Friday, April 29, 2011

THE Wedding

Like much of the world I am truly in the girps of wedding fever here tonight.
I have dusted off my favourite blue frock, am slathered in tanning lotion and painting my nails.

However, whilst I am very happy for the royal (bit serious looking) Will & Kate and do absolutely love a good wedding, I have only one wedding on my social calendar this weekend and it ain't theirs.

The pomp, ceremony and regalia of it all doesn't do much for me at all.
It feels impersonal, over the top and cold.
At the risk of being burned at the stake, I think the royal wedding may just be the worst wedding I haven't been to.
Why couldn't somebody buck tradition and dare to smile for goodness sake?
It's a wedding - EVERYONE should be smiling.
Except maybe those six exes they invited.
(Yet, I watched, didn't I? All the while with Magoo in my ear saying "but, where's the baby Jesus, Mum?")

Forget Westminster Abbey.
I will be more than happy to be standing atop a beautiful stretch of our coastline to see our gorgeous friends commit to each other for happily ever after tomorrow.

I am positive that our bride and groom will delighted with us being just on time and certainly won't expect us to arrive hours early in anticipation of their arrival  (unless we're there for a surf).

I, for one, will be thrilled to do without 599 other guests to wrangle, wrestle and take down in order to get my hands on the canapes and champagne.

I would much rather enjoy the view over Cottesloe Beach than crane my neck looking at a Rembrandt and those ridiculous palace cornices.

So, congratulations and best wishes to the Duke & Duchess Of Cambridge, but I think the Bloomy's of Western Australia will be just my cup of tea - without that posh little finger in the air.

Happy weekend. Enjoy!

Shar :-)

Is It Time Yet?

How do we know when the time is 'right'?
I never seem to know - maybe it's because I don't wear a watch unless I'm on the run.

As a society we love to tell people when the 'right' time is.
When it's time to settle down, when it's time to marry, the 'right time' to have children (is there ever??), when it's a 'good time' to buy, the 'right time' to sell, when it's time to travel, time to retire, time to grow up...

How do you know when it's the right time?
It is in your gut? Your heart? Your head?
What if they all talk at once? Which one do you listen to?
What if you can't make sense of any of them?

How do you know when to blow the whistle, end the game and get off the field?
When to cut your lossess, pull the pin, take the plunge and every other metaphor?

How do you know when a friendship has run it's course and it's 'time' to let it go?
How do you know when a relationship or association is more toxic than it is healthy and it's 'time' to end it?
How do you know when a marriage is actually dead in the water and not just floating aimlessly for a while?
How do you know when to give up on a goal, a dream and refocus?
How do you know when it's 'time' to let your child lead the way?
How do you know when a job or career move and all that it brings is far outweighing all that it takes from you?
How do you know when it's 'time' to go back to your roots and maybe put some down there too?
How do you know when it's 'time' to just lower your expectations, grin and bear it.
How do you know when it's 'time' to stop resisting, trying and just let it be?
How do you know when  it's 'time' to stop bending backwards for everyone and stand straight?

Is the fat lady really singing - or is she just belting out a tune in the shower momentarily?

When is it 'time' to bin all these Easter chocolates and be done with them?

And... how come I always know when it's wine o'clock??

Shar :-)

If you don't hear from me, the punctuation police will have arrested me for overuse of the coveted question mark. Sorry. But, if you can answer just one of those questions, please do.

Thursday, April 28, 2011

Beware of Falling Bricks

I have a number of habits and vices in my life.
Some healthy, like running, list making, tidying and Magoo.
Some not so great (but, oh so great) like chocolate and wine - and interrupting people. Terrible habit, that.

But, like beautiful Ben Cousins, it's the need to "launch into and annihilate" as many lines as possible that may just be my downfall.

Tetris, man.
How good is Tetris??

I rediscovered this super little game when I got a new phone earlier in the year.
I kid you not, the Tetris download is the single redeeming feature of the piece of rubbish that is my mobile.

Keep your hi tech graphics and 3D technology. Those little coloured, non violent, weapon free brick shapes are the business.

I play Tetris whenever I get a little down time and haven't got Magoo all up in my face - like in front of the tv at night, when I jump into bed (hey, Hubby's never here!), on the exercise bike during nap time, waiting for the traffic lights to change (kidding!)...

The falling bricks, the maneuvering shapes, tessellating the bricks and - boop - making a line disappear, I love it! It's a little hypnotic and a lot relaxing, soothing even.

I always start with the intention of 'doing a couple of lines', but the bricks take hold and a couple of lines turn into a couple more lines and before I know it, Gery's Anatomy is long gone, I'm still on the couch and the little red battery light on my phone is winking at me.

Um, if you haven't played I suggest you click below before passing judgement.
See you in an hour.

It all started so innocently, as it always does.

One Christmas soo long ago, my Mum stocking filled with a $2 electronic contraption called 'The Brick Game'. I recall my family spending the day arguing over whose turn it was to zone out completely, ignore the rest of the fam and play the game, Dad included.
It was a sad day when that little beauty died it's inevitable $2 death.

And cause you're dying to know - current high score ~ 90, 030 - but the night is young!

Shar :-)

Wednesday, April 27, 2011

Marath_ _

Shar Running Logic 101:
Marathon = 42km
Marath    = 31.5km

Dear Andrew O'Keefe c/o Channel 7,
Deal or No Deal?
How about instead of doing the Perth Marathon, I just do the Perth Marath?
I've run the Marath distance of 31.5km a couple of times now...
and it really HURT!!!!
I overheated, I was panting more than our beloved dog after the 'big park', my feet blistered, I chafed, I drank from a skanky service station tap like a feral cat....
I have NO IDEA how I am going to manage the extra 'on' part. Those extra 10.5km.

Love Shar :-)

P.S. Thanks muchly for working some voo-doo-26--numbered-suitcase magic on Magoo a couple of years ago around 5.30pm each evening. I managed to feed the beast whilst you and your lovely lady friends, captivating lights and wonderful sounds kept him distracted. We no longer need to watch, but you will always have a special place in my heart.

P.P.S. That time I saw you in Singapore airport? Was that your wife? She's really pretty. Enjoy.

Tuesday, April 26, 2011

Happy Campers

Sooo, we came, we camped, we conquered.
Except the cheap  double air mattress bit.
That baby beat us fair and square for the second camping trip in a row.
Beat us into a woosy phone call to the in laws to stop by a bit of BCF on the way to visit us and buy us a new bed.
Any bed, a bed that didn't have a slow leak and a dodgy, underhanded contract with our chiro.

We spent our Easter break confirming my suspicion that you can have a cracking, fantastic time less than ninety minutes from home with nothing more than...
as much stuff as you can pack, cram and shove into your largest car.

My other B.O.M. driven theory regarding showers was very nearly disproved with a couple of days of glorious, sweaty sunshine.
Luckily, Easter Sunday came over stormy and brought those showers to allow for guilt free lazing, reading, chocolate scoffing and bogan watching.
Also lucky because without that day of rain-ish weather, (BOM &) I would have been wrong.
Not my favourite thing to be. 
The armory of jumpers, jackets, hoodies and beanies would also have seemed a bit excessive if I couldn't have used at least one of my artillery.

The fabulous caravan park where we stayed was choc full of families, a playground, a jumping pillow, an ice cold pool, kooky bikes and some of our besties yuppying it up in a chalet on the hill.
(Granted, they do have a beautiful little baby boy whose cries sound very much like  "no tent, no tent" in the night).

We neighboured with the obligatory, stereotypical 'cashed up bogans' for entertainment value and a wonderful reminder of just how feral bellowing profanities at your kids really is.
The findings of my in depth study of this social phenomenon will be published at a later date.

The drive up to Ledge Point was painless - maybe it was the euphoria of the little road trip or just Magoo's excitement at having his Daddy there in the flesh after a few weeks of lenten 'Daddy fasting'. 
After some initial land rights issues, the tent went up fairly smoothly and Chateau Du Tent was in full swing.
We even entertained friends with a bit of fine (camp) dining!
Being good little Christians, we denied ourselves red meat on Good Friday.
Instead we subjected ourselves to a measly dinner of prawns, squid and fish.
Our gorgeous godson and fairly gorgeous real son had themselves a ball over the evening and the weekend. They ran in and out of our tent brandishing their torches like trophies and when we plebs visited up the hill, they played 'bunk bed bash' with gusto

An honourable mention goes to my favourite in laws for coming up for the Saturday
(after an unscheduled detour to BCF, thank you),
picnicking with us, being subjected to Magoo's jocks-less, spread eagled form and then being whisked up the dunes to join us for a spot of sandboarding fun.
'Nanna' and 'Dada' rocked it!

On Easter Sunday, the Easter Bunny managed to find our tent and Magoo's bed in amongst all the other grots in the place.
We later hunted for eggs and ran a family boxing session at the park.
You can take the girl out of the gym, but you can't take the gym outta the girl!
I also got to run each morning that we were away which was an Easter treat in itself.

Our second lot of neighbours (after Bogan villia) brought with them a real Easter Bunny, a fantastic little friend for Magoo and great company after sundown.
They also had a camper trailer - of which Hubby and I were becoming connoisseurs, after scouring the park to scope out everyone's set up. We obviously weren't very covert either 'cause we managed to score an invite right into one RV.

It wasn't all fun and games though. Hubby did start himself a little 'fat fire' VERY close to our tent to mix it up a bit and I have myself some ravishing gravel rash from not comprehending what "bail, bail, BAIL!!" means when you're sandboarding.

Hope your Easter break was as refreshing as the park pool and as chilled as my wine.
Shar :-)

Thursday, April 21, 2011

Possibility of Showers

We're heading off camping over the Easter break.
Like in the morning.
(As long as Hubby's flight from China is in the loop and does it's thing as planned... a couple of breezy hours before our scheduled 'camping adventure departure time' - because that's how Hubby rolls. :-) )

Anyway, when most women think about camping, ablutions are a consideration.
I usually have a little (ha!) think about the showers.
Will there actually be showers?
Will they be far from our tent?
Will the water temperature be above the air temperature?
Will there be feral beings to contend with between said tent and showers?
Will these feral beings be of the animal or human variety?
Will the showers be relatively clean?
Will the spray resemble a ticklish trickle or a chinese massage?
Will I drink too much wine to find my way back from the showers?
Will my trusty thongs really save me from the array of fungal and bacterial infections on offer?

Well, there's no need to worry about not showering on this camping trip.
My friends at B.O.M. assure me that we'll have showers.
Few showers one day, morning showers on another, showers developing on others.
Thank goodness for that, hey?!

Showers or not, Magoo is more than ready to take the training wheels off his new sleeping bag. Bring it on.

Happy Easter from a very hardworking bunny and his Mummy.

Shar :-)

Overthinkers Anonymous

My name is Shar and I'm an overthinker.
I can't go a day without overthinking.

I giggle when I open Facebook and it innocently asks me "What's on your mind?"
Are you kidding??
We'd be here all day.

I would love to know what it feels like to  -
  • go to a 'thing' and not lie awake after hoping that so-and-so wasn't offended when I said such-and-such because I didn't think before I opened my mouth;
  • go to sleep without the aid of a book to help me tune out my own irritating, incessant thoughts;
  • hear or read a complaint / group email  and not immediately assume it must be directed at me;
  • notice a missed call from an unknown number and not wreck my head with the possibilities;
  • make a big purchase and not need 101 justifications to convince myself it was reasonable / necessary / worthy;
  • not hear from Hubby as promised and barely notice;
  • not plan every outing / event / chore in minute detail and just turn up - at an inappropriate time and empty handed even :-0

But then could I live with her?
That carefree, fearless, unaware chick?
(Bet Hubby would love to try!)

Yes, overthinking is dangerous and leads to excessive worry, self criticism, stress, copious lists, pointless preparation for things that never eventuate, ridiculous medical diagnoses...
However, the more I overthink about it, overthinking also equates to thoughtfulness, consideration of others, empathy.
Those qualities that I absolutely treasure in the beautiful people I am lucky enough to have around me.

Apparently, Charlie Chaplin said,
"Go as far as you can see. When you get there you will see further."

I like his advice, I really do. I just think maybe I have super long distance vision?

Of course, the future is clearer as you get closer to it.
Of course I know that there are a million and one variables that will undoubtedly change between now and whenever I am thinking about.
But I can't help it.
No matter how much I think about it.

What do you think?

Shar :-)

Wednesday, April 20, 2011

Bless you, Batman

P.M.T.   Putridly Miserable Today
P.M.T.   Pass Me The (Chocolate)
P.M.T.   Pushing My Threshold (people)
P.M.T    Pity My Toddler
P.M.T.   Population (of) Morons Time
P.M.T.   Peeved? Me? Totally.
P.M.T.   Probably My Temper
P.M.T.   Patience Missing Today
P.M.T.   Possibly My Tolerance (too)
P.T.M.   Positive Thoughts Mum!

But hey, Batman can always save the day!

Loving myself sick here in the bat cave!

Fear not, Mum. We'll find your happy pants again!

Nope, not under the bed.

Batman won't rest until he turns this day around.
Shar :-)

Tuesday, April 19, 2011

Happy Pants

How absolutely disgusting, shallow, materialistic and vain is it that a single pair of pants can make you (okay, me) feel absolutely terrific?
So disgusting that I went back and bought a 2nd pair for when I wear these babies into their grave.
They're is nothing particularly fancy pants about em.
They're black.
They're from a cool, young person's shop where I'm sure the perky, model / assistant nearly convulsed at what my stroller and I would be doing for their image.
They're 7/8 pants which means that I'm obviously 1/8 less of a woman than the model they were intended for 'cause they hit my feet just sweetly.
They're, therefore, the only pants I haven't had to take up or ruin with that iron on hemming tape and they can keep their cuff.
They're a size larger than the newborn, model cum retail assistant recommended, but hey she's not the mama pushing this stroller.

When I put these pants on, I could swear I lose a couple of years, a couple of centimetres off each hip and the chip off my shoulder Magoo planted there during playgroup / tantrum town this morning.
And they didn't cost the million bucks they make me feel (even when x by 2).

Happy pants, indeed.

Shar :-)

Monday, April 18, 2011

Football God

If you went down to our park tonight, you were in for a big surprise...
According to Magoo anyway.
He was heard yelling into his make believe microphone :
"Everybodeee - come see the Baby Jesus play football!!!"

Well, he obviously fancies himself as a bit of a junior, junior Gary Ablett.
Which is surprising, as his skills are seriously short of miraculous or heavenly.

In fairness, Magoo was actually the Baby Jesus in my school's nativity a couple of years back.
Some infancy experiences leave a lasting impression, I guess.
In which case, his career in ENT was over before it began then.

Shar :-)

Sunday, April 17, 2011

Recipe for Fun

Here's a tried and true recipe from the kitchen of life on a lazy Sunday afternoon.

FUN (serves many)

Ingredients :
1 bride to be
A large quantity of females
2 - 3 'waiters'
Copious champagne
As many themed, identical singlets as there are females
Some finger food
1 large, loud bus
3  fine establishments, full of the general public
Plenty of great tunes
10 team 'challenges'
1 kebab shop
1 humorous taxi driver

Method :
Mix all the ingredients together in a haphazard, loud fashion, ensuring that the champagne is well and truly absorbed. Take ridiculous looking photos at each stage of the mixing process for future reference.

Works beautifully with a sense of humour and a dollop of yee ha!


NB : Excessive comsumption may cause a range of allergy type reactions the morning after, but the sweet, sweet flavour of fun is worth it!

Friday, April 15, 2011

Toddler Training - of the lesser known kind

Is your partner overseas - deeming you house bound in the early morn?
Do you go mental without a daily dose of exercise induced endorphin action?
Do you have a family (and a life) that mean you can''t (and don't want to) spend hours slogging away in a gym?

I have got the programme for you.
Call it Shar-bo, Shar-fit, Shar-Mills , Pathetic- whatever...
All you need is a gorgeous toddler, some floor space and a few handy items that I happen to have on hand.
(Decent attire and a professional photographer are definitely not among these).

Warm Up :
  • Cuddles in bed (theirs or yours) with the aforementioned beautiful toddler.

Phase 1 :
  • Set toddler up with breakfast. (The paper towel place mat is an 'anal optional extra'.)

  • Squats x 15 with or without toddler attached ("bend like toy let"). Answer questions about "wot u doin? why got arms up?" and count reps with toddler. Apparently repeat squat number 8 a number of times.

  • Arm Raises ("fwying Mum!"). Circle forward x 30, circle backwards x 30. Smile at toddler copying you.

  • Medicine Ball Raises x 15. Squat holding medicine ball (or toddler/other heavy object/pet/appliance). Return to standing, then raise ball above your head. Do NOT respond to requests of "frow it, Mum!"
Phase 2 :
(Child now needs to be seated, or at least out of striking range)
  • Free Weights. (Again, if you don't have access to weights, use heavy household objects - and finally put those engagement gifts to good use). 
     ~Front raises x 15 each arm - raise arm holding weight to shoulder height and return to your side.

     ~Shoulder Fly ("like birdie") x 15 - boths arms simultaneously with bent elbows ala Birdie dance.

     ~Tricep Pushdowns x 15 - mimicking throwing the weight at the floor behind you. Don't release. 

     ~Bicep Curls x 15 each arm - like the boofheads at the gym without the mirror gazing and grunting, unless you feel compelled.

Phase 3 :
  • Floor Exercises - now you two can get really interactive! Toddlers make terrific weight plates.
     ~Crunches x 15 - with legs raised creating "tunnel" for toddler to crawl through or lie in. Alternatively, your  toddler may wish to sit on top of you which is an excellent exercise upgrade.

     ~Crossovers x 15- crunches alternating opposite elbow to knee (difficult to negotiate around a toddler on the tummy - consider it a challenge or cuddle opportunity)

     ~Toe touches x 15 - arms by side, crunching to the same side to touch outside of foot - that's the side without the disgusting bunion things going on if you're me).

     ~Leg Raises - lying on your side, place your top leg in front of the bottom one. Raise your bottom leg off the floor and circle forward x 15 and backwards x 15. Then straighten the top leg and raise it as high as possible. Point your toes on the way up, flex the foot on the way down (watch for toddlers who crawl into the space created on the upward motion.) Turn over and

    ~Bridge ("tunnel gain"). Lie on your stomach, raise up onto your elbows and toes. Attempt to keep your butt down and tummy tight. Hold for 60 seconds or for as long as you can handle the toddler who is now underneath you fiddling with your hair, drawstring, legs, tummy... Note - if you actually have breasts the tunnel may in fact be closed.

Finally, we end with Magoo's alltime favourite - "pull ups time!"
    ~Push ups ("tunnel, Mum, tunnel"). Aim for 20 'man style' , full extension push ups  - no  woosy knees on the floor. Start with a manageable number and increase it by 1 more each session.

So there you go.
"Iz dun!"
In 10 or 15 minutes (20 with excessive toddler interference) you have a nice, energized start to the day.
'They' (whoever 'they' are) say that just that small amount of exercise on an empty stomach keeps your metabolism up for an hour or more.
'I' say that you don't have to brush your teeth, do your hair, get dressed, use a creche or even leave the house to squeeze in some exercise. Sweet.

Now, walk the dog with your toddler in some form of 3 wheeled transport and you can feel great for... as long as you can avoid all those Easter eggs.
Why does chocolate taste so much better when it's egg shaped?
Or LIndt bunny shaped for that matter?

Note - the location of your workout may need to be adjusted on bin truck day to accomodate full view of the front verge at all times.

Disclaimer - I take asolutely no responsibility for injury to adult or toddler parties who willingly partake of this programme.

Shar :-)

Thursday, April 14, 2011


Last weekend I crashed an event.

I don't think I have  so blatantly gatecrashed anything since Hubby and I drunkenly convinced half of the Churchlands Senior High School reunion (a school that neither of us attended) that we were in fact their long lost, (thirsty) mates from ten years previous. Complete with badges, stories of teenage heartbreak and sporting prowess.

Last weekend I wasn't inebriated and I didn't deliberately or brazenly disregard common decency. I just ran.

On Sunday morning, our gorgeous friends whisked Magoo away for a play with our godson and sent me packing on a two hour training run. Bless em.

I happily headed North from their place along the coast and pounded that pavement past my favourite beaches - totally dismissing the "road closed" signage (cause I'm not a vehicle, see) and wondering about the bulk car park action going on in an usually quiet stretch of the coast.

On I ran, still not twigging as more and more lycra clad bikes (or riders) whizzed past my right shoulder.
Not comprehending when people on the roadside (commonly known as spec friggin tators, Shar) commented "wow, well done girl".

And then finally - ku ching - it hit me. I was in the midst of a triathalon.
And apparently I was bloody well winning it.

Sure enough, a few kilometres along the running track a group of officials jumped to their feet and rushed to get this earlier than expected competitor a much needed refreshment. Unlike at the CSHS reunion, I was gracious enough not accept beverages I was not entitled to.

I spent the next few kilometres waving off offers of water, shaking my head at my very own roadside fan club, constantly mumbling about not being a competitor and even fending off the official who tried to direct me, victorious, into the finisher's chute.

So, to all those lovely spectators  - thank you for your encouragement - it was a long, hard training run and I appreciated your support!
To anyone who competed in the triathalon  between Hillarys and Mullaloo last Sunday morn(including my bride on this weekend's hens do, one of my students and of course the genuine winning female) I'm very sorry for crashing your party. You're most welcome at my marathon in June.

Shar :-)

Wednesday, April 13, 2011

A Life of No Connectivity

Well, hello again.
I have been internetless here for a week and tonight our connection was restored.
There's a lot to be said for the kindness of strangers - especially strangers with super computer genius powers. Forget xray vision and leaping tall buildings, boys - true modern day heroes know lots of cool stuff about I.P. addresses and don't hesitate to rip open a hard drive and play with the RAM.

Look at those three inadequate
lights- mocking me.

For some reason I was much less phased by a week of zero internet activity when I was lying by the pool in Borneo, than when here at home trying to pay bills, respond to requests, work, keep tabs on Hubby's spending, socialise, blog, monitor the Toys R Us sales...
Especially while Hubby is lying by the pool (okay, working) in China.

No internet connection
= no daily dose of Daddy via Skype (a sad thing)
= hours of mind numbing, patience frying calls to so called tech support (a frustrating thing)
= speaking to technicians (or imbeciles posing as 'technicians') in a way that I would never dare to face to face (a liberating, but guilt inducing thing)
= repeating "err.or. 8.1.5"  to anyone who would listen (a straightjacket thing)
= missing out on current photos and news of gorgeous newborn babes (a sooky thing)
= no B.O.M, therefore having to choose our clothes and activities without up to date weather activity information (a risky thing)
= no access to work emails (an undecided thing)
= approximately a million or so emails to contend with tonight (a time consuming thing)
= no progress on next term's Yr 5 programmes (a procrastinating made too easy thing)
= no blogging and no blog reading (an "I missed you" thing)

On the other hand, no internet activity
= not publishing a negative, self pitying, indulgent post entitled 'Goodbye, Cruel Week' last Friday night (a sensible thing)
= a cleaner house (a nice thing)
= going to bed earlier (a good thing)
= actually getting through my novels (also a good thing)
= having to clean out the study to prevent kind strangers from suffocating or being injured in a junk landslide (a necessary thing)
= learning a myriad of computer jargon and functions that, unfortunately, had absolutely nothing to do with my connectivity problem (a might-be-useful-one-day thing)
= reacquainting myself with obsolete items such as the paper bound telephone directory and the UBD - remember those (a nostalgic thing)

Well, we are connected... for now.
Magoo will be so pleased in the morning to see that "dat man" has "fixed the pooter".
He can stop telling random people that he only has three lights and you need more than that to see your Daddy.

Shar :-)

Wednesday, April 6, 2011

Nursery Rhyme Crime

We are currently making our way through this lil beauty at bedtime.
And what a treasury it is.

I can remember the day this book was purchased.
Hubby and I were busily preparing ourselves for parenthood in the only way we knew how - buying copious amounts of stuff.
We were at Toys R Us filling a trolley with stuff to fill the already full nursery with (because we were going to be good parents, damn it) and Hubby dropped the book in there.
He said he wanted to 'brush up' on his nursery rhymes for the baby and I said he was going to be the best daddy ever - or something pregnant like that.
Good times.

Anywho, we have read / sang bits and pieces over the last couple of years,
but Magoo is hell bent on reading it from cover to cover at the moment.

It's great, thirty years on, to realise that you must have misheard Miss _____ back in Kindy or Prep.
To realise that your ears hang low "like a regimental soldier" not a regimented soldier (and it's your ears, not your boobs).
To realise that the teapot does not get all steamed up, but instead sees the teacups before shouting.
To learn that there are five verses to Twinkle Twinkle & Little Bo Beep  - and I know only one for each.

I am enjoying revisiting some of my faves - like 'The Owl and the Pussycat'. I loved learning that one at school...
but am pretty sure the "lovely pussy" and "bong-trees" went right over my innocent little head back then.

But, then there is a little bunch of rhymes that have me shaking my not-so-innocent-anymore head.

Here we are worried about inappropriate content on the box and pop sluts corrupting our children. If you want some loose morals and depressing banter, revisit the classics.

Cop a load of this one -

Old Mother Hubbard (who knew you were such a morbid lady or a drinker?)

Old Mother Hubbard went to the cupboard to fetch her poor dog a bone;
But when she got ther the cupboard was bare and so the poor dog had none.

She went to the baker's to buy hime some bread;
But when she came back the poor dog was dead.

She went to the undertaker's to buy him a coffin;
But when she came back the poor dog was laughing...

She went to the tavern for white wine and red;
But when she came back the dog stood on his head...

Or this :

Two Cats Of Kilkenny (two violent little ferals)

Two cats of Kilkenny
Each thought there was one cat too many.

So they fought and they fit, and they scratched and they bit.
Til, excepting their nails and the tips of their tails,
instead of two cats there weren't any.

Or this for sweet dreams :

Ladybird, Ladybird (I'm afraid there's been an incident)

Ladybird, ladybird, fly away home.
Your house is on fire, your children are gone;

All but one and her name is Ann,
And she crept under the pudding pan.

Goosey,Goosey Gander (Prayer or pain)

Goosey, goosey gander
Whither shall I wander?
Upstair and downstairs
And in my Lady's chamber;

There I met an old man
Who would not say his prayers;
I took him by the left leg
And threw him down the stairs.

Not exactly bedtime lullaby stuff!

On that note, I don't think our obsession with babies and their sleep patterns is such a new concept either.
Long before Tizzie Hall (and her strict instruction manual on controlling another free willed little human person?), there were hundreds of rhymes penned about hushing bubs to sleep, rocking babies, bribing infants off to the land of nod and so on.

I've learnt a new rhyme too. One that rings so true to this Mum of one.

The Dove Says 'Coo, coo'

The dove says, "Coo, coo, what shall I do? I can scarce maintain two."
"Pooh! Pooh!" says the wren; "I have got ten and keep them all like gentlemen."

And maybe I should heed this pearl:

A Wise Old Owl

A wise old owl lived in an oak.
The more he saw the less he spoke.

The less he spoke the more he heard.
Why aren't we all like that wise old bird?

Shar :-)