah, that's ok, but I'm really about to have a baby, like, I'm having contractions now, we'll be going to hospital when they get stronger".

I thought this would put him off. Being the old school manly man that he is, I figured he wouldn't want to be there to witness any of this and would come over at a later date.

I was wrong.

I was in labour for a good few days.

And in this time, I had more visitors than I ever had at my house!

My dad visited for the first time ever, the inlaws came to stay and help, and my pop came, to allegedly hang doors.

This was plenty of audience for me. Watching me waddle around. Grab onto cupboards as a contraction started. Watching me prepare to give birth. Including the frantic dash to pack my hospital bag which I always leave to the last minute.


It was because of this 'experience', that my thoughts turned to Kate last night. All the media. All the exposure. All the audience.

At the end of the day, she is a woman. A woman who just gave birth to her first child. I understand the excitement, I under that she is 'Royal' and that is expected.

 But really, don't we owe any new mum, Royal, celebrity, whatever, a little moment to breathe? A moment to take it all in?



Sunday, July 21, 2013

The shortest, and strongest.


In 2003 I gave birth to what would become the shortest little girl in grade 4.



She wasn't always the shortest, but always in the bottom 3 her entire school life. This year, she somehow managed to skip the growth spurt that the shortest child had and has since taken out the title.



It's no great surprise really, considering her mother is severely lacking in the tall department.



The shortest girl in grade 4 is beautiful, with a smile that makes her entire face shine. She is kind, sometimes too kind for her own good. She is polite and pleasant and creative.



The shortest girl in grade 4 came home from school with a note last week, telling me she has made it through to the cluster carnival in Shot Put.



This pleased me greatly, and has put my mind to rest.



She may be the shortest girl in grade 4, and too kind for her own good,  but at least I know she will be able to pack a mean punch! Which is a highly important skill, if she should ever need to use it.

Friday, July 19, 2013

I am a terrible catholic school parent


The kidlets that occupy my home attend the local catholic school. Well, currently two of the kidlets do. Eventually the 3rd will be there too. Look out when that happens!

The boy has been there for 6 months now. 6 whole months of kindergarten! Don't even get me started on how much it breaks my heart that he is that big.

He's a funny little thing, my boy. He just says things as they are. And see's them as they are.

During his first week at school, he had me in stitches, and I still don't think he understands why.

The boy came home from school one afternoon, and we did our usual with all three kids:

"How was your day?"  - "Good"

"Anything cool happen?"  -  "blah blah blah"


The boy was then asked "So, have you met Father Paul yet? Has he come over and blessed you or anything?"

The reply we got was nothing like I could have ever expected.

"No, I don't sneeze at school".

And there I was. Losing it. At the dining table. The boy unaware of what was so hilarious.






His ability to just see things for exactly what they are... I am jealous.

My ability for being a good catholic parent... clearly failing.

Sunday, July 7, 2013

School holiday sanity savers - activities for children.


School holidays are more often than not a time of dread for me. My kids, all three, home for two whole weeks! They are such busy little creatures that I really need to be on my game to stay a step ahead of them in order to avoid the "I'm bored's". And I know that once they arrive, the fighting and screaming follows not long after!

With week one down, with very arguments, and what one could almost pleasant, here are my hot tips and activities.


* Keep food handy. Because holidays mean everyone is always starving. I keep my fruit bowl brimming so they can graze all day.

* Set the kids up with a pad of coloured origami/craft paper, some scissors and a glue stick. The creativity they can exude is wonderful and your house will soon be decorated in colourful creations!

* Make the most of the sunshine: outside games, walks, trampolines.

* make friends with a builder or the local tech teacher and grab some wood off cuts (they will only be throwing them out so will be happy to have you cart them away), pick up a pack of nails and hand the kids a hammer and let them be creative with a whole new medium! Throw in a pot of wood glue if you have littler people. Great for hand eye coordination, fine motor skills, establishing a hand preference, building muscle tone and creativity!

* Bake up a storm!! Arm yourself with some packet mixes or pull out the cook books and start from scratch. Let the kids go crazy with the decorations.

*Make use of your local library. A lot will also have some great school holiday activities.

* Jump online and print off some colouring pages of your child's favorite characters. These Wonky Donkey colouring sheets are our fav.

* Make blanket cubby houses.

* Have a tea party

* Host a birthday party for a favorite toy, or pet.

* Give the kids a set $ amount to spend on buying something from the store.



Do have a good holiday activity? 

I would love for you to share. Leave a comment or email it thegirlintheredpants@gmail.com and I will add it to the list. 

Thursday, July 4, 2013


Loaded Guns



I haven't blogged for a while. Partly from having a shit load of stuff going on. And partly from laziness.

I have missed it. Immensely. Its almost like I don't know what I think about things until I have read what I have written regarding them.

So here goes. Filling you in whilst working out exactly what I'm thinking and feeling at the same time.



I saw a new doctor yesterday. 
She said what everyone has been trying not to say. 

"Right now you are staring down the barrel at Ovarian Cancer"

Staring down the barrel of a loaded gun, playing Russian roulette. 

Am I going to get the blank? Or the bullet? 

To say I'm not scared shitless would be a lie. A big fat lie. A lie of astronomical proportions. 
And yet I choose to lie. I lie to my friends and family and pretend I'm not absolutely freaking out. I lie and tell them the pain isn't too bad, that I'm sleeping just fine, that I'm not tired, that I'm not scared of having surgery soon. 

I don't tell them about all the late nights I spent knowing something wasn't right, and knowing my original doctor missed something. I don't tell them about the silent tears I shed when I tuck my three kids into bed each night after they have fallen asleep. 
I don't tell them SO much. 
Because the truth is, saying it all out loud, telling them, would make it real. It would make them worry as much as I do. It would make them all treat me as if the gun had fired. 
Most of them already do anyway. 
The less I tell people, the longer I can pretend it's not happening. 

Blissful ignorance.



So here I am. Staring down the barrel of a loaded gun, praying it doesn't go off. Praying it's shooting blanks. 
I won't know until surgery which is scheduled soon. 

In the meantime, I'm praying to a god that I don't even know I believe in. 






Monday, February 25, 2013

The F Bomb






The boy has been known to let a few unauthorized words fly from his precious little mouth at times.
Once, it was slipping a ‘dickhead’ in at the grocery store. At his father. Yep, a good old “Dad you’re a dickhead” does great things to my husbands temper. Which is not helped at all by me, pissing myself laughing, not able to get a word out, almost rolling on the floor in the toilet paper aisle (appropriately as I swear I almost pee’d a little, damn you pelvic floor), and getting in more trouble than the boy did because I should know better and my behaviour isnt teaching him anything!


*NOTE* My husband is the one who taught the boy this word in the first place. Which just added to the humour! Nothing like a little Karma Darling Husband.
This however is mild. Compared to recent standards.


If you aren’t familiar with swear words, or are offended by them, or you are my grandmother, I do advise you turn off your computer right now. Redirect yourself from this post by clicking here where you will be taken to a warmer, happier, friendly place that doesn’t drop the F-Bomb.



The boy, last week, was sitting on the step putting on his boots, happy, ‘Oh mum, it’s a beautiful day, something something Fucking Mice’! (yes we are in the middle of a ‘fucking mouse plague’).
!!!!!!!!!! was about all I could manage. When I thought that maybe I misheard him he kindly repeated it for me. I heard correctly the first time.

Fast Forward a few hours, and a few hundred km’s, to a small country town that I grew up in, and that the hillbilly side of the family still live in.

I ducked off the nearest airport another few hundred km’s, whilst the kids stayed with the family, awaiting the arrival of their dad. Apon his arrival, he thought a trip to the local watering hole to catch up with long-lost gossip friends, was in order. Again the kids stayed with said hillbilly family.
My lovely aunt, bless her soul, took one for the team and looked after the kids for a few hours, and as the ‘men’ walked out the gate, at about 4.30pm, she clapped her hands, looked at the kids, and said ‘Right, it’s time for bed’.
The boy, astonished at such a statement, turned to her and replied ‘ it’s not time for bed, it’s not even fucking dark yet’!

Oh My. Yep. Twice in one day.

I’m unsure how to parent this behaviour. He gets in trouble when he tells one of the girls he hates them and that we don’t even love her anyway, because he is outrightly being mean, and rude, and he knows it. But this. This dropping of the F-bomb, while used in context, he doesn’t quite understand the meaning behind it.

I simply told him it wasn’t a nice word for nice boys to say and he will make people sad. In my nicest mum voice.




What I was really thinking was, You fucking little shit, I am going to fucking strangle you if I hear that come from your mouth one more fucking time! Fucking fucking.



unfortunately this blog does not come with a ‘bleep’ sound. Just add where you feel it is needed. I suggest over the word Hillbilly. :)




Have your children let some ‘unauthorized’ words go? Or did you raise them correctly.

Sunday, February 24, 2013

Helicopter Parenting





This is why I am a Helicopter Parent

 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
Im noticing a distinct lack of ground under the wheels of this motorbike!
 
 
The boy thinks he is Uber clever, and I am quietly having heart attacks.
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

Wednesday, February 20, 2013

How do you know your a working mother?

You know your a working mum when...

 
 
 

* You realise you have no clothes left before they are all over your bathroom floor, unwashed.

 

*Coffee is a perfectly acceptable meal replacement.

 

*Beautiful meals that you used to really enjoyed cooking and eating are replaced with the quickest meals you can think of, a roast is unheard of, salad is no longer a side dish but a meal itself and you haven't baked a cake in months.

 

*You don't even know how much you earn anymore because you haven't had to go to the bank since your last pay rise so every purchase has been made on Eftpos.

 

*You start to become jealous of SAHM's.

 
 

*A pony tail is a perfectly acceptable hairstyle, but on the bright side your hair super healthy due to the lack of time for heat styling!

 
 

*Sex and the City is the closest thing you have to a social life.

 
 

*You begin see the benefit of a nanny. Not because she can nurture your darling CrotchFruit, but because she can mop.

 

 

Are you a working mother?

How the hell do you keep it together??

 

 

SALE!!!!!!!

 

Stuff I love...

Thats also on sale!!!

 


 

 
 
 
 
 
 
 
These gorgeous Zombiewood shoes were last seen out on my best friend, and I am IN LOVE!!
They look absolutley ah-ma-zing and I am so sad that I didn't find them first.
 
You can grab yourself a pair here  right now, on sale for $29.95!!!!!!
Reverie boutique also has super fast postage so there is a chance you could have them on your feet by the weekend!
 
 
 
 
 
 
The gorgeous little Goldie top from Cotton On is so super cute, that I just bought one for each of my girls. I love the cute little hippy cut, and best of all, its on SALE right now for $12.50 in sizes 1-8.
 

I know this image is tiny, but trust me you really want to click here amd check out the full size images, because this cute little crop jacket is to die for.
I adore the pop of colur and the cut and have so many outfits that are screaming out to be teamed with it!
On sale for $39.95 and orders over $50 get free shipping.
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
I am yet to wear a peplum dress, but I would be lying if I said I wasn't in love with every other person that I have seen in one! Seed currently has this one on sale for $49.97.  
 

Monday, February 18, 2013

Happy Birthday {Dance floor injuries}

 
 
It was my birthday last week.
On Valentines day to be exact. I am a child of love.
 
 
This year was going to be the last birthday I ever have. Turning 29 has made me feel all kinds of old, knowing that turning 30 next year will make me all kinds of old and its a place I don't really want to go. I figure that if I remove my birthday from facebook, people won't even realise that I am skipping thirty and going back to 25. It hasn't happened until its facebook official, after all. Right?
 
 
 
So, the last ever birthday was going along fabulously. Sadly The Farmer was away, so I spent the day between work and friends.
Flowers were delivered to work, a unicorn cake was baked and scoffed, dinner was eaten and wine was drank.
 
 
Plans were in place for the weekend. A babysitter was hired, a sparkly dress was hanging waiting to be worn and the giant bright red heels were ready for dancing.
 
It was a night that had been talked about for weeks. Friends all coming together to drink copious amounts of booze and dance the night away.
 
 
All started well, and was going to plan.
 
There was a local race meet on that day, so my tiny little town was buzzing with random people, including a giant man on the dance floor.
 
 
Cue teeny tiny lady also on the dance floor.
 
 
What happened next required more sympathy than anyone was going to give me.
 
The hoof of the Giant Man and the petite little foot of the Teeny Tiny Lady met.
 
There was a shriek. There was a slight vague apology. There was a seeking of sympathy.
 
 
There was also lots of vodka.
 
So much so, that whilst it hurt, I was unaware of just how much.
 
There was some swelling, some bruising, and still no sympathy.
 
 
I continued on my merry way that night, drinking more and dancing more. I even walked home.
 
 
All was well until 7.15am when I was awoken to an intense throbbing in my foot.
 
'Geez, my foot is so dirty, I better go wash it'.
 
It wasn't dirt, it was a massive bruise on my now massive foot.
 
 
 
My hospital admission form (filled out by a nurse I am friends with) reads
"trod on by a giant man"
 
 
I laughed.
 
 
 
 
 
I am so pleased this has been my last birthday ever, because I have ended up with tendon damage, fractured bones and a whole lot of whining.
 
 
 
 
 

 

 

 

Happy Freaking Birthday.

 

Have you got a good injury story? 

Wednesday, February 6, 2013

Why motorbike helmets should be part of the school uniform

I had a baby five years ago. Last week he started school. How this happened I have no idea!

You see, I don't have babies so they can grow up. I have babies to have babies. Yet somewhere along the line two of them have found their way into school and one really isn't far off going with them. I am dreading that day.


I am the parent who doesn't want to send my kids to school. I think the idea of homeschooling is a great one, where they can spend their days me, the person who knows how to look after them like they should be looked after.

When Elliot  started school I was a wreck. I was certain right up to the last second that I would keep her home. In fact, I kept her home a year longer than her friends. But still, she went.

The night of fletcher starting I was in his bed, dreading the morning.

I attempted to buy him a mobile phone to take in his bag in case there was an emergency so then he could at least text me. The farmer said no.

I cried sending him. He didn't know what all the fuss was about. He was fine. He didn't even want to hold my hand while I walked him into school for the very first time.

I was gutted.

Three days into school and he comes home, gives me a big cheeky smile, and there was a tooth missing. MISSING.  gone.  No longer there.  A huge gap.

Apparently he fell and hit a table.

" oh he lost his first tooth!"

Yeah, he did. The only problem is it wasn't even loose!

I send my baby to school and I get duped out of his first ever loose tooth.

The farmer declared $50 was too much from the tooth fairy for a knocked out tooth.
I declared he wasn't going back to school without a mobile and a motorbike helmet.


Do you have first week of school shocker?