Humblebraggot

I don’t mean to boast but, my beloved 13-year-old daughter is currently studying really hard for her Higher School Certificate (end of school exams for overseas friends). She’s so young but I know she’s going to smash it by the time she graduates. Which will be really soon the way she’s going. I don’t like to make other parents feel bad by bragging about my child’s high achieving ways, but I really think I need to celebrate the fact that she’s currently devoting hours of her time and attention to:

4 unit Instagram

Extension Snapchat

3 unit yelling at her mother

Extension selfie-taking

3 unit serving looks

4 unit YouTube make up tutorials

I’m loving the extra attention she’s getting from her school teachers, there’s at least three emails a day with a list of all the homework and assignments she has neglected. But boy those videos she posts are marvellous. She has never going to be a kid who thrived in the over-crowded, one-size-fits-all school system, but she could not be less interested in her school curriculum if she tried. I love her.

In the 1990s, the cartoonist Gary Larson published a cartoon showing a teenager playing video games in his bedroom and a concerned parent looking on, with a thought bubble over their head dreaming of the day their child could get paid a lot of money to play computer games. I am that parent.

Sigh.


The game of life

This week the NRL, AFL, rugby and soccer boys are wearing a new strip on the field. It’s magenta polka dots, lightning bolts and zebra stripes, with olive and puce armbands, which stands for raising awareness week and making sure caring and giving back is in the headlines with a few high profile footy boofheads adorned in the right colours.

In a profound press release, Lina Tell-All White a publicist with a certificate in marketing and an educational background that includes being expelled from most upmarket Sydney schools revealed,
“We’re raising awareness of raising awareness. There may be a fun run. We had seven different marketing committees choosing the palette and pairing it with matching wines and food served in gumboots at an overpriced invitation-only dinner at an exclusive inner city hotel. What it means is that we stand for making instant Instagram stars of the people wearing the well-chosen outfits and hoping their media profiles will raise awareness of a thoughtful charity drive that will make money so we can show that we’re thinking of lots of issues on right-wing radio, commercial television and all the socials. It’s really important for politicians, influencers and even ordinary punters to know what we stand for. Even if we don’t.”

“We are also running another timely campaign, we desperately need funding to buy more açai smoothie bowls for girls who went to overpriced schools who now can’t afford to buy homes within 20 kilometres of the expensive suburb they grew up in. It’s a national tragedy and we need to fix it,” said another spokeswoman from a massive yacht on Sydney Harbour. “They may not be homeless but their needs are great.  Raising Awareness, reality TV ‘stars’ wearing exorbitantly priced clothing and building fame, that’s really all we want from a charity appeal, Australia just doesn’t have enough of it. Our thoughts and prayers are with all the celebrities with less than 100K followers on Instagram.”


Cyclone warning

Cyclone Senza exploded into my life 13 years ago, after I’d been at the hospital in drug-free childbirth hell for 25 minutes. She couldn’t wait to get the party started.

Or trash our house. She has painted on the walls of every place we’ve ever rented. And they’re good paintings, so I can’t get mad. Senza leaves a creative mess in every room she enters. It would be easier to parent her if we lived in a castle with four maids, a butler and a housekeeper.

My girl, you are the funniest person I’ve ever met; entertaining, smart, animated and kooky, you have only two gears, full throttle or passed out on the floor  You struggle to use your inside voice but your astute observations about supposedly mature adults are always worth hearing.

Looking at a box of unpaid bills you said,

“Mum, that is a box full of nightmares.”

You are physically courageous; you surf, swim, climb trees, duck and dive. You’ve had breathtaking bodily self-confidence from the moment you were conceived. And you have a kind heart. This year you cared for babies in a Thai orphanage like they were your own family.

You are fast, furious, full of attitude and love for your friends, and easily bored. I hope your adventurous spirit takes you all over the world. You run head first at life, without fear. Your courage is everything I wish I could find in me (but with less back chat).

You kid, are everything. In your adolescent angst phase, don’t let teen bitches, dopey dudes and unenlightened teachers snuff out your fire.

Happy 13th Birthday to my beautiful hurricane #teenager


Step on a crack, break your mother’s back

As it is Friday the 13th, please children don’t let your single mothers
Catch a bus
Feed a black pussy cat
Climb a tree
Open the fridge
Break a mirror
Cook dinner
Spill salt
Make a bed
Log out of Tinder
Wash clothes
Leave the couch
Walk under a ladder
Or stop dancing

Because it is very, very unlucky

#childrenmusthelptheirmothers


Totes awks single mother moments

My eight year old’s teacher asked her where she would like to go on a class excursion. My daughter replied, “Dan Murphy’s*, that’s where Mummy would like to go.”

I was planning my 16 year old’s birthday party. She said, “Mum I don’t want any drugs at my party.” She could tell I was very disappointed, I didn’t know how to tell my friends they can’t come to her party.

I went to pick up my youngest child from a craft workshop. The teacher said, “We worked with coloured paper this afternoon and your daughter coloured in a piece of white paper with a bright green texta, cut it up into little pieces, put it in a bowl, then rolled the pieces into a long tube of white paper and pretended to smoke it. Where did she learn to do that?”

Later that night she said to me, “What’s a ghetto Mama?” Before I had a chance to answer she said, “Is a ghetto somewhere mamas go when dads have hurt their babies?”

*A well known bottle shop/off license chain in Australia


Nursery rhymes for single mothers and others

My single mothering advice is gold, I am full of it. Don’t worry about buying expensive parenting books, for calm children administer nursery rhymes, they are cheaper than sedatives (for you and the kids).

If you see a little bunny and it’s nose is very runny

You think it’s very funny but it’s snot.

Lou Lou had a little girl, she had a bit of colic

She fed her vodka twice a day, now she’s alcoholic

If your children won’t stop crying, sing:

Roses are red, violets are blue, the smell of vomit reminds me of you.

Or what about?
My hair is alive with the bite of head lice

There were three in the bed and the little one said,
Roll over, roll over
So they all rolled over and my feet got cold
Roll over, rollover my super, walk the dog, defrost the freezer, feel guilty about the stuff you haven’t done. Roll over, play dead so you don’t have to change a nappy roll over.

Hey Diddle Diddle, my life’s in a puddle I can’t seem to get enough cash.
My kids need more food, but the rent is due so I can’t afford to splash.
I’ve spent all my dosh on school clothes and books and treated kids to some honey,
Luckily their father has a conscience, here comes my ex with lots of money

No stop me! That one is pure fantasy

Roses are red,
My teenage daughter’s bedroom smells
Not that I care,
But I could if I wanted to


Monkey mother

As a Southern Hempisphere mother I become bery, bery happy in February; the weather is hot, the days are long and the kids are finally back at school after the endless summer holidays. To add to my excitement on the second Friday of the first term my kids came home from school and started scratching like mossie infested marmosets as they put down their school bags.

One sentence from my baby girl,

“Mum my head’s itchy, the teacher said it was headlice season,” had me reaching for my merlot medication hours earlier than usual. FORK! ‘ucken bloody head lice. Tis the season to be scratching and self medicating through the long lonely hours of picking. That night, like the model chimpanzee mother that I am, I stood over my children and combed and scratched and grabbed the critters with my pincer-like fingers.  I was so happy to give up a social engagement with a bunch of fabulous old friends so my munchkins could be egg free by Sunday night. As I toiled, I sang my favourite Dusty Springfield song, ‘Wishin’ an’ pickin’ an’ sprayin’ an’ hopin’ that they’re gone’.

I must have picked out around a gazillion of the little creatures. It was tiring, and I sacrificed a lot, but I am so proud that I achieved a personal best – highest overall headlice count in 15 years of mothering three daughters with long hair. I am on fire. And it’s only the second month of the year. I had to drink a long neck of VB to celebrate.