Barber's Remorse

Last night I allowed the unthinkable to happen.

The idea had been thrown aorund our place at various times in the last twelve months,

 but this Mummy has always stopped that train right in it's tracks.

The Home Haircut.

The Home Haircut of my precious little Magoo's lovely blond locks.

I give Hubby 'home haircuts' all the time.

Hey, he washes it with soap - and not that regularly.

That sort of disrespect just begs to be home clippered and buzzed free of charge.

But Magoo's sweet, fair, took-a-whole-year-to-appear hair?

I think not.

A professional, nice little boy, short back and sides, leave some for spiking 

job every time, thank you.
At twenty something bucks a pop, thank you.

With a possible bribe to boot, thank you.



Nov 2009
Okay - so the VERY first haircut
 wasn't exactly a success.
But he loves it now! Honest!

No barber's quartet for us this time.

Hubby and Magoo entered the

"do you want Daddy to give you a big boy haircut like his, right here on this chair?"

game once again last night over dinner.

Magoo never agrees.

My precious little man likes his Barber shop visits with his Mummy.
(Previous photo excepted.)

Or he did.

Magoo was off his game, agreed (unwittingly, I'm sure) to the home haircut

and within seconds it had begun.

Nnooo!

I've never seen Hubby hotfoot it to the shed that quickly when I suggest giving the lawn a much needed 'home haircut', but the kit was out and Magoo half shorn by the time I abandoned my dinner and joined them in the bathroom.

It was about this time that me thinks it was dawning on poor Hubby the error of his ways.

Not only had he been the 'supervising parent' when Magoo smashed his gorgeous face up on Sunday morning while I was running with 'the mob',

but now he was further exposing and highlighting the damage that ensued under his care with each bbzzzz.

Unleash the bruising!

Gulp!

Hubby even managed to get me in on the act, sweet talking me into

brandishing the clippers 'to finish it nicely'.

In truth, he wanted ammunition and evidence of shared responsibility for this lapse in parenting judgement.

(I shall be investigating the possibility of some newly acquired Chinese hypnosis technique being responsible for Hubby's powers of persuasion that evening.

Most unusual.

Our Border Protection really let that one slip in on his return to the homeland.)

So, Magoo  - he's happy.

His hair "feels like Daddy's" and he scored a cheeky lolly or five for his compliance.

I, however, feel a tad sad every time I look at his little head.

The words 'bogan child' continually flash before my eyes for some reason 
(cue - 'Sweet Child O Mine - Guns N Roses here)

- but it does feel super soft and velvety!

I guess I can add 'unskilled barber' to my resume now - right under unskilled bicycle mechanic.
How about you?
Do you subscribe to the 'Home Haircutter Network'?

Shar :-)

Point + Shoot : Masterchef Mates



Sunday 6.00pm
Sooo delicious I tucked in before thinking to Point + Shoot.

What's a girl to do when she's not blessed with the culinary clevers? Get herself a bestie who is more than adequately adept in the kitchen - enough for both of us and then some.


Our weekend ended with an impromtu invite up to a friends' place to share their wares - fantastic *food and even better company.
*Namely the 'Veal Osso Bucco with Cannelini Beans' featured on Masterchef's Friday Masterclass.


Thank you, Masterchef and thank you beautiful buddies.

Playing Point + Shoot with lovely Lou @ Sunny + Scout.
Except she is a real deal photographer and I take ameteur digi pics of my dinner!

Shar :-)

Thank You For Listening To My News

Thank you for listening to my news ... on national television.

It could be my age, my hormones or my S.A.D. (Seasonal Affective Disorder) kicking in (I'm wearing socks to bed for sexy's sake), but...
I am becoming super irritated by the redundant questioning on t.v. shows such as The Biggest Loser, Masterchef and on various supposed interview panels.

"Do you want to win the title?"
Why the hell would they be here if they didn't want to win the title?
"Um, actually, no. I've seen how well that Shannon Noll guy has done for himself, so I want to come second."

"Would it mean a lot to you to win that prize?"
Well, they've told countless lies to get on the show and are willing to stab everyone else in the back to get ahead, so I'm guessing yeah.
"No, I am just so delighted to have the opportunity to blubber and bitch in front of a national audience, reducing the likelihood of being taken seriously by anyone in my life and massacring my current career."

"Has this experience changed your life?"
Unless it's 'The Truman Show 'or 'Groundhog Day' we'd have to assume a) yes, thank you Eddie.
"Well, I'll never get these thirty seconds back, will I?"

Even my primary school students are well versed on open vs closed questions, not punctuating every sentence with "yeah?" - and the sophisticated interview technique of listen to the response every now and then.

Now Andrew Denton.
What a man.

Not only did he (singe headedly) quell any anxieties about bub's possible flat head syndrome getting in the way of success, but he knows a thing or two about questioning.
He knows how to draw the suckers in, make em feel real comfortable, even divulge a few secrets of his own, poke a little fun at himself, give them enough rope - and then shut the hell up while his prey hang themselves in a national forum.
Guess that's why he titled his talk show 'Enough Rope'. Ku-ching moment here.

There's some journalism out there that's bordering on the standard of question time during daily newstelling with my Year 1 angels.
(But obviously, nowhere near as abhorrent as question time at Parliament Zoo.)

The inevitable sweet first question following any student's news - regardless of the subject - is "doo yuoo liiike iiit?"
Yes. Of course they like it. Why would they have chosen to wrestle it from their little sister's grasp, conceal it from Mum's eagle eye, lug it all the way to school in their undies to show it to you if they didn't ruddy well like it????

Then, of course, little questioner number two follows with the mandatory "wheere dooo yooou keeep iiit?"
Well, in their knickers obviously, or else Mum whips it back into it's rightful place in her 'special drawer' or their sibling's bedroom.

However, the mind numbing monotony of news time is occasionally peppered with fantastic little moments of hilarity that make all that 'speaking and listening' worthwhile for teachers.

Seeing items like pink fluffy handcuffs found in Mummy's room or cute little books such as those found in Mummy's tampon box innocently paraded in front of us is an instant lift.

Definitely news worthy.

Or hearing the tales of the Mums & Dads poker night when all the Mums ran down the street in their bras, stories of accidentally thieving things, of road rage or home hair colours gone wrong - these can all brighten the day of a frazzled, tired teacher.

So, parents and carers, please don't edit news too much. Let little Johnny bring in Daddy's speeding fine if he wishes. Think of the teachers, often forgotten in the newstelling chain. We hang on these gems some days. Like one of our students who was asked to share one of Jesus' parables with his class. He replied - genuinely - "like one powerball and I'm outta here?" That gorgeous kid had me smiling for a week.

I urge you to sponsor a teacher too. One pearler like this could sustain an overworked teacher for days.

And pleeeease don't write it out for them. If I can barely read your writing, your beautiful child who can't grasp a white dot reading book doesn't stand a chance.

Thank you for listening to my news.
Now you say "it's a pleasure, treasure."

Gansta Sunday

Tomorrow morn I'm running my first 'mob run' with the W.A. Marathon Club.

So... when someone in 'the mob' asks if I'm packing, carrying, loaded - do they mean water? Carbo Shotz?  or an automatic pistol?

I don't think I'm really the organised crime, underworld gang type.
But the opporutnity to run 32km with a bunch (even if they are in the 'waste management business') after training on my own for so long is worth the 'shakedown'.

I hope I don't have to 'hit' 'smack', 'whack'  'off' or 'clip'  anybody just to be a 'made' runner. Maybe I'll just be an 'associate'.

Will somebody introduce me with the "friend of mine" line?
Do I gotta wear black? And a pinky ring or cufflinks?

How will I know which runner is 'the Don', the 'Boss', the 'Chairman'?
Is it the biggest runner? That could be awkward.

I hope I don't pi** anyone off during the run or I could end up with concrete in my sneakers at the bottom of the Swan River.

Shar :-)

This stupid post courtesy of extensive research ie.watching 'Donnie Brasco' some years ago.

This Didn't Happen In The First Grade

Facebook - evil or excellent?
Love it or over it?

I have had a love affair with FB for years.
I'm pretty sure I'm on the 'hidden' feed of many of my friends because FB is my own personal Magoo montage. A photo collection of epic proportions with my family overseas in mind.
I used to be concious of it, but now feel that I'm not forcing anyone to look at anything they don't want to. (Hey, I didn't upload the actual birth photos.)

I just recently learned of a friend's engagement via a status update.
As did many other of our friends, I notice (so I don't feel so left out!)
Hmmm. Don't know how that sits with me.

The other day I accidentally, voyeouristically stumbled on/entered a page inviting people (friend of a friend) to a wedding here in Perth.
I'm sure it was intended for friends and family but it was classed as a public event and even gave me the option of rsvping.
Hmmmm. Don't know how that sits with me either.
I'm still not sure if I'm going, for the record.

I sit on the committee for a local community based child care centre and we have just launched a Facebook page with excellent response.

My beautiful friend Lou has finally succumbed to pressure from others and is promoting her awesome talent with a page dedicated to her photography business.
(http://www.facebook.com/home.php#!/pages/Sunny-Scout-Photography/118188614927015)

Without "de face ting" (as my Mother calls it) how would my Mum experience the parental pride that must come from learning that my sister decked a guy in Dublin's fair city the other night?

I have had another Facebook Friend Request from a student of mine recently.
Hey, I'm flattered to read her "Hi Mrs B. How's your hols? See you soon."
I'm obviously totally cool, right?!
But I'm not totally stupid.

This issue is an absolute minefield.
I have a rule of no teacher - student facebook friendships... for my protection and their own.
Since I've moved up the school (from Yr 1 to Yr 5) I have upped my FB privacy settings and had to think twice about certain statuses.
Tricky Facebook Friend Requests did actually happen when I was in the junior school - but it was the Mums, not the children, blurring the lines!


We have had Facebook issues within our school community and I've had to speak seriously to my own students about what some of them are projecting to the whole world wide web - and the ramifications of it.


I find it a struggle, the whole cyber - privacy - business. 
Mainly because I am, by no means, naturally a private person.
I'm a blabbermouth and mostly an open book.
I don't have anything (I can think of) to hide and what you see is what you get.


But I don't know that my reputable private school students (or their parents) need to see that Mrs B's neighbour's kids swear on her wall, that Mrs B's sister swears on her wall, that nasty people post drunken pics of Mrs B, that Mrs B posts drunken pics of Mrs B...
Need to know basis, really.

On the one hand the net is so socially enabling and just plain wonderful.
I love being able to connect with my family overseas, my friends around the corner and everyone in between at the click of a mouse.
(As I type Hubby has googled a picture of an awesome Hot Wheels (psych test) car track that we have been kindly handed down - minus the assembly instructions - and is making me flick between that and this page every few seconds. Where is his memory these days?)

Pffft.
Who needs instructions when you can access
someone's random blog post from years ago?

On the other hand, the net is so exposing and damaging.
It's a virtual candy store for the deranged, opportunist or downright criminal.

It's such a fine line - between teaching children/young adults (and their folks) to protect themselves and over exposing young people to the minority of predators that exist 'out there'.

How do you explain to a young girl that 'grown up, magazine style' bikini shots as a profile pic invite the wrong type of attention?
Why do we even use the word 'invite' in this context?
How do you describe the possible consequences of befriending strangers of the opposite sex or divulging personal details online?

How can we maintain a healthy balance between
informed & over exposed
educated & scaremongered
wary & suspicious
independent & unsupervised
alert & alarmed
trust & ignorance
?????

Boy, I'm glad my own little  Magoo's cyber experimentation is currently limited to his Thomas The Tank Engine laptop and Skyping Daddy with Mummy alongside. I dread navigating the I.T. path ahead of us.

How do you negotiate the net?

Shar :-)

It' sNot Snot, Mum.

Summer has truly bid us goodbye here and Winter is approaching with excessive speed.
I'm defintely a 40km  zone for those cold, wet mornings and shortened days.
Actually, if I could, I would declare myself a complete 0 km Winter free zone.
Ah, yes. walking around the joint in my own little sunny, warm bubble holds great appeal.
If that bubble were soundproof then I could ignore all those guilt evoking environmental types completely!!

Ok, ok. I know we need the rain, the globe is warming, the seas are rising, seasons are blurring.
I'm sorry. I just like to be warm - with dry feet.

Anyway, along with the glorious much prayed for rain, cold and wind come the bugs, the lurgies, the snots.

This week Magoo woke with a distinct nasal twang and a head full of snot.
He nearly lost said snot filled head when I explained that he was getting a cold and couldn't go to playgroup to wipe his snot all over the other toddlers, their Mums and their baby siblings.

"But wwhhhyyy no paycroop?" was played on repeat through breakfast, dressing and walking the dog.
Only the promise of a 'babytuna' broke the cycle and began a whole new angle for his relentless interrogation cute and constant barrage of questions.
(Like my logic? I won't take snotface to playgroup, but will let him sit in a coffee shop amongst people and consume a drink at their table. Moral - wipe every surface in the shopping centre if you ain't into sharing. Or avoid shopping centres entirely.)


Not a boogie to be seen.

 It crossed my mind, after fifty or so appeals from Magoo,  that we could just rock up to playgroup and play 'Swiper, no swiping' as I followed Magoo with a covert tissue in my sleeve for the morning.
But I like to think I'm a tad more considerate than that.

I've seen those children in the creche, daycare, play centre, school... with green oozing from orofices, leaving their slimy trails all over the place.
(Yet another advantage to my impenetrable Summer bubble of warmth concept.)
I'd like to think my Magoo is not that generous, bug sharing little one.
(Apart from the time yet another innocent teething rash happened to be, oh, um, slapcheek. Thanks for nothing Health Direct.)

From the moment your body plays host to another human being you become hyper aware of the coughing, sneezing, hacking, pus squeezing, rash scratching going on as you go about your business.

Then through the early weeks, pre puppy shots, you're on the lookout for anyone who's trying to scam an unworthy cuddle of your gorgeous healthy bundle while harbouring infectious conditions.

The next phase is the phone calls and texts back and forth with girlfriends on the morning of a planned play date. How runny? What temp? What colour's the snot? What do you think?...

As time goes on, restrictions lax and quarantine control can chill out a little.
Once I saw Magoo licking my tiles, the dog and eating off any surface available, I knew it was a losing battle.

I'm in the immunity boosting camp myself.
I'm particularly cautious when it comes to bubs or people I really like but within reason - let em at each other!
But, then, we rarely get sick in this household, so I have the luxury of such a view.
Apart from when I hit 'publish post' in a moment I'm betting.

However, I will not be responsible for knowingly infecting whole groups of unsuspecting families with any ailment and the ensuing sleep deprivation if I can help it.
(The great slapcheek episode was not a case of deliberate negligence. I swear.)
 And people, you can keep your gastro selves faaaar away from us, thank you very much.

So, where do you stand on this issue?

• Germs are everywhere anyway. Life as normal unless death is imminent?
• Face masks at one hundred paces?
• Somewhere in between the two?

Shar :-)

China.com

Little Known Facts About China.
The term 'facts' is being used very loosely here and could probably be replaced with 'half to total un truths.'.
In the same way that Wikipedia is a reliable source on everything,
my Hubby is a reliable source on all things Chinese because he has been there for work  -for many, many weeks on end recently.
Not that I mind. Much.

• The area of a hotel which hosts a bar and seating, translates in English to the "Labby Lounge". Nice. (I think this one may be a decoy in case any transactions on the credit card bear this moniker.)
• You can buy a house in China for the equivalent of a beer bottle redemption here in Oz. (this one was proclaimed after a number of beer bottles had been drained, so 'beer goggle' dollar conversion rates apply.)
• My blog is banned there - and will remain to be after this ignorant post.
• The entire population of Australia is crammed into small cities, many times over,  China wide.
• Dogs are a domestic delicacy as much as they are a domestic pet.
• It is (apparently) hilarious when Westerners order a meal and tack on "No M.S.G., no D.O.G please".
• MSG is virtually air borne in China. And it makes you really thirsty. (Again, a possible trojan horse to account for alcohol consumption transactions??)
• 1 in every 7 males in the whole world is a Chinese farmer.
• Our carbon tax inititative is, like totally, less than .0001% effective because of our teeny, tiny population. China, on the other hand, now they have some environmental power.
• The sun cannot penetrate the heavy smog covering industrial China.
• They don't sell Hazelnut Nescafe sachets in China. This is (apparently, again) a serious problem.
• If you play indoor soccer and are the only non Chinese team in the league you are immediately a Chinese B grade celebrity.
• This is a trusted brand of door handle in China :

• Chinese MacDonalds Baoshits on Aussie Maccas.

Please don't take my word for it. Any of it.
There are an increasing number of direct flights servicing China as of next month.
Hop on one.
Even if the new flights are intended to accomodate the rising exodus from China to Western Australia.
(If you see my Hubby hanging around that 'Labby Lounge', send him on home.)

Shar :-)

Point + Shoot - Railway Rapture



Sunday 10.30am



The 'Friends of Thomas' sure were friends of ours when they had  Magoo trembling with excitement and chattering with delight yesterday. 

 Playing along with Point + Shoot @ the gorgeous Sunny + Scout.

Shar :-)

The Great Divide

It's an age old practice in countries across the globe.
You marry someone so that you never have to talk to them in social situations. ever. again.


I recall my parents and their friends doing it.
'It' being same sex socialising.
I've seen barbeques where there could well be a gender line down the middle of the backyard.
(With the bbq clearly being on the men's side and any people below 130cm being on the women's end of things.)
It occurs at pubs, restaurants, parties  - and now in our social circle apparently.


On the weekend, Hubby and I had a beautiful time celebrating a friend's birthday with a dinner out. We had a gorgeous meal, plenty of bubbles (that would be mainly me) with lots of great company... but almost separately.

By the time we had found a park and entered the restaurant, 6 or 7 of the men in our group had seated themselves and 6 or 7 of the women had also seated themselves - at separate tables from one another.
Hubby and I didn't have much choice but to follow suit.
There was to be no mingling, no stuffing up the wait staff with seat swapping and no face to face interaction between male & female.
Luckily, Hubby and I were seated almost back to back so could sneak in a little hand holding, food sharing and taking digs at one another.

(I much prefer to make fun of my man when he's in earshot and much prefer he make fun of me when I can refute the bold faced lies!)

Maybe I'm coming from my place of having spent precious little time with my husband in recent months, but if we go to the trouble (and expense) of organising a babysitter, getting ourselves all dressed up (or at least showered) and leave the house together, I'm hoping to spend a little down time with my husband and our friends outside the confines of mi casa.

Don't get me wrong, I'm not one to crash the boy's night and I love me a girls' dinner or twenty. I'm well aware that the blokes don't necessarily want to be party to discussions of top sheet vs no top sheet, new teacher vs old teacher or sparkling vs still (as in alcohol).
I don't necessarily want to be privy to many of their earth shattering debates either.

But, I find this division of the sexes a bit puzzling.
How about you?
Do you and 'yours' split on arrival or stick like glue til death do you part?

Shar :-)

Grateful For... My Merry Trio

Today I am so, so grateful to have my little family back together.
It has been weeks since the three of us have occupied the same space, shared time, hung out and laughed stupidly.
Getting reacquainted is fun and watching Magoo showing Daddy all his new tricks is pathetically gorgeous.
I play the part of the proud puppy trainer remarkably well.


Playing along with
  at Maxabella Loves

* Plus, I ran 35km in three hours this morn.
Grateful for these sore pins of mine.

Shar :-)

Drama & Dramer

Well, Year 5 camp was like, totally, like awesome and stuff.
Thankfully, the food was fantastic, the accomodation was plush by my camp standards, the activities ran beautifully and the children (or underage adults) had themselves a ball.
(Most importantly, I didn't have to really go to the toilet.)

But, my friends if it's drama that floats your boat you needed to be in Point Peron this week.
If you get off on spats, spits and spills  - grab a Working With Children card and get yourself on the nearest Year 5 camp.

You will find no shortage of Oscar worthy performances amongst 63 ten year old children kept in close confines for three days.

It's not always in the challenging physical tasks, the rock climbing, the raft building, the trust games, the beach sessions where conflict will arise. That would be far too obvious and simple.

The key to true dramatic effect is for the actual issue to be so minute, inconsequential and pathetic that it is usually forgotten two minutes into the production.

You'll witness friendships forming, exploding and imploding. Tears will flow and reconciliations pour as freely. Neutral requests, unkind words and well intended jokes will all manage to cause offence somewhere in the mix. Possession will become far more than nine tenths of the law - more like nine tenths of an all in brawl in a dorm. Simple tasks will take on epic proportions when the buck is passed from students to student to student.

As sleep deprivation kicks in, the  scale of meltdowns will elevate exponentially. The coolest of cucmbers will find themselves rattled by one another's irritating habits, nocturnal noises, ablutions practices, inability to pick up clothing, voices, facial expressions or mere presence.

If things, miraculously, start to slow down on the theatrical side, simply insert a forty five minute rehearsal session for that evening's talent night. You'll have the young actors and actresses back in fine form in the blink of an eye. Groups will divide and attempt to conquer one another, individuals will run sobbing when their voice is ignored, costuming malfunctions will cause no end of distress and you may even witness a tantrum that my own toddler would be impressed by.

The greatest revelation of all this juvenile drama is the turn around period involved.
All is forgiven, forgotten and resolved sometimes even before the tears have dried on the cheeks of these accomplished performers. Peace is restored faster than most adults can comprehend what the drama was initially in aid of and everyone is free to smile on until the next instalment. The intensity and frequency of quality drama produced by ten year olds would put 'Day of Our Lives' to shame. No waiting twenty four hours for the next episode with Year 5s. Twenty four minutes would be a stretch.

Now that is well worth a round of applause.

Protective headgear is a must in severe
drama conditions.

Have a bold and beautiful day.
Shar :-)

Same, same

So I'm off to Year 5 camp tomorrow morn.

It appears my thinking hasn't evolved at all since I was ten years old.

Amidst the paperwork, activity planning, equipment prepping and child care organising,  I'm contemplating the exact same issues as when I last went on Year 5 camp - in Year 5.

• Food. Will it be absolutely dreadful? How do I avoid eating things I really don't like? Hope no one finds my secret stash.
• Family. What if I miss my fam and home so much I cry into my pillow and everyone thinks I've wet the bed?
• Fashion. What to wear? I don't want to look like I got myself all dressed up for camp, but I don't want to slum it either. Will the girls make fun of me?
• Faux pas. What if I get my period on camp? What if I need to go to the toilet, if you know what I mean? Will everyone see me getting changed? My boobs are smaller than everyone else's. Will the boys make fun of me?

So... many wrinkles, a degree, a post grad degree, a few boyfriends, one husband and a baby down the track - and I'm the same overthinking, worry wart that I was twenty something years ago.


Except this time, I'm the teacher. Like in charge and all that.
Therefore, I get all bossy and pretend confident.
Please don't tell anyone I told you that I'm worried.


Cause if you tell them and they tell someone else and they tell my friend and then she tells me, I'll hate you forever, okay?


Shar
:-)

Marathon Musing

The Perth Marathon is now exactly
32 days, 11 hours  and 25 minutes away.


I have so much running to do between now and then and so many thoughts to derail.
Let's say I have some reservations.
If some = a bucket load.


In order to make up for the lack of running opportunities I've had lately, I've been marathon trainging (scoping) online.
It will really help me on the day. All this reading other people's vigorous preparations.
You know, 27kms to go and I'm in agony already...
Lucky that random guy from England had run the full marathon distance super slowly so many times.
Lucky that dude from Canada did that great taper programme for the month leading up to his marathon.
Lucky some chick on the other side of the country goes into isolation for a week before her marathons.
Their training is my training, surely?


I just did an online quiz today testing whether you are ready to run a marathon.
Apparently I am not.
But that's no surprise.


I feel underdone. Waaaay underdone.
With Hubby away for so long I haven't been able to clock up the kms as I planned or wanted to.
Am I kidding myself that I can do this without the training?
Now I know why you don't see too many single Mums running marathons.
(Cause you can spot 'em, single Mums?! They're the ones who run marathons as a daily occurance, not a bucket list tick.)

I may be underdone but I am by no means underfed or undercarbed.
The one element I have absolutely nailed in the lead up to this marathon is the eating component.
I'm a machine. Purely for my sport, of course.
Food is fuel. And chocolate is like the hi octane gear baby!
Lasagne sandwich on white, with a side of rice anyone?

But, apart from carb loading for a number of months now (I'm dedicated - and wine has carbs), I'm lacking in so many other areas. I may have my stomach semi sorted, but I haven't really got my head in the right space at all.


What if I need to go to the toilet, like really go. to. the. toilet. during the marathon?
What if my already mangled, blistered feet can't take the 42.2km?
What if I forget to charge my ipod?
What if I forget to take my ipod?
What if I forget to start my watch, like I do in time trials?
What if I eat/drink like I'm told to and it makes me feel sick?
What if I vomit in public?
What if all those runners doing the relay version of the marathon absolutely wreck with my already fragile head when they continuously pass me with their fast, fresh legs?
What if I do manage to run me a marathon (woop woop), get to the finish line after hours of pain - and click  - the photo of one of the proudest moments of my life is a hideous reminder of how shocking I look when conveying pride and pain in the same facial?
(Flashbacks to Magoo's birth pics right there.)
Can't we come back and take the finisher's photo the next day after some mirror consultation?
 Or -
What if I just shut up and run the damn thing already?
And be grateful that I can.
If I can?


Shar :-)

Grey Dots & Gold Stars

One of my favourite children's books was gifted to Magoo by some friends for his Christening.
It's titled 'You Are Special' by Max Lucado.

If you haven't read it, the book tells the story of small wooden people called Wemmicks who spend their days sticking either gold stars or grey dots onto one another. The pretty ones - those with smooth wood and fine paint - always get stars. The talented ones do too. Those Wemmicks with chipped paint or who can do little, they get ugly grey dots.

Punchinello was one of those. He could do nothing right and the others constantly covered him in horrible grey dots. He had so many dots that people gave him dots just for having so many dots. One day Punchinello met Lucia who had absolutely no dots or stars. People tried to give them to her, but they just wouldn't stick.

When questioned, Lucia explained to Punchinello that she remained stickerless because she visited the woodcarver, Eli, every day. Eli, the maker of all the wooden people, welcomed Punchinello the next day. Eli spoke softly to Punchinello telling him that "the stickers only stick if you let them, the stickers only stick if they matter to you". If you decide that what you and your maker think is more important than what they think, you will be stickerless.

You can listen and watch here, if you have a spare 8 minutes.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Scj3A1cLVzY

Well, I think there's something in that for all of us. :-)
This beautiful story has a Christian undertone, but Christian or not, it is a universal message.
To understand that we are all perfectly fine being the person we are as long as we are content and fulfilled.

Enough with the dot sticking people - and even the stars, for that matter.
I know I'd be a dot/star sticking machine of a Wemmick some days.
Did I not just stick a massive ol grey dot on the Mum who botoxed her 8 year old in my last post?! The irony, hey?! Then again, botoxing your own child is giving them a super sized grey dot, really!

Enough with letting those stickers stick and define us.
How do I channel Miss Lucia and her inner strength, her peace?

I recently read that our perception of ourselves is well and truly embedded in childhood and becomes the filter through which criticism and compliments are received - unless we can recondition our thinking.

What the heck did my parents do to me???

Like many, I am an accomplished compliment deflector - they all bounce right off, never penetrating my coat of "they're just saying that."

But Lady Criticism, well she's welcomed in to nestle, fester and multiply to her heart's content.

I love the fantasy visual of myself (with great figure, gorgeous hair and fabulous shoes for good measure) bounding through life with well aimed dots falling, worthless, at my feet.
And the stars, I would accept them graciously. But not to keep, they would be immediately returned to the others in kind.

What about our children?
Magoo is a walking, talking star chart for goodness' sake.
My hope is that he's collecting all these gold stars to generously dish out along his own journey.

Have a happy, star filled day.
Shar :-)

The Sky Is Falling Down!

In my most Henny Penny moments, I get a little worked up about the state of the world.
I worry about the society that little Magoo is growing up in and the culture that is being created by our generation.
I fret about the increasing complexity of life and the crazy pace we set for ourselves.
I see that the consequences of a little experimentation, boundary pushing and plain old stupidity are far greater than they ever were.


Some weeks it's probably best for me to avoid news and current affairs, really.


Like Friday evenings when the news bulletin features the planets aligning one second, then the whole world going completely bonkers the next.


Well, not the whole world - but definitely one particular mother who thinks that having her 8 year old daughter injected with blinkin botox for cosmetic reasons is a fantastic idea. Somebody revoke her parenting licence, please. Oh - no such thing? Well, why not?
(Probably because I never would have been granted one is reason enough.)


So the disclaimer...


I know a family who use botox successfully (and medically) for the treatment of their son's CP and I applaud them for their unselfish, supportive, loving care.


I'm no 'you beaut Earth mother model' myself.
Here I am feeling guilty that Magoo's Batman costume sometimes velcro scratches the crap out of his cheek . But we don't care because we both think it's batty gorgeous!
Oh my. I have made so many mistakes, it's pretty awesome Magoo is still happy to brush my hair and snuggle me at all


However, every one of my mistakes and every accidental 'getting it somewhat right' comes from a place of love. Mushy, deep, changed my life love.

What love is there in (painfully) injecting botox  into your darling's face  - for a beauty pageant, no less?

Don't even get me started on what messages this feeds to this girl's developing mind (and face).
What the repercussions will be for this little girl as she hits puberty, high school and the other cruelties of this world.

And the audacity of the mother happily admitting/justifying her idiocy on international television. (She wasn't Australian. As if we could be bothered with all that fanfare, right?!)

Doesn't she know to keep colossal Mummy failures in a box in the attic of her mind, to drive her crazy for years to come?


So now I no longer feel quite so ashamed about this:

or this

or this

or this

or this one.

Nor any of these...



This one was for his portfolio, thank you



I swear, some people think their children are here for their entertainment.

Licence check please.

Shar :-)