Grateful For...Child's Play

Forever young.

While our kids might be responsible for the not-so-fine lines, the dark circles, the extra kilos, the grey hairs, the thumping headaches etc etc. and etc some more, their gifts transcend the physical signs of aging!

If we let them, our kids can keep us young at heart. They can remind us how to have old fashioned, simple fun and how to see the world without prejudice.

I'm very grateful for the opportunity to be a kid again.

Thanks to my beautiful Magoo, my students and the other gorgeous children in my life I don't have to be a boring, list making grown up all of the time.

What better way to reconnect with your siblings than to revisit your childhood

(minus the name calling, hair pulling & dobbing)?

All for Magoo's benefit, of course.

Playing along with Maxabella's Grateful For...Saturdays

Shar :-)

Family

A treasured friend gifted this little plaque to me

when Magoo and I left for the Emerald Isle.

Family

Our family is a circle of love and strength

With every birth and every union , the circle grows.

Every joy shared adds more love,

every crisis faced together makes the circle stronger.

Like.

My Mum should be coming out of hospital tomorrow.

All went well and we'll know in the next couple of days how successful the procedure was.

Alleluia.

Relief is an understatement.

Shar :-)

Money-what?

Today, Mum's admission into hospital for her surgery was delayed at least a day due to a ridiculously inept, frustrating system. Grrr.

Frayed nerves aren't much fun, so distraction was required.
Distraction in the form of the leader of the free world - or his family tree anyway.
Off to Moneygall we ventured.

Moneygall is approximately ten minutes from my home town.
Moneygall is a single street with a few side roads for good measure.
Moneygall has a population of approximately 300 people.
Moneygall has five shops, a church, two pubs, a school and a police station.
As of May 2011, Moneygall now has an American money tree.

U.S.A President Barack Obama visited the town this year as part of his trip to Ireland. His ancestry can be traced back to the town a couple of hundred years back.
The man has singlehandedly (well, with an entourage of hundreds) turned around the town's flailing economy and even managed to give a whole town a paint job.

So this afternoon, we all piled into the car, my brother at the wheel.
Magoo, with no idea what Moneygall meant or even related too, sang "we're off to Moneygall" all the way. Mum laughed along warning us of the anticlimax ahead.

Well, Mum was wrong.
I was far from underwhelmed by Moneygall. I loved it. All 500 metres of it!

The place looks absolutely gorgeous (well done, Dulux - and the local police who had to convince the single unwilling resident to go with the makover). The atmosphere in Moneygall is reminiscent of a quaint movie set. Little country town comes good. I'm pretty sure there is a film in the pipeline there.

The streets are lined with alternating Irish and American flags. The gift shop is on Obama overload, the only cafe has been renamed after the president and the pub Obama drank in is a shrine to the man. Cheesy, McCheesy cheese fun. Did I mention I loved it?!

Moneygall / Obamaland was a most worthy distraction.
Star spangled banners and all.

First Lady Shar :-)

Potatoe, Potahtow

"I was rooting in my bag for a pencil".
The phrase that changed my life.
Well, my accent anyway.
Note - rooting = looking.
You didn't know that?
Well, neither did the rest of my Australian grade three class who laughed themselves stupid at my expense.


When I migrated to Australia at the tender age of eight, I had myself a nice, thick, woolly Irish accent. I also had a bunch of Irish lingo to boot.
Much to my Dad's absolute disgust it took approximately two weeks (and a mortifying classroom experience) for me to 'Aussify' myself and my speech patterns.
I quickly became "Shaz", dropped the 'r' from words like park, car and star and ditched the accent quick smart. Whenever we spoke to my grandparents back in Ireland, I had to revert back to 'Irish Shar' in order to be understood by them.


When my little (Australian born & bred) brother returned to live back in Ireland with my parents, he did the exact reverse. He sounds so Irish that it is almost inconceivable that he is not. Hear that bro? You are Austraaayleean, mate.


I'd almost forgotten about the great language barrier that exists between my two English speaking homes. That was until the attendant at Dublin airport didn't have a clue what I was saying.
I have difficulty ordering food, asking for directions and telling tales here. Plenty of people, including my own relatives, nod and smile when I know full well they're struggling to understand the twangy drivel coming from my mouth. As for Magoo, he is difficult to understand at the best of times, even in Australia. Here in Ireland, I play the role of constant interpreter. It can be very handy though when he is being a tad cheeky as I can omit or alter his rudeness in translation.


This week's Aussie to Irish dictionary looks a little like this :
stroller (strolla) = pushchair, buggy
nightclub = disco
church = mass
rubbish = refuse
cigarettes, smokes, darts = fags
vacuum = hoover
road = motorway
oven = cooker
realise = cop on
bottle shop = off license
clever = cute
angry = raging
*&#!@  = feck

Magoo is acclimatising too.
He's slowly understanding that ABC 2 = RTE 2, treats = sweeties, sultanas = raisins and cute smiles = any darn ting you want!

Are you speaking a different (English) language too?


Shar :-)

Point + Shoot : My People



Friday 5:30pm Irish time
Saturday 12:50am Aussie time



From L-R : my Mum, my brother, my son, my self

Take a look under my feet.

That's air, baby.

I'm walking on it. 

Playing Point + Shoot with snow bunny Lou from Sunny + Scout 

Shar : -)

De Dreaming

Last night's dream was not unlike dreams that I have had before.

In my dream...
I put a happy Magoo to bed with stories, songs and kisses and prepared to hit the town with my brother and sister.
After realising I had neglected to pack my one 'going out' top into my bursting at the seams - literally - suitcase, I improvised and went for a more understated look than originally planned!
Then, after spinning the heck out at the drag queen falsies (eyelashes) that my sister was batting at us we were set to go.
My mum papped a pic of her three babies before we left the homestead and then babysat Magoo for the night.

We headed out to paint the town red, but someone else had got there first - with the band of the moment, Raffiki, painting footsteps all over town leading to the bar where they were playing.
My mad siblings and I went into my cousin's pub for 'one' and then into another to watch my brother's friend rock the place with his brilliant singing & songwriting.
I called in Redbull to help me push through 'Mummy bedtime' and keep up with the young uns.

After the band's gig we moved to a nightclub where my sister and I continued to cause our young (local) brother to shake his head and roll his eyes.
My (not so local) sister and I danced, sang and laughed ourselves stupid.
I met cousin after cousin through the night and plenty of others who I'm pretty sure aren't my cousins - but you can never be sure. Better safe than sorry in a small town!

Reminiscent of my younger days, the dj caught me off guard when he rudely played the national anthem and called it a night at 2am.
My brother drove his two nutjob sisters home and pushed us into the house where we delighted our mother with tales of the night's craic.
I'm pretty sure her face told a story of family pride as we filled her in.

This morning I woke up from this version of a familiar dream with a fairly unfamiliar feeling.

As I listened to toddler talk about it being "moning time now, Mummy", I registered that my head was a tad fuzzy, I was mighty thirsty and I could happily have gone a grease fix.
Magoo was questioning why my wrist "had got that tattooed for" and I had a suspicious inkling I may have only had approximately three hours sleep.

I turned on my camera to be greeted with happy snaps like these :

It appears that some dreams do come true.
Tonight I'll try to channel some lotto dreaming while I'm on a roll.

Sweet dreams.
Shar :-)

Grateful For... This Chance

This week I could write a book on what I'm feeling grateful for,

 but I'll spare you the waffle and go with the blurb version.

I'm so very grateful for families.

Two in particular- the one that I have created and the one that created me.

Magoo is warming my heart with the way he's taken to my family 

 - and lapped up the rockstar treatment!

In Australia home, I'm happy

- but I'm a bit of a floating vessel with nowhere to really anchor.

Here in Ireland home,

I'm flanked by Mum, Dad, sisters, brother, cousins, aunties, uncles...

I couldn't float away if I tried!

I'm grateful for my own lack of usual indecisive to-and-froing.

I celebrate the impulsive decision that has brought me here to Ireland at exactly the time when I'm supposed to be here.

To think, I was coming over for my Mum. Genuinely.

I am so pleased to be with her as she faces the next week.

But, I am in some sort of Nirvana state myself!

I needed this as much as my Mum did, I just didn't know it.

I'm so grateful for this chance to 'return to my roots' again.

And this time I've been lucky enough to bring a little branch that I've made with me.

I'm very grateful for the gorgeous pink piglet stroller that Mum's friend has lent Magoo and I!

Look past the gender bias and see the gift.

Each morning, while the rest of the house (and the whole town, it seems) is just thinking about rising, Magoo and I head out for a beautiful walk into town, around the castle or up to my favourite spot in town - our church.

Let's play Spot Magoo!

I'm grateful for opportunities here to run every morning, to rest, to recharge, to reconnect with people, to be the 2IC instead of always the CEO with Magoo sometimes, to laugh until my belly aches and drink my year's quota of tea!

I'll spare you the next few chapters and get back to the 'craic'.

Joining in with Maxabella's Grateful For...Saturday (via BabyMac this week).

Shar :-)

Mam On De Run - De Irish Version

(Insert Irish accent here.)
Well, lads.
How's tings dare?
Hope yere de finest.

Ah, shure lads tis grand to be home.
For feck's sake.
De Mammy is delighted to have us and de little fella is a pantomine apparently.
Magoo's de best buy according to my Mam and "lads, dya tink he's very advanced, now?!"
Haven't I been runnin like a mad ting every mornin and lovin de time wit de rest of dem here...


(Lose Irish accent here.)
Well, as Magoo kept saying when we arrived at Dublin airport "we maded it"!

It's so fantastic to be (Ireland) home. I'm finding it difficult to find the words to adequately articulate the feeling of contentment and peace I feel, especially considering that I only decided to cross the world with a toddler in tow a week ago.

Magoo just isn't cut out for the Irish pub scene!
He fell asleep on me before he could touch his dinner and didn't wake again until the next day!

As if to cement my uncharacteristically unplanned decision, while we were enjoying the fruits of Emirates Airlines labour, my Mum received news that she would be having keyhole surgery on Tuesday with a full bypass being the emergency back up plan.


We're meant to be here and despite the circumstances, it is pretty great.
I'm absolutely loving seeing my little man meet and lap up the attention of my Mum, Dad, sister, brother, aunties and cousins. (I hereby nominate my sister and brother as the greatest aunty and uncle to grace the Earth!) It took my Mum approximately ten minutes to start singing Magoo's praises and decide he's the most intelligent child in the world. No bias there at all!

Carving up the dance/lounge floor with Aunty Fi!

I love coming back here to where people I don't know somehow know who I am and where I fit into the picture. I love walking the streets that trigger all sorts of memories and feelings. I love that I think in an Irish accent here. I love that within hours of arriving, I took Magoo for a stroll up town and saw my uncle, two cousins and bumped into my own Dad! Magoo met his Grandad as he drove past, yelled out the window and screeched to a stop! The five greyhounds in the back of the van were an added extra!

It's been a completely different trip home to those of years ago.
I've not been here as someone's wife or as a Mum before.
Different but beautiful.
Less pub time, less alcohol, less partying, less pandemonium.
More down time, more quality time with the family, more Magoo friendly fare.

It's even better than I imagined. Sharing the load, having a laugh, reminiscing, constant company, forcing my parents to be in the same room, so many people for Magoo to bounce off (and be spoiled by)...

I have always watched other Mums in shopping centres and envied those with their own Mum or family with them. I'm living out my pathetic fantasy of doing everyday, mundane things with Magoo and my Mum & co. 

Grocery shopping has never been so lovely!

Right now, I'm even too relaxed to string words together and type!!

Sla'n go fo'ill'
Shar :-)

Point + Shoot : Delayed Telecast

 Let's pretend it's Monday -

 'cause right now I don't have a clue what day or time it is anyway!

Sunday 11:00am



The feeling around here this weekend was strangely serene

(if you mute the toddler tantrum parts).

Friday night was 'Ladies Night'  - a fundraiser for Magoo's community run daycare centre.

We bussed it to the casino where we partook of some dinner, some very amateur gambling and lots of expert people watching.

No, we did not flash our old age pensioner cards but we did manage a spot of Keno, thank you very much.

I left $35 up and educated regarding the 'no point + shoot' rule at casinos Australia wide.

Learn something new every day - or night.

I hadn't been to the 'Cas' for many, many years and didn't realise that pants/skirts were now optional in the dress code. 

Before leaving home, I freaked out that my tunic was feeling a little fabric challenged and exposing too much of my opaque tights.

Once I arrived at Skankville the Casino my freak out seemed just a tad uncalled for.

Saturday went by in a blur of walks, swimming lessons, phone calls, washing, park plays, a squiz a the footy, a cop out pizza dinner and throwing things in the drection of the two suitcases on the floor.

Chocolate and wine may have got the call up too.



Saturday 10:00am



Sunday, while I cleaned myself up a storm, all the ones in our house "with the willies" (guess which two year old has just hit the genital phase!) tackled the jungle that used to be our garden.

We walked, played and packed the rest of the day away until it was time to hit the "planeport".

Sunday 10:30pm

Joining in with Lou @ Sunny + Scout for some Point + Shoot.



Friday 6:00pm
This is an example of what happens when those in the house "with the willies" have a great idea.
I shall title this piece 'temporary tattoos aren't that easy to remove after all'.



Shar :-)
In Ireland! Woo hoo!

Up In Arms

I do love a bit of AFL football.
But to get me to park my butt for over two hours in one sitting is a biiig ask.
Live? Yes. Can do.
With a little plastic glass of something bubbly, a few pieces of sushi and fellow spectators to keep me entertained.
In front of the box, not so much.
So, I love a bit of AFL football. A little bit at a time.


I'm interested in the scores, so check in every now and then when a game's on. I like watching the end of quarters and particularly, the final minutes of games.

When I do have to watch for extended periods, like when 'spending time' with Hubby, I find that engaging in a bit of innocent 'Armwatch' is a most pleasurable way to pass the time. It's a little like 'Baywatch' but instead of watching sets of (often artificially enhanced) jugs bounce along the sand I'm watching sets of (sometimes artificially enhanced - but the AFL are onto it) guns bounce around the field.

*Thank you, The West Australian.
I read the sports section for the articles, I swear.

Well, ahem, developed arm muscles seem to be part and parcel of AFL football. I won't becomplaining about that aspect of 'footy club culture' anytime soon.

You don't even have officially 'perv', crane your neck or stand over the players to catch glimpses of arm action. It's all right out there, with the uniforms specifically chosen to allow us unlimited visual access to the guns. There is no requirement for elbows to be digitally pixelated or appeals for players to show some decency and only reveal a teaser of the arm.


*

Bring on bouncedown!
Are you a sports fan / perv?

Shar :-)


*



Grateful For ... Three

This week I am feeling super grateful for 3.

The 3 whole days (I choose to dwell on the positive here today) that Magoo is having with his Daddy between Hubby's work travel and our Ireland travel.

The 3 of us together at last - for now.

The 3 of us girls who ventured out for a 'Ladies Night' fundriaser with Magoo's daycare last night.
Public Service Announcement - photography is not permitted inside casinos.
Apparently, everyone else knows this.

The 3 passports (2 are mine - love that dual citizenship!) that are ready and waiting.

The 3 aeroplanes that will do for me what Dorothy's lovely ruby red slippers did for her.

The 3 sweet, caring, child loving air hotesses that I just know I'm going to encounter and adore for being so plain wonderful to Magoo and I.

The 3 very special peeps that will be waiting for us at Dublin airport on Monday.

The 3 weeks that we will get to spend immersed in Irish craic and Irish family fueds fun.

The 3 seconds it took for me to find plenty to be grateful for today.

Last week's misery marathon is behind me!

Thank you, Maxabella for 'Grateful For...Saturdays

'

Shar :-)

It's Time To Go...

The tribe has spoken.

With my Mum pretty seriously unwell, the time has come for me to take the plunge.
The '25 hour flight with a child' plunge.
Magoo and I will head over to Ireland to be with my Mum this weekend
(not FOR the weekend, as the travel itself takes pretty much a weekend).
The plan is for us to cheer Mum up and spend some precious time together - or drive her so demented that she makes a miraculous recovery in order to get rid of us.

I've held this blissful fantasy for about three years now, that one random day
(well, Christmas Eve, my birthday, Magoo's Christening and birthdays - in particular)
my Mum would ring me from Perth airport or just turn up at my door.
We've offered so many times to fly her here and I've been known to beg more than ask in my darker hours of motherhood and marriage.
Anyhow, that fantasy has been put to the side with the reality that my Mum won't be flying anywhere in the near future.
So it is time for Magoo to meet his Nanny - and for his Mummy to face one of her greatest fears*.

I'm not afraid of flying as such.
I'm a nervous flyer, but I'll happily suck it up to get to point B.
Especially if B is for Borneo, Bali, Broome, Brisbane - you know, locations within a 6 hour flight path of home.
I am fearful of mind numbing boredom on an epic scale.
Of toddler whinging, tantrums and repetitive questions with no escape hatch.
Of a cramped, confined space for a whole day.
Of prolonged, seated discomfort and serious sleep deprivation.

I have made the flight from 'Home Australia' to 'Home Ireland' many times, hating it each and every one.
I feel physical pangs of guilt and anxiety when I think about putting Magoo (and our fellow passengers) through such a looong flight.
Yep, I'll be that woman who no one makes eye contact with on boarding in case they end up as my neighbour. As if just looking at us will somehow render their seat next to ours.
I also feel butterflies of excitement at the prospect of seeing some much longed for family at the end of the haul.
At the thought of introducing Magoo
(who will be like a feral animal and probably be quarantined, I'm sure)
to his Nanny, Uncle, Grandad, 2nd cousins and all my crazy clan.


Magoo is delighted at the thought of visiting more 'planeports' and seeing his beloved Aunty Fiono again. He just wants to know if his Nanny will have a car seat for him (is cabin fever hereditary?!) and if he can go on the plane with the red tail (QANTAS Club, anyone?!). He has sweetly asked me if I think my brother will like him. Bless.
(My brother will LOVE Magoo as his nephew is a mini him. Scarily so.)

I have a coupla hundred things to do, buy, pack and organise before Sunday - but for some strange reason I don't really care.
I'm going home to my 'people'.
If your own people won't lend you a damn toothbrush or a pair of knickers, who will?

Here I am preparing for an Irish Summer!

Any 'air travel avec little person' tips?

Shar :-)


*I will not even entertain writing about what my actual greatest fear is, because I'm nowhere near ready to acknowledge it in print.

The Soundtrack

Music is a huge part of life.
Among the million or so reasons why I would never last ten seconds in a 'Big Brother' house is the music thing.
No access to music, no singing lyrics, no humming actual tunes even.

Whilst I can't hold a note
(literally-I was the only girl in yr 7 not allowed in the choir-scarred for life)
I defiantly just go on loving music anyway.
What I lack in skill, I make up for in enthusiasm and often volume
(as I slowly put that primary music trauma behind me).



Whilst I never got to be one of Robert Palmer's backing singers on Simply Irresistible or "Love Shack" up with The B52s - there's always youtube, right?!

As with most folk, the bulk of my memories are accompanied by a soundtrack of some description. A once familiar song can bring back vivid images, intense feelings, laughter and often a tear or two.

My childhood memories include my drummer Dad's love of The Beatles and his pencil drumming along to Thin LIzzy while working on house plans at night. I was brought up on the likes of the Pogues and Christy Moore and spent many weekends soaking up Irish music in situ - at Irish pubs.

My best friend's parents woke us up on sleepover mornings with lively renditions of "Da Doo Ron, Ron, Ron" and "Hey Mickey". We held many a backyard concert to the almighty Whispering Jack's cult tracks. Yes, we could 'Take The Pressure Down' like nobody's business. Sadly, the 'Home and Away' theme song also featured heavily in these years - as did the Home and Away hot line. Anyone else prank call that number regularly? Just us, hey.

I wasn't particularly loyal to any one genre as a teenager (or now).
Pearl Jam and Nirvana rocked my world but so did a bit of Hip Hop Hooray with Naughty By Nature and Salt N Pepa!
I can remember a fickle swapping  of my Soundgarden CD for a friend's Snoop Dogg album.
I loved our commercial version of 'trance' and a rolling bass too. Ba ha ha. We were nuthin but hardcore!
The gang and I also mistakenly thought we had discovered the magic that was The Violent Femmes, The Doors, Bob Marley and Jimi Hendrix.
(Obstinately refusing to acknowledge that we were one of many generations to believe this.)

My very first 'grown up' music concert experience was Cypress Hill and Ice Cube. I clearly remember my friend not being allowed to go at the last minute as her Dad had seen a segment on Today Tonight or similar about their explicit lyrics and drug referencing. I don't know what he was smoking - how could Insane In The Brain or I Wanna Get High be anything but lovely melodies?? I thought the boys were very industrious gardeners - always singing about getting that 'weed'.

When I fluked scored my driver's licence 'How Bizarre' was constantly pumping out of my stock standard 1978 fabulous brown Ford Escort speakers. The radio stations were flogging it and I sang along, windows down, thinking how bizarre it was that I was licenced - as I am was a shocking driver.

Any track from the Dirty Dancing soundtrack (as well as any quote) is ingrained in my subconscious and is easily applied to a myriad of scenarios. You'd be surprised how many occasions call for a bit of "I carried a watermelon" or "nobody puts Baby in a corner".
I haven't arrived at a final verdict as to whether the Black Eyed Peas have paid homage to an era defining tune or are guilty of butchering the damn thing with The Time (Dirty Bit) .

When I would go home to Ireland - it was important to have your song.
You know, a bit of Danny Boy or Limerick, You're A Lady (um, no she certainly is not  - for the record. I'm allowed to dispute this as it's my birthplace. No Irish raging, please.)
Fact - I don't have a song - because I can't sing.
You see, after the pub closes, the music is turned off, the doors locked and the real music begins. A capella and amateur. I would strategically go to the bar or toilet every time the invisible 'singing stick' got anywhere close to me and then manoeuvre my way into a position as far away from the 'sing spot' as possible. Not bad logistics for a girl who had a whole town's worth of 'shouts' impairing her judgement.

In my heyday, Blink 182s' All The Small Things
"Say it ain't soooo, I will not gooooo. Turn the lights out, carry me home...Na na na..."
could well have been written about my reluctance to call it a night - ever.
Enough said. Tequila may well be an appropriate link to this time too.

Planet Funk accompanied my hair, make up and 'I have no clothes freak out' routine in the lead up to a big night out. One More Time transports me back to the red velvet curtains of a particular haunt and I See You Baby never fails to make me grin stupidly at the 'good old days'!

 When Hubby and I were young and stupid (just prior to becoming old and stupid, I believe) our Saturday or Sunday morning catch cry was too often Spiderbait's "Whoa, Black Betty, bambalam".

Our wedding song was Jack Johnson's "Better Together" and I still listen to it regularly.
I also stand by the lyrics (read  - Hubby - come the hell home!!)

There is no combination of words I could put on the postcard
And no song that I could sing, but I can try because this is your heart and this is
Our dreams and they are made out of real things
Like a shoebox of photographs with sepia-toned loving
Love is the answer at least for most of the questions in my heart, like
Why are we here? And where do we go? And how come it's so hard?
It's not always easy and sometimes life can be deceiving
I'll tell you one thing, it's so much better when we're together

Mmm, so much better when we're together
Yeh, we'll look at the stars when we're together
Well it's so much better when we're together
Yeh, it's so much better when we're together...

A friend sang a beautiful rendition of Bernard Fannings "Watch Over Me" during our wedding ceremony.

When trouble fills my world You bring me peace You calm me down You're my relief When walls come crashing down around my feet You light my way You're my release So say you'll watch over me When I'm in too deep Tell me you'll always be There to pull me free When the sun is beating down upon my brow You are my shade You cool me down Every time i tried to turn away You brought me 'round Your humble way So say you'll watch over me When I'm in too deep Tell me you'll always be There to pull me free There to rescue me

Both songs still make me bawl like a baby.

When I was pregnant nearly every worship song had me in tears, but in particular the beautiful 'Shout To The Lord'. I would rub my growing belly, sing out of tune and let the tears roll.

 In the early days and nights with Magoo (I couldn't really tell the difference) Hubby and I would wander around this place singing Pink's "This used to be a fun house..."
Inspiring words of comfort for one another, really.

We also sang a lot of the Ting Ting's "That's Not My Name" when one of my aunties sent our beautiful, newborn Magoo a card bearing a completely different name to the one we had painstakingly chosen!

Powderfinger's recent (and final) gig was hands down one of the best live performances I've been to. Whether it was their actual show or the 'date night' atmosphere that made "These Days" so blissful, I can't be certain though.

My days are now filled with nursery rhymes and silly, impromptu songs to entertain or cajole a toddler into compliance. The Wiggles dominate our airwaves and 'The Muppets' are regularly stuck in my head. Rock A Bye Your Bear must be one of the cutest little songs to sing over and over and over - and over some more.

When I'm cross with Hubby I tend to favour a bit of Beyonce's "If I Were A Boy' or 'Single Ladies'. I figure 3:28 mins of pretending to be a single lady in the confines of my own car is preferable to stabbing a certain someone in the eye with a fork.

I love to run to anything with a kicking beat and great tempo. My itunes playlist reads like that of a teenage girl.  Current i pod favourites include "Happiness", "Put your Hands Up For Detroit", The Chemical Brothers, The Lady Herself - Gaga, Daft Punk, my girl Pink, The Presets and approximately twelve more hours of the tunes all the kids are loving.

Hubby is currently in raptures over Duck Sauce's "Barbara Streisand".
(I know, don't tell him he's long out of high school, plus  - Barbara Streisand??
His taste is a worry. Present wife excepted!
His 'celebrity free shot' is Patricia Arquette for goodness sake. 
I'd almost feel bad being with Robbie Williams or Simon Baker knowing that he only gets the 'Medium Mum').

On that note, I'd want Robbie Williams present at my funeral too.
In the form of 'Angels' or 'Nan's Song' (cue more tears)  - or both if you have the time folks.

Lately I've been feeling a bit too Alanis Morissette for my liking.
I'm becoming less You Learn and more of U2's Beautiful Day as this week goes on, though.
Must be 'cause my Lady Limerick is calling me.

What's currently playing on the soundtrack of your life?
Or do you have a favourite track so far?

Shar :-)

The disclaimer : I take no responsibility for offence caused by any of the links featured in this post. I do apologise for any offence caused by my taste in music though.