Sydney is only a day away.

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Somebody. Pinch me.

Tomorrow, I will be in Sydney. For a few nights. Child free. And while I’ve been very excited about it, and feeling a little guilty about not feeling guilty (haha), I think my nervous stomach (blergh) has betrayed me. This will be the longest I’ve ever left the Little Mister for. It’s not a super long time (not even a week – four nights), but it’s new to us. Of course, he will be fine with his dad. This could actually be quite good for the both of us. Still, it’s weird. The best thing that could happen is that I have a great time and miss him terribly by the time I get home. Then I’ll know I had just the right amount of time out!

Let’s just say I’ve been terribly stir crazy lately. I am more than ready to shake everything up!

True to Kez style, I haven’t really packed yet. Yesterday I threw stuff at my suitcase. Literally. Just threw stuff. At it. Not into it. At it. I wrote a list, though. I may be crap at packing, but I’m good at lists. I know that by tonight’s end, I will have way too many things in my case. My method of packing is not meticulous and well thought out like my mum’s (she’s amazing). I just throw in ANYTHING I might need and then remove a few things so it all fits. When I reach my destination, I end up living in about 5% of the clothes I took with me and something is sure to be missing. Very precise. Not.

Did I mention that there needs to be room for all the things I hope I can buy while I am there? Oops.

I am travelling with my parents. They were already going over for my dad’s work, but some good timing (and a little advance on my birthday privileges) means that I am now tagging along! I am excited about quality girl time with my mum. We are going to shop until we drop (if picky me can find anything I like)! We are also going to spend time with family friends and a long lost cousin of my dad’s who I am going to meet for the first time (she’s not ‘long lost’ anymore haha).

I find that I am excited about the smallest things.

  • Sitting on a plane child free.
  • Reading a magazine. I am determined to finish a Marie Claire. Just the one.
  • My handbag containing no child related items.
  • Doing my hair and make up properly EVERY day.
  • No-one yelling out for me in the night (it could be creepy if they did haha).
  • Not having to have constant eyes in the back of my head, always supervising someone.
  • Not having to plan each day around the needs of a three year old, which can often limit your options.
  • Not cooking dinner. No rushed meals as witching hour descends. Sorry, Mr Unprepared! ;)

Sorry not sorry, Little Mister! Haha.

I am going to miss him. I mean, duh. I am going to enjoy photo updates from Mr Unprepared. We’ll probably Face time or Skype or something. I’m going to tell everyone (who wants to know) about him. I will think about him every day – especially when I see/do things I know he’d love. But I am going to enjoy this break. F*ck yeah, I am!

When did you last get a break? What would you do if you could take one right now?

Making friends with salad?

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This past week I was having a Twitter conversation with my best friend from Tasmania that I’ve never met (you know who you are you gorgeous thing you). She was having a salad for dinner. I KNOW, right? We joked about how she was totally Khloe Kardashian now, because we bond over watching bad reality TV (and any TV shows really) and the Kardashian sisters are ALWAYS seen chowing down on massive salads. Just shoving leaves into their gobs. It’s fascinating stuff.

…and I think it’s rubbing off on me. I say this, because every time I see one of those booty-licious ladies who are famous for something, eating a salad, I almost think it might be a cool thing to do. As you can see, I get my life’s guidance from all the right places.

*rolls eyes on your behalf*

So I took my Tasmanian beauty of a friend’s lead and ate a salad the next day. And I liked it. And I lost a kilo in bloat overnight after thinking I’d never shift it ever again because potatoes (and eating my feelings). Hmm. Interesting…

Now I’m determined to make friends with salad. Less carbs, no processed crap in them, lots of nutrition, less calories, more satisfying. If you do them right. Note to self: Potato salad – probably not what I’m talking about. God, I love potatoes.

Moving right along now…

Usually, when I think of salad, I think leaves. Eating like a rabbit. Boring. Blah blah.

I’m the kind of gal who likes my salad to be killer and not just lettuce leaf filler.

But lately I’ve been finding some great pre-made salads at the supermarket and some great salads on restaurant menus. I think I might actually be able to make a go of this. You know, lifestyle changes and all that.

Anyway, I’m blogging about it here so I have to stay accountable. I’m never going to be perfect, but I want to start sneaking salads into my every day life more often. As a whole meal (and not just as a token side with my fish and chips haha). I figure that if I can become a salad convert, I’m going to feel better for it.

I hereby REALISTICALLY resolve to:

1. Order salad options more often when eating out.

2. Make salad my go-to lunch (i.e. the rule and not the exception) when I’m at home on ordinary week days.

THE WORLD IS MY SALAD BAR.

WHAT DOES THAT EVEN MEAN?

So tell me, what is your favourite kind of salad? I am going to need ideas, people!! x

No mo’ lady mo’.

Products by Veet provided for my honest review

I have to preface this by saying that I am not a beauty blogger. If I was, I might actually know what I’m talking about. But I’m not. I am an every day 30 year old (for two more weeks so it totally counts) mama who worries about my family’s future…and whether or not I will grow a moustache and sideburns as I get older.

Yep. That’s right. Look, I’m not the hairiest person on the planet. Maybe it’s my Asian genes. Maybe it’s just luck. I can grow my leg hair forever before anyone would notice it. I like to think that I’m fairly well groomed in all other *ahem* areas. But the one thing that I can’t seem to get over is those tiny, fine, dark hairs on my upper lip and the ones that look suspiciously like sideburns. Of course (I hope!), this is not so visible to other people. But when I look in the mirror, it screams at me. We’re always our own worst critics.

I see this:

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Probably complete with receding hair line. Because I moult worse than a white cat before summer.

Gosh, I’m pretty.

Look. I’ve never really done anything about it (except for one disastrous and pointless attempt many years ago). Partly because I know that what I see isn’t necessarily what others see, but also because I’m a bit clueless. I’ve always been a bit intimidated by at home waxing products. I walk past them at the supermarket, seriously consider buying something and then I chicken out. So brave. Not.

So when I was given the opportunity to review some Veet hair removal products, I was all like – HERE’S MY CHANCE. Maybe this was the push I needed! I had nothing to lose! Except for my mo’ of course.

I decided to road test the Veet Face, Bikini & Underarm Wax Strips with Shea Butter from their Natural Inspirations range.

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They don’t look too intimidating and the instructions seemed fairly simple. When you’re a dummy like me, you need good instructions that are easy to follow and have pictures just to make sure you’re doing it right.

I nervously rubbed those strips between my hands (for warmth to separate them and for good luck).

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They didn’t smell offensive, which is always nice, although they were obviously perfumed. I placed the strips in the hairy area above my lip and below my nose, smoothed it down and then followed the instructions and pulled quickly against the direction the hair grows. I inspected the wax and YIPPEE – there was hair in it! I know that grosses some people out, but that kind of stuff thrills me. You can only imagine my joy when I use pore strips on my nose. Yeah. I’m that person.

You can use the same strip for as long as it’s remaining quite sticky and is still removing your facial hair effectively, which is quite economical, I think (you get 20 strips in a pack). I managed to use just the one strip for my whole wispy moustache (following the instructions like a pro). Look, some people call it ‘peach fuzz’, but mine looked more like ‘bum fluff’, let’s be honest. Yep. Just me, painting an attractive picture of myself with words for you all as usual.

Afterwards, my upper lip was a bit red and bumpy and sticky (my husband was quite bemused by this). Which is where the Perfect Finish Wipes they supply come in handy. They moisturise your skin splendidly and they remove the residue left by the wax (my only concern is that the pack comes with just 4 of these wipes to the 20 strips). The wipe made my skin feel quite oily at first, but it didn’t cause any break outs or greasiness later. I wouldn’t recommend ever waxing your facial hair right before an event or going out in public. I’d give it overnight just to be sure, but my skin settled within a couple of hours and the redness disappeared.

The next morning, I noticed how smooth my upper lip has become! I can’t stop touching it (hahaha I am an embarrassment). I am excited to put make up on, without worrying about the foundation or powder getting caught in the fine hairs and giving me a fuzzy appearance.

I think I’ll definitely use these again! I reckon if I can use them, anyone can. Yay! This is a big development in my maintenance routine! I recommend them for a subtle, easy to do, way to deal with the fuzz. I am so excited that the hairs won’t come back for up to 28 days! That’s almost a month of smooth skin – yay!

You can check out Veet’s whole range of hair removal products here if you’re interested!

Next step? Side burns be gone! :P

Do you have any great hair removal tips? Any horror stories? I love horror stories!

20 things you probably didn’t need to know about me.

Hey, everybody. Hope you’ve all been enjoying your Easter time. We have! Lots of quality time with family and friends who are basically family. It’s been lovely!

Now it’s Easter Monday and I thought I’d have a go at this. I was tagged twice by lovely ladies on Instagram (one being the awesome Carly over at Ctrl+Alt+Mum – best blog name ever). I know it’s supposed to be an Instagram thing, but I am really shit at typing long things on my phone. I am just not patient enough. Which should be fact number one about me, which means I wasted one fact – just gave that one up for free. What a fool. So, anyway…here goes…

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1. My name is Kez and I am a carb-o-holic. It is probably the one single thing holding me back from being the skinny person I could probably be. I used to fight it. Now I have just accepted it. My main weakness? The humble (but spectacular) potato. I will eat it any way possible. I will feel like sh*t afterwards, but I will eat it anyway. I am terrible. Especially if I make potato salad. If I make potato salad, you are lucky you are getting any.

2. I like a good mojito. Enough said.

3. Most of my thoughts are about food (or cocktails). See above two facts. No joke. If we’re going somewhere, my first thought is not about the scenery or the company (sorry – love youse), but about what I will eat. Again: reason I am not skinny #35693.

4. I have a very real and valid concern that by the time I hit menopause, I will have a full blown lady moustache and sideburns. I am seriously considering getting pre-emptive permanent laser hair removal. This is not a joke. Sadly.

5. Sometimes when I’m in a change room and I get a bit stuck trying to remove an item of clothing (that isn’t mine), I temporarily freak out that I’ll have to live in it forever or that someone will have to come and physically cut it off me. I start imagining myself having to pay for it even though it doesn’t fit and how terrible that would be (and that’s the BEST case scenario). I was talking about it with a good friend yesterday and in between snort laughing, we agreed it’s totally a thing.

6. When I go to turn off the Little Mister’s bedside light after he’s fallen asleep at night, I stop and stare at him like a creeper and think creepy thoughts. Like, next time I want to bring my camera. And take photos of him asleep because he looks so beautiful and peaceful. And then I think that if anyone did that to me, I’d be a little disturbed. Mentally.

7. Sometimes when I’m alone I watch Hilary Duff movies. Or Dr Phil. How embarrassment.

8. I cycle on my exercise bike a million times faster when I listen to Can’t Hold Us by Macklemore. I dare you to listen to it and not want to move (or be in a ridiculously “Eff yeah! I’ve got this!” mood).

9. I discovered sweet chilli and lime cream cheese dip the other day and I am not sure how I feel about it. It tastes like a lime cheesecake. On your savoury cracker/chip.

10. I am bad at maths. It’s not that I don’t try (most of the time). I just think my brain isn’t wired that way! Take that, Asian stereotypes.

11. I remember a lot of my dreams. Which makes me great fun to be around.

12. I love stand up comedy. The good, the bad, the awkward. I secretly wish I was brave enough to give it a crack. Taking me to a show is a quick way to get in my good books :)

13. I have a massive lady crush on Tina Fey and Amy Poehler. And while Baby Mama could be a much better movie, I still love it so much. Because Tina and Amy. TOGETHER.

14. Speaking of crushes, I have this weird crush on Mark Ruffalo. it’s not what I would have expected of myself, but there it is. Now you know.

15. I am slightly ambidextrous. Which makes sports hard. I take half an hour to remember which hand/foot I use for everything. This makes a casual game of backyard cricket a bit awkward. I DON’T KNOW WHICH HAND TO BOWL WITH. THIS IS VERY CONFUSING.

GET OFF THE PITCH, KEZ.

16. I sign up for too many email thingies. And then I do a big unsubscribing purge and then I subscribe for more, sometimes only hours later. I am doing this all wrong.

17. Once, a stoned guy thought I was Jackie Chan. I’m still laughing about it.

18. When I’m bored I bake. I don’t really eat much of it any more (too busy eating potatoes), but I love the process.

19. When Siri has helped me with something, I always thank her. It’s only polite. I may need more adult conversation in my life…

20. I used to play the guitar. I have a beautiful guitar, hardly used, sitting in my home office (aka future lady cave). I really need to get it back out and brush up on my skills. I want the Little Mister to be around music more. AND I would feel like I was cool again. Kind of.

So there you go. I am not so sure I have painted a very attractive image of myself. But at least I’m keeping it real, homie.

I am too lazy to tag 20 people, but this is really fun. So if you have a spare 20 facts, blog them and I will totally check them out :)

Or you could give me your top 5 in the comments? Go on!! x

C-Section? God damn right you gave birth.

Brace yourselves. I have my ranty pants on. I try to keep this a place where I do not share bad things (I’m not into hate reading or outrage mongering), but as I’ll explain…there’s a reason I’ve made an exception for this one. Oh, and excuse my french. Oops.

Sadly, you might have seen this fucking bullshit on Facebook. It’s doing the rounds (originally shared by some whack job “church”). Honestly, I don’t think it deserves air time. When I first saw it, despite having had a C-section, despite this garbage going against everything I believe, I just rolled my eyes at these pathetic people (who I will not link to because that’s what they’d want) and moved on. There will always be people online who are looking for your outrage. Who will feed off the hate and the anger and the hurt of others.

But then, I thought about it. While I have had over 3 years to accept the feelings and thoughts and doubts that come along with having a C-section, I think back to a vulnerable time as a new mother. The second guessing. The processing of a birth that didn’t really go the way you thought or hoped it might. No matter how open minded you thought you were going into the process.

You believe things that you see in your newsfeed while you’re feeding your baby in the oddest hours. When you’re tired, you’re overwhelmed, you’re confused – how can you love another being THIS much but find it THIS challenging at the same time? WHAT IF I FUCK IT UP? All the so called experts up in your grille. The unsolicited advice from every human ever. All the self inflicted comparisons between yourself and all the other new mothers who for some reason always seem to have their shit together (hot tip: they probably don’t any more than you do) when you feel like you’re barely getting the hang of it.

I have some words to counter the utter crap spewed by this so called church below…
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OK. So are you in disbelief too? Speechless that people like this exist? Mad? Insulted? Got a bad taste left in your mouth? Well, firstly, you’re my kind of people and I love you for it.

Secondly, here’s my message to all new mothers who have had C-sections…

You are brave. You are a warrior. YOU GOT CUT IN HALF, YOUR INSIDES EVERYWHERE, AND YOU’RE STILL HERE LOOKING AFTER YOUR BEAUTIFUL BABY. Damn straight you gave birth. You delivered (with a little life saving help) a VERY special gift to this world. YOU ARE HERE TO MOTHER IT. YOU are a gift to this world. To this child. If you had your life and the life of your baby spared with the miracle of modern medicine, then you DID catch a lucky break. And there is NO SHAME in that. NONE. EVERY mother who gets through childbirth with their child alive has had a lucky break. There is NO SHAME IN HOW ANYBODY BROUGHT THEIR BABY INTO THIS WORLD. INTO THEIR LIVES. Hell, I’m adopted for pete’s sake!!

Chances are, you even had to go through labour AND surgery! How bad-ass is that?!

So tell people your truth with your head held high, “Hi – my name is *insert your name here*. My beautiful baby’s name is *insert their name here*. I GAVE BIRTH via a C-section. We are happy and we are here. The end.”

Here’s another truth: No woman is more superior than another for how she became a mother. All mothers are doing the most amazing, life changing job in the world. We are shaping the future and we are raising the world’s citizens. Whether you gave birth a certain way (or didn’t in the case of adoption), whether you fed your child a certain way or not, whether you work outside the home or not, does not matter. You brought life into this world. YOU DID GOOD. YOU ARE AMAZING.

And trust me. NO-ONE knows what the fuck they are doing (even if it seems like they do from the outside or from a bunch of social media pictures). I can tell you that much. But we do our best. We learn on the job. We are brave and we are committed. No matter what else happens, that baby has us. Because society believes we are valuable enough for them to intervene and keep us safe during childbirth. WE COUNT.

Your experience was just as real and valid as anyone else’s. It totally happened and it totally changed your life. FACT.

We are here so we can teach our children to be accepting, beautiful, inclusive human beings who believe in spreading love rather than hate.

I think that’s what’s really important here, don’t you?

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No dummy.

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So it happened. Yesterday morning. He coughed and it fell in the toilet. And that was that.

Yep. After months of wondering when the right time would be to tackle the Little Mister’s giving up of the dummy/pacifier/binky/soother (whatever you know it as), fate sorted it out for me quick smart.

The Little Mister is 3 years and 4 months old(ish). He has had a dummy for sleep time for most of his life. Until he got all of his teeth (May last year), he had one whenever he really needed one because it helped soothe his gums somehow. He hasn’t regularly had a dummy when we’re out and about since he was maybe just turned 2, I think (he had a setback when we travelled overseas and he felt a bit out of his comfort zone mid 2014).

I remember worrying so much when a nosy, opinionated check out operator judged me for giving him one. The poor kid was only 18 months old or so. Now I look back and realise I shouldn’t have given a rats what she thought. So he looked older than he was. Big deal. I knew the truth and I knew what he needed. I cringe when I think of myself feeling so damn self conscious overseas. My poor kid looked almost 4 years old, but he was 2 and a half. None of the kids in Korea his age had them. Truth is, he didn’t normally have one in public at home anymore either. But he was insecure and anxious without it – the dummy gave him security, soothed him and helped him to handle our crazy trip so well. I should have just been proud of him. Realised that it was an issue for later, back on home soil.

I feel embarrassed that I cared so much what others (strangers might I add) thought. I don’t know why, but people have a real bee in their bonnets about dummies. Seriously? For the Little Mister it was just as effective as a teething toy. It was his teething toy. It worked so much better than any Sophie the Giraffe or whatever other trendy things are on the market (and might be working really well for a lot of other children). He didn’t want the frozen teething rings, the special chewable toys. That worked for him. What’s the difference? Why is it OK for kids to chew on frozen finger foods and teething rings, but not to have a dummy in their gobs? It’s the weirdest double standard.

When he started to talk, I would tell him I couldn’t understand him if he had his dummy in his mouth. We started gently to tell him that dummies are for babies (which has backfired occasionally in public when he’s felt the need to tell other toddlers – just for the record I know he’s been such a hypocrite and I am not judging anyone – especially after our own experiences haha). We created a routine where he wouldn’t get breakfast or any snacks until he’d given up his dummy for the day (he is highly motivated by food haha). Baby steps.

When he started day care earlier this year, I sent him without his security items. He only goes once a week so a skipped nap isn’t an issue. I just wanted him to not get used to it there. He knows going to “school” (as he calls it) is a big kid thing to do, so I started him the way we plan to continue. I figured that if he absolutely freaked about not having those things, the staff could call me or I could revise my plan later. Turns out, he’s been just fine (although he doesn’t sleep he has quiet time). Yes.

Over the last couple of years, I flirted with the idea of going cold turkey. Of wondering when it was time to force the issue. But my gut just said it wasn’t time yet. He wasn’t ready. It’s kind of like toilet training has been for us. I was waiting for the signs that he was ready.

I have so rarely seen primary school aged children using dummies and other than in documentaries about strange and unusual addictions, I have never seen an adult who couldn’t kick the habit! Which gives great hope, doesn’t it?

So, back to yesterday…

I got him out of bed and guided him to the toilet. He had handed me his little security blankie (which I will let him have forever because CUTE) and he stood at the ready for his morning wees.

*cough*

*plop*

Uh oh…

Let’s just say that dummy was never going near my child’s mouth again!! EW.

It was also his last one. A long while ago, I had decided that I would not be purchasing any more. Once he ran out and had broken or lost all of them, that would be it. I never predicted it would all end when he’d drop one in the loo!

So. I had a choice. Run out and buy a new one before nap time or see how he reacted when I rinsed it and put it in the bin in front of him. I chose the latter. He was a little bit sad…until breakfast time. He is at that stage where he understands that if you have no more of something, that’s it. When we’ve run out of his favourite snack, he can’t have it that day. When he wants something, if we do not have it or cannot find it, he understands. So I figured we had that on our side, at least.

He did suggest to me that we buy some more, but I told him that if we did that, then there would be none left at the shops for all of the babies who needed them (we don’t have a younger sibling for him to blame the milestone on haha).

That morning I found the Sesame Street episode called ‘Goodbye Pacifier’ on YouTube. I showed it to him and explained that Elmo called his dummy a ‘binky’ (an American slang term – wish there was an Aussie equivalent for kids to watch – if there is then let me know!) and that even his hero Elmo (who also taught him about toilet training haha) has given up his dummy and said goodbye to it. He liked the song, ‘Bye Bye Binky‘ (also on YouTube).

I felt cautiously optimistic. I was flying by the seat of my pants. Awesomely unprepared if you will! I had always envisioned myself spending weeks preparing him for this moment. Research, a big picture plan all laid out by me. As if! I should have known he’d get a cold, then cough it into the toilet when I was least expecting haha.

Nap time arrived and I was nervous but played it totally cool. I put him to bed and he was sad, but accepting. He cried with heartbreaking little whimpers, but he knew it was time. He knew I believed in him and I told him that it was OK to cry and be a little bit sad (gotta validate those feelings – it’s a big deal), but I knew he was ready because he was such a big boy. I told him I’d be back later and I left the room. I then had to sit on my hands as I watched him on the baby monitor. He whimpered but he never needed me – so brave.

He didn’t sleep (I really didn’t expect him to) but he played in his bed and sang ‘Bye bye binky’ to himself – oh the cuteness!

I’d put a call out to Mr Unprepared to bring something home as a reward. He headed to the shops where he’d found a Thomas the Tank Engine collectible set. The little trains cost $2 each and there was a special display/carrying case for them. Perfect. He could keep it in his room as a visual reminder of what he was achieving. Much like when I gave up mine as a toddler, in order to get myself some really cool glow worms (remember them?!).

Last night I was nervous. He got to bed and a couple of times he told me he wanted his dummy back. I gently reminded him that his dummy was yucky and had to go in the bin. I read him a couple of stories and then told him that if he was a really good boy and was able to be quiet and go to sleep, he’d get a new little train in the morning. HE DIDN’T CRY. NOT EVEN A WHIMPER. I was so impressed. He was a bit tired (from skipping his nap earlier on) and fell asleep in record time. No dummy! I thought, no doubt he’ll wake in the middle of the night, reach for it and be too disorientated to think rationally. I pictured him screaming for it and me stuck in the doorway of his room shooshing him in a soothing tone for hours.

But…he slept right through – no worries!! I thought, maybe when he wakes for the morning just before 7am, he’ll yell out for it. NOPE. He just waited for me to get him like usual. I THINK I’LL KEEP HIM.

It seemed too good to be true (and might still be – understandably – he’s kicking a lifelong habit haha), but then he napped today. No tears. No begging. He did absent mindedly look for it for a second when I came to get him up, but all was good. My Little Mister gets it and I am so glad he was ready.

So much of parenting is about following your gut feeling. Don’t let anyone bully you or shame you for your decisions when it comes to petty things like dummies. Do what is best for your child and they’ll show you when they’re ready for something. Also, no amount of planning can guarantee something will go smoothly. There is nothing wrong with trial and error. Nothing wrong with changing your mind in order to protect the process and nurture your child.

I’ve at least learnt that much in 3 years :)

What are your thoughts? How have you done it? Do you feel the pressure from others? Or simply wish me luck for tonight!!! x

Why did the chicken cross the road?

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Yesterday I decided it was time to teach the Little Mister how to tell a joke. Comedy for 3 year olds 101. I thought I’d start with an old staple. Something really simple. Sure, it’s not really all that funny now (probably was the first time the inventor of the joke told it but I’d say it’s gotten a little bit old over the decades).

It was:

Q. Why did the chicken cross the road?

A. To get to the other side. 

Something to get the Little Mister started on his long road to stardom as a struggling stand up comedian (maybe I’ll regret that haha). He’d been talking about jokes and loves when he realises I’ve said something funny. He’ll look at me and the corners of his mouth will turn up and he’ll say, “You said a joke, Mummy?”

Then when I confirm that I have indeed tried to be a bit funny, he’ll laugh as if I’m the funniest person alive which is good for my ego. Sure, I had to confirm that it was a joke in the first place, but that’s a minor detail.

*ahem*

So I taught him the chicken joke. He was doing a great job of telling it. I hammed it up laughing when he told the punchline correctly. He looked so pleased with himself.

A few hours later, I decided to test his memory and asked him to “tell me a joke!”

The Little Mister replied with, “ROAD CHICKEN!!!!!”

He then laughed raucously.

Um, sure…

Another time it went like this…

Kez: Tell me a joke!

Little Mister: Why did the chicken cross the road?

Kez: Why did the chicken cross the road, Little Mister?

Little Mister: *shrugs and looks confused* I don’t know.


At bath time, Mr Unprepared tried his luck.

Mr Unprepared: Can you tell me the chicken joke?

Little Mister: OK. Why did the chicken cross our road?

Mr Unprepared: Hmm. Why did the chicken cross the road?

Little Mister: OUR road. OUR road. Why did the chicken cross OUR road?

Mr Unprepared: Oh. Sorry! Why did the chicken cross OUR road?

Little Mister: *sounding confused* This one’s tricky.

Points for improvisation? Kind of?

I am not so excited for the knock knock jokes that will inevitably come, but I am looking forward to telling (and teaching) my old favourites.

Q. What do you call a penguin in the desert?

A. Lost.

Q. What do you call cheese that isn’t yours?

A. Nacho cheese.

Q. What do you call a cow with no legs?

A. Ground beef.

You’re totally judging me right now, aren’t you? Look, I know they’re bad. But they’re simple and my brain remembers them and can tell them without wrecking the punchline (something I am awesome at). I’m just a dad in a mum’s body. I can’t help it. I was taught joke telling by the worst best. My dad. You have no idea how egg-cited I am for Easter. All the yokes I’ll be able to tell then! I’d tell you some now, but I wouldn’t want to whisk you stealing them. Yeah, I’m a riot. Available for parties and corporate functions.*

Anyway, over to you. What are your favourite dorky jokes? Make me laugh! 

*not really available for parties and corporate functions.

Surprise! It’s Autumn!

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I know, right? How did that happen?? It was summer a second ago! Has it really been that long already? Where does time go? I’m not done frolicking at the beach. COME BACK, SUMMER.

This happens to me every year. It’s not that I don’t love autumn. I just wish it wouldn’t sneak up on me all the time. I guess that’s how famous people probably feel about Ellen Degeneres. If you do not understand this reference, shame on you…for probably having a life…that doesn’t involve a love affair with a DVR…and Ellen.

NO. I AM NOT HAVING AN AFFAIR WITH ELLEN. SPEAK TO MY PUBLICIST.

I don’t have a publicist.

Um…where was I?

Yes. Autumn. I love Autumn. My birthday is in Autumn. Easter is in Autumn. Some of my fondest memories come with the sounds, smells and weather of Autumn embedded in them.

My problem is that I am just never ready for it. Ever. You’d think I’d learn, right? Nope. Slow learner right here.

My biggest downfall is my inability to plan my autumn/winter wardrobe. See, the clothes appear in the shops at the hottest time of the year (which is coincidentally usually right before Autumn begins). So I look at that stuff and say, “Pffft. As if I can think of leggings and jackets and scarves right now. You’ve got to be joking!”

The weather in my corner of the world isn’t quite cold yet, but Autumn is in the air. We’ve had some rain, the days feel more mellow and they are getting shorter. So I’m feeling awkward as f*ck, because soon I am going to be that girl who is so obviously wearing her summer clothes for too long, because she doesn’t know what else to do. We’ve all seen that girl before. She’s the same girl who gets too excited for summer and wears shorts too early and everyone is all like, yo, settle down. Y’know? Yep. That’s me.

The only time I feel I nailed Autumn was when I was pregnant with the Little Mister in 2011. Because, hello, when you have a baby bump you can wear anything and no-one thinks you’re fat or falsely accuses you of being pregnant. It’s like the perfect accessory. So fashion tip: be pregnant.

Um…as that is not an option right now, I am SCREWED. I have not done a THING towards preparing a cooler weather wardrobe. NOT A THING. All i have is some worn out tights, some worn out boots and a couple of hoodies – the kind that say you’ve given up on yourself and have nothing else to wear. Oops.

Besides vowing to watch Rosie Rockets’ blog very closely for ideas (no pressure haha), I really haven’t made a plan. All I know is that I’d like to somehow incorporate these things that I thought of in my brain and then found on Pinterest for illustration…

Oversized flannel shirt/dress.

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This is my kinda thing. It’s easy. It can be worn with comfy leggings. It doesn’t involve 50 layers of clothing (layers make this 5 foot tall shortie feel like I’m drowning in fabric). It flatters a few extra curves if you’re carrying them (guilty!). It can be dressed up a little or kept really simple. It’s almost an outfit in itself so there’s no crazy decision making every single morning. Get me one in every kind of plaid! Stat!

Burgundy lips.

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Something about cooler, greyer weather just makes me want to bring out the darker hues. Strong, warm, matte colours. I love lipstick because it’s a quick way to make yourself look (and more importantly feel) polished, like you’ve made an effort. I kind of let my lipstick wearing slip through the summer and I think that I really need to bring it back. When I’ve got my lippie on I feel so much more sexy and confident. I wouldn’t be surprised if I even carry myself a bit differently (disclaimer: still a klutz forever though). Watch out, world!

Dark nails. 

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Gotta match my lips, of course! These hands look a bit over photo shopped, though. Kind of like they’re dead. Let’s ignore that. Gotta love Pinterest haha.

Boots.

I need boots. To be honest, I do not know where to start. I want black ones. But I’m short and I have short legs so I have to wear a lot of the shorter ankle styled ones over dark tights to keep things flattering. And while I like the ones with heels, I also need to be practical and have some flatter ones or wedges maybe. I don’t want old ‘mum’ boots. I want cool boots. Very ‘now’ ones. Maybe something with a bit of an edge. BUT WHAT IS ‘NOW’?! I feel a bit out of touch. How sad! Suggestions? Links? Pics? Maybe I can get some inspiration in Sydney next month…

Told you I’m crap at Autumn/Winter!!

Let’s just fantasise about these impractical beauties for a second, though…that’s just shoe porn right there.

*drools*

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Biker jacket.

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I have had incarnations of this before, but I’ve just never quite nailed it. I am looking for something that I can wear, but that doesn’t wear me! See? This model is wearing the jacket. When I put a jacket of any description on, I feel all bulky and lost in it. Like it never quite sits right. It wears me. I know The One is out there somewhere waiting for me. I must search harder this year!!

Are you ever ready for Autumn? What staples will you be wearing this season?

Oh, rats! Or mice.

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It’s started. I first heard it a few days ago. Scuffling. Scratching. Always in the early hours of the morning. No, I thought. It can’t be. Oh please let it not be. Maybe it’s just a few birds scratching on the tin roof, I reasoned desperately. Maybe it’s the neighbour’s cat on the roof? Oh please just be the neighbour’s cat!

But no…it was coming from inside the roof cavity.

I know this because one morning, the sound was so loud and irritating that I grabbed my diary (the nearest thing), climbed up on my exercise bike (aka expensive clothing hanger) and thudded it against the ceiling. The noise stopped immediately. Cheeky little bugger, I thought to myself.

I know this noise. I know this noise well. But in all the seven years we’ve lived in our current house, I have not heard this sound. Something I’ve been so relieved about. Until now.

This morning I heard the little mofo squeaking. It squeaked. Like I need any more proof.

Whenever I hear this sound, I have flashbacks. To the little buggers finding a way into the interior of my abode. The smell. The crusty little poo pellets that appear everywhere, despite your best efforts to clean them up and block all possible entries. The smell they leave when they die in the roof space. The story my brother tells of accidentally cooking a mouse in the toaster one time…

I think of Bitch-Mouse. My arch nemesis at our last house. Bitch-Mouse. This one brazen mother*cking rodent that teased me and taunted me and made my life hell. It would pop out while I was watching TV and just stare at me, before casually wandering about the house like it owned the joint. Have you ever seen a mouse out on a Sunday stroll? I have. Smug little f*cker. The moment I tried to catch it, *poof* it would disappear like a little tiny magician. I remember finally succumbing to buying a sachet of poison and placing it in our spare room (Bitch-Mouse’s personal play ground). This was BC (Before Child), might I add – not looking to poison anyone any time soon.

One night, Bitch-Mouse crawled dramatically out of the spare room. Bitch-Mouse’s struggle was real. It looked me in the eye, reached out a little accusing paw (do mice have ‘paws’?) and carked it. It was like Bitch-Mouse wanted me to see what I’d done. Like a final, “YOU KILLED ME. HOW COULD YOU.”

I felt 1% guilty. Actually, that 1% faded pretty quickly. I know. I’m a monster.

So, since then I have been excited about the fact that our house seems fairly mouse-proof. I’ve seen poo in the garden shed, but I have never spotted a live mouse in all the time we’ve lived here. I really hope my luck hasn’t run out. I have all these mental images of that mouse up there, just moved in with its little squatter mouse friends. Just making a mess, running amok, keeping terrible hours. Making bad lifestyle choices. Sleeping around with other no good mice who have no self respect. Making little mouse babies they have no intention of looking after properly. Deciding they need to start a life of crime to get by. Breaking into my pantry, eating all the food and nibbling things that shouldn’t be nibbled. Trust me, mouse (Bitch Mouse 2?), you don’t want to do this. Don’t go down that path. I’m warning you. You’ll end up in mouse jail. Or dead. Life isn’t all Disney World and Mickey and Minnie, I tell ya. I’ve met mice like you and we all know where this is going.

…And now I am talking to the invisible mouse that lives in my roof space. That’s normal, right? Can mice read?

So, tell me. What do you know about mice? 

Follow Awesomely Unprepared on Facebook 

Lady cave.

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No, it’s not a euphemism (giggles immaturely). Just like men like to have man caves, I have decided that I need a lady cave. I have a place for it all picked out. Sure, it won’t be perfect, because we have to keep the ironing board and unsorted washing and the bills somewhere, but hey – Mr Unprepared won’t be getting a shed as big as he’d like for the time being so I guess it’s only fair ;)

Yep. I am going to be making over the study. It will be my little sanctuary, where I can blog and look at pretty things and pretend I belong on fancy websites and do very important ‘unspecified as yet’ creative ‘work’. It will be a light, bright space that makes me feel happy and serene and not at all stabby like it does now. It will have to be functional, but almost 31 years into my life I am finally realising that the home office is actually allowed to be ridiculously good looking just like the rest of the house (which admittedly needs a little work too but nothing is as bad as the study is right now haha). I always thought that a study needed to  be the soulless room in the house and have ugly, horrendously designed generic furniture. Bulky stuff. Fugly – to keep all the fugly paperwork in. That it’s just a place to be practical. The one room that doesn’t need any prettying up. Because it’s supposed to be all utilitarian. Like an actual office. Think of the ugliest accountant’s office you’ve ever been in. Like that. I don’t know why. Now that I think about it, WHAT WAS WRONG WITH ME? Why was I punishing myself?? WHO AM I??

But then Pinterest was invented. And I started reading some great blogs, with pretty pictures from people’s lives. Now I have myself believing that there’s no reason I can’t enjoy that space and feel productive in it at the same time. I want to make it inviting and peaceful. So beautiful that no-one would ever dare to chuck old paid bills and clutter all over the place out of fear of ruining the wonderful vibe of it all (Ha ha ha – shut up).

Here’s what I’ve been drooling over…

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All I want is a little white desk. I don’t need heaps of work space! Some space for my laptop and some artistically arranged stationery. Nothing crazy. Just something to replace the massive, inflexible corner desk that takes up so much more room than is needed! The space would look instantly bigger.

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Floating shelves. White of course. Storage is definitely a challenge in our study, so we can’t just ditch all the shelf space. However, I would happily ditch all of the bulky book cases that are lined up against one wall. Floating shelves would again offer the illusion of more space, but would happily accommodate our important books and photo albums. I think it would also force me to really think about what I really need vs what I keep thinking I might need one day (notebook hoarder over here – HOLLA!).

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I wouldn’t be me if I didn’t want some inspirational wall prints. A pop of colour. Sure, I’d have to get creative in how to display my degree, the wedding certificate and Mr Unprepared’s trade certificates, but where there’s a will, there’s a way, right?

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And isn’t this desk chair divine? I want colour! And shape! Style. Comfort. I love that it’s not huge and foreboding like the big chair we have in there now. The one that looks like an evil movie villain will spin around in it at any moment, stroking a white, fluffy cat. The chair we have kind of dominates the room – drives me crazy. We bought it originally because it had a lot of back support and felt it was important because I would be studying for so long at a time in it. We figured, the higher the better. Except I am only five foot tall when I’m standing. Hilarious. I question my old decisions more and more!

Of course I’d need a simple filing cabinet and maybe a drawer or two near the desk for extra stationery, but I think it’s all quite doable.

I also dream of a gorgeous desk top computer – Apple of course (gotta add to my collection of matching devices) – but maybe that can wait a little while. In fact, all of it must wait a little while. But I can get started clearing the junk (it’s like an episode of Hoarders in there – you won’t believe that I found two CAR WING MIRRORS in there for WHO KNOWS WHAT KIND OF CAR… AND MORE – WTF Mr Unprepared?!), one piece of ugly office furniture at a time. It will be my ongoing project. Also, if anyone wants cables for anything. Anything that is not manufactured anymore or compatible with anything made this century, just give me a yell.

YAY FOR NO MORE UGLY HOME OFFICES…EVENTUALLY! :)

What would your lady (or your lady’s) cave be/look like? x