The Bogan Box Set

This was going to be a simple post about how much I hate some popular car stickers, but while writing it I discovered it’s more a post about judgment.

It’s true. I hate some of the currently popular car stickers. And while it is your free choice to put one of those stickers on your car, it is my choice is judge you. Let me explain…

 Frangipani, No Fear, JetPilot, Silver ferns, Southern Crosses and Playboy Bunny stickers started it off. Totally bogan and completely judged. They explain to the rest of society just what sort of person you are.  And I can say this having driven (my husbands) VP Commodore emblazoned with JetPilot on the rear window for a number of years.  

Then there were the My Family stickers. Now while I’m happy enough for parents to have those “Baby on Board” stickers or hanging things in their cars, I’m sure they’re put there in the hopes that if your car was skidding uncontrollably down the road and you had the choice of smashing into one of two cars, you’d steer towards the one without the “Baby on Board” sign (hopefully). But the My Family stickers upset me. When they exploded themselves all over a large number of rear windows around the place my first thought was for the families who couldn’t have children. Here were these other child abundant families parading around their insane number of children. I felt sad for the childless families. My attitudes shifted slightly when I realised that there were a large number of families driving around with the same father, mother, son or daughter as so many other families. I mean exactly the same family member as so many other families. How is that possible? It’s insane! And just as insane are the people who have a picture representing themselves and their pets. A single woman and 12 turtles. Worse still, a single person and 20 fish bowls.  I’ve seen it. Or just a pet picture. What are you? A horse?!  I think it’s just stupid. Which is why you won’t ever see a My Family sticker on my car. Ever.

I could keep going.  Window flags, reindeer antlers, red noses, eyelashes… the list of bogan car accessories just keeps getting bigger.

Seriously?!

But onto the judgment. Why should I judge someone who has one of those bogan stickers on their car? Why do I even consider them bogan stickers? Why do I judge that girl wearing leggings as pants? Furry ugg boots and short shorts? Any guy wearing jeans tighter than mine? I don’t know, but I do. I’d would have told you I’m a pretty non-judgmental person. In fact a friend of my husband came out to me before Patrick (who he’d been friends with forever) because I’m “alternative and will get it”. But to kill my lovely non-judgmental buzz, there’s Patrick who when I mention my non-judging attitudes scoffed and accused me of being a bitch. A bitch?! You really think so?  I’m not a bitch. I just comment honestly on what I see and think. Sometimes too honestly. But I’m not one for stirring up controversy.  I won’t say something just to upset someone or to stir trouble. Ok, there was that one time at the local pub though… I expressed my opinions of the pub & its clientele (to my friends) but unfortunately it was heard by the local bar fly and well, things got ugly.

And I’m happy to agree to disagree. Just don’t try to win your point over on me if I’m not into it. You’re just inviting a whole world of trouble you don’t want start and cementing my disdain of you for a lifetime to come.

So call me a judgmental bitch if you want. It’s your choice to judge me. But unless I’ve judged you harshly, I’d rather you thought I was opinionated!  

Man Land, Reborn

The History of Man Land:

We moved into our house about 5 years ago. At that time, it was November, it was the hottest Summer on record and I was very pregnant with our first child. We had previously lived in a 1.5 bedroom flat. Perfect for our life back then, but not where we wanted to raise our child. So we found the house. It was big! It had bedrooms, a double garage, a rumpus room and a shed. A very big shed.

Not being boats or caravan people (and having previously come from a very tiny flat) we didn’t have much to put in the shed but over time that changed. In the beginning we used it as storage. Anything that didn’t fit in the house went in the shed. Anything useful or potentially useful went in the shed. And anything friends or family couldn’t store went in the shed.

Shortly after our daughter was born, Patrick realised his life long dream of owning a pool table. We had discussions where the table should go. In the shed and start the creation of Man Land? Or in the rumpus room and start a “pool room”? Both were good options but hindsight is a marvelous thing. I was a new mum, I was sleep deprived and I was mentally in love with my tiny daughter. There was no way I was going to leave her sleeping in the house while I went out to the shed to shoot some pool. Patrick’s motives were slightly more concerned with his new “baby”. He couldn’t even think of putting the pool table out in the shed. It belonged in the rumpus room/pool room and that was the final word. And so the pool room was born.

Years passed with BBQ’s and pool games. Lily was born and Ava was growing fast. Baby items were stored in the shed, along with 2nd hand furniture that might come in handy and furniture of friends/family moving house. And there were toys. Lots of toys! As the girls grew up, pool games stopped being so frequent. Patrick was concerned that they would damage the table unintentionally and it was getting harder to play a proper game around all the toys. At different times we discussed moving the pool table into the shed, but Patrick wouldn’t hear of it.

Until one day, frustrated with all the dolls, prams, Barbie’s and little girls toys taking over the lounge room, Patrick declared “This is ridiculous! The girls need a play room!!”

And so Man Land was reborn.

It took some time, and a lot of orginisation but we are well on our way. And if anyone ever asks you to help them move a pool table, say no! It took 5 adults and not just a few cross words & eye rolling moments to move the table from the rumpus into the shed. I’ve set the goal to be completed by Christmas and I’m pretty certain we’ll make it. Man Land will be an ongoing process though. Continually adding extra bits here and tweaking things there. But it will be a fun ride.

                   

Life Lesson or Parenting Fail?

Let me tell you about one of my recent shopping expeditions with Lily. We had some time to ourselves and decided to head out to the local shopping centre for some pre-Christmas window shopping. I had a few things I wanted to check out (gift ideas for Ava's teachers, school supplies for next year, Christmas presents for the family) and we browsed from store to store.

For the beginning Lily was great. She walked with me around the stores, didn't touch breakable things and only used her inside voice. We browsed through a number of stores this way. All was good.

Then we headed to one certain store. We've been into this store many, many times before. Lily knows this store and knows what she'll find in there.

First the stationary section. To get there we had to pass the book section. Lily got side tracked with some Disney Princess books and didn't follow me. Not to worry, I could see her from where I was browsing. All happy.

Next I needed to browse further into stationary. From where I needed to go I couldn't see Lily and the books so I went and asked her to please come with me now. Off we went further into the stationary aisles.

After stationary was the electronic section. I needed to look for headphones so we headed to that aisle. Lily knows the electronic section very well. Any time we go shopping as a family, Patrick is quite happy for me to browse anywhere I'd like for as long as I like because I'll find him in the DVD section when I'm done.
So after I'm done browsing for headphones we head over to the next aisle to look at the DVDs. Lily is happy looking at Barbie and Dora DVDs, I'm not. I popped into the next aisle and called out every few moments to Lily, "Lily are you there?" "Yes mummy I'm here" etc. After a little bit we headed onto our next section.

Christmas decorations. Now I like Christmas decorations and looking at them makes me happy. So I was happy to browse the aisles with Lily. I had a certain decoration I was looking for, and not finding it didn't want to spend too long in the aisles. Lily was in her element. She was loving all the decorations and was happily chatting away to them and herself while we where there. When I wanted to look in the next aisle I asked Lily to follow me. She didn't. She was in one end of an aisle and I was in the same end of the next aisle. I couldn't see her, but I could hear her still happily chatting to herself and the decorations. I was comfortable with this. We weren't going to be long and I wasn't far from her. I'm sure any parent would say they've been in the same situation. Kids being kids never stay where you want them too when you're shopping. If I couldn't have heard her, it would be another story. I feel the need to keep explaining this, because what happened next rocked me.

Lily was chatting away happily and honestly I was happy listening to her be so happy. Then she must have realised that we weren't in the same aisle anymore and called out "Mummy, where are you?" She didn't sound distressed, she wasn't crying, she just seemed genuinely surprised that we weren't together anymore. As I made my way to the top of Lily's aisle I found 4 women (some with children) standing around discussing Lily.

Random women:
"Is she yours?"
"No she's not mine"
"I'll take her to the front desk, you can't just have a little girl walking around by herself"

Me:
"Um excuse me, she is my daughter. I was in the next aisle and could hear her chatting away the whole time. I had asked her to follow me and she hadn't."

Random women:
Death Stares

Me:
"Lily are you OK? I was in the next aisle. I could hear you chatting away. I asked you to come with me though didn't I?"

Lily was fine. I think the only distressing thing was finding 4 women standing in front of her discussing taking her away. And as for the women, why wouldn't you look into the aisles around where you found a child alone? Why wouldn't you ask the child what mummy looks like and where did you last see her? None of these women spoke to Lily. They spoke about her, in front of her.

So we left the store, hand in hand, happily. Except for the very strong feeling of parental fail I felt. Had I done something horrible? Was I a terrible mum? Guilt, guilt, guilt!

I've told a few friends about the shopping trip and the overall response has been that my actions were fine. I could hear her, I was close by, I responded quickly when she called. And still, I feel guilt.

So tell me, have you suffered parental guilt over something similar?

Dream Boobs!

I like the party plan idea. Get a bunch of your girlfriends together in a room, have some wine and shop for something someone is telling you is awesome. And I've been to a lot of party plan parties. Old school party plan like Tupperware and linen parties. Fancy parties for make-up, lingerie and perfume. New age parties for candles, jewelry making, chocolate and mosaic. Practical parties for educational games for the kids and cleaning products. And racy parties for sex toys.

I attend these parties feeling no sense of obligation, except for the obligation I put on myself. I am that person who will buy a token item it help the host get some extra credits, even when I have been invited with strict instructions to not feel any obligation to purchase. Fact is, I like shopping. And what's not to like about an afternoon of wine with girlfriends and shopping?

This post comes about because my most recent purchase from a party plan party (this time lingerie) arrived today.

I was invited to an Intimo lingerie party held a fortnight ago by the lovely Jen from Twitter. Having met Jen only a few times I was touched to be invited and also a little hesitant. You see, I'm secretly (well not so much now) quite a paranoid person. I approached Jen's party with equal measures of excitement for an afternoon out and trepidation of what I may find when I got there.
What I found when I arrived was a very welcoming house full of ladies, most whom I hadn't met before, but quickly learnt had been chatting with for ages on Twitter. The fantastic Kym was our very informative and hilarious party plan guru. She was honest, knew her stuff and didn't run a pushy party plan party. There were giggles and shocking revelations. Who knew so many people put their bra on "wrong". And who would have ever thought that out of 7 women, I was the only one who did it "right"**?! (High five mum for passing on that knowledge all those years ago). Kym made getting your gear off in the lounge room a non event and she was much friendlier than any David Jones fitting lady. Now while my cash flow required restrictions on purchases I did order a new bra and fancy cardi.

Skip forward a week to find Australia Post have left me a parcel collection card. Yep my new bra has arrived! My bra requirements were fairly simple, and my new dream bra delivers. Big time. It's true, I did wear a dress today that put more cleavage out there than I normally would, but I had to have a proper test run. And what a run! Patrick seemed to snap out of his bad mood as soon as I came out of the bedroom dressed. The guy at the grocery store was much more chatty than normal  and the guy at the servo seemed very pleased to see me.

My Facebook status today said something along the lines of "Endless possibilities for mayhem, and a new bra" well I didn't get up to any great mayhem, but my new bra sure made the day alot of fun. Shameless, sure, but you've gotta highlight your assets, right?

Thank you Jen and Kym for hosting such a friendly and relaxed afternoon. I look forward to many more get togethers in the future. And snaps to Brett who spent most of the time hiding out in the study trying not to be anywhere there was a lingerie clad woman.

** The "right" way to put on a bra is to put your arms in first, then boobs, then reach around the back and do up the clasp.
This way it won't wear out the elastic around your middle if you swivel the bra around after doing it up at the front. And after doing a hasty poll of friends I have found I'm in the minority. Who'd have thunk it?!

Do you like party plan parties? What's your favourite party plan? And if you're game, which way do you put your bra on?

Who's a Yummy Mummy?

I am.

About 5 years ago a group of 30 or so women and their 6 week old babies met in a room at our local Community Health Clinic. Over the weeks and months that followed, a number of the women left the group for various reasons (lack of interest, work commitments etc.). But a few remained. In fact, only 5 remained.

5 strong minded women, with their first borns, struggling to make sense of this new chapter in their lives, together and alone. These 5 women are the Yummy Mummy's.

Nearly every week for the past 5 years I have been meeting with these chicks and their gorgeous children, and have been supporting, laughing, learning, crying, bitching and observing together. They have helped me more than I can ever thank them for and without them, I'd be lost. And I know they feel the same.

Together we've been through births, deaths, job losses, job gains, sickness, new teeth, lost teeth, daycare, preschool, prep, moving house, moving towns, rough patches and hilarious good times.

"Mummy's group" means different things to different people. To me, it means the weekly gathering (but constant support) with women who understand that you might not be looking your best, but you're doing just fine. You might have a handbag full of baby wipes and odd socks, but you're still that glamour puss at heart. You might spend the whole morning whinging about how hard things are, but you wouldn't change them for the world.
The mummy's listen. They care. They know what you're going though and either have advice, suggestions or some sort of mocking sarcasm to help you along.

To our husbands, "Mummy's group" is "the weekly coffee mornings she goes on", the secret society of stay at home mums who meet each week and talk about god knows what, "but it's probably about me".

To coffee shop owners "Mummy's group" are those women with their prams and noisy children who will tear the place apart, bring their own lunch boxes full of fruit and crackers and leave the rubbish behind. The women who will order coffee and get annoyed if the kitchen isn't open before 11.30am.

And to me, "Mummy's group" is sanity. It’s getting together with some great friends and surviving this life I chose. It's making sense of sleepless nights, defusing toddler tantrums and cheering as each new milestone is reached. It's a sense of relief knowing there are girls on hand who know what's going on, know my kids well enough to offer some time out and know how to kick up our heels and enjoy the rare Mummy's Night Out.

Mummy's group is also the one piece of advice I give to every pregnant woman I know. Find one with children the same age as yours and give it a good go. There is benefit in having a group of friends with children, but to have a group of friends with children the same age as yours; going through the same stages at the same time is just magical.

And why all this reminiscing about Mummy's? Well last week we saw the newest breed of Mummy's group. While out at our local play centre, enjoying a coffee and chat as our 3 year olds all played nicely together, a group of about 10 women walked in. 10 women with their prams and giant nappy bags filled to cover any situation, and their children who looked too small to get much benefit from the play centre. The new Mummy's group. At one stage one of our girls went and said hello to the new ladies. And through a brief conversation discovered they had all met recently at the same clinic we had, all those years ago.

So to you, new Mummy's group, I say enjoy the support you get, enjoy the love and enjoy the ride!

And to my Yummy Mummy's: Julia, Stella, Ronnie & Lou - thank you. For everything.


Do you have a mummy's group? Share the love and leave a comment!

iPhone Dramas v2.0

There I was, happily living off my high from being asked to guest blog on A String Of Pearls and looking forward to the girls weekend. Things were looking good. By "girls weekend" I mean that it was going to be Lily and I for a weekend while Patrick took Ava on school camp. It was exciting to have a whole weekend with just one of my children, and we were planning big things.

During the week I'd asked Lily a few times what special things she wanted to do on our mummy and Lily weekend. Her requests were simple. She wanted to go to the local shopping centre food court for a mad feed, and she wanted to go to Officeworks. It's the small things that please Lily the most. Both demands were do-able.

"But Lily, we don't need anything from Officeworks. What will we buy?"

"Doesn't matter. We can buy one piece of paper. But can I have a little trolley?"

I'm not sure if its stationary or the little shopping trolleys that please Lily the most. I'd say the trolleys but she seems to really like looking at pens too.

We threw in some extra activities (a DVD night and floor picnic - but don't tell Patrick, and a trip to the pool if the weather was good) and so our weekend was planned. We waved good bye to Patrick and Ava and smiled at each other knowing we had a whole weekend of just us.

Friday night we tried to watch a movie. Lily didn't seem into it and I was watching her play and talk to herself more than the actual movie (can someone please tell me if the cats took over the world as they planned??). We both ended up falling asleep early which is never a bad thing.

Saturday morning and disaster struck. Disaster for a few reasons actually.

1. Lily didn't let me sleep in. She climbed into my bed and started talking loudly to her doll about something or other. I pretended sleep for as long as possible but in the end gave up to wakefulness.

2. It was a grey overcast day. Not a big deal, but definitely doesn't look good for swimming.

3. And this is the biggie. My iPhone screen shattered. My lovely, just survived iOS5 update, iPhone screen shattered. I won't go into exactly how (frankly because it was early and I was still sleepy) my phone somehow left my hand and hit the bathroom tiled floor, but this became our my number one priority. I must repair my phone. I must not wait longer than a few hours to have it back. I must not have my phone swapped for a new one. All this must happen now! It was 7am.

Thankfully my phone still worked and the screen protector sticker thing kept all the glass fragments from falling out everywhere. I immediately accessed the jungle call of my lifetime, Twitter, and sought out assistance. Who knows where I can get this fixed, in the smallest amount of time. Cost (at this stage) was no object. And Twitter responded. There were heaps of suggestions all offering support and information. I followed some leads and hit google but that didn't give me the answer I was looking for. In the end I decided that we'd have to head out to the Apple store at Chermside and investigate options. There is an iPhone repair store in my local area and before making it over to Chermside I decided we'd just swing by and see if they were open.

They were! And they can replace cracked iPhone screens in about an hour ("It will probably only take 45 minutes, maybe half an hour this morning") and charged under $50.

Lily and I enjoyed a morning coffee and chat while we waited. We went for a stroll to kill a little more time and decided to head back to the store after being gone about 45 minutes. There was my phone, all shiny and new, repaired and back to better than before glory.

If you ever crack an iPhone screen let me know and I'll give you their details.

And our girls weekend? Continued without a hitch and we're loving every minute of it!

Well Now I'm Published!

Ok dear readers, today is a more exciting day than I would have imagined. Today, I am a published author!!

Yes I've been writing this blog for a little while now, but today I am published by someone other than me! You might notice the lovely string of pearls button to the right of these words. I got that button after Jane asked if I would like to be a guess blogger on her Ezine. Naturally I said yes! Click that button and (hopefully) you'll be taken to my most recent post, this time about my misadventures of updating my iPhone to iOS5.

So please, click the button on the right. Or alternatively click the link below. Read my new post, and leave me a comment so I know you've visited.

A String of Pearls blogEzine

I've been to Bali too...

(Well actually I haven't)


But Red Gum have been to Bali (they wrote a song about it) and it seems every other person you meet has been too. I haven't been anywhere postcard worthy. In fact, my passport is embarrassingly void of travel stamps. But that's cool. While I don't have a clue what customs look like (apart from watching Customs on TV) and I've never been to the International Departure gates I do have other travel skills.


I'm awesome at finding my way around the airport. Find the best parking, closest doors and beer. Standing strong for everyone around, as there are tears and hugs before you head off on your amazing adventure. And waiting for ages as you're naturally the last to disembark the plane, and then shop duty free.


For all this I love the airport. I love watching the people coming and going and imagining what they are up to. I love making up lives for the people getting off the plane and I love the chance that you might glimpse a famous person. Like world famous surfer Mick Fanning. Who we were convinced we saw at the International airport on Sunday morning. We didn't though.

This is Mick Fanning. We didn't see him

Since Sunday morning I've had the Red Gum song stuck in my head. This is because I was at the airport awaiting the arrival home of a family member and the plane to land before hers had flown in from Bali.


This I know, not from reading the arrivals board, but by watching the passengers come though the magic glass sliding doors. There were families. Lots of families. Young girls with braids in their hair. There were coloured beads and shells galore. Boys who wore boardies and straw fedora hats. Mums who were tanned and relaxed. Dads who wore boardies and Bintang singlets.
There were the "surf holiday" boys who chased the sun. The lads who were ridiculously tanned and carried surf boards, normally more than one.
There were the honeymooners. The loved up couples who were tanned and gorgeous. All these people came through the doors, but they weren't who we were waiting for.


Someone I know went to Bali and all I got was this crappy Bintang singlet

The next plane load of people to come through had come from Dubai via Singapore. This was the plane we were waiting for. There were lots of older casual businessmen first, wearing jeans and sports jackets and gold chains. These guys either came through from Dubai and had pockets stuffed full of diamonds, or they had come from Singapore and left their new lady loves behind. We doubted mega rich Dubai dealing businessmen would bother catching just a horrible flight just to save a few dollars. So that left the other sort...

Next were the tourists. People who were either returning from holiday or starting a holiday in Australia. They seemed unsure for the most part, but that could have more to do with the early hour of the morning.

Finally, and I do mean finally, she was there. My mum had returned from a 7 week European holiday, tired but having thoroughly enjoyed herself.

And, our very long airport wait was rewarded. God bless ya Ma, you know us so well. Duty free cheers to you all!

We'll be back...

I would like to first thank all my friends for their phone calls and text messages, expressing their "concern" for my wellbeing and offering a breakdown of yesterday's AFL grand final with phrases such as "It was a really close game... until the last quarter" and "I was going for Collingwood too.... no really, I was"

Seriously I thank you. But I'm fine. I drowned my bad mood in scotch and got on with my night.

Yes. I am a Collingwood supporter. And you wouldn't be able to identify me as a stereotypical "Collingwood fan" if you saw me down the street. I have all my teeth. I have a job. I live in my own home, with only my immediate family. I have a car, with petrol in the tank. And I'm not a grandma.

Background (if you're still reading) into why I follow Collingwood.

I was raised in a NRL household. Not overly sporting mad but my family, being from Brisbane, are Bronco fans. And Queenslanders. Over the years NRL started to play a bigger part in my family's life. My sister is a bit mental for sport you see.

When I met my lovely (but sports mad) husband, Patrick, it was not much of a surprise that he too was a Broncos fan, and Queenslander. He (like my sister) insisted on watching every game he could. Which meant the TV was off limits on Friday nights, Saturdays and Sundays. And sometimes Mondays.

Well it all got too much. So I broke the trend and decided to follow AFL.

Up until now, AFL had not really registered on my radar. I knew about it and could name some teams but didn't have a clue how it was played or what the rules were. But damn those boys looked good!

So I sat down one weekend (somehow I managed to get Patrick away from the TV) and watched all the games crappy Brisbane TV showed me. My plan was to watch all the games and pick a team based on that one weekends research. I didn't want to follow Brisbane based exclusively on the fact that I'm a Brisbane girl, I wanted to follow one of the older Victorian teams. I'd told my family my plan. Their advice? Support anyone by Collingwood.

That weekend I remember a Lions game being shown, and the Kangaroos V Collingwood. Collingwood it was and has been, since. And now my darling daughters are Pies fans who love to sing the teams song at family events.

Love them or hate them it's up to you. But don't judge me based on that one fact.

We'll be back next year... Just you wait and see!

"I'm fine!" And other lies

I've been thinking about writing this blog all day. I've been out and about so hadn't had time to actually put any words down until now, but I've been thinking about it all day. Would I write it? Wouldn't I? Go it go into the detail I originally thought or would I chicken out? All these questions have gone through my head, as well as the underlining thought that surprisingly, I'm OK.

Today is R U OK day. It's suicide prevention day. The day where you're urged to ask the people around you, "Are You OK?" ;the most common answer I give is "I'm fine!" I can't speak for everyone and if you're not fine I urge you to speak up, but I can tell you the reasons why I answer "I'm fine" 

1.     I'm Fine (I'm really not) - In my opinion, whatever things I'm going through are probably not a big enough deal to burden you with. I know this is crap because of all my friends who ask if I'm OK, there wouldn't be many who aren't interested and looking to help if they can. But I consider myself the looker-after-er of all my people. I'm the one who holds i times. However I have never, ever considered it a viable option though. To end my suffering maybe, but there's more than just me at stake here. Who would look after my kids/how would Patrick cope as a single parent? Who would make sure the mortgage was paid on time or remember family birthdays? I'm clearly needed here and that's why it's not a option for me.

But I do get depressed. And I'm sure I'm not alone when asked 'R U OK?' the most common answer I give is "I'm fine!" I can't speak for everyone and if you're not fine I urge you to speak up, but I can tell you the reasons why I answer "I'm fine" 

1.     I'm Fine (I'm really not) - In my opinion, whatever things I'm going through are probably not a big enough deal to burden you with. I know this is crap because of all my friends who ask if I'm OK, there wouldn't be many who aren't interested and looking to help if they can. But I consider myself the looker-after-er of all my people. I'm the one who holds it together when times are tough. I'm sensible and practical and cool in a crisis. I ask people if they are OK. I should be able to handle anything.

2.     I'm Fine (You know I'm not) - Said most often to Patrick when very clearly I am NOT fine. It's the fine that you know somethings up but you shouldn't stick around to find out because honestly you should already know what you've done wrong and should hurry off to fix it. Now!

3.     I'm Fine (I'm totally am) - This is the fine I feel today. I'm thankful that there are things that I'm worried and stressing about at the moment, but overall, I'm OK. I'm never going to be able to handle everything. Pregnancy and motherhood taught me that. But I'm doing OK. My family are happy, we're fed, healthy, housed, dressed and surrounded by people who love us. Things could be a lot worse.

I hope you're OK today and most days. And if you're not, reach out to someone and let them know.

I think Lily (aged 3) summed up my day the nicest:

Me: Hey Lily are you OK?

Lily: Yep

Me: Are you sure?

Lily: Yes! I'll tell you if I'm not!

Please do Lily. Anytime.   

Secrets exposed

I was recently tagged in a post by the award-winning Alex Kerr that was along the lines of "tag 15 people and get them to do the same". Or something like that. I was side-tracked by the thrill of her win. But the award came with those prerequisites.

So I thought that even though I'm not a fan of chain letters, chain emails or 'send this to 10 friends or you'll next have sex again' type things, I thought I'd share 7 things about myself that you might not know. (Read Alex's blog and it'll make sense. Trust me)

So here there are. The things you may, or may not, know about me:

1. I am the oldest, wisest, most charming, funny and beautiful of my 2 siblings. And I'm sure they'd agree. Or they should if they know what's good for them.

2. I'm most at peace in a book shop or library with a nice hot cup of tea and a few hours solitude. Ah, the bliss of books. Real, paper books. Don't get me wrong, I love my eReader but nothing compares to the joy of holding a book in your hands. Please feel free to suggest any good reads to me. I'm always interested in what people are reading. And I read anything! Except fantasy/dragon/hobbit styles or Harry Potter.

3. I fell into my career. When I left school I had big plans to be a hairdresser. I went to training college and worked in a few salons. The last salon I worked in was wonderful. The girls were great and the boss wanted nothing but the best, in a strict motherly way. However, the time came that I had to make a decision between doing the course my boss had bagged out or ....? I opted to find another job. And turned to my back-up plan, office work. Through temping I ended up by accident with my current employer, and more than 10 years and a few promotions later, here I am.

4. I'm bossy. Seriously. I blame being a Capricorn, It's my way or the highway. And everything must be within my control. Having said that, I've learnt how to suggest or offer ideas that the receiver thinks are their own when in fact it's my way! I'm not good at letting go. Not completing deadlines freak me out.

5. I believe in ghosts. Because I was visited on a few occasions by a family spirit who wanted to make sure I was ok. I freaked out! Until I saw a medium and as a total skeptic was told things she could never had known. Now I'm at peace with the spirit world and have haven't been visited again but I know I'm still being watched over.

6. I love 80's movies. John Hughes, Molly Ringwald, the brat pack. Breakfast Club, Weird Science, Pretty In Pink, 16 Candles, St Elmo's Fire... the list goes on and on. Give me some wine and an 80's flick & I'm set for a night in!

7. I hate magicians and clowns. Clowns is easy to work out. I never liked fancy dress days. I didn't like the idea of being different from everyone else. (An aside: I used to freak out on the first day of school in case I turned up in a different uniform from everyone else). In preschool we had clown dress up day. Imagine my horror. Being forced as a 4 year old to dress up, as a clown. Every photo is of me in tears. Thus to this day I hate clowns. Don't even try to change my mind.

Magicians are something different. I get that you've got a skill. Yay you. But if I can't work out how you picked that card, or where that coin was hidden you can get fucked. Yeah I said it. I don't want to see your smug magician face saying you'll show me again more slowly. Just take your magic elsewhere weirdo and leave me alone.

So that's 7 (hopefully) new things about me for you to know now. How about you leave me something new about you to share the love?

Cheese Sandwiches & Cups of Tea (aka My Night in ER)

I've tried to write this post a few times now and each try could have filled a small novel. You don't deserve to be bored with such a wordy retelling so I'm trying one.last.time.

If you get nothing else out of this, please understand my intentions are to give heartfelt thanks to Lisa the head night nurse (until 11pm) in the Emergency Department of the Caboolture Hospital, and to the various other staff, nurses, doctors and specialists who saw us during our 19.5 hour stay.

It started with a frantic phone call from Patrick, thankfully the minute I stepped off the train on my way home. Ava has been hurt while playing at the park. Come home now!

There was blood. But no exposed bones, no head injuries and relatively no pain. Ava wouldn't let us check it out, so I figured a trip to the doctor to check all was ok was in order. Since it was early evening, neither our normal doctor or the local medical centre were open. Hi ho, hi ho it's off to ER we go.

I don't have fantastic experiences of ER. Mostly I recall waiting, for hours, and more hours, before being seen. And the last time we waited so long that I figured it would be easier to just go home, get some sleep and head off to our doctors in the morning (about 3 hours after we left ER). But this time was going to be different. For one thing, I wasn't going back to our 'normal' ER department. The Royal would have been my first choice but I never know where to park, and it's about a 45 minute drive. Patrick suggested the Mater, another excellent choice, but it's over the other side of town from us. So I decided on Caboolture. I had recently heard great things about them and the private clinic next to the ER so up the highway we flew.

As soon as we told the triage nurse our story she ushered us through some doors and Ava was being weighed and issued with painkillers. Let the adventures begin!

Once in our little private ER room, the doctor came by to check Ava out. Specialists would be required and perhaps sedation. But these things take time, specialists being so special they were in emergency surgery at the moment. That's cool, we'll wait.

And wait, and wait, and wait. During our waiting, the lovely Lisa came by hourly to check Ava's vital signs (all good) and eventually to bring me cups of tea, cheese sandwiches and the hospital phone so I could call Patrick and keep him posted. Saint!!

The specialists came by, with the head of department and advised that we might have to transfer to Brisbane if there is surgery required. Or we could transfer there first. I requested transferring to Brisbane to save double sedation if surgery is required. But no, Brisbane wouldn't take us and advised we be sent home.

The wonderful people of Caboolture said no, we wouldn't be sent home without being checked out properly and kindly put us up for the night in the Children's Ward. Finally, a bed for me! Ava had slept on and off in ER but I was knackered. It was now 2am.

Breakfast arrived at about 7am which Ava was pleased to see. She hadn't eaten since afternoon tea the day before. After breakfast though, she was fasting in case sedation was required.

Patrick arrived with fresh clothes about 10am. Hooray! I could finally change out of my slept in work clothes from the day before.

Again we waited, and waited, and waited some more until about noon when the team of 3 specialists came back to review. Fantastic news - we were being discharged! No sedation required, no further poking and prodding for Ava and no more waiting!

At 1.30pm we walked out of the Caboolture Hospital, Ava a little tender, but all very happy.

Patient follow up: She's impossible to keep still. My repeated requests to lay on the couch and rest are being ignored. At least she isn't in pain!

Thank you to the staff who had anything to do with Ava's care, and thank you to all who expressed concern and sent messages of love and best wishes.

From Lad to Dad

Me: "So do you want to have kids some day?"
Him: "Yeah"
Me: "Me too. One to start with but I'd rather not have an only child"
Him: "Sounds good"


That's probably how our first do-you-want-kids conversation went. We were perhaps kids ourselves, being in our very early 20's. But that was how we rolled. Some years later (although not enough according to most people) we got married. Ah wedded bliss. Life was good. We were a united front facing the world with a drink in hand, still in our early 20's.


Me: "Do you think it's time we started trying to have a baby?"
Him: "Nah we don't want to rush it, let's wait a few more years"

Me: "Nope, I really feel like we should start trying now. Who knows how long it'll take? I'd rather start now than put it off in case there is any problems."

Him: "I really think we should wait a few years"

Me: "Ok, here's the deal. Because we can't decide and I want to start and you don't, I'm going off the pill now. Any protection is up to you. Deal? Ok.

That was probably our second (and most important do-you-want-kids conversation. It was about 2 months later that I was pregnant with Ava,  and Patrick was on the fast track from Lad to Dad.

Now almost 6 years on from that conversation, Patrick is daddy to Ava and Lily and has adapted to his new role brilliantly. He is an expert tea party host, wonderful pack horse for piggy back rides, general funny man at kids birthday parties, (un)willing victim recipient of makeovers and manicures, story teller, chief swing pusher, the most sparkly queen of the princess fairies and biggest bear hugger.

And even though both girls just covered a bedroom in baby lotion, smearing it on every available surface, and I just lost my shit big time, Patrick still manages to be the calm voice of reason offering cuddles to all, discipline to those who require it, and assistance cleaning up. On Father's Day. Whatta guy!

So Happy Father's Day to you, Patrick, and to all the other dads, step-dads, adopted dads, dad fill-ins, grandads and father figures in our lives.



Happy Father's Day!



Life & other interruptions

OMG!
What?
It's been a month since I blogged last! How could I have let that happen?!?

Well here's the thing, I've been meaning to blog before now but a little thing called Life got in the way. No excuses really but I offer the following as a run down of the goings on in my life, if you're interested.

To kick off I'd like to work backwards. Because frankly, it's easier to remember that way. And even though my girls are 3 and 5 years old, I still suffer from mummy brain. So just go with me on this.

Child Care

Most recently, one of my major daycare providers has gone on holiday. A big, international holiday. And while I'm super stoked for her and the international things she'll buy me, it has left a very large chuck of child minding to fill. Our secondary childcare providers have been wonderful in stepping up to the task of extra days a week etc and the girls have adapted to more days in care, earlier mornings and a slightly more stressed mummy. So far things are going pretty well. I'm managing to juggle both working in a new role and added school pick up/drop off without too much drama. Fingers crossed!

Promotion

In the last month I got a promotion! I've gone from being one of the team to running a team and it's working out really well. My team have said I'm friendly and approachable and as far as I can tell I'm not making any major errors! To secure my status as boss lady extraordinaire today I took in chocolate brownies for morning tea. Oh yes, complete with 100's and 1000's. Life is good.

End of Financial Year / Tax time

Dreaded for anyone in the financial sector (me), even more extreme if you work part time but have to meet end of month deadlines (me) and chuck in family illness (bloody man flu hit our house) and you've got the makings for a seriously stressful time. I'd like to think I handle stress well. That is until it builds so much that it explodes in an ugly mess of screaming tantrums (mine). This EOFY there were no tantrums. Phew I hear you sigh. Well yes, but while there weren't any tantrums from me, the same can't be said for Patrick or the girls.

So that's a brief summary of my past month and hopefully explains my laziness in full. If you follow me on Twitter you'll get much more frequent updates of the goings-on in my life so start following along! Otherwise, now things are somewhat settled I aim to blog to you all much more often.

Mummy of a different name...

Let me start this by stating I am not an animal person. It's not that I don't like animals, it's just that animals and I have never really bonded.

My animal ownership is very limited. When we were little we had a English Settler x Sheep Dog. A lovely black and white puppy that liked to share lemonade ice blocks and chew my barbies to pieces. She also loved to chase us around. And because she was so big, and we were so small, she bowled us over and the "games" always ended in tears. In the end (when my sister was born) we gave her to a farmer. No she didn't "go to the farm" but yes, she did go to the farm. We visited her. She loved it.

The next pets I remember are in no particular order because they all ranked equally boring in my outlook. There was a few budgies, some peach faced loved birds, gold fish, a cat called Sandy and various chickens.

The cat called Sandy "belonged" to my sister. As did the birds. I think of all our pets I liked Sandy the best. I get cats. They love a cuddle but are cool enough to do their own thing. And they seem sneaky which is cool. Sandy was run over on Christmas Eve when we were out visiting friends.

The chickens were practical. We had a number of them over the years. They ate our scraps and gave us eggs. Winning. But they ran at me while I tried to collect the eggs and threatened to peck me, so I didn't like them much. Also, my chicken died in the Great Flood. That is, the great flood of our chook pen.

Since moving out of home I've had a number of fighting fish. They were pretty cool and seemed to have a good life innings. Until one died on my birthday. That was the end of fish ownership.
  
The kids ask for a puppy all the time but I just know it will be me looking after it, and frankly I can't be bothered. I'm sure if given the chance though, I'd be quite the animal person... actually I doubt that.

But this blog wasn't intended to be a boring run down of my tragic pet history. It was intended to be about the crazy dog lady I've seen recently and the subject of "Fur Mummies".

I don't get fur mummies. I understand people having pets and treating them a their "children" until they have human babies. These pets tend to receive the affection a human baby would get until a human baby comes along. I understand people who choose not to have children and have pets instead, and I understand people who sadly can't have children and opt have pets instead.

But I don't understand people treating their pets exactly as you would a human baby. I have friends who buy their pets Christmas presents. That's cool. Pets need things. But don't go to extreme. It's the people (like the lady in my neighbourhood) who pushes her ugly, squashed up pug dog in a baby's pram and takes him for walks. Seriously, if your dog can't walk, why push it around in a pram? If someone can explain it to me that would be great.

Until then I'm going to continue to be amazed and somewhat disturbed by this crazy lady.

Technology fail

Me: "Fuck, fuck, fuckity fucking stupid piece of fucking shit"
Patrick: "Is everything ok?" He knows me so well
Me: "Isn't this supposed to be easy? This isn't easy. Why isn't this stupid thing connecting? Or downloading? Where's my fucking download?!"

Oops - Language warning: This blog contains language unsuitable for children or ladies.

I've blogged before about generations and where I fit in. Technically I should fit into the so-called 'technology generation' but today, and against all my best attempts, technology beat me.

I resisted getting an in car navigation system for ages. I didn't need one, I had a street directory. I could read maps and drive and find my way anywhere. Anywhere. And if the place I wanted to go wasn't in my street directory, well it could go to hell. My lovely husband Patrick was keen to get a sat nav system. He researched them, spent hours looking at them, and generally annoyed the crap out of me talking about them. I avoided buying him one for Christmas only to have him give me on for my birthday in January. Gee, thanks babe.

I resisted using it. I still had my trusty old street directory so I was sweet. Until the day I borrowed my mums car and used her sat nav. Life changing day. Well, not quite life changing but it got me thinking about my new birthday sat nav. I did like that there was someone in the car who directed me to where I had to be, but I didn't like the feeling of generally having no clue where I was or how to get home. It was on this occasion that I was traveling over the other side of town, in an area I could get to with my brilliant written down directions as long as I saw the landmarks (there's the church with the weird tree, there's the strawberry farm, there's the BP, we're here!)

So to Patricks gloating glory I started using my sat nav on journeys I would have previously checked the street directory. And I liked it. It was easy. I could just press a few buttons and I knew how long it would take and which was the quickest way to get there. Things had been going fine with me and the sat nav.

Until today. Today I decided that it was time to fancy up my lovely little sat nav. Now being somewhat part of the technology generation I figured this wouldn't be too difficult. Just plug it in and click download. But no. The program didn't like that both Patrick and I have accounts, it didn't like that we have 2 different versions because our sat nav systems required different ones, and it didn't like me. I'm positive that plays a big part, the computer and sat nav system ganged up on me and threw a technology hissy fit. So I threw one back.

I uninstalled, reactivated, reset and did everything I could think of to beat this f*%king system. And I made some headway. I downloaded successfully. I downloaded to Patricks account successfully. I installed new programs successfully. Things seemed good. Until I turned on the sat nav to select the new fancy voice over I'd downloaded. Nothing. Nada. Just the same old voices from yesterday. Where was my Snoop Dogg???

It took a fair more amount of time, and plenty of swearing, until I found the words I'd dreaded. "Premium voice services are not available on the following systems:...XXX.... Mine.... XXX"  

Well fuck it.

And after all this swearing and carrying on, guess who's sat nav now has Snoop Dogg directing them? Fo shizzle my pizzle. Yeah, Patrick.

Side note: Mum if you read this, sorry xx

Hey Jerk Face!! - This lady has road rage

I'll admit that I suffer the occasional case of road rage. No, road rage is the wrong term. It invokes ideas of crazy people with baseball bats and death wishes. Let's go with traffic induced frustrations. However, ask my passengers and they'd probably say it's more often than occasional but what do they know. Truth is I like driving. I have no problems with sitting in traffic (unless I have to be somewhere, like $1 every minute late charging daycare or something) and am generally pretty mellow. But there is one thing that really pisses me off. And it's not even a law breaking thing. It's a courtesy. A freaking courtesy!

Wave dammit!!

It's the wave. You know the scene, where the traffic has to zipper merge in (letting one car in for every car already in the lane) or where a lane ends etc. Now it's a courtesy to wave to the car behind that let you in. It's not required by law, but it is a freaking courtesy. I could have speed up jerk and not let you in. I could have. But I didn't. I let you in, and you should wave your thanks. I always wave thanks. I have to stop myself waving thanks when the other car has to give way to me by law. I'm just that friendly. My kids think it's weird that I'm constantly waving to strangers but I'm teaching them about courtesy. And karma.

For a second I'll seriously think twice about letting you in again if you didn't wave the first time. For fear of damage to my car though I will let you in if traffic permits, but you'll get the worst scowl I can manage.

So if you let me in while driving around you know I'll give you a cheery thank you wave. And if I let you in.... I expect the same back.

Christmas in July

Ok, so the title might make you cringe (honestly, who wants a reminder that Christmas is less than 6 months away by having a Christmas party??) but it seemed fitting. Christmas in July because it's about this time of year that I start looking at the Christmas toy sales and layby.

Attention: Stop reading now if A) you're a child, or B) you're an adult that hasn't yet received the talk about Santa.

You've been warned.

So it's about this time of year that the major store have their toy sales and flog the idea of layby now for Christmas. A genius idea if you don't have a massive purse of cash in December, are time poor and crowds freak you out, or you have small, inquisitive children who feel that any area of the house is theirs to explore. I'm all 3. I have small children, limited storage space at home, no massive purse of cash in December and am very, very alone time poor. So Christmas layby it is. And this year I have discovered that one of the stores has a magical system of ordering anything you like from the catalogue online, print it out, take it to the layby counter and ta-da! you're done. Simple, effective and working mum friendly.

The catalogues arrived today and I asked the girls (3 and 5 years old) to go through and pick out what they would like to ask Santa for. Combined I think they racked up about $7000 worth of stuff, so while I struggle to find the balance between wanting to give them everything and the desire to not fill the house with more crap I thought I'd share my Christmas wish list (as it stands today).

A family holiday somewhere warm

A night out with friends... with lots of cocktails

New iPhone upgrade

Jimmy Choo heels - to wear on nights out



Black Lash Blast mascara



Black Dramatic Effect Eyeliner



Red lipstick

A letter to Tallulah (alt title: A Mother's Hope)

Tallulah is only a small girl now but this letter is for her 18th birhtday. To explain what she will probably know, from the observations of a friend outside her family. Tallulah's mother gave me her blessing to publish this, wishing to bring hope to someone in the same situation as she was.

 Dear Tallulah,

Happy 18th birthday sweetheart! On this very important milestone I wanted to tell you just how special and loved you are and share with you the journey of your being here.
I met your mum and dad when my first baby was only tiny. Tania and I worked together and it was clear how much she and your dad Andrew both loved being involved in the lives of their friends, and how much they enjoyed having children around. There was nothing they wouldn't do for their friends, and Aunty Tan and Uncle Andy were some of the best non-family family you could ever find.

But there was a sadness in them. While they loved the children of their family and friends, they longed for a child of their own. Years of natural techniques weren't working for them and since they had so much love to give, they turned to fostering children. Foster children don't come for happy, safe, stable homes like yours and well it takes a special kind of person to take on that responsibility. It was about this time that my second daughter was born. All through my pregnancy Tania was there cheering me on, asking how I was feeling and rubbing my belly at every opportunity she got! She loved to talk to my belly and was as excited as I was. Still, at this time with an oversupply of love and a desire to hold their own baby in their arms, your mum and dad turned to IVF.

IVF was a technique and experience that I had never had. I was thrilled when your mum and dad told me there were going through IVF and cheered them at every step. Listening through the horrific "harvesting" stories and wishing and praying with them for the baby to "stick". It was early in the IVF process that I gave your mum a medallion and prayer card of St Gerard Majella. He is the patron saint of mothers, mothers-to-be and birthing. I had worn and carried a medallion during both of my pregnancies and continue to do so. If prayers were to be said, we said them to him. Time and time again we hoped and prayed, but to no avail. The heartbreak your parents felt was tangible. It was devastating to us all that such beautiful, wonderful people couldn't be parents. It was with uncertainty that I visited your mum (with two small daughters in tow) and an incredible need to not upset her further with a reminder of what wasn't hers. Tania is an amazing woman though. She would ask to postpone visits if she was having a sad day, but still loved to see my girls and enjoyed sharing their lives on her good ones. After many unsuccessful rounds of IVF and many, many prayers to St Gerard (and who ever else listens) Tania and Andrew finally gave up what they felt was their final chance at parenthood and worked towards accepting their fate. They battled on together, some sad days and some good, and continued to enjoy the role of Aunty and Uncle in my daughters lives.

One day some months later, I suddenly received a text message from your mum. The message simply read, "How would you like to be an Aunty?"

Immediately I was on the phone finding out the meaning of this cryptic text message. An Aunty? To who, Sophie the dog?? But no, the unbelievable had happened. After all the years of struggling with illness, stress and disappointment of IVF, Tania and Andrew had conceived a baby. You hear about it often. A couple unexpectedly and naturally falling pregnant after giving up their unsuccessful IVF dream, but when it happens to someone you know the joy is unbelievable. I was thrilled! All the joy I had experience was finally going to be experienced by your mum. All the stories and wonder I'd share with her, she was going to be able to share with me. She was going to have a little girl all of her own.

Nine months later, you beautiful Tallulah were born. It's an understatement to say you're loved. You are beyond loved. And I'm sure you've grown into an amazing young woman, full of hopes and dreams and endless potential. And I bet if you ask your mum today, she's tell you she's still carrying that St Gerard Majella medal and prayer card with her. All our prayers weren't in vain, no matter how much at the time we thought no one was listening. Some one was, it was just that the time wasn't right.

That's the story of how you came to be. You are a joy and precious miracle and offer hope to others who are in the same situation as your parents.

Happy Birthday Tallulah!

With much love and special wishes,

Aunty Beth

Us and Them

Admit it, you're either Us or Them. Most people refer to themselves as Us and everyone else is Them. Either way, everyone identifies themselves from one camp or another. You're either QLD or NSW, State School or Private, Heavy Metal or Pop, Today or Sunrise... North or South. And it's a comment about the latter that prompted this blog.

In Brisbane there seems to be a definite divide between North and South. It makes sense that the dividing line is the river. So for arguments sake, let's say the river is the divide.

So I'm Northside. Always have been and in my heart, always will. I grew up here. I still live here and all my oldest friends are here. I went to school here, went to parties here and know my way around with confidence. Give me almost any Northside suburb and I'll find it, even if I haven't been there before. I'll generally know where abouts it is or what it's near. Without a map I'd probably even get pretty close to most of them. The roads don't bother me, going out at night doesn't bother me and the public transport doesn't bother me (aside from general public transport issues for another blog).

Growing up it seemed that all the crime in Brisbane was committed on the Southside. Sure that's grossly inaccurate but to the 8 year old me, that's how it seemed. And I'm sure my friends thought the same. We heard rumours of certain Southside suburbs, suburbs you'd never go to during the daytime, let alone the night. If by chance you did find  yourself there, you'd lock your doors and drive as quickly through as you could. When we hit our teens and started going to parties, if the venue was South of the river it was a no go. Driving on the Southside is a nightmare. The roads are strange and the drivers don't seem to know where they're going. When my brother was in a bash car rally out near Ipswich a girlfriend and I went to watch. It was a great day watching boys drive around in muddy, beaten up old cars (my first datsun was one of them) but when it ended we were faced with a problem. Should we tackle the huge drive home or find somewhere to stay over night? We pulled into a motel in Ipswich about 5pm and prepared for one of the strangest nights of our lives. Now grown up me knows that Ipswich, while a fair drive from home, doesn't require an overnight stay. At the time we were 18. Living and learning. 

To make things difficult, my darling husband Patrick is Southside. Very Southside. In fact, if he hadn't lied to me when we first met about where he lived, we wouldn't have had a second date. He was born and raised in one of those suburbs (that as a Northsider) we considered the most notorious in Brisbane. Over our dating time I spent a lot of time in that suburb. And overall I generally felt safe. There were definitely times and places that I wouldn't go alone, and there was that one night about 2am that his friend bashed on the bedroom window and screamed at us that people were chasing him and to let him in.

So how have we combined the North and South? Easily. When we moved into our first unit we agreed that we'd do 6 months leases on each side of the river to find out which area truly suited us. Our first unit was in Ascot on the North. We stayed there for 2 years until we bought our house, even further North. Each time the lease was about to run out we discussed moving and both agreed (both!!) that North was the place to be.
Over the years I've copped heaps of shit from his friends and mine over the North V South thing. Recently a comment was made by a friends dad that brought it all crashing back. The conversation went something like this

Friends dad: "There is a definite divide between the North and South. How'd you feel spending all that time in <insert name of Southside suburb that Patrick grew up in> when you're so Northside? I mean you probably went to Private school too, didn't you?"

Well yes I did. But take that up with my parents. It wasn't a decision I recall making. And I wasn't aware that I was "so Northside". What does that even mean? I know his friends thought I was a stuck up Northside snob back in the early days (they told me) but we're all good now. Geez.

So our household combines North and South quite well. These days we spend more time in the North but still plenty in the South visiting friends, family and places we like to go.

But for tonight there is only one camp in our house. North and South is forgotten, tonight it's all

QUEENSLANDER!!