• Crisis of confidence…

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    So hubby and I were going out last Saturday night. Saturday morning, I decided I had nothing appropriate to wear. As in NOTHING. We rarely venture out at night, let alone in (nearly) Winter. I had an hour up my sleeve between having friends over & taking the middle child to a birthday party. I walked into Westfield full of hope and was ready to tackle some speed shopping. I literally went into EVERY farking shop in the damn centre. I ended up back at the old faithful Country Road & spent too much time looking at striped tees. Put the stripes down Ami & back away. I tried on a few things. Nothing was right, so I left & wondered if I had some ‘dressy boots’ I’d feel better. Ventured into DJs and was overwhelmed with boots and people, took a deep breath and left.

    Meanwhile I was doing what every gal does, I was madly messaging my BFFs. They were both so kindly throwing their wardrobes at me! I kept thinking I wish I had the time to go over & raid their wardrobes.

    With no outfit plan hanging over my head, I took Ben to his party and tried to forget about my clothing dilemma for 2.5 hours. After the cake had been cut, and party bags handed out, we raced home, I threw Benny out at the bottom of the driveway and headed to Myer. I was going to find some boots & throw an outfit together at home.

    Nothing grabbed me so I headed for the clothes. I grabbed a few dresses and went into change rooms. I tried them on. And then I cried. I sat in the Myer change rooms and cried. I cried because I was tired. I cried because nothing felt or looked right. I cried because over the past year I have put on 10kg. I cried because I actually feel really shitty about myself. I was out of energy and I was out of time.

    Thank goodness for BFFs!

    Thank goodness for BFFs!

    It then dawned on me that one of my BFFs houses was between my place & mums. Emergency message to mum to collect some clothes on her way over to look after the kids.

    I got out of the shower and held my breath. Dear god please let something fit me. And it did. I wanted to cry relieved happy tears, but I already make up on so I kept my shit together.

    We ventured out, I felt pretty good and was comfortable. Downed a quick couple of Moscato’s and was feeling much better.

    But it really dawned on me how important it is to feel good about yourself. My wardrobe has morphed 100% into a ‘mummy wardrobe’. And why shouldn’t it, I am after all a full time mum. But along the way I have completely lost myself. The weight has crept on, and it needs to bugger off. I’m an emotional eater… and the last 12-15 months have certainly been full of some overwhelming emotions.

    No one but myself can kick my butt into gear. I get the polite comments, oh but you look lovely, there’s no way you’ve put on 10kg. Well meaning and lovely. But it’s how I feel in myself. Most of, ok all, my clothes are tight. It’s disheartening and frustrating.

    I’ve started at least 4 times this year on a ‘weightloss journey’ (ugh hate that term!). And who knows if I’ll stick to it this time. Only time will tell.

  • Breaking up is hard to do…

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    Break ups are never easy. Should I, shouldn’t I. How will the other person react? But in this relationship it is completely one sided and I was the only one with the angst.

    It pains me to say that it’s time for Mia Freedman and I to break up. Well myself and her websites anyway!

    For years I admired Mia (I still do) and hung on every word she wrote daily on her website, a blog essentially. I bought her books, I kept track of her tweets. I loved her sense of humour that came through in HER writing and I loved that she wasn’t afraid to say the word fuck.

    Long live blogging!

    Long live blogging!

    There were the haters, but they were easily ignored as she continued to pump out great content for us all to read.

    But then it changed. Mamamia slowly but surely grew. And grew. And grew. Until Mia was no longer blogging, she was running a ‘women’s network corporation’ and no doubt taking home a tidy pay packet.

    She’s ambitious, and clearly successful and who could begrudge that.

    But I started to tire of the repetitive posts, the anonymous housewife cheating on her husband, the comparing of Duchess Kate to Princess Mary.

    And the one that finally moved my mouse to click Unlike…. Calling Rebel Wilson out for lying about her age.

    C’mon Mia… You’ve spent your whole career championing ‘girl power’ and then you publicly diss Rebel, our Rebel, about her real age and real name. Who the fark cares!

    And so when the latest Mamamia announcement was made this week that the multiple sites they run would be consolidated and Mamamia would be branching out into ‘consultancy’ because blogging and specifically “mummy blogging” is dead, I found myself shaking my head like perplexed mother does when their child does or says something ridiculous.

    I actually completely beg to differ when it comes to personal blogs. I’m enjoying them more than ever. I’d much rather read about Mrs Woog throwing a tennis ball at a cat, or watching BabyMac recreate a scene from Masterchef. (Both hilarious and highly recommended reading & viewing!)

    Why? Because it’s real. They/we open up our lives. Bloggers share their stories, their lives, their families. We relate. We cry. We laugh. Together.

    So while it pains me to declare to my once idol, (who obviously doesn’t give a hoot about me!!!), Mia I’m just not that into you anymore, I am enjoying people’s personal blogs more than ever.

    Long live blogging.

  • Everything happens for a reason…

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    Everything happens for a reason…

    I’ve heard myself say these words sometimes. Sometimes I’m a firm believer in the phrase and sometimes I think it’s a load of hogwash.

    On Saturday afternoon, the baby moo woke from a nap around 3.45pm. The big kids were going nuts, but playing nicely, tearing around the yard and house.

    Hubby said to me, why don’t we take the kids for a bike ride? I looked outside and it was a bit breezy and I said, maybe not as it’s getting cold and the middle moo and baby moo both have bad coughs.

    So we went about our afternoon at home, then just before 5pm hubby heard a helicopter. This is not unusual for us as we live near the hospital and the kids often spot the rescue chopper flying over.

    But this wasn’t the rescue chopper. It was the Police helicopter, Polair. At first the kids thought it was awesome, lights flashing and all. But it kept circling and then hubby heard it make an announcement which he couldn’t make out.

    We shushed the kids and then hubby heard: stay inside and lock your doors. We are looking for a white male, 25 years, armed.

    ARMED…. Kids inside, every door and window locked and double checked, and quietly freaking out on the inside while looking normal on the outside for the kids.

    The pink moo, nearly 5, knew something was wrong so we explained to her the police were looking for a naughty man and we had to stay inside.

    Numerous police cars then arrived at the corner of our street and my freaking out went from 5 to 105.

    We searched online looking for details but had to wait for the 6pm news. Police were searching for a man, believed to be armed with a hand gun, seen just a few streets from where we live at 4pm after numerous altercations.

    The street next to the bike track where we would have been walking around 4pm had we set out for the ride/walk after hubby mentioned it at 3.45pm…

    It didn’t hit me until later that night that had I not thought, hmmmm it’s getting a bit chilly, we would have been there, right THERE at the same time as this alleged gunman.

    So I guess on Saturday at 3.45pm, that minute, that decision, happened for a very very good reason.

    (The search was called off around 7.30pm after Polair, ground police and the dog squad failed to locate the man. Its been reported he poses no threat to the community and the case has been taken over by detectives. Needless to say, on Saturday night, I still slept with one eye open.)