Rico, not Dave : What’s in a name?

We used to have a ginger cat named Chopper.

We loved him dearly, but he never ever forgave us for introducing a child to the mix, and was positively livid when we added 2 more at once.

So he took up residence next door with #1Brother, and only deigned to acknowledge us at meal times.

He passed away almost 2 years ago, and while I’ve missed him, I admit that I have enjoyed having one less mouth to feed and water.

One less person to crap on everything (figuratively, occasionally literally).

One less person to constantly whine at me for food.

The kids never really spent much time with Chopper, on account of his deathly hatred for them.  And so, they’ve never really been into pets, other than to acknowledge that we did have a cat at some point but he died and now he’s buried outside and can we dig him up to see what he looks like now?

Besides that morbid curiosity, they don’t really seem that fussed by the notion of having a pet.  And so we’ve gone pet-free since Chopper met his demise.

Recently, I noted my kids had developed a wimpy aversion to animals.

It’s like they’ve regressed from their curious toddler selves, who were all happy to pat a spitting alpaca on their grandfather’s farm (while Super Dad, #1Hubby, crapped himself at a safe distance from inside the car)…or Miss9’s approximately 4 1/2 year old self with this bad boy wrapped around her:

Coffee shop stop, Bali style.

I yelled to the cafe staff from my spot climbing atop the farthest table at the back, that they were responsible for her, and if shit went down, they had to save her because I. WAS. OUT.

Mstr6 is the worst.  He is the epitome of girly-man scared of anything with 4 legs.  One of my best girlfriends has a gorgeous little dog named Tammy – just screams vicious, child terrorising animal of doom, right?

Hardly.  She plods around the house, kindly allowing us a wide berth in her own territory.  She steers clear of my kids, because dogs are smart and she can’t be arsed with Mstr6’s girly-man-ness any more than I can.

And yet, still, he loses his shit when he sees her.

Miss6 plays it tough but she’s always slightly further away than he is – because she’s smart enough to know that the weak get taken first…

Miss9 is a cat lover and ignores Tammy for their newest family member, Daisy the tortoise shell kitten.  Daisy is all energy, tearing around the living room, and Miss9 loves it.  She shrieks with laughter, ignoring her friends playing outside to be a crazy cat woman in training instead.

It was after a recent visit that I decided we needed a pet.

I valiantly and selflessly declared that I would take one for the team and invite another mouth to be fed, another being to be loved and cared for, into our family.

But only if it was a ginger kitten, because my selflessness has limits.

Yesterday our 10 week old bundle of fur arrived – a total surprise to the kids who had just been whining for a ginger Fur Real Friends kitten they’d seen on TV.

Naturally I took all credit for exceeding their expectations.  #1Hubby rolled his eyes and I offered him a one finger salute in a loving flick of the wrist.

Mstr6 was totally confused.  Was he excited?  Was he shitting himself with  fear that this orange ball of fluff that weighs about as much as his glasses would come for him in his sleep?

Should I really be convincing him this is the brother he’s been asking for, in order to get him to man up and go within 4 feet of the kitten?

Yes, yes I did.  Because I’m fairly confident the potential therapy fees will still be far less than the cost of another child.

First things first, a name….

Here were the initial suggestions:







I’d just been out for lunch with #1Nana, so I’m guessing either #1Hubby forgot to feed them, or fed them the above list of nutritious items to shut them up while I was out.

A quick word about appropriate names for a boy kitten, and a second round of suggestions:

Chopper (not Chopper II, but exactly the same as its predecessor, who would likely be turning in his garden grave at being so easily replaced with a younger model – totally understandable).

Orange (the neighbours have a ginger cat named Mango, and the kids decided they wanted to call ORANGE AND MANGO).

Puss In Boots


Meng (I have no idea…)

And finally, the kicker.  The one that came out of nowhere, and they all loved….



For some reason, they had their hearts set on DAVE.

I could just picture myself standing at the front door of an evening, calling for DAVE to come in…and being met by any number of middle aged Aussie blokes named Dave…

And so one final discussion about finding an appropriate name, while #1Hubby Googled pet names and started at A and we all wanted to punch him by the time he got to Anastasia.

Finally, Mstr6 emerged from the toy room where he had been watching the Penguins of Madagascar, and announced very matter-of-factly…Rico.

Now, ignoring the fact that Rico is a penguin, it just worked.

And so, without any further painful ado, I present to you Rico :

The latest love of my life (you had your chance, George), and current front runner for all of my jewellery when my time comes.

All of the cute.

I can’t stop myself cuddling this tiny little ball of cuteness, while whispering in his ear “My precious…”.

Fingers crossed Mstr6 comes out of his room / down from the lounge and makes nice with his little bro some time before his 21st birthday.

I am now going to start researching how to create catchy cat videos and various witty meme’s so that I can branch out from blogging….

Once I have harvested a kidney to pay for the little darling and its associated bloody expensive bits and pieces and fancy arsed kitty food that costs more than what I spend on meals for the rest of the family….

Feeling blue

Remember that whole global internet debate over the colour** of the sequined dress?

The fact that people would devote so much time and energy to it is beyond me.

I mean, who really cares?

In my house, we have a far more serious colour debate raging.


And if you can, kudos to you.  Because you and Mstr6 are the only two beings on Earth who can.

Exhibit A – THE blue school tracksuit pants of choice

Exhibit B – not THE blue school tracksuit pants of choice

Exhibit C – Smart arse.  Total, bloody, smart arse.

Told me to point to THE blue tracksuit pants after turning his back and mixing them up.

I am no longer leaving him all of my jewels.

Note: They are the exact same shade of blue, despite one pair appearing darker than the other in the images.

That’s because THEY ARE EXACTLY THE SAME.  Purchased from the same store, at the same time, worn and washed the same number of times, faded to the same shade.

I spent – and I’m ashamed to admit this – one whole hour having a heated debate with Mstr6 over these very tracksuit pants, which only ended when the girls weighed in to advise that it was 8:15am.  And nobody had eaten breakfast, let alone packed lunches.

That’s an hour of my life that I will never get back, and for that, I am considering removing Mstr6 from my last will and testament.

You see, he only wants to wear THE blue tracksuit pants to school (Exhibit A).

Totally lost his shit when I could only locate Exhibit B blue tracksuit pants.

Which were shunned because they were blue tracksuit pants, but not blue tracksuit pants.

All of the outrage and woe.

I can’t even…..

I have never uttered so many shed words in my life.

Yes.  Me.  I am making that call.

It was that bad.

I took great delight when he tripped over while putting on the non-preferred pair after an hour’s stand-off.

Not an ounce of maternal care masking my inner 14 year old laughing and pointing at him.

I then took great solace in not buttering his sandwich for lunch that day.  Nor did I cut it in quarters.  I even gave his sisters a yoghurt** and him carrot sticks.

Edit: This actually occurred a couple of weeks ago.  I didn’t realise my scheduled post had not gone live.  BUT FEAR NOT…because this has happened twice more since I wrote the post…FFS.

At this point, I would like you to take note of the fact that I’ve labelled both items Exhibit A and Exhibit B in order to assist in the court proceedings when one of us does the other one in, during a fit of rage over the blue versus blue debate.  Exhibit C is to justification for whatever may occur as a result of this ongoing debate.

**Apologies to my US friends.  These are not typos.  That’s how we spell colour/color and yoghurt/yogurt here in Aus.

All hail the mighty pizza

Me:  Hey kids, for dinner, how about I throw some flour, tepid water, a bit of yeast…

Them:  What’s yeast?

Me:  It’s a fungus…

Them:  OMG, grose, yuck, nononononononono

Plus various faux vomit sounds

Me:  Anywayyyyy…. to that delightful mix I’m going to add nothing but baby spinach, some tomato puree, mushrooms – another fungus – and capsicum.  Sound good?


Plus Oscar worthy faking their own death scenes of horror and disgust

Me:  Oh okay, I’ll top it with a small amount of cheese.  But not the cheddar you’re used to.  We’re talking mozzarella.

Them:  The one that tastes like plastic?

Me:  Well, not really. Okay, sort of.  Ummm….Yep, that’s the one.

Can you imagine that scenario playing out favourably?


Which is why I will be forever grateful and in awe of the humble pizza.

My kids loathe so many veges between them that it’s hard to find more than a few that they’ll all eat willingly.

They eat all of the veges, they just don’t realise it.  I am all about the stealth inclusion of every vege I can possibly fit into a meal.

Ignorance is bliss!

Nobody questions the almighty pizza.  Least of all, children.

Observe, tonight’s dinner plus tomorrow’s lunch….

The green flecks are ZUCCHINI and BROCCOLI STEMS, plus some mixed herbs, in my pizza base.
Lest I miss the opportunity to amp up the veg quota.

Please note the first name initial on each tray, to ensure that each child dare not consume a much feared vege…..FFS.
Note: Images are pre-cheese.  Because I totes forgot to capture the joy of the post-cheese pizza, let alone the finished product.  My bad.  My very hungry bad.

If I’d dared suggest my kids eat any combination of these items in any other format, I’d have a mutiny on my hands.

This is, hands down, our family favourite from the Tefal Cuisine Companion.

As much as pizza is my saviour, it has also been, until now, a complete pain in my ass.

I loathe kneading and leaving things to rise and then kneading some more.  

OMG, no time, no attention span….

One batch of dough in the Tefal Cuisine Companion takes me – literally – 7 minutes from the second I walk into the kitchen, until I’m topping the rolled out pizzas.

And it makes enough for dinner and lunch for all of us.  Crazy cheap.

Cheap, quick and easy.

Also healthy, compared to so many other quick meal options.

#1Hubby has been away all of this week.  It’s been another week of bowing down and saluting those who solo parent for any length of time.  Single parents, FIFO parents, whatever your situation – I’m in awe of you.

And the working parents.  OMG…by the time I get home from work and school, put all my effort into refraining from using repeated shed words while completing three lots of homework, then do some housework – all while being interrupted multiple times to break up a Hunger Games style fight, or life and death debate before it deteriorates into a WCW smackdown…

I just can’t face the time and effort required to pull together a meal that has a decent portion of veg, fibre, protein blah blah blah etc etc etc….  These pizzas have featured on our dinner tables four times once or twice in the past week, because they are so quick and easy.

Also healthy, compared to so many other quick meal options.  And, mercifully, happily consumed.

Am now awaiting the return of #1Hubby this arvo, and also the arrival of my Nobel Prize for Family Fiscal Awesomeness and Nutritional Management.

(Picture me, draping myself rather dramatically over the lounge (wine in hand, obviously)…milking it for all it’s worth, intending to stay there for the duration of the WA long weekend, while #1Hubby does the bulk of the parenting).

I just can’t….

This image visually assaulted me when I pried my eyes open at the arse crack of dawn, thanks to three man-flu riddled kids and THREE kittens (more on that sudden increase in feline figures later)…and flopped down in front of my laptop to check Facebook….

That is #1Hubby and his boyfriends at MY Champagne Bar in Bali.


While I am home looking after his sick children.

Double bastard.

And missing a blog-related trip.

Triple bastard.

I won’t even get into the unspeakables that THREE kittens are subjecting me to, on my own.

Quadruple bastard.

EXHAUSTIPATED : Too tired to give a shit.

But I will later.

And I will refer to this post when I need to remind myself why I am going all woe is me martyr.  In case my flu fatigue causes me to forget all the crosses that I am bearing while he is boozing in Bali at MY bar.

**Nobody mention all the trips I take to exciting places like the US for BlogHer, Cambodia and Vietnam (annually), or the girls trip to Bali with my sister wives just a couple of months ago.  I bet this is how he feels every time I go away.  Totally does not count right now.

Don’t make me get the clippers out….

Meet my deputy of discipline.

It used to be the Zhu Zhu Pets, but my kids have out-grown that irrational fear, and the pets are no longer capable of rounding up the kids like a herd of petrified cattle.

My latest deputy only works on Mstr6, but that’s okay, because the girls understand threats and bargaining better than he does.

For Mstr6, the mere mention of getting the clippers out to do his hair has him in full blown girly-man tantrum mode.

Every time I do his hair we experience said girly-man tantrum.

But only pre-clippering.

During and after having his hair done, he quite matter of factly advises that it doesn’t hurt a bit, and he’s not scared of it at all.

He even promises not to lose his shit 6 – 8 weeks later when he’ll need his next haircut.

But he’s a liar or has a short memory or both, because we end up going through the same drama every time.

Right now, we are in a stalemate.

It’s like a Mexican standoff – 

I am disgusted by his completely dishevelled look, all long bits of hair sticking up everywhere (I dumped a good handful of hair gel on one patch and it still stuck straight up in the air)

but I do have the greatest behavioural threat ever at my disposal, every time he refuses to do as he’s told – 

      Me:    Eat your veg
      Him:  Nooooooooooooooooo
      Me:   If you don’t eat your veg you’ll go to bed early
      Him:  No I won’t
      Me:  Yes you will
      Him:  Fine, I’ll talk to Goggerson (stuffed toy of choice)
      Me:   Fine, I’ll get the clippers out and do your hair in the time you should have been eating your veg

      Me:   Homework time
      Him:  I don’t want to
      Me:   Neither do I, but, let’s do it
      Him:  No, I don’t want to
      Me:   Too bad, we’re doing it
      Him:  No
      Me:   It’s go time….
      Him:  I’m not doing my homework
      Me:   No, not that.  I’m getting the clippers to do your hair instead, since we’re not doing homework
      Him:  Girly shriek, and runs to get homework

      Me:   Bath time
      Him:  No I had one yesterday
      Me:   Yes, you have one every day
      Him:  No I don’t
      Me:   Yes you do
      Him:  No I don’t
      Me:   Yes. You. Do.
      Him:  No. I. Don’t.
      Me:   Shed words, some muttered, some slightly more audible
      Him:  I did not have one Saturday
      Me:   Yes you did
      Him:  No I didn’t
      Me:   More shed words, none muttered, all audible
      Him:  Ahahahahaha
      Me:   That’s it…

See, he’s catching on….I don’t even need to verbalise the threat now!

Works like a charm, every time.

I just have to live with all that hair until I find a substitute threat that he responds to just as passionately.

Am going to hit YouTube for tutorials on how to braid the rats tail that’s appeared at the back into a side pony.

Off the grid

My latest absence (and associated flimsy excuse) is because I am going OFF THE GRID.


Except for booze, because who has the time to wait for all that brewing and distilling and watching a few bubbles rise and getting ridiculously excited – like the equivalent to popping a bottle of France’s finest.

Myeh.  So we’re calling it SEMI SELF SUFFICIENT.

Jumping on the coconut oil bandwagon has really helped.

So many uses.

Some probably not intentional.

Lucky it is organic.

I’d also like to point out that my new off the grid / semi self sufficient status disclaimer also excludes electronic devices.


I am only human.

It’s probably more of a I am LAZY and couldn’t be bothered going out for takeaway food, so I COOKED INSTEAD thing.

True story – took me less time to cook than to get my “going out in public” clothes on and restore peace and order when the whiney three fight to come along on a takeaway run as if we’re going to Disneyland….

But I’m going with the far more impressive statement – I AM GOING OFF THE GRID AND BEING SEMI SELF SUFFICIENT.

Details, details.

It all started when I wanted dip with my wine and cheese, and was too LAZY and not prepared to drive after a couple glasses of Dan Murphy’s finest non-French cheap bubbles.

#1Hubby was completely and outrageously useless.

Refused to drive.

Refused to walk.

Totally unhelpful and not doing his bit with the hunting and gathering.  

So I MADE my own dips – plural!

Beetroot – half arsed pic because the kids love beetroot dip and I turned my back for 5 seconds (it was more like 10 minutes – but it was Facebook distraction time so it’s like equating dog years to human years or something similar), and the little darlings had polished almost all of it off.

They denied it, of course, but the purple rings around their three smirking mouths gave them away.

For my revenge I informed them that beetroot was a vegetable, and revelled in their outrage and disgust. Hah!

For my next trick, I made  FIRE!  HOMMUS!

Am now a food photographer, what with my subtle and genius product placement

All of the yums and back patting for making it myself, preservative free, and indulging in a vegetable (chick peas are veg, right?) to totally balance out the soft cheese and cheap bubbly.


Then last night, because I was on a roll, I decided to create the Indian takeaway we were jonesing for.


Calling time on my short but illustrious career as a Food Photographer.
Forgot to use the flash
Stood over the pic and literally over-shadowed my creation

Am now considering opening up a dodgy, unlicensed, unofficial takeaway joint at my place.

No menu.

Just cooking what I feel like on any given day, courtesy of my Tefal Cuisine Companion.

Because it literally took me less time to prepare my Butter Chicken, home made garlic Naan Bread, and equally home made Raita – than it would have taken #1Hubby and I to have a Parliament Question Time style childish debate over who should be going to get the takeaway.  And then arguing further over what to have.  Debating whether or not the person picking up the takeaway has the right to choose cheese naan over garlic, to dictate poppadoms or no.

Seriously, biggest controversy of our marriage after the kids.

Anyway today I’m going all out – making a cake…wait for it….THAT DOESN’T COME FROM A BOX!

The snowball effect : becoming travel bloggers

#1Hubby      I want to go on a holiday.

Me                Me too.

#1Hubby      How good would it be to go to Vegas.

Me                Hell yes.  But have you forgotten about The Feral Threesome?

#1Hubby      Oh yeah…

Thinks for a few seconds

#1Hubby      You went when you were a kid.  Where did you go?

Me                 Circus Circus.  Awesome place.
                      I spent most of my time there while the #1Grandparents gambled.

#1Hubby       See, family-friendly holiday.

Me                It pains me to say this, but you are right.
                     What about the rest of the time?
                     Or are we just going to leave them there the entire trip?

#1Hubby      Well….it’s a pretty big place….

Me                That’s true….

#1Hubby      We could also take them to Disneyland or Disney World.

Me                That totally amps up the ‘family’ factor.  Nice one.

#1Hubby      Do you reckon we’ve got enough frequent flyer points to upgrade?

Me                Actually we do.  But only for us.  

#1Hubby      Bummer.  For the kids, I mean.

Me                Exactly.

Because, we are allowed to dream. 

Me                I like the kids and all.  I’m not saying we don’t get along.
                     But I don’t really want to spend all of my holiday time with them.
                     Definitely not ‘Happy Hour’.

#1Hubby      Yeah.  Definitely.
                     We’d probably need a Nanny or something.
                     Good call.

Me                Do you think they’d fly in economy with the kids?
                     Then we can upgrade to business class?

Both of us   Ahahahahahahaha.

More dreaming.

#1Hubby      What about a cruise?
                     We’ve been looking at cruises.
                     We could do one of those Disney cruises while we’re there.

Me                Nailed it.
                     It is now a 100% family-friendly trip, all about the kids.
                     We are merely selfless supervisors.
                     Going along to facilitate their childhood enjoyment.

We actually high five at this point.

#1Hubby      We are awesome parents.

Me                I know, right?!

#1Hubby      ……so, can we?

Me                Why not.
                     Firstly, which bank are we going to rob to pay for all of this?

Dripping with sarcasm.

Which was totally lost / wasted on him.

#1Hubby      Funny.  Can’t you just blog about it?

Me                What?

#1Hubby      You know, just offer to blog about it all and – 

Snorting and laughing while interrupting him….

Me                That is a great idea!
                     Because shit like that happens ALL. THE. TIME.

#1Hubby      Really?
                     Don’t be a smart ass.

I’m now riding my beloved sarcasm train and can’t get off

Me                No for real.
                     I’m going to write about this conversation.
                     Then we’ll wait for the offers to immediately roll in.
                     Because who wouldn’t want in on this? 

#1Hubby      Shut up.

Me                Can you check your diary for me?

#1Hubby      Why?

Me                Just so we can arrange a time to sift through the many, many emails.
                     We need to work out which ones we are prepared to accept.
                     Probably need to block out a few hours to get through it all.

#1Hubby      Funny.

Some more snort-laughing

Me                I’d hate to have the rest of the world feel left out.
                     Maybe we should open it up to Europe too?

#1Hubby leaves the room, muttering various shed words in my direction

Me                Think of all the wineries!
                     And the cheese!
                     And pasta!

Pretty sure he went to look for a second job for each of us, to fund this magical, amazing holiday that all started over coffee yesterday morning, while browsing the Travel lift-out of the Sunday paper.

And also to start up his own blog in an attempt to elicit extravagant travel review offers.

So….how was your Sunday?

Why beer makes me a better wife

I’m not an avid consumer, because I dare not cheat on my beloved wine and vodka too often.

There are a number of ways in which beer makes me more awesome.

I’m certain it makes me more attractive to #1Hubby after a few.

It certainly makes him more agreeable to my various purchases and travel plans!

It also saves my bacon when I am a less than stellar wife….


This arrived on my doorstep early last week.

#1Hubby does enjoy seeing the benefits of blogging, and so he eagerly stood over my shoulder while I opened a package involving a beer company.

Then let out a few yelps of excitement when he discovered ACTUAL BEER inside.

It was like the clouds had parted and the sun was shining from within the box while angels sang.

Then he read over my shoulder as the words FATHERS DAY were prominently and clearly mentioned more than once on the included Media Release.

Say what now?

Our mouths dropped open in sync.  

I could see the cogs ticking as he came to realise what had just dawned on me…

I had completely forgotten Fathers Day.

I know, I know – how could I?  What with all the advertising telling me what a sexy, early 30’s dude, with a 3 day growth and smouldering but clear and wrinkle/bag free eyes (who has clearly never had children because he does not show the obvious signs of parental wear and tear)….would want for FATHERS DAY.

My brain was going oh crap oh crap oh crap oh crap DENY.

And so I’ve spent the past few days rushing around trying to think of SOMETHING to gift #1Hubby for Fathers Day on behalf of The Feral Threesome.


Short of gifting him a kidney in the event that he may need it one day.

And I’m not totally sold on the idea of gifting a vital organ to him.  He is older.  He’s had more time with his bits and pieces.  Why should the young (that’s me) have to sacrifice?

Anyway, I gave in.

I went to #1Hubby on Saturday to admit defeat and ask what he would like, because clearly I’d run out of time to find the supposedly well planned, carefully thought out, and definitely not forgotten and panic purchased gift.  You know, for Fathers Day that was “yesterday”.


Action Shot.  From someone who is so organised and prepared, we celebrated Fathers Day a week early….

He thought the Tooheys Cooking Handbook that came with the beer was his gift.

And he was happy with that.

And he plans to use it.


So now it’s my turn for the clouds to part.  There is a definite glow above his head (I’m not going to say a halo, because he hasn’t yet made good on his plans to cook).  And I’m pretty sure there were angels singing sweetly in the background.

Oh, and Fathers Day is not until THIS WEEK.

(You’re welcome for the heads up, anybody else who has failed at Fathers Day as spectacularly as I, and also thought it was a week earlier than it is).

I am like the hat  trick of awesome wife and mother and all of that stuff.

If you are short of a gift idea – why not get them a gift that keeps on giving….to you.  Like the Tooheys Cooking Handbook.

It is clearly associated with beer, so they’ll love it.

Meanwhile, you can consider it payback for the washing machine / broom / towel set / slow cooker that the man in your life has gifted you in the past.

A two-fer!
Win win!

Shaping young minds and busting a move (and possibly a hip)

Image source

A lot of people have commented on how exhausted I’ve looked the past couple of weeks.

It’s been a crazy couple of weeks, both at work and at home.

I’m pretty sure it’s involved some of my best and worst parenting – simultaneously.

First there was work – the annual school Book Fair.

I was a Book Fair virgin, which seems an appropriate analogy, as I felt decidedly violated once it was over.

I was out the door before 7am and home after 5pm each day, whiney Feral Threesome in tow.

It was a costly experience, in more ways than one.

I spent a small fortune on books for my own kids, just to shut them up while I worked.

I spent a stupid amount of time fretting over why the Minions posters weren’t selling, why we were selling so many blue macaron erasers as opposed to pink, and wondering who was taking the “Final Copy” notes from the books.

School Library Officers – I salute you.  It was my first one, and I will spend the next 365 days recovering.

It was all for the children and so I sucked it up, self medicated with wine of an evening, and I did it.

Because I am nothing if not selfless when it comes to educating and shaping young minds.

And it was in my job description. Heh.

I didn’t have more than a day to bask in the after-glow, as it was very quickly followed by a bit of a parenting guilt trip.

Upon a quick moment of self-reflection during an ad break, intending to once again congratulate myself on going above and beyond for the children, I realised that I’d been so consumed by making the Book Fair a success, that I hadn’t actually spent much quality time with my children.

And of course they all looked so bloody angelic and quiet and well behaved when I had this realisation – because they were asleep.

And so, in the morning when they were far less angelic and quiet, I promised the world to them come Friday night – there would be bonding, fun, board games, the works!

Then Friday night rolled around and I was half way to the bottom of a bottle of Mumm (my post Book Fair treat) when I was reminded of my promises.

I vowed to do better on Saturday.

Saturday came and I steeled myself for the most fun that could be had minus wine.

I had an impromptu skipping contest with Miss6.

Totally wiped the floor with her.

Was all smug about my good, healthy parenting, and also my ability to beat a child at something moderately athletic.

Buoyed by my smugness, I then commenced a 3 hour dance off with Miss9, who then tagged in Mstr6 and Miss6.

It was on like Donkey Kong as we found the “Greatest Hits of the 90’s” marathon on one channel, and “The Hottest Hits Right Now” on the other – my two greatest musical loves.

Miss9 was raising the roof.

Miss6 was dropping it like it was hot.

We were all Gangnaming with wild abandon.

Mstr6, I think, did a little break dancing.  I think.  That or he was cleaning the floor his head.  Truthfully, knowing him, both are viable.

It was a raging success.

The kids had a blast.  I busted a move and taught them all about modern rap versus 90’s rap (it’s just a little bit faster and the clothes aren’t quite as baggy).  I ensured they would have a degree of street cred come school disco time.




Nailed it.

I was clearly the most awesome, hippest parent in the land.


Until yesterday morning when I attempted to raise my body from the bed.

And suddenly it was more about a potentially busted hip than being hip.

Clearly, at some point, a steam roller has driven over my person, reversed up and gone back over me, before parking on my legs.

Dear Vodka Gods.  Everything hurts.  It all aches.

It’s like a killer hangover without the booze and drunken shenanigans the night before.

Worst of all, the kids are totally up for making it a weekly “family night” kind of gig.

Through the pain, I could only communication in a feeble, kind of Yoda-esque way.  I was all “Hmmm…great….that would…be….”

Next time I will stick to board games (which I like to refer to as bored games…because there’s only so many times you can pass Go and collect $200 without wanting to poke your eyes out with the plastic thimble…).

I can’t wait until they’re old enough for drinking games….

I can’t even…..

Image credit

The kids put the Christmas tree up last night.

Without my supervision.

I am yet to look at it.

I’m weeping on the inside for what I know will definitely not be strategic and symmetrical placement of ornaments and tinsel.

I can’t.

I just can’t.

Thank the vodka gods we’re going away for the big day, so I won’t have to be visually assaulted on the most festive day of the whole festive season.

I’m going to whack this bad boy up in the hotel room….

Not even kidding.