What time is it? 5.15am? Bloody hell. I should get up and get some jobs done. I need to pack his lunch. What am I going to stick in his lunch box? Maybe I’ll put in some of the Banana and Date Loaf I made? Is that considered a healthy food choice in day care land? Oh who cares the kid gets cake. I should chop up some strawberries too. I wonder if it’s true that they’re sprayed with a shit storm of chemicals? I’ll wash them.

What will we have for dinner? I have to get meat out of the freezer. I’m so sick of meat. We’ll have chicken.

What’s he going to wear? All his clothes are in the ironing basket. Can I get away without ironing them? Everyone else seems to. I hate ironing. I’ll iron it.

It’s cold. I’ll turn the heater on for a bit and then I can feel guilty about burning coal and killing the environment. What kind of a world are my kids going to live in? I have to switch energy providers, I’m pretty sure they are investing in coal seam gas.

I need to wash up, does my washing liquid have phosphates? I think that’s bad for the environment too, must remember to check next time.

Oh great, he’s saying bloody hell again! Bloody hell, why must they repeat everything? At least he didn’t say fuck. I must stop swearing. I wonder if a swear jar will work? I could use that jar in the cupboard, it would be pretty if I stuck some ribbon to it. Do I have any double sided tape? Must go to Spotlight.

What am I going to do today? I need to write that grant, cook for the play group party, book a hair appointment, cancel the doctors appointment, reschedule the community health appointment. Meh.

I should blog something. Maybe I will after I get that pop up virus off my computer. Pop up viruses are rude.

Did he take himself to the toilet when he got up? I wonder if he peed in the bed? Hope not. It looks like it’s going to rain and it will be hard to get the sheets dry.

I’ll check Facebook. I must ring Apple and see if they can fix my phone. Hopefully they can’t and I can get an iPhone6. I think there is a part in the iPhone that is made from a resource found where the orangutans live. I should not get a new phone. I’m killing orangutans.

Look at all these I Hate Abbott memes. I need to stop following these pages. They are filling my feed. I’m getting depressed. Why are we having a George Bush moment? I’m so embarrassed.

Oh look a rescue puppy! Tag husband. We should really get a fence first. Do I want a dog now? Is it just something else I have to look after? Will we need pet insurance? Probably, but look at the cute!

I suppose I should get out of bed and see if he’s trashing the house. Meh. It’s warm here.

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The closest I’m likely to get to an exotic destination in the next ten years is my local noodle bar!

To ease my envy, I comfort myself knowing that beer in London pubs is served warm, Croatian beaches are likely infested with blue bottles, people can pee on you while drinking cocktails at a swim up bar and I look like a chicken rolled roast in a bikini.

In saying that, were someone to offer me an overseas trip, I would be all over it like a fat kid with a cupcake!

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Long time, no blog.

It’s been a tough few weeks. The flu from hell swept over the house, the toddler went feral, I discovered I know nothing about parenting and had an existential crisis for good measure. Good times people. Good times.


I’m a thinker. It’s a challenging way of being when getting down and dirty in the trenches of motherhood. Motherhood is a great love story, but it is also the crucible on which our identity and sense of purpose as women is reshaped.

As mothers we are presented with a series of archetypes with which we are challenged to conform, the good mother, the loving mother, the nurturing mother, the working mother. But there is a mismatch between expectation and experience, between what we ought to feel and what we actually feel, how we ought to be managing and how we actually manage and I find the divide, deeply unsettling.

As women today we are told we can have it all, be all. It is a lie.

We are primed to achieve, professionally, socially, financially and spiritually. We are told we have choice, something we should be grateful for as it is something our mothers and our mothers, mother lived without. But choice, poorly construed offers an impoverished vision of life, one that cannot be assimilated, let alone enjoyed.

As women we are led to believe we have the luxury of combining motherhood with the rest of life. In reality, combining is the expectation, juggling is the reality, a reality complicated by out-dated expectations of motherhood and deeply embedded assumptions about how things ought to be.

I believe society has deeply confused ideas about motherhood, we are caught between what was and what we expect things can or should be. Guilt, resentment and anxiety have become the soundtrack of our lives.

Why are we not discussing this? Why are we not challenging the notion of having it all, of being all? We swap ideas on how to cope, how to better organise our lives to achieve these ends, but we would be better off asking what the hell we’re doing and why? In effect, our ‘failures’, our frustration and confusion are not a sign of individual incompetence, it is a sign of unworkable social structures and contradictory cultural demands.

I think it’s time we break this shit down and forge something new, something workable, something satisfying, because this is too hard.

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