Dudebru … how cool are these guys?

I want to tell you that I never drink and drive, but I would be lying.

I do.   <hate mail can be sent to the email address listed on the side>

I always reason that I would be fine to pass an IQ test and could negotiate with a reasonable level of sense, and then I get behind a wheel.

We can argue that I am very stupid, or we can discuss that the idea that I go out for a few drinks and drive home, is sort of part of the “way we do things.”

The problem with this method of doing things is that the more you drink the less GREAT your decision-making is.  Dead sober I have questionable decision-making, add two glasses of wine and my decision-making can sometimes be a little out there.  I have been known to really like people I usually cannot stand dead sober, that alone should be a warning.

I don’t feel drunk.I don’t think I look drunk, but odds are if I was tested I may appear delayed.  Driving a large metal object and not having the ability to recreate quickly is probably less than ideal.

Okay all of this we know.

I may hazard a guess here that I am not unique in this regard, you have a few drinks, look at your car parked in pit-sonder-water and then wonder exactly who you are going to get your lazy arse home and your car.

You then decide you have very little option but to climb behind the wheel and drive.

I do not want this post to be about our social culture and our rather lax disregard for not driving once you reach for the wine opener, but I do want to tell you about some really cool guys.

If you live in the Northern Suburbs of Cape Town, right now you MUST GET REALLY EXCITED!!!  Dude, Northern Suburbs people have very little to get excited about, so that god there is something, and this might be it.

The very clever folks at dudebru have come up with a really fabulous solution.

These monkeys get you home.  It is reasonable, and if you are clever you will leave your car at home and just get them to pick you up and drop you at the venue.

Few things are better than going out for a good time, and knowing you driver will be waiting to collect you and safely deposit you at home.

I think calling a company called “dudebru” at 11pm, inebriated and at the corner of Long and Strand will be brilliant.  DUDEBRU!!

I will feature a bit more about them in a few days …. but they are so cool.

Number above, or hook up with them on Facebook.

Get the fuck out of my room …

I am sure we all remember the mania that was Go the Fuck to Sleep is a book written by American author Adam Mansbach and illustrated by Ricardo Cortés.

What’s not to love?

In case you were born under a rock, and missed it entirely, feel free to download the pdf from here.  Better yet buy a copy for that special someone for Xmas.

Kids have had their revenge and this poem is floating around.  I think we can all feel a tad on the guilty side when we go through it, and realise, yep, I do that <shameful expression!>

The poem is Get the fuck out of my room with illustrations by David Gothard and words by Eric Adams, Steve Belanger, Adam Campbell, and Bill Phillips.

Father, oh father, why are you so mad?
I’m just a little kid—I’m not trying to be bad

Yet every night, you cuss under your breath
It’s almost as if you think that I’m deaf

Yes, I get it, your life has so changed
But that’s no reason to start acting deranged

1 out of 3 kids doesn’t live with a dad
Now I know why—some fathers are pathetic and sad

I know you welcomed me into your life
After carefree coitus with your career-minded wife

Now you’re both exhausted and seem only to argue
Is it my fault? Really, what should I do?

Here’s an idea: Relax and have a beer
And let me solve our little problem by being the man here

Did you know that I’ll fall asleep 40 percent faster
If you create a bedtime routine that I can master?

Didn’t think so, and there’s another benefit I’ll cite
With a routine, I’ll sleep an extra hour each night

And if I shut my eyes nightly for 10 hours of peace
Research shows I’m much less likely to wind up obese

Experts also say you should read to me 30 minutes a pop
Yet after just one little book you can’t wait to stop

If it bores you that much, I’ll give you a tip
Just make it up, the words you can skip

This all boosts my vocabulary and word knowledge
Which someday may help me score a scholarship to college

Now let’s talk about when I want to color and swing
Why is it you can’t stop all that goddamned texting?

The brainiacs say if you pay attention to me
I’m likely to be less violent when I hit puberty

Yet you don’t quite grasp the concept of play, I infer
Maybe I should tell Mom what’s on your web browser

If you want me to stop crying, then let’s lose the ’tude
And go outside—studies say exercise improves my mood

Please straighten up, Dad, and get your head out of your ass
My young and innocent years just aren’t going to last

I can’t take care of myself, so I must look to you
Now man up and sack up—you know what to do

Give me a kiss and bid me “Good night!”
And think about how you can make this thing right

’Cuz if forever you’re going to be chock-full of gloom
You’d might as well just get the f**k out of my room

Guilty much?

I have started internet dating … and I think I have met someone ….

It’s been more than a year since we had a dog in our house.

I have never been dogless.  I have been legless, motherless, and sometimes senseless, but I have always had a dog.

We babysat a dog earlier this year.

I really would like to tell you it was a good experience. I really would.

I got very angry that a family had probably had this dog, and given it no discipline.  They decided to move (probably to get away from the dog).  The dog then got passed along to a variety of people, but the dog really was too much dog for anyone.

I really want to find those original owners and make them listen to Whitney Houston’s “I will always love you” on a loop so their ear drums bleed.

I felt so bad for this dog.  I called a dog behaviorist and thought I would take it on the chin and keep the stupid and annoying dog and train her.

I have never met a dog I hated. I hated this dog.  Like day-dream-about-hate.

Towards the end of our “dog-sitting” time, I started wondering if I could kill the dog myself.  I also thought that maybe I could just leave the gate open and the dog could just run away.

I blame the original owners who did not love this dog enough to teach it manners.  They in theory should be found and slapped.  Hard.  With a spade.

Basically they metered out a death sentence for Maya.  And they made me totally shift my thinking regarding ever taking in a “rescue dog” (hate mail email address is along the side, feel free to drop me any hate mail you would like, really!)

In the end, the dog was poisoned.  Not by me, but clearly by someone who had slightly less patience than me, and maybe needed a bit more medication.

So that was my experience with a dog this year.

It jaded me to “thinking” about getting a new do in our house.  I really was not up for it.

I thought about a dog a few months back, but was not ready.  Flash backs of the black-bitch-from-hell kept playing through the VCR in my head.

A few weeks ago, I thought I might be.  Maybe it was a hormonal imbalance, maybe I missed a pill that day.  Who knows.

I started looking around and looking at what I wanted in a breed, and one thing led to another.

I decided that I wanted a French Bulldog or a Boston Terrier.  Then I realised I loved both breeds and I want both.

Recently online I met Declan.  I call him Dexter.  I love the sound of Dexter.

I sometimes say his name out loud in the middle of the day, to no one in particular.

I find Dexter very handsome and he makes me smile and giggle a bit.

I get excited every time I get an email from his mom.  I am quite “in love” with Dexter, but I am trying to act more aloof than I feel.

He comes with his own bowl, lead and collar.

I must confess I am quite smitten.  The only problem with internet dating is that you really do not know who you are talking to.

Dexter could be a 6-year-old Maltese Poodle, with bad breath and a hernia, masquerading as a Boston Terrier!   He could be.

I need to meet Dexter at the airport on the morning of the 18 November …… he comes with a box, as all good dates should.

His mom has asked me to deposit a large wad of money before she sends him, which makes me suspicious that our relationship is not founded on true love.  It has made our relationship a bit less “magical” than it was before.

I am still meeting him at the airport on the 18 November!

French Bulldogs …. I want I want I want … please may I have?

We went to view this litter of 9 French Bulldog puppies on Sunday morning.

We took Connor with us, and left the two girls at home.

It would have been totally chaotic with all three kids and nine puppies we were not allowed to touch.

I would have been so busy slapping little hands that I would not have had a chance just to sit in the drool and grunts that are French Bulldogs.

Oh my giddy aunt, my heart skipped a beat.  I gasped what I saw this lot.  I do think puppies are cuter than children … they just are ….

I like puppies as much as the next person, but freak, there were nine little monkeys here and I could so easily have snatched one and put him in my camera bag.

The mother was Hannah, but what was even more divine is that there was a puppy from her first litter, and she was a brindle bitch and just under 18 months – she was absolutely divine.

The litter is 4 weeks old.  The viewing is so that we could be introduced to the breeder and they could make a decision we were special enough to take home one of these special puppies in about 6 weeks.

It was a bit like going to a popularity contest with a few dozen people and not sure exactly what the criteria was for the selection.  But still hoping that what ever it was you got chose.

You want to be polite to the other people there viewing, but you realise they are direct competition.

Just like that.

I have to go so I can stare at my cell phone and wait for it to ring!!  Breeder please call me and tell me I can choose a puppy …. please call ….. please call

More photos can be viewed through this link: http://www.flickr.com/photos/celestebarlow/

Rubbing biltong between your breasts …..

I have been coveting a dog for our home for some time.

I am seldom a “quick decision maker” when it comes to acquiring a new member of the household.  It took me about 3 – 4 years to decide to get Jackson.

I took less time to decide on a second or third child (we can unpack that idea on another post)

I look at it that a “new dog or cat” is a 12 – 14 year commitment on average, and it’s a lot of responsibility.  You do not always know what you are getting, and you can’t always predict how it is going to change the dynamics in your household, and the going rate for kids to pick up doggie poo! (I use R20.00 a weekend for full weekend doggy poo clean up as a guide)

As much as my kids may scream “we really want a do/cat/hamster/snake/vermin, at the end of the day the responsibility for on going care will be mind, so I decide when I am ready to take on the responsibility.

I have long said to them that we are “not ready for a pet” so it has taken me years to get to a point where I am no longer have to to say “no” to mice/rats/hamsters/snakes/dogs/cats and so on that my kids want to bring home.  My kids know the blanket answer is always going to be NO, so they have stopped asking.

I consider the demand for food, water, care, attention,  vets bills and potentially new shoes to replace the pairs that are lost along the way.

Decision making involves a spreadsheet, numerous hours using google search, chatting to breeders, reading breed standards and much staring into the distance and sighing.

I have decided some time this year that I was “less opposed” to looking at maybe getting a dog.  I thought about it.  Made a list.  Then put it aside.  I repeated this every month or so.

A few weeks back I decided “actually I am quite interested in getting a dog for our home.” And then it turned into a rabid project.  Like Bridezilla.  But not.  However has a similiar frantic decision making where you start seeing the white of my eyes and spittle forms on my chin.

<Just to cut this conversation before it gets started.  I am not interested in rehoming a dog from a shelter.  I am not going to argue the merits of either, really I am not.  Suffice to say I choose to approach a legitimate breeder and purchase a dog that is bred to a particular breed standard.  Case closed.>

I have two breeds in mind at the moment.  Both I like equally.  They have difference and similarities.

To assist my decision-making I went along to a local breed show to meet the breeders and also have the chance to snuggle a dog.  I snuggled, I hugged, I ogled, I appeared to appear controlled, I sat on the grass and gave myself over to slobber.

I thought it would help me “choose” between the two breeds, if anything it made me want them BOTH.  More.

One of the breeds have a litter here in Cape Town.  It’s a specialist breed, and I am very fortunate to have the breeder nearby, and even more lucky that one was born soon after my “real commitment to getting on a puppy list” started.

I have made it on to the shortlist for this litter.  To explain there are about 16 of us, there are 9 puppies in the litter.  Clearly there is going to be name calling, bitch slapping, a bit of name calling and maybe even some slandering of competition.

I feel an overriding urge to puff out my chest, lift my chin and say “Bring it Bitch!”

I can attribute this to the fact that I have been listening to “Die Antwoord” this week, and not to a strategy that will work for me today (or ever).

Today the breeder has invited us to an open day to meet the puppies.  It is also an opportunity for them to meet the “prospective owners” and evaluate them in person.

They can then get a better feel as to whether they really want you to have a puppy, or whether they are going to bounce your application to the kerb.

So it’s like speed dating.  But different.

I gave it some thought and decided to only take Connor.

I cannot imagine me (excitable me, who jabbers when they are nervous and over excited), Kennith (who is slightly disinterested in this), Connor (who does not know we are thinking about a dog/puppy, so he will be in shock), Georgia (who wants to hug everything, so I can only imagine her reaction when presented with 9 adorable puppies), Isabelle (who just appears to not listen when she is on a mission).

All of us facing 9 puppies and me attempting to make a good impression, and keep control.

Total Puppy Open Day Fail.

Solution: Leave the two girls at home, explain they are at cello and violin lessons, and just take Connor along.

I know the girls will be fine if we got a new dog at home.  There will be the first day where they are going mental screaming PUPPY PUPPY PUPPY, and then I will medicate them and send them out of the room.  Threatening to “punish” them if they go within 2 metres of the puppy.

By day two everyone will be fine, and have lost interest.  It will be fine then.  Calm will be back.

Taking three kids to a puppy viewing, would be like “puppy waiting list suicide” and I have opted to at least give myself an outlying chance.

I am so excited about later this morning.

I am going to go and shower, do my hair, and rub some biltong behind my ears and between my breasts to make the puppies like me more ….. strategy people, strategy!!

Epic Fail … Parenting # 2

Not much more you can say regarding this image …..  except I hope she got a great new status update picture for Facebook …. and a newer phone …. and maybe some family planning …. and maybe her son found a friend who has a really nice mom who has him over in the afternoons ….. so mom can do what ever it is that mom is doing by the hour …..

Love those Moments …. # 1

Love those Moments  : Not sure I will have many of these in me, so do not hold your breath.

This is number 1 of the series.

There may only be one, so this may be a very short series.  Just warning you.

Is anyone else as confused about SA Blog Awards 2011 as I am ….

SA Blog Awards is in the public voting stage and this runs until 9 November 2011.

The short of it is, public pops along, reads your blog, or a bit of it and goes, hey that is worth a click.  Clicks on vote button and then they fill in a form that requires 2 lines of information.

They vote.

Vote site sends them a confirmation email, so that it tries to stop one person voting and using a few dummy email addresses.

The one thing they did not say, or possibly I overlooked it is – that one email address counts for one vote (for one blog) per day.

In others words, you cannot vote for several blogs in one day.

You can vote each day.

Again, hats off to ever takes the time (and enery to) organises Blog Awards, good for you.  I would rather sit on my stoep and drink wine, but cheese and rice, at least let us have some information that we can work with.

Anyway ………

On a totally unrelated note.

I stopped at Cape Union Mart in Access Park yesterday.  Access Park is like a “sales” area and loads of businesses have “depot” “outlet” “over run” stores there.

I am not a big fan of sales.

I like to shop and make it feel like a lavish affair, rather than a charity situation where I am scrambling for clothing and elbowing the shopper next to me.  I don’t want to feel like a refugee when I am trying to spend my hard earned money or credit.

Cape Union Mart in Access Park, has women’s Poetry and Old Khaki clothin – already marked down stuff – marked down a further 75%.

To give you an example of what a winner day this was. I bought a jacket for R25.00 which was R499.00 (it was a new jacket, I was not pulling it off a dead guy.)

I also bought Poetry White Linen shirts for  R49.75.  Again, brand new, I think it was originally R299 or R399.00. Of the many things that Poetry do well, they do white linen shirts very well.

So now I have 5 more.

I walked out of the store with:

  • 13 shirts – two short-sleeved, and the balance long sleeve, some linen, and some a blend and so on (so no t-shirts, though one was a golfer)
  • 2 jackets/blazers.
  • 1 x 3/4 trousers.
  • 1 x long pair of linen type trousers.
  • 1 x  Poetry dress
  • 1 x jersey thing that hangs at an angle (love this item!!)

I paid R950.00 in total for that.  It was a box of clothing – and none of the items were things I would not have bought any way.  If you average it out, it means I paid R50.00 per item.

The best part was when the store manager – Smilton – stood on the counter with a pile of blazers/shirts/jackets and started doing his sales pitch: “I have blazers here, for R25.00.  R25.00 only.  They are great for summer, with linen pants.  They were R499.00 but for you – today – R25.00.”

I would not have seen them.

So I took one, and then he looks at me and goes: “Why not take 2, then you have an extra one for a Xmas present!” 

SOLD.  Good man that Smilton is.  Xmas shopping taken care of.

The special/mark down runs until Saturday.

I think it is on Old Khaki and Poetry women’s clothing – so 75% off already marked down things, which are often marked down to 1/2 their original price.  I am not sure if it is Cape Union Mart clothing as well, though there is Cape Union Mart stuff there marked super low.

Its the Access Park outlet (I believe there is one in Woodmead as well), so do not appear at a shop in the mall and wonder why you are not paying R50.00 for a shirt, because if you do, then the sales assistant really should have permission to palm slap you.


Reluctant Mom Shopping Strategy Suggestion : when you go the outlet store, do not take kids, do not take your husband, have your hands free, have a t-shirt shirt on, which allows you to just try on things while you are standing there.  Taking stuff to the change rooms just wastes valuable time you could be spend finding more stuff.

Have a small bottle of water with you, so you do not get thirsty and want to leave the store.

Take along a canvas bag of something over your shoulder, that you can drop things in as you see them and like them.  Gives you more free hands to grab more!!

Shoot off to Cape Union Mart in Access Park and shop up a storm, ideally today but tomorrow is the last day.

I seldom get excited about a sale, but seriously this makes that crappy Woolworths red sale or what ever it is called look like it is standing still and dribbling on it’s bib!

Ask for Smilton, he really is brilliant.

Say his name loudly and then give him a little hug, I think he will like that.  It will confuse and disarm him, but I think it will make him smile.

Don’t kick me in my balls …. a family planning solution ….

I am at Woolworths today picking up odds and ends.

I have Connor and Georgia are with me.

I must confess, that Georgia did warn me that unless I agreed to leave Connor in the parking lot, in the car, where I could not see him, she was afraid that they would fight in the store.

I am a pretty shitty parent, but even I do not leave my kids in a parking lot, in a car.

I do however wish to explain that I do leave Georgia or Connor in the car if I fetch the one from school.  I have to run in and sign them out.

In my defense I have taught Georgia that “if the car catches alight get out the window, but other than that no one in and no one out..”

I also roll down the windows about 1/2 way to make it easier for her to get out should she need to.  It is all about the details, right?

We are in the store and the infractions that occurred were (and not limited to):

1.  Georgia putting her fingers into Connor’s bum – she said she was helping to pull  his pants up.

2.  Connor kicked Georgia.

3.  Connor and Georgia were arguing about pork and chicken (as you do!)

4.  Georgia was screaming that she wanted to sit in the trolley – though I had said no about a half a dozen times.

5.  Connor was explaining – in detail – the book on Goosebumps that he had read.  He was relaying the book verbatim.  By the time we got to the meat aisle, Georgia screamed – YOU HAVE NOT STOPPED TALKING SO I CAN TALK! Of course she had been talking non-stop since the bread aisle.

6.  They were arguing whether the ficas plant was real.  Connor said it was. Georgia said it wasn’t.  And they argued.

7.  There was a red-haired boy in the store, who had a “clay class” or what ever t-shirt on. Georgia screamed (like shrieked) at him – “There is a clay boy, there is a clay boy!”  I must confess I was confused for some time, as I could not see the print on his shirt. I just stood there and smiled apologetically at his mom as my daughter was screaming “Clay Boy” at a totally unknown red-haired child.

8.  I am trying to unpack the trolley at the till, and the kids are arguing (still).  I can’t actually tell you what it was about as I had started to filter them out. I could just hear Georgia screaming I AM INNOCENT, I AM INNOCENT!

9.  The cash clerk looks at me and goes: “You have a really strong-willed girl there. It’s really great.” I look at her and explain I am an advertisement for why parents should think about only having one child. I am a walking “family planning” advert.  She is laughing, but in a manner that I know she is agreeing with me.  At that exact moment Georgia screams: ‘You KICKED ME IN THE BALLS, YOU. KICKED. ME. IN. MY. BALLS!”

I may no longer be welcome at that particular branch of Woolworths.

Sun on my face, wine in my glass …..

In my little journey of ying meets yang, and get a clue, I had a moment yesterday.

The kids were eating dinner, I poured myself a glass of wine, and went to sit in my back yard.

I need to explain that my backyard, is about the size of a large postage stamp. It has been the bane of my life since we moved in to our house.

I hate gardening and I hate attempting to be good at it.  The backyard quickly turned into a wind-blown, sandy and really annoying area.  Just ugly.

I am fine to shut the backdoor and not give it a second thought, but our house/property is built on levels, with the result that the kitchen looks directly into the backyard – it’s almost on eye level.  So I was assaulted by ugly all the time.

Nearly every day – either whilst putting the kettle on or off, I would grit my teeth and it irritated the crap out of me, to stare into this sand trap and then I would get angry.

Then Alice introduced to me to Roderick.  And my life changed.

Roderick is fabulous.  Roderick appears to know loads about gardens and plants.

His most significant skill is his ability to remain amiable when a husband and wife are giving him totally contradicting instructions.  He handles this with such grace, he makes me snort.

Anyway.  I blew my children’s education on lavender, jasmine, thyme, rosemary and petunias and Roderick has kindly planted them for me.

He helped plant some tomatoe plants (which I am not convinced are weeds that we have lovingly tied to thin sticks, as these plants do not smell anything like tomatoe plants, and more importantly have not sprouted one frkn tomato yet!) and he comes and lovingly assists the garden to see that it is quietly ticking over.

He reminds me when to get compost, or worm poison, or which plants I need to replant.

He makes cuttings of existing plants and plants areas I had not even known exist.  He created a fabulous garden in an area I thought was “dead area” that now has rosemary, petunias and some other stuff that smells great, but I have no idea what it is.

He has stopped rolling his eyes every time I explain I have bought more plants, and then he arrives and the plants are all “lavender.”

He appears to understand my little lavender fetish.  Or doesn’t and prefers not to judge me any more.

My back garden has become my  secret garden.  Though it is hardly a secret.  But it has rapidly become my happy place.

My makes- me-mile place.  I love sitting there.

Yesterday I sat on the step, and surveyed my stamp sized garden, wine glass in hand.

I smelt the smell of lavender, and the sweet smell of jasmine.  I sat there with the late afternoon sun on my face.

I heard the birds singing.  I was just still.  I was there.

Here is the part that was incredible.  The noise/internal conversation/the constant heckling inside my head was quiet.  It had been for a few days, I just had not noticed until that moment.

I could hear the birds, and I was not scheming/self-flagellation/future worst case scenario dissecting/constant dialogue about what I had said/done/felt/thought …… all of it was quiet.

I can’t explain it really well, without making me sound a bit like Jack from the Shining.  The value of just having quiet in my head and my thoughts, which are not negative or self-hatred.

It was a lovely moment …..and I really love my little garden.

<Today I bought a Gardening Magazine.  I think the world might come to an end.  The odds of me reading a gardening magazine is shocking enough, the fact that I chose it over Marie Claire might be comment enough on my mental instability!!!>

Happy Mo-Vember everyone!!

I am not a “hair on the face” sort of girl.  I wax my top lip, the least I expect my partner to do is shave.

But I am a fan of Mo-Vember.  If you are not sure exactly what it is about, click along and read up more.

I am not planning on growing a moustache out of choice, but in the event that you may like one, here are a few templates and you can pick one and wear it around the office, or when you are vying for that all important promotion ….


My personal favourite is the fuhrer moustache and hair – though clearly it does appear to be somewhat “politically incorrect” – but it makes me snort, and I just need to find the right time to wear it.


<My kids were shrieking with laughter when I put these things on this evening. Georgia loved the “fuhrer” stuff ….I tried to dissuade her … why is it that kids are attracted to the thing you want them not to like?? >

SA Blog Awards 2011 … er about that ….

The SA Blog Awards is/are upon us.

There will be the usual bitching, moaning, sighing and hair pulling (and that will be just from me) this year.  There will be winners, losers and disgruntled bloggers and followers.  Everyone will have an opinion.

Nominations closed on the 31 October 2011.

I noticed I did not get a nomination badge.

I will not lie. I felt a bit hurt and rejected.  I was quite bleak actually. I tried to appear like it was “no biggie.”

I filled the void by eating a McDonalds Egg-McMuffin-Sausage Breakfast meal.  I was still a bit wounded come the afternoon, so I bought myself two bottles of wine for dinner.

This came on the back of me NOT WINNING my office “best dressed Halloween competition” when I thought I was a shoe-in (is that the right term?)

This evening I was cleaning out my “junk mail box folder” and lo-and-bebold what should I see there? Oh my giddy aunt, a little badge.

I will not lie I squealed.  No I did.  Yes, it is a bit sad.

It made me forget all about Kim Kardashian and her ridiculous 72 day marriage.

I personally am a bit shocked it lasted that long.  Seriously, once you see your large arse in a white bikini with Mrs Humphries on the back, the doubts will creep in.  It must. Mrs Humphries?  I think Koekemoer (tribute to you Anita) might only be worse than Humphries, but only marginally.

Sadly this is the part where all self-respecting bloggers lose all self-control.  All sense of dignity and starts running around like a rabid dog begging-pleading-smiling insanely to get you to click on the nominate/vote button.

I really really wish I could tell you I was above this sort of thing.

I would like to say it with a smug indignant look on my face, like I was above all of this hoopla, but the sad truth is I am not.

Anyway, there it is, click if you can, sigh if you must …. yes I am shameless.

Note from my persecutors:  Members of the public can vote for their favourite blogs by clicking on the vote badge.

The <desperate request for voting from the> public vote phase will continue until 9 November 2011. Upon completion of the public vote phase, the top three blogs in each category will be handed over to a select panel of judges to determine the winners in each category. 

Educational Worksheets … use them or don’t … just don’t send me hate mail!!

I am not an educator.

I do not suggest I am anything when it comes to teaching children.

I am not even suggesting this material will or will not cause your child to drool excessively and develop an ugly twitch.

From time to time I sit and devise little educational work sheets for my kids.  Sometimes for no other reason that “just because.” I do find I am most inspired when I am rushing to a deadline and need to really focus my attention on something else, then I am really good and doing pretty much anything, other than focussing on the deadline.

The problem is that I seldom remember to bring them home and actually give them to my kids. <I also write letters, put them in envelopes and never put stamps on them and post them.  Thank gd for email — and sms ……>

I have loads of worksheets, and really no one to give them to.

I once labelled nearly everything in the house with little name tags, so Connor could learn the spelling of the “fridge” and the “cookie cupboard” with neatly printed ARIAL font tags.

I printed them out.  I had them laminated. I never brought them home.  They are still in a box from  “a job I had 4 years ago…”

I really am quite a good mother-educator, problem is I have zero follow through.

With that in mind, I thought it might be useful/fun/play it forward to upload the little educational sheets I create.

At least if I am too lazy to get my A into G and give them to my kids, there is a remote chance that you might print them out and your kids can benefit from them.

Or you can just print them out and doodle with them at work.

I find making paper aeroplanes of really important documents really a great way to pass time.

You can ignore them and just sigh into your cup of coffee.

What ever you do – please, please please, do not send me critical emails or post comments explaining how I can make them better/or how they are educationally deficient and I not really doing anything more than wasting your precious time and the life of a tree.

Really – don’t!

Want the pdf of this so you can print it out in better quality?  You can get access to it here.


Let me know if it works for you, or doesn’t – would be nice to know.