For all people, great and small.

The recent news of Jill Meagher's horrifying murder was enough to shock Australia to the core.

Sadly, in 2012, it takes something like this for most women (and men) to twig & say 'I always walk home at night, it could've been me'. And yes, it could've been you.

Even more sadly, this hasn't just been happening in 2012.

I'm going to touch on an oh-so-sensitive topic here, but it needs to be done, because it doesn't matter if it's 1992, 2012, or 2022. There is evil in the world.

And things like this, no matter how shocking, have happened, and will continue to happen. All around us.

And it could happen to you, or someone you love.

Whether you're a friend who couldn't give someone a lift home, which resulted in them desperately taking a lift from someone who would leave them for dead, or a son whose father didn't come home after a night out with friends.

If you could take an extra two minutes before going out to tell someone where you're going to be, and how long you'll be, or always carry a phone with charge, or even take someone else with you if you absolutely must walk home, then DO IT.

Some people may not be significant to you, whether it be the way they live, the way they dress, or the things they do, but people are people and no matter how insignificant they are to you, there's always someone who is going to be left behind bearing the guilt or sadness that their senseless and cruel death has left in their lives.

This isn't just for women.

This can happen to anybody.

This can happen to your daughter, your wife, your sister, that nice girl at the shops, but this can happen to your son, your father, your brother, your uncle.

We should be able to go down to the supermarket and come back with a litre of milk in one piece, but some people don't. Some people don't come home at all, and the knock on the door you're expecting is them because they've got their hands full and can't find their keys, might be the police to tell you that you have missed the chance to say 'goodbye' because someone stole that chance from you.

I've seen this.
I've seen the impact.

I've seen people who say 'this wont happen to me!'

I've been one of those people.

But it can happen to you.

We tell our kids don't talk to strangers.
Don't accept lifts from strangers.
Don't go out at night.
Don't go out alone.
Take your phone.

Think of why we do that.
Then practice what you preach.

You are somebody.
You are important to somebody else.
No matter who you are,
We're you're from.
You are important.
And you need to be safe.

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I just want to take a moment to express my sincere sadness & sympathy to the family and friends of Jill Meagher.
She didn't deserve this.
Neither did any of you.

If her death was for any reason, may it be that someone else's family and friends do not have to go through what you have and will continue to.

May she rest in peace and may you find peace in yourselves.

But I won't do that.

This space started out as a place to rant, express pride, and just talk shit for a laugh, but it's become so much more than that.

I've been receiving pitches from companies since the very start, but it wasn't until recently that it was discussed on Twitter that I realised I've been selling myself short.

Blogging sometimes feels like primary school. Where you'll do anything to make other people like you, even if you feel uncomfortable doing so.

I've had pitches where I have sold myself out a bit and felt all kinds of wrong writing them up. Luckily I decided against hitting publish. I've also, decided to only take on board ideas that I genuinely love, and are worth my while, and yours to read, without jeopardising my credibility.

I have deleted pitches where I'm addressed as 'Dear Blogger' or 'Hi There' and have even deleted a few where you can tell the pitcher has read my most recent post in an attempt to get to know me quickly before pitching an idea that I mentioned three posts before the one they read, that I don't like or wouldn't do.

I recently received a pitch for a sponsored post which I loved. I loved the way it was presented to me, and you could tell the pitcher had become familiar with myself, and my family, by actually reading my blog & promoted an idea that I fell in love with. I do not regret promoting it on my blog, nor do I regret doing so for money.

However, I was again pitched an idea by the same company, expecting a post done for free on something I have mentioned in the past that I refuse to promote. Not by the same company who ruined my love of certain things at all, but it was a similar idea.

So I was met with internal conflict. Do I do it, just this once, even though I don't believe in it, for free? Do I ask for money and sell myself out? Do I ignore the email? Or do I put on my big girl jocks and politely decline the offer, outlining the reasons why I won't do it, for fear of never being offered anything again?

I ended up declining the offer. I couldn't bring myself to be a sell-out. Because that's exactly what I'd be if I did it. The Primary School aged kid in me was worried I wouldn't be liked and no-one would play with me anymore, but I don't blog for PR companies' approval, I blog for myself and for my readers who know me, know my family through what I share.

I don't want people to think I'm a wife, mother and sell-out.

Because I'm not.

If some companies don't want to work with me, that's okay. There are plenty more who will, and if I post something I don't believe in all I'm doing is risking my credibility and my readership, which is worth more than whatever I'm offered, from the company I sell myself out for.

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To all you Bloggers out there, have you posted about something you don't believe in for the sake of money/material goods, or for fear you won't be asked again? What's the best/worst pitch you've had?

Letter To My Children

Hi Kids,

It's been a long time between letters, and I don't even remember where we were at the last time I wrote to you. What can I say? A lot has changed, let's just start with that.


Master S.
You inspired this post because today you learned how to say "Dinosaur" & "T-Rex".
You are pretty clever, always have been and it's the new things you are picking up so easily now, when you struggled before, that makes me realise, just how lucky I am to have you.
It was your Aunty Beanie's birthday last week, and in her birthday card you drew a picture of her. She had a head, some curly legs and arms, and a tuft of curly hair on her head. I couldn't have been prouder than that moment, when I was watching you, pen grasped correctly in your hand, and concentration in your eyes.
We've come so far since you were that 7 pound babe placed in my awkward arms on that Christmas Morning. You're 4 years old in 100 days, and the constant reminders from everyone makes me a little sad and frightened. The past almost 4 years have flown and I barely remember the feel of your itty bitty hand wrapped around my finger as a newborn. I feel like one day I am going to wake up & you'll be a man, and I won't remember these days as vividly as I do now.

Miss E.
You turned two this year. You are now Miss "AttiTWOed". You have such beautiful big blue eyes, gorgeous golden curls and some sharp shooting spunk! I'm hoping one day you'll read this, because I just want to thank you. Thank you for being clever, beautiful, funny and a little bit crazy. For spicing up our boring life with funny conversations & an infectious giggle. Thank you for, at 2 years old, saying all the things your brother can't and brightening up our days. Your wrap-your-arms-so-tight-around-my-neck-cuddles are one of the reasons I get out of bed. That and your demand for "Pops!" for breakfast. You are the one who has me tearing at my hair, one minute, then laughing incessantly, the next. You make me feel loved and lovely, when you look at me when I'm looking & feeling like death warmed up and say to me, with such sincerity, "you a Pretty Mummy!"

Little C.
My littlest. My last. My nighttime demander of attention.  What can I say?
You're my last babe & as much as I try to enjoy every cuddle, every feed, every nappy change & every bath, you seem to be growing the fastest.
There was some concern, at first, about your lack of weight gain, but you weren't losing any, so I wasn't worried. It was fate's way of keeping you little for me, that tiny bit longer. Then you gained weight & didn't stop. Each day, you're growing, ever smiling, and laughing. Trying to roll & have been (with some fluke success) since you were two weeks old. Your soft little hands, while still so small, are bigger than the wrinkly little ones that I vividly remember holding everytime you fed.

There's still so much I need to tell you all.
So much you need to know.
But I'm going to try keep you as you are.
Immortalized.
In my memory & heart.
Always.

Lots of love & cuddles,
Mummy xoxoxox

R U OK?

This morning my Dad rang me and asked the question that everyone needs to be asking, not just today because it's R U OK? DAY, but everyday!

This morning he caught me on a day when I am actually feeling okay, but sometimes, I don't feel okay.

And you know what, it took me a long time to realise that it is okay to not feel okay, but if you don't feel okay all the time, then that isn't okay.

I've done the rounds asking my children if they are okay, and sadly, I was met with a 'No' by one, a 'Yes' by the other and some smiley spit bubbles by the youngest.

I asked Miss E just why she wasn't okay today and she told me that Catty scratched her head.

I then asked Catty if she was okay, and she didn't say much of anything except give me the look she always gives me when Miss E yanks on her tail.

So, if you are have a spare minute today ask someone if they are okay!
You just might give someone the opportunity to talk about just why they aren't okay, and make the world of difference!

R U OK?

One or the other.

I just feel like it's a never ending cycle.
Master S was referred to Speech Therapy in 2010. A hearing test was required. We had endless drama, hearing tests, referrals being lost, waiting lists, appointments demanding more referrals, more referrals being lost, phone calls, phone calls, phone calls, until finally, he got his grommets.

Things have improved ten fold since he's had them, but we've been advised he'll still need Speech Therapy to get him to where he needs to be.

So we're back to where we've started. Haven't heard anything from Speech Pathology since they told me he needed a hearing test and I gave them the results of the hearing test, so I decided, after yet ANOTHER updated referral had been faxed through, while I watched and got another three copies printed out, just in case it got lost between one fax machine to another, I'd give them a call.

So I did.
And I'm pissed off.

I was listening ever so patiently while I heard some dip shit, who had to have Master S' full name spelled to him three times, going through what sounded like a never ending filing cabinet before he finally found, not one, but TWO referrals, one from July 2010, and one from June, 2012, sitting there.

He then went on to ask if I'd received a phone call to move his application to the 'next level'. Next level being NOT IN A FUCKING FILING CABINET.

No, I hadn't. Hence my call.

So after unsuccessfully trying to brush me off the phone by warning me that it could take a while to go over his application with me, in order to get him to the next level, while I assured him several times that I have all the time in the world to go through the process.

Dip Shit: 'Has he had a hearing test?'
Me: 'Yes. In fact, he's had four, and he's had grommets inserted in the time we've been waiting!'
*It suddenly dawns on Dip Shit that I'm not just another mother who thinks their child should be pushed through regardless of the fact they've waited three weeks. Dip Shit is surprised at the fact he is a dip shit, and Master S isn't just another name in a filing cabinet. He is a child. With a mother. A mother who isn't going to accept his dip shit excuses for why her son has been waiting so long*

And it's done.
He's now level two.

Which means I'll receive a phone call when a spot becomes available.

Or so he thinks.

He'll be receiving another phone call in two weeks, just like I promised, because of the 44 children on the Speech Therapy waiting list, I can guarantee no-one has been on it as long as Master S has.

I can, also, guarantee no-one has a mother who will do nothing but pester them until she's blue in the face & something is done.

BabyWearing!

I was one of those Mama's who couldn't understand why, after ten months of carrying your child, you'd want to constantly carry them after they're born.

The minute Master S was born, no way in heck was he held 24/7. He was born during a heatwave that continued until he was about four months old. He was on the same page as me, aside from breastfeeding, hot, sweaty cuddles were not ideal for either of us.

Miss E was born in Winter, and as much as I didn't want it to happen, her cry sounded like she was being murdered if I put her down, so I had no choice but to lug her around. She was a brooch, and I found it was with her that selective hearing became my best friend. Tune her out if she didn't need anything and was crying for the sake of it, or go insane and never get anything done.

If I'm honest, I'd never even heard of baby wearing until I started blogging and came across Good Googs where author Zoey is a proud baby wearer. I knew carriers for infants existed, but I'd only heard the horror stories about how babies have been injured falling out of them, and decided it wasn't for me. Until now.

Little C is not a 'brooch baby' like Miss E was but because she is my last baby, I just want to bury myself in baby cuddles and never put her down.

Not to mention, I have been known to go shopping with three children, and it seems my local supermarket doesn't believe in enough trolleys with infant seats. The only pram I own is a whizz-bang double pram, and it's perfect to cart the girls around in, but Master S walking along with me... NIGHTMARE!

So, I decided to purchase a HugABub Ring Sling, after researching a gazillion wraps, slings and baby carriers. Then, and only then, I could put both Master S and Miss E in the pram, while still carting Little C around, and not lose either a child or my mind...

Or what's left of it...

And all I can say, after having it for an hour is, I am in love! Forever love. I can actually breastfeed while doing the dishes! No, I don't have a dishwasher (if you don't include me, that is) so it's all old school hand washing around here, and I can do THAT, and still relish in my baby goodness!

Winning!!

Father's Day.

After a crazy 48 hours of rushing around like a chook with no head, and eating nothing but a box of KFC chips and a bowl of spaghetti, not to mention drinking probably five litres of coffee, Father's Day is here.

Finally.

And my kids get cuddles and kisses and thank you's, despite the fact that they can't drive or earn money or go shopping. What the fuck is up with that shit, Hubby.!?

Oh, right, I got an 'I'm available for nookie later' wink. Why thank you, or
NOT!

So, tonight I'm finally going to eat an actual meal, with vegetables and meat. Cooked for me, by my Dad, because he isn't an idiot.

So, Happy Father's Day to all you Dad's, Step-Dad's, Foster Dad's and Solo Mama's!

May you have a wonderful day!