Handy hints for lethargic mothers

If you’re coming home to a house full of little horrors, follow my fab advice and you will know how to stay happy while raising a child to adulthood without taking them back to the pet shop for a refund

  1. Any food item that cannot be left in the oven and baked within an inch of its life is not worth feeding to a child
  2. Stop reading other people’s stupid to do or advice lists
  3. Teach a baby to find her thumb quickly, don’t pick up dummies and sterililse them
  4. Stop your child whingeing by feeding them treats. Send your kid to bed with chocolate milk. When they are toothless at age 15, tell them they can’t have their cake and eat it too
  5. Keep the lights off while you clean the kitchen, you can’t see much dirt and you’ll get the job done faster
  6. Life is too short to spend one minute of it ironing
  7. Netball will not help your child become a high achiever, step away from the court
  8. Being a part time mother is great, everyday chores don’t cut into party time.
  9. Dive into a charity bin when your child needs a new outfit; great for emergency babysitting too, especially if you find a shady one; lots of toys for kids to play with in there and cheaper than day care. You may occasionally come back from your break and your child is cuddling a dead possum, but every parent makes mistakes.
  10. The dishwasher is God’s gift to lazy mothers

Praise Marion Donovan, the inventor of the disposable nappy, she is the patron saint of slothful parents


Kids In The Kitchen

Apparently you have to feed kids good nutrition to help ’em grow. But frankly, I’m sick of cooking. Once upon a time I worked with a woman selling merchandise who wasn’t brilliant at customer service. We used to jokingly say to her, “This shop would run smoothly if these stupid customers stopped coming in,” and I feel the same about my kids coming into the kitchen. I’d have a clean house if it wasn’t for these grotty teenagers. So at dinner time, my kids get two choices, like it or lump it. My daughters usually swap the inedible contents of their lunchboxes for their unsuspecting school friends’ more tasty morsels.

 

I’ve written a comedy show about my lack of enthusiasm for being left in charge of catering, frankly it’s a job that I’m underwhelmed and ill-equipped to handle, but it has provided my children many opportunities to laugh at me. And made them good cooks.

I’d love you to bring foodie friends to my funny show as I embark on a quest to outsource the catering. You’ll laugh your guts up as I enlist the audience in my hunt for a personal cooking slave. This show contains bad cooking and more culinary disasters than a season of Gordon Ramsay, along with sensational stand-up and me singing a few tunes. If you’re tired of smashing your own avocados, come to Lou Pollard in Kids In The Kitchen for the 2017 Sydney Comedy Festival at Matchbox – The Factory Theatre, 105 Victoria Road Marrickville on Saturday 6th May at 5.45pm and Sunday 7 May 2017 at 4.45pm

 

Book tix: 2017 Sydney Comedy Festival tickets for Lou Pollard

Lou Pollard’s Looking For Mike Brady show is a joyous, wonderfully warped, true, raw romp through the minefields and thickets that beset dating, single parenthood and the predations of ageing.

**** Four stars – themusic.com.au

Lou & Wednesday Kids in the Kitchen


More fairytales for single mothers

Once upon a time a lovely hairy mother lived with three not so little tweenage pigs.

One little piggie had a floor-drobe
One little piggie had a walk-on wardrobe
And the third little piggie had a large aversion to bathing
So the big bad wolf mother swept and swept and took all their clothing to the local charity shop
And the three little pigs lived in their own home
And the big bad mother wolf lived happily ever after


Fresh hell on a Sunday

Last weekend was a doozy.  On Saturday night I went to my oldest friend’s champagne-fuelled party, then on Sunday I took my youngest to a birthday party at an indoor trampoline park so she could go feral and scream with about a million other children. We walked into swarms of kids, mood killer fluorescent lighting, over zealous helicopter mothers, loads of grumpy under-caffeinated dads and a sonic nightmare. The birthday girl was in heaven and her mother and I were certain we’d died and gone to hell.

My friend paid $130 for three kids to jump and climb for two hours. Fork! What happened to jumping off the garage roof?

An assortment of families gathered, made up mainly of these key players:

Mothers who didn’t want their over-sugared kids touching other children or any unsanitary surfaces

Bewildered grandmothers who didn’t  understand why they were not just opening a pass the parcel and blowing the candles off a home made cake in the backyard

Toddlers too young to be there being run over by sugar fuelled 12-year-olds on a mission to escape their parents

Dazed grandpas who parked the car, did what they were told, then pretended to be deaf

I was the hungover mother dribbling on the plastic table, absentmindedly dunking my lukewarm chips into my friend’s coffee

Then my girl and her little friends decided they wanted to climb the walls.

There’s nothing I like more on a Sunday than to be greeted by pumping techno music and too cool for school teenage staff who don’t like to explain the workings of the safety harness more than once. In my decrepit state I watched as competitive dads scaled the walls, pushing their kids out of the way. The kind of dads who have their own Instagram inspo-fitness accounts. I closed my eyes as my gal climbed to the ceiling then abseiled down the wall again and again. 

One of the day’s highlights was being told off for bringing fresh fruit into the ‘party zone’ by a spotty assistant manager. 


As a former children’s party entertainer I despair that our kids are growing up thinking the only place to have fun is a climate-controlled, germ-filled noisy concrete bunker. We could simplify our celebrations and bring back egg and spoon races at daggy parties with our neighbours, a few marshmallows and a homemade cake, in the glorious seasons of Mother Nature, but instead we’re working to pay for experiences our kids don’t really need. 

“Going so soon? I wouldn’t hear of it. Why my little party’s just beginning.”

Wicked Witch of the West – The Wizard of Oz


Beastie Boys – Fight For Your Right




Smotherhood

Fights, tears and 210 hours of Monopoly later, I’m in a school holiday daze. I’m the head of my children’s entertainment committee and the acting head of catering but I’m looking forward to retirement from both those roles. Cooking is a chore and shouting, “get off the bloody computer” is becoming dull.

I have run out of low budget activities and if I read one more clean wholesome nutritious paleo educational fun advice for the latter part of the school holidays post on social media, I’ll scream at the smug happily married financially savvy yummy mummies who write them. Sigh. Next week I return to the tyranny of the school run. So much to look forward to in 2016. Today I am turning up the Ackadacka and dreaming of escape.


Ten Single Mother Commandments

1.Thou shalt buy ear plugs

2. Thou shalt covet the imaginary happy marriage of our happy couple friends

3. Thou shalt freak out the women who think you want to steal their husbands (usually the husbands that aren’t worth stealing)

4. Thou shalt play dead when kids try to wake you up on the weekend

5. Thou shalt bargain with your children like you are a hostage negotiator

6. Thou shalt not take fashion advice from a 13 year old

7. Thou shalt undertake due diligence with the father of your next child before you breed with him

8. Thou shalt be slothful on your birthday, Mother’s Day and Christmas

9. Thou shalt have a cunning plan to deal with toddlers and teenagers – divert, distract, dodge

10. Thou shalt wear pyjamas at school drop off at least once per term


Dreams can come true

Single motherhood and tiredness go hand-in-hand but this week has been a doozy. The full moon brought bizarre dreams, insomnia and crazy ideas spinning in my head. This week I turned into zombie mother with visions of weirdness every night.

In one dream I opened a tiny white cardboard box in my undie drawer and found a singing bug, some kind of mite whose 10,000 cousins decided to sing opera with him. I’m sure it was a him. I tried to close the box but every time I shut it, the mite and his mates forced the box open so they could keep singing. Who knew Christmas drinks could cause those kind of dreams? I don’t even have an undie drawer. Egg nog anyone? Bottoms up