Our cat has been sleeping on Amy’s new Frozen bed cover, leaving Elsa looking as if she’s experiencing a rather unfortunate hormonal facial hair problem. Maybe I’m feeling bitchy about committing to an alcohol free day, or maybe I just really resent knowing Amy would trade her entire family to live with Elsa in Arendelle, but either way, I’m experiencing a not-insignificant level of schadenfreude. #LetItGrow #ForTheFursTimeInForever #ABitOfWaxOnYourLipperUpper
Amy: “Mummy…I’m not saying that I don’t like your outfit, exactly, but why did you decide to wear that?” Me: *changing*
Tilly was so overcome by the sheer excitement of being next to try on “lipick” she derped the derpiest face I’ve ever witnessed. Props to the awesome lady at Bobbi Brown for indulging little-girl dreams so this mama could find the perfect daytime red lippy.
Most evenings see me in a pair of yoga pants I bought when I was pregnant because I’ve got this thing about not wanting to “waste” nice clothes on hanging out at home (I blame my half-Scottish heritage for this mindset). Don’t go imagining a stylish “lounging at home in my activewear” getup though; these pants were from the $5 rack at Kmart, and are so old their cost-per-wear sits at about 0.0004 cents. Due to their clingy nature, they made my pregnant ass look like two baskets of rutting hamsters, but goddamit I love a bargain so wore them anyway. Also, nothing else fit. I was wearing these pants as I tucked Amy into bed last night, so was taken aback when she said, “Are you going out for dinner after I’ve gone to sleep? Those pants look fab-lee-iss”. Ah, but Amy is four, and in Four Year Old World a $5 pair of yoga pants can be considered totally ok to wear to a restaurant (stick that in your lemon, Lulu). It got …
After working the girls up into a frenzy about getting a swan plant so we could watch caterpillars turn into butterflies (wholesome! outdoors! gardening! learning but it’s FUN! etc), all our local garden centers were totally out of the bloody things. So we schlepped across town to a High Class garden centre and selected a healthy specimen with two teeny tiny caterpillars already munching on it. Amy promptly named them Elsa & Anna. Success…until two angry wasps wanted to come with our plant, and caused us to nearly knock over an over-priced yucca in our haste to get away. Plant temporarily abandoned, we sought out a garden centre employee so I could say “hey look, buddy, I don’t know how you guys do things over here in the land of Range Rovers, but in the Central-West suburbs we like our plants without flying striped stinging assholes”. The nice employee man explained to my wide-eyed children that the wasps were chasing us because they want to eat the caterpillars.#RemueraHorrorStory. With Amy’s shrieks of “Go and save Elsa …
Went to bed with one person; woke up in another bed with a different person who’d spent several hours yelling “sing songs with me!” New Year’s Eve, you haven’t changed one bit. #SluttyTeenOrTiredMother?
“Dads do stinky farts. Mums just fart glitter”.
Jet skis are all fun and games until someone loses a… vagina.
McPikelets 