Princesses, manners and sharing ….

{sponsored post, but very cute girl show}

Both my girls love princess things.  Definitely more Georgia than Isabelle.

Isabelle wore a penguin hat all day on Sunday but told everyone she was a chicken —  she might be into farm animals more, but she is failing on the ability to recognise farm animals, which we need to look in to.

Isabelle only likes princess stuff if Georgia is holding a princess thing, and Isabelle wants it now.  From her.

Isabelle will invoke the “share share share” request usually associated with wild arm waving, a grabbing motion and snot collecting on her upper lip.

I have given up trying to dissuade the girls that princesses lack career paths, any ambition and appear to have no aspirations other than marrying well.

Trying to deny your girl child the right to become the princess she dreams about, is about as futile as trying to deny your boy child the right to play with guns.

I do not buy guns for my boy child, ever.  But sooner or later he is going to make a “gun” out of macaroni and stand around going “peeuw-peeuw” whilst you roll your eyes and wonder where it all went so wrong.

Girls are going to want to be princesses.  Boys are going to want to make guns and jump off the roof into the pool.

Accept it.  Ensure your medical aid is up to date (for the boys) and take your credit card out for a little run (for your girl.)

The folks over at Walt Disney’s PR company contacted me and asked me if I would kindly tune my DSTV to channel 309 (Junior Disney) – Sofia the   First on Saturday 11 May at 09:00.

Okay, so I have missed that date, but definitely booked the TV lounge for Saturday the 18th May 2013.


So the folks over at the PR place say:  While Disney princess fairytales have been enchanting audiences for more than 70 years, this is the first time a series has centered on a princess as a little girl.

The stories are designed to communicate positive messages and life lessons that are applicable to preschool-aged children. The series is a production of Disney Television Animation.

Sofia the First stories are set in the storybook world of young Sofia who starts out life as a regular girl. But when her mum marries the king, she is whisked off to a glamorous, but sometimes confusing, castle world of royalty, pomp and new step-siblings, Amber and James.

Sofia the First will include appearances by Fauna, Flora and Merryweather (fairies seen in Disney’s classic Sleeping Beauty) as the headmistresses of Royal Prep, the academy that Sofia, along with other princes and princesses, attends.

Special event appearances will be made by classic characters including Cinderella and other Disney Princesses.

Nancy Kanter, Senior Vice President, Original Programming and General Manager, Disney Junior Worldwide, said, “In Sofia, we have a ‘peer to peer princess,’ a relatable girl experiencing the same social issues as our young viewers – learning how to fit in, making new friends, conquering new skills and building sibling relationships.”

She continued, “Although Sofia will have plenty of pretty dresses and sparkly shoes, our stories will show Sofia, and our viewers, that what makes a real princess is what’s inside, not what’s outside. That the inner character of kindness, generosity, loyalty, honesty and grace make you special, not the dress you wear.”

I received a box today, with a cute sash – I was going to wear that with the crown, but they sash was not exactly fitting around my torso.






I see Sofia the First has a little roll out number of good manners.

I am really curious how that is going to unfold this evening as I present 1 crown and 1 matching sash to 2 girls!!  I think Georgia will run faster, I think that Isabelle will punch harder.

Catch Sofia the First on a small screen near you — I suggest parking the kids in front of the show, and you lying on the couch with a cup of tea and a book.


I have one Junior Disney pack to give away.  Unfortunately it is not Sofia the First, but maybe because the girls are getting a cool new princess show, we can send something to the boys, or to a girl who digs pirates.

I will pick one at random end of day Friday, 17 May 2013 — again just leave a comment and tell me whose voice will be used in the new show Sofia the First, as Sofia.  The First.

Here is a hint: Ariel Winter from Modern Families.

Actually it is not a hint it is the answer.

I will pick one at random, and send you a Disney Lunchbox, and Jake and the Neverland Pirates: Stickers,  Height Chart, Necklace and Head band.  Easy peasy.

No need to like anything, or promise me your first born.  Just leave a comment.  With the answer I have just given you.

You say psycho like it is a bad thing …..

{warning — mommy venting …. it is not pretty, it is a little bit need two Zolofts}

I am a get quiet when I am really cross person.

If I am ranting like a lunatic then you know this will blow over relatively quickly. If I purse my lips, go quiet and stare at you, then it is pretty much time to flee — or at the very least, just back off and give me some space because the little voices in my head are all screaming.  And not in unison.

This evening I was sitting with the kids doing homework.  At some point I started telling them about how records work.

In no way related to the subject at hand.

I was all telling them stuff and reliving the year we discovered electricity and all. I dip my hand into the record sleeve and start explaining how the record needle works, and and and ….. all quite jazzy, and much more “show and tell” than I would normally would be.  But there I am giving this sane mommy thing a run for it’s money.

I look into the record jacket and see that one of the records is broken.

Connor starts explaining … quickly …. how he was showing Georgia and it fell and it broke and he is so sorry.

I know Connor.  One does not pass a record from Connor to Georgia.

My guess is they were monkeying – he was probably the instigator  and Georgia’s ball skills are atrocious.  My guess is her record catching skills are left wanting at about the time Connor lobbed it across the room.  Frisby anyone?

It is an old record.  Gigi actually.  Very little sentimental value.  I had found it in a second hand store and it had the original jacket, and I wanted to frame it.

I am so angry.  Not because they had broken the record (okay also because of that) but because they thought they could hide it from me, and only confessed when they realised I had started a rather unfortunately timed “show and tell!”

I was so angry.  White lips, quivering angry.

I really hate deceit. I really do.  I knew he thought he had got away with it, and then he is like “what the hell, show and tell now!!  Now!!!”

I sent Connor and Georgia to bed – it was 18h23.

I stripped her of her “Princess for a Day” title.  I could see Connor was the more sorry.  But he always is.  In this case I know he was the instigator and he was the one who hid it.  How?  My spidey sense that all moms have.

I went d0wn the passage now to check they were in bed, and no one had bailed over the wall to make a run for it.  Connor has written this very long, very heart felt letter about how sorry he is.  It includes a graphic of him crying.  The boy has mad illustration skills.

I am at that juncture where Connor has been doing a lot of things lately that are just clumsy.  Stupid.  Careless. A wanton disregard of the rules (bet you never thought you would hear that phrase outside a Jane Austin novel).

He knows he is monkeying around and seeing how far he can push it.

Getting out the car today, he was trying to keep Georgia getting in to the boot of the car to get her school bag.  When she got upset, and he realised I was standing there, then he feigned a huge effort to placate her and help her with her bag.

Again being a monkey, and just arsing around, and in so doing crushed half a loaf of fresh bread —- I have little regard for the bread. I have little regard for the record.

I am annoyed that he is starting to push the boundaries.  He is really just seeing how far he can go each day.

And because he is so quick to apologise and say he is sorry …. then you go “okay my boy, it is okay” and 10 minutes later he is up to the same shit.

I know I should be more “ah, kids will be kids” but seriously! He broke my record, and then hid it from me.

Fitting punishment- I am going to find another one, and make him pay for it.

As he does not earn a salary like other small kids in a third  world country, he is going to be on dog shit duty for the next three weeks!  No dog shit picking up, no television on the weekends.

I realise I will have my mother’s day gifts retracted quite soon, and my “best mom” sign quietly stolen in the night.  Shit happens, and then you send your son to pick it up.


Said no man. Ever.


50 Shades of Grey ….. meet me out in the shed

The only positive thing I can say about 50 Shades is that it did for adult reading what Harry Potter did for everyone else.

No one read.  No one posted comments about books they had read. Ever.

50 Shades was released.  Every hausfrau known to man, every woman with a pulse was taking photographs of herself reading 50 Shades, or posting updates on Facebook about her reading 50 shades of grey.

I can stumble through shit books as much as the next person.

I made it through about 623 pages of Shantaram before I decided that if he was going to climb a mountain with some unknown  dudes. I decided I was starting to side with the mountain lion.  It is not a spoiler alert.  There was no mountain lion.  I seriously would re-read a rewrite that included a mountain lion who ate Lindsay Ford – there is a good chance I would give it another go.  Shantaram is the biggest waste of my time, if you exclude the time that I have spent trying to synch my new ipad (still not synched — damn you apple gods, damn you)

50 Shades of Grey is probably only good if you need about 3 – 8 minutes of light fiction so you can mas.turb.ate (yes I said it) but other than that, the book is trite shit, and just bad-ly bad-ly written.

But a few key quotes from that tomb of bad reading:-

Her curiosity oozes through the phone.  {sounds very similar to a call center operator asking me if I am having a nice day — the key is that it is going to get less nice because you just called}

Feel it baby.  {I do think in sex it helps to remind your partner that they should actually feel something …. other than say rigor mortis}

He’s my very own Christian Grey popsicle.  {I am guessing sorbet was no longer on the menu!}

Mentally girding my loins, I head into the hotel.  {I have been in several hotels, I do not think I have ever girded my loins —  but maybe I have been in the wrong hotels.}

Suppose he returns with a cane, or some weird kinky implement? {A cane OR a weird kink implement??  I really am not sure what I would think if  ***** arrived with a cane …. limp much?  Seriously, what are you meant to say?}

Anastasia when cuffed to the bed posts: ‘Holy cow, I cannot move my arms.  {Anastasia – who has for the record just spoilt my favourite name — yes, that is pretty much what happens when you are handcuffed to anything – if you can move, then pick up the box and re-read the instruction because your handcuffs are no longer working.}

50 Shades 0f Grey is really a kak read.

I am suggesting that there are thousands of women (and several very happy partners/husbands) who really enjoyed the book and no doubt Book Club pass it along must have soared.  I am not judging you for reading (or benefiting) from the book. The book is crap, you are not necessarily crap.

The only reason I am mentioned 50 Shades of Grey, is because I have become a fan of 50 Sheds of Grey.

Now that I like!





Georgia says ….

I am working and Georgia is off sick today.

I gave her a box to play with – not like climb in it, but to decorate it and keep her occupied (read to stop her talking to me).

She has been at this box with a variety of crayons for at least two hours.

She goes: “Shew, I am filled with busy ness!”

Aint that the truth.  I was also filled with busy ness today, except the part where I whiled away two hours on pinterest, which really was not productive at all.

And the other time when I made 4 Nutella sandwiches and stuffed them into my face.  But other than that, I know exactly how she feels.

Happy Birthday …. er to me!

I am hoping that when you read this I am skipping around Franschoek, and trying to forget that I am forty-fucking-one.

It is all a bit frightening.  I am closer to being 60 than I am to being 20.

I have no pearls of wisdom to share.  Happy birthday me!  I will stab the next child who calls me “tannie” ……


Winning ….. with bread and stuff


Thank you to everyone who nominated someone.  Thanks for everyone who made me smile a bit, laugh a bit, and go “aaaaaaaaawwwwwwwwwwwww” a bit.

Jenny, you win the hamper from the just-leave-a-comment-and-win-easy-peasy-sasko-hamper  – which means that Debbie wins the hamper.  Or.  You could just disown Debbie, and I send the hamper to you.  You can eat bread and have a shiny bread bin  and we will no longer speak of this person Debbie Farrell.

It is up to you.  Totally up to you.


April 26, 2013

The sandwich sounds amazing! I want to nominate my friend and colleague Debbie Farrell – she is fostering her 3 month old nephew and raising her 11 year old son on her own. She saved her nephew from a mom who is now in rehab and just took him in without question and with no maternity leave or financial help. She is a true superhero in my eyes.


Jenny – I will send you an email to get the information from you.  Enjoy!

Just saying ….

I often/always amazed at what I have to say in my house.

What I have to scream across the room/passage/table at my children.

I know there is the old saying about the fact that sooner or later, you realise you are your mother, because there you are yelling and you think to yourself  – I swore I would never say that when I had kids.

But there you go.  Breaking all the rules.  Realising how desperate your mother was.  Forgiving her for having a total shit fit when you were a kid.  Because now you are standing there having the same shit fit.  The wheel he turns.

Last night I was trying to cram in a few more minutes works, and the kids were watching tv/throwing the box of pencils on the floor/fighting with each other about who was going to sit on which couch — the usual state of the nation in my home.  It was escalating, and I am like a magnet.

Georgia showing me bizarre pieces of paper/art, and Isabelle unpacking my desk, and trying to get the glitter back on the glitter tube.  I just needed to finish an email, so I could log off and call this day finished.

I was forced to say: “Isabelle, get my giraffe off your head!”  Which was only surpassed by: Leave the toilet brush alone … no …. it is not a toy.  Put. It. Back.  Now!”

Really not something I thought I would ever need to say.

1305_Shit Mom Says

Good and Bad Gift Ideas for Mother’s Day


Mother’s Day.  A treacherous time of year.  Gift wise.

The stores are overflowing with trinkets, slippers and mugs with bears saying things like “The Best MOM Ever” and similar shit.

There are promises of Mother Day Lunches, which throw in a free glass of wine, and a red carnation.  It is all a bit blegh and worrisome.

I am not exactly sure that the definition is of trinket verses “something I would actually like” but it is fair to say that if it has the word MOM printed anywhere on it, it is not going to be a good gift.

If there is a red heart anywhere, and the hint of a carnation, you can be certain it is just shite and should be avoided.

It is probably not something you want to give or receive.

I am fairly sure I will get a home made card from Isabelle’s school, and even a macaroni necklace.  I quite liked last year’s one — I kept it for some time, but maybe a bracelet this year or macaroni ear rings would be a nice add on gift.

The possible only exception with gifts that include the word “MOM” would be Mommy Juice Wine


I know that the idea is when you get a shockingly bad gift is to say the mantra: “its the thought that counts” – to which I say I tend to be thinking “what the fuck were you thinking??”

At the end of the day what is it that moms want?  Here are a couple of ideas of good gifts:

1.  To go to the toilet uninterrupted.  I could not think of a better way to spend a day, than Kennith coming up with a bag of all my favourite Woolies treats, making me a cup of tea, p0uring a bag of chuckles into a bowl, putting this on my side table and saying: “I am going to take the kids out for the day.  You relax, sleep, go for a shit, flick channels on the remote, go wild – we will see you at 17h00.  Enjoy the day by yourself in the house.  Oh I have done all the washing up, the kids rooms are clean, the house is in ship shape order. I even got Connor to clean up the dog shit – have a great day by yourself reading your book and dozing!”

That there is the perfect gift.

2.  To read a book in the bath uninterrupted.  Mine usually ends up with a small person coming and either getting in to the bath, or better yet sit on the toilet take a giant crap, and then tell me “Us finished” so I have to get out the bath to wipe their bum.  Toilet paper on wet hands, and looking at your child’s chocolate starfish whilst you are trying to soak yourself in the wonders of a Body Shop bath oil, is sort of lost in this exercise.

3.  A day at a Spa.  Not to be confused with a day at the Spar.  Which is similiar, but is not one of those instances where you go “ah, well just semantics hey!”  Not just being given a voucher, but it being planned for you.  Again revert to point 1.  Driving you to the spa, saying hey I got the kids, you enjoy your 6 hours of relaxation – I will catch you at 16h00.  Enjoy.

4.  A box of goodies from the Body Shop.  I adore the stuff from the Body Shop.  Those guys can seldom get it wrong.  I loved the “gingerbread” range that came out over Xmas.  Still using it, adore the Body Shop.

5.  One hour time out.  Three fresh croissants, fresh butter, some divine cheese, honey, a pot of tea, the newspaper and an hour to read and enjoy it all.

6.  Lovely jammies.  Not ones with hearts, not ones with “My MOM is the best” just lovely cotton or warm winter jammies – again aim for Woolworth.  PEP not so much!  That’s a good gift.

7.  Exclusive Books Vouchers – and being dropped off for 90 minutes to shop and choose books, then to meet your husband (kids need to be somewhere else) for a divine lunch!!  That is a great way to spend Mother’s Day.

8.  Godiva Truffles – here buddy, you just cannot go wrong!


These are a couple of ideas of shit not to give:

1.  Appliances – I know a 4 slice kitchen toaster looks like a really good idea.  I bet she has even said something like “shit balls we need a new washing machine.”  Mother’s Day is not the day or the time to present anything that can be plugged in to a wall socket.  In the kitchen.  (this obviously excludes vaccuum cleaners and irons, which I assumed would be a foregone conclusion, but let’s add those in the interests of sanity)

2. A gift that is actually for you – this might include lingerie, a fishing rod or golf clubs, a new tv remote, new wii that sort of thing.

3.  Anything available at 21h00 on a Saturday night — if you had to stop at an Engen or BP Quick Shop to buy it, well then odds are it is not the best buy you can make.

4.  Artificial flowers — A definite must if you plan on being wacked in the head with them, and your Facebook status being changed to “it’s complicated.”

5.  Robot flowers – if you are purchasing flowers from the guys at the side of the road on mother’s day, then ask yourself why?  If you don’t know the answer, then hit your head against the steering wheel, and repeat exercise until you black out and the man at the traffic lights steals all your money (for those who appear baffled, in South Africa we refer to traffic lights as robots — hence the heading).  Do not buy flowers at traffic lights/robots – are you too lazy arse to stop at Woolworths at the very least?

6.  Gym membership — For the love of gd this is a bad idea.  Nothing good can come of this.  She will hear “you are fat and you better go exercise” – you will hear the slamming of doors, and then you will have to go and buy a back up gift to say sorry, and still continue to service the gym membership for 24 months even though she is not going to be using it.

7.  Lingerie — A mediocre to tacky gift on Valentine’s Day – but wow, just bad on Mother’s Day.

8.  Deodorant masquerading as perfume!!  Hells bells, my guess is you are in the aisle at Clicks.  Stop yourself, put the tacky box down, leave the store.  Go and get a drink, think it through again.  If it still looks like a good idea, order a large fucking drink.

9.  Heart bears, heart anything that has stuffing.  Unless it is a stuffed chicken and you are serving it for lunch, then you can put an heart on it anytime!

10.  Slippers.  How many slippers does any women need? One pair that is how many.  One pair.  If you or anyone you have known have bought a pair in the last dozen years, then cross this piece of shit off your ‘stuff to get mom’ list.

11.  A membership to Weight Watchers or a mountain bike (see point 6).  Both kinda say that you are starting to get a bit chunky, and we need someone to bring in the big guns.

12.  An electric egg boiler.  No, just say fucking no!

13.  Soap that has bigger wrapping than the soap.  This is a visual trick to make you think you are buying a fabulous gift, but really it is a bar of soap and enough plastic and shit to fill your plastic recycling bucket.

14.  A puppy.  A kitten.  A rabbit.  A hamster.  Fantastic another mouth to feed, and more shit to pick up.  Do not buy pets as gifts —you can buy pets as meals.  Chicken great for Sunday lunch, rabbit makes a good stew, and so on.

15.  Re-gifting.  Regifting is super funny, but not for mother’s day, because odds are you are going to fuck it up and give me the shit I gave you at Christmas.  This behaviour is just too risky, unless you have a fantastic spreadsheet-of-keeping-a-record-of-who-gives-you-stuff system.



I just locked myself out of Facebook ….

I just locked myself out of Facebook.

Stupid giant fingers.  Stupid small keys on my iphone.  Stupid sleeping medication that was kickig in.

I am out of Facebook.  In error. I wasn’t trying to teach myself a valuable lesson about social media and how I should make better life choices.

I can’t believe how abandoned and lost I am feeling without access to Facebook.  The kind folks at Facebook said they have reset my details but for my own safety I need to wait 23 hours and 59 minutes before I am permitted back onto the Facebook playground.

They really should have a similiar thing for drunk Facebooking —- anyway, I am in time out until I am allowed back.

Carry on as you were!

Want to get in on the bread bin action?

Tomorrow is cut off day for the SASKO hamper with the fabulous bread bin give away.

If you are keen to enter, just pop along to the original post and leave a comment. {not this post, hence the reason the comments on this post have been disabled …. I am clever like that}

SASKO and the Carrol Boyes have absolutely nothing to do with Robert Downey Junior.

Go along, leave a comment, nominate someone who deserves SASKO bread products.  And a bread bin.

Easy peasy lemon squeezy.

There is no need to retweet, or go and like another page, or even like this page, no need to like a page on Facebook.  You have a 1 in 30 (or however ever comments there are) of winning.  You really can not get better odds than that.

There  is none of all that crap that drives me insane with competitions – where I end up getting a product on my Facebook timeline that I usually would not like to hear from every bleeding day.  This is not THAT competition, it’s a give away.

Nominate anyone you like – nominate you, nominate me (still keeping it out there) nominate your aunt, your hairy neighbour, your favourite school teacher.

Anyone you think needs bread and a bread bin, and a little smile this May.

For some reason when I think of bread bins, I get fixated (and side tracked for an hour on pinterest) with Robert Downey Junior images.



The Reluctant Mom over on Facebook …

Contrary to popular belief I am not terribly good with working out how to get my blog, Facebook, Instagram, Twitter and all the other bits and pieces of social media to work together.

I think partly I am too shit scared I will break something.

I quite like Instagram, but I often forget to take photos of my food.

Twitter is lost on me.  There is so much retweeting, and cross referencing and retweeting retweets that link back to a person or a product …. at 144 characters it really seems like way too much frkn effort.  But there are like 45 million users in South Africa, there are just not 45 million and one.

I am really not sure anyone wants to hear from me that much to want to know what I ate for breakfast  and why I think that the sunset in Cape Town is just t0o fucking fantastic today (we have sunsets in Cape Town every day …. without fail) …. I am pretty sure no one should be subjected to that much of me.  Ever.  Without a script of Xanax.

Any the who.

I set up a The Reluctant Mom’s Blog Facebook page some time ago, but I fucked it up a bit with the settings – somehow Idid.  True story.  I have taken another run at it and here is the New and yet “no friends” The Reluctant Mom Facebook Page.

That’s me.  Johnny No Mates.  And yes this is a cry for attention.

Why else do you think bloggers blog?  Do you actually think we are doing it for any other reason that we are desperate for the “you like me, you like me” vote.  Blogger “must be liked” complex, no matter how much we act all like we don’t really care what people think or say.

Here is a clue, if a blogger really did not care what anyone thinks or says because they don’t care, they would set their blog to private and only invite their mom, a guy in Parow named Schalk, and their uncle Herman.

Sad, but true.  Bloggers are naturally people-media-stranger whores.  We just do it for free.  So there people is the great debate unraveled for you.

If you are on Facebook and want to toddle along and hook up with me. Then here we go:

I will promise you that I will not do many status updates. I tend to forget it is there.

I promise I will not keep you updated on much, again because I am a bit slow that way and will forget.  You may have a few in the first month, but I can almost guarantee it bottoming out from there.

I promise that I will never ask you to enter something on my blog and then go like my facebook page, and then wear your panties on the outside to buy bread and Pick ‘n Pay.  Seriously I pinkie promise.

I probably I will not keep telling you how fantastic my kidlets are.  If I ever call my children “kidlets”, I give you permission to come over to my house and stab me with a stick of Prestik.  In the neck.  Repeatedly.

I also promise never to call Kennith my hubby and post how much I love him – because really if I cannot pick up the phone and leave a message on his phone saying just that, then why the fuck must I tell you?

There we go – those are the rules I promise to play by in Facebook world.

I also promise to also never refer to anyone who is pregnant as preggy.  Seriously if I do, realise it is a cry for help.  Come over with a bottle of wine and a shotgun.  Bottle of wine for you.  Shotgun for me.

Facebook Hangover

The Reluctant Mom on Facebook.

Franschhoek you sweetheart …. wait for me ….

I had not been to Franschhoek before last year.

True fact.

Kennith and I stayed over for a night and walking around the town, and had lunch, and dinner, and ate chocolates, and I found a metal Scottish Terrier doorstop.

It was a really lovely day.  I firmly realised that I do love Franschhoek.

Been promising to get out there again, and we just have not got there.  Story of my life.

My birthday is coming up – 9 May, and I am treating myself to a day in Franschhoek and a little stay over at a guest house.  I have booked a guest house – not quite sure where the kids will be, but those are details I can sort out between now and then.

I have booked dinner at Mange Toit – not sure if it is pretentious good, or we can put wine in our ice without the wine waiter shitting in his pants.

I plan to spend the day ambling around, strolling along through the shops and maybe a drive to a nearby wine estate for a walk around/glass of wine.

Sounds like a slice of heaven!  Exactly – this people is what heaven would be like, and then I might start believing in it.

I have booked lunch at Bread and Wine Restaurant which is at the Moreson Vineyard.

I drank a bottle of their Miss Molly wine last year and I think I had a religious experience {chances are if someone told me it was served in heaven I might well get on board with this heaven and hell malarkey.) I plan to buy a box of Miss Molly at lunch.  Not necessarily drink it all at lunch, but make a heroic dent in it would do.

I believe the restaurant is brilliant, so I am writing that in my diary in ink. With a giant heart and a note to starve myself for three days to really get the full experience.  I am so not used to going anywhere that does not break into the the Spur “it’s your birthday, it’s your birthday” with all the waiters-who-could-not-get-away-fast-enough singing along.

I am sure it will be fine.  I will bring my own sparkle and put it in my ice-cream, just so I do not forget the unfortunates who are eating at the Spur on my fine day.

I usually do not get excited by my birthday, but this year I am.  9 May, look out, I have your number.


Nipple hair ….. no, that’s not right …..


I am part of a “Word Blog Challenge” – a few bloggers got together with the careful coaxing from Natasha over at the “dear me” blog.

We all threw names at fish, someone put their hand in, chose a fish – with a word on it and we had to were asked politely to blog about the word.


There is no prize money.  There is very little in the way of fame and fortune.  Just chicks sitting around blogging.

Someone picks a word and we all blog about it.  I misunderstood. I thought we all give a word, and then we play “swap swap” so everyone ends up with a different word.  But I did not make up the rules, and I just want to play along, so here I am with my fish word.

The word chosen was/is “first”

First prize.

First kiss.

First period.

First time you drove a car.

First time you realised that Murder She Wrote is running out of cast members.  Someone in Cabot Cove is going to die. One person per episode.  There are like 15 people living in Cabot Cove.  If you woke up to find that you live there, then well, you are fucked.

First time someone called you “tannie.”

First time someone called you “Mommy.”

First time you cried because he was not worth it.

First time you cried because he was worth it.

First time someone gave up their seat to you because they thought you were pregnant.  And you were not.

First time you went to the clinic and hoped you were not pregnant.  He was fine to have sex with, but really your entire life joined to him?  Yeh, fuck that!

First time you pee’d on a stick and hoped you were pregnant.

First time you were.

First heartbeat.

First born.


First ….. first …. sounds like thirst … which makes me think of wine

First …. dirst … prist …. kirst?  Okay, I’ve got nothing.

First day.  First job.

I started working at a company that was small.  Offices were small – huge if it was your first job.

The toilet was one door off the main office.

I do not use toilets in places I do not know.  I rather hold it in.

I cannot poo in a strange toilet.  If I think that someone might hear or smell me.

I used to be in boarding school, and I would not poo from Sunday when I was dropped off until Friday afternoon when I was collected.  By Friday lunchtime I was so full of shit, literally that I was too scared to laugh in case I poo’d in my knickers.

First job.  First day.  I was so nervous.  I was sitting there trying to work out how to switch the computer on.  I was hired as a designer, which was a bit of an over reach, as I did not know how the put the computer on.

I sat there.  My tummy started to make a squishy sort of sound.  I realised that I really needed the bathroom.

I sat there and started to sweat, as I knew this was not one of those instances where I could hold it in.

I shot to the toilet  – again toilet door is the door right off the offices.  My bowels lost control,and everything including the 3 carrots I ate last Thursday shot out my arse.

The smell was peel-the-paint-off-the-walls bad.

I flushed, I flushed and then I stood there and died from embarrassment as I knew I had to walk back in the office, with the fresh bouquet of freshly-shat-yourself lingering around me.

I went back to my desk. Mortified.

An office colleague got up, went to the bathroom, opened the door, stood there for two ticks, closed the door, thought better of it and headed back to his desk.

I died!  I was so embarrassed.  I knew that I might end up having to take another run at the loo as I clearly had a tummy bug.

I stood up, packed my bag, explained I needed to leave.  Quickly. I sprinted across Cape Town – we lived in St. George’s Mall and I worked in Commercial Street which is on the other end of town.

I am sure no one else remembers my first giant smelly poo at my first job on my first day.

I do.  In graphic olfactory detail.

Funny thing those firsts, they stick with you for a long time.


Bloggers who are taking part in the Word Blog Challenge and who have published posts are:

Natasha Marais

dear me,

Keri Bainborough


Che Dyer


If you blogged and I missed your post, let me know.

Interesting blog award from The Blurred Line

I am never above a high five or a little pat on the back, or a large glass of wine arriving at my table as a surprise!

If you are giving it, and it is something we can mention in front of the children, then odds are I will be quite happy to take it off your hands.

I got an awesome badge from another blogger.


Bloggers are fabulous people. They can’t help themselves, they just are.

It is always nice to get some recognition and it increases the chances of me getting money from people when I need it at a later stage, as I can just go: “Hey, you thought I was awesome back then.  I am awesome now, how about giving me some money!”

I received this from over at The Blurred Line (which is probably the most awesome blog name ever)

There is a bit of fine print which needs to be read – the normal stuff.

  1. Thank the person who nominated you
  2. List 5 random facts about yourself
  1. Nominate a minimum of 5 blogs for the award
  2. Ask the nominees 5 questions of your choice
  3. And finally, let them know you have nominated them
  4. Promise to never listen to Justin Bieber again (okay I snuck that in, but really when we are fighting a world crisis of “beliebers” then it seems the least you can do.

So here is my run at it:

One | Thanks

Thanks for giving me a prop.  Thanks for giving me a mention.  Thanks for reading my blog.

Two | Five random and anal things about myself

  1.  I have been known to sleep text, sleep email and sleep-have-sex-with-my-husband, which all sound great in principle, but less so when you wake up and go “what the hell happened here?”
  2. I used to perv over the boychild from Karate Kid – Ralph Muchness or what ever he is called.  I seriously thought he was all that in his little outfit, his flicked fringe and his squeaky little girl voice.
  3. It has been several weeks since my last purchase of Chuckles.  I think there is something wrong with me.  I may need to seek medical help.
  4. I still cannot bear emoticons.
  5. I love the Gruffalo, and have read the story at least a hundred times.

Three | Nominate 3 Other Blogs  (I really like three, five seems like too much – I realise I am fucking up the rules here, but there we go)

1.  A Brit living in SA with my South African Hubby and two small boys. –

2.  Cupcakes and Sailors –

3.  The Spirited Mama – if I recall I met her via the Moomie Forum, but I may be mistaken –

Four | Answer some questions that the person-who-sent-the-badge asked:

Four point One | Elvis or The Beatles

I would really have to say the Beatles without even missing a beat.   I am fairly sure that Elvis dying on the toilet with his pants around his ankles has spoilt his music for me.  I get a mental picture of him wearing his onesie and dead on the toilet.  It is not an accurate picture, but sadly does not make me love his music.

Four point Two | What is the one place you have to see or thing you have to do before you kick the bucket and shrug off the mortal coil?

I would like to go on a boat cruise.  Me lying around chilling, reading my book, with no responsibilities and 15 – 19 days of bliss seems like a small slice of heaven right now.

Four point Three |  What did you laugh out loud at today? 

Nothing yet I am afraid.  It has not been a laugh-a-licious day, but I did smile when two appointments cancelled on me.  It is Friday afternoon, my interest in this day left four hours ago, so any excuse to get the hell out of here sounds like a fine ambition right now.

Four point Four | What is a better word for blogger that doesn’t sound like throwing up? 

Digital Author – I did not even think about that shit, it just popped in my head.  That being said the term “blogger” is not a problem for me, though I know a lot of people practically shit in their bloomers if you refer to them as “mommy bloggers.”

Four point Five | If you were a superhero, what power would you have? 

Reading minds must be a blessing and a total burden, but I do think that you could use it to do some fabulous party tricks, and more importantly always know where your husband put the care keys without having to go and look in the five places it isn’t, which would be nifty.

Okay, so that is done then.

In an attempt to play this forward, I am sorry, but I felt quite strongly about amending the button design.  If you prefer to use the original it is shown above, but you are free to use the new Nimbus 2000 model, which is available here:


I would like to change this slightly going forward, not because there is anything wrong with the old way, but just because technically I own it and I am changing it slightly before I pass it on:

New rules:

  1. Thank the person who nominated you
  2. List 5 random facts about yourself
  1. Nominate a MAXIMUM of 3 blogs for the award – I know sometimes trying to find 5 is a challenge and it also dilutes the “play it forward idea”
  2. Ask the nominees 5 questions of your choice
  3. And finally, let them know you have nominated them
  4. But I really think we should keep this one – promise to never listen to Justin Bieber again

Here are my 5 questions/things I would like to know from my three bloggers:

One | What would you buy with five rand?
Two | When was the last time you told a lie? And what was it?

Three | When was the last time you went for a mammogram?  Was it as bad as you thought it was going to be?

Four | What was the worst baby/child name you have ever heard?

Five | What is the phrase you swore you would never use, and now you are sounding just like your mother and screaming it down the passage?

Thanks folks-who-blog for continuing to keep us people-who-read-blogs sane, and to give us something to read with our morning cups of tea, whilst we ignore all the urgent things popping up on our computer screens.