Santa Shoebox has been a humbling experience …

I have taken part and prepared boxes for the last 3 or 4 years.  Each year a pick the amount of boxes I think I can afford, then choose children’s names, and build boxes.

Every year realising that I have totally blown the budget that I started with.

This year I needed to be a bit stricter, as my visa was at that point where the ring of “decline” was a reality every time I handed it over.

That besides, I decided this year as I had a bit more of a flexible work day, I would volunteer at one of the Santa Shoebox drop off points.  Seemed like a good idea.

I went along to the information day and was impressed at how well everything seemed to be organised.

I went along to the “drop off day” and helped sort boxes.  For 12 hours.

I did enjoy it.  Each box is opened.  Each box is checked to see that all the elements are included, and there are no items that might be dangerous, hazardous or which might melt or leak and destroy the contents of the box before a child could open it.

Every one at the Santa Shoebox Project volunteers is friendly, agreeable, and even when faced with a mountain of boxes remains upbeat and excited even after 8 hours of opening and checking boxes.

The entire experience made me happy at times (when I saw wonderful things people had included), sad sometimes (that some boxes were woefully short of what was needed) – but I generally felt quite buoyed by the entire experience.

No matter what the issue was with a box, no one forgot that the box has been packed specially by someone, specially for a child – and every box was appreciated, and every box was treated like it was the best box they had ever seen!!

Each box is checked and then repacked and sealed with an elastic, and the box is then sorted into it’s assigned area – which tells the packers where to pack it and for which center it is destined.

Besides the generosity that everyone has shown in packing and preparing the boxes for the + 100 000 children who receive these, individuals and companies donated numerous “top up” items, sometimes you need to add something to a box

There was a special “ER” table you could go to, and find a product to add, and add it to the box, so that when you closed it, you knew that it had everything it needed.

The amount of boxes donated by the generous and kind-hearted public was quite unbelievable.

The amount of work that goes on tirelessly behind the scenes by Santa Shoebox Volunteers is beyond belief. People just get stuck in, and do far more than you realise when you sit on this side of the project – you pick a child, make a box, drop it off – and then congratulate yourself on a job well done.

But the real work takes place behind the scenes, after the boxes are dropped off.  The planning and work that goes into this Project boggles the mind.

Ensuring that every child receives a box – often when the centres have had new children join them, and the co-ordinators find this out a few days before the Celebration Days is another act of kindness, and generosity that often goes unsung.

If you haven’t packed a box this year – or even if you have – but have any capacity to supply anything – tennis balls make great gifts for slightly older kids, toy cars, t-shirts, peak caps, shorts, deodorant and panties for teenager girls, swimming costumes …. pretty much anything.

Maybe you work for a company that has an overrun of books they can donate, or samples of deodorant, or maybe there are 25 t-shirts that cannot be sold for what ever reason.

Santa Shoebox is still furiously busy – many of the boxes are submitted already, and at this stage there is frantic behind the scenes preparation for the Celebration Days – checking boxes, repairing boxes that might be short or boxes that need to be made up from scratch – and ensuring that every child at ever centre registered receives a personalised box.

If you have something you can donate – or can assist with post a note on their Facebook Page – and they will hook you up with an organiser in your area.

Present stats from their website.


I am doing three Celebration Days this years – those are the events where the boxes are handed out to the children.  Very exciting.  Very frightening.  Very daunting.

These images are from the boxes I packed and donated:






These images are taken at the Durbanville drop off point – and this was at the end of the third day around 20h30 – packing up for the night.  It was impossible to take a photograph that conveys the sheer scale of the amount of boxes done, and how much they still had to get through:





Why it is okay for guys to wear skirts ….

I am not sure whether there is actually a thing called “Kilt P.Orn” – but possibly there should be …

kilt porn


kilt porn02


kilt porn03

These images not enough, and you need a bit more with your morning muffin?  Then pop along to:

Two tips – based on experience – do not search for “boys in kilts” …. right then, must familiarise myself with Google Analytics – also when you get to this guy, know you must stop scrolling through google images …

kilt porn04

Gumtree …. let me count the ways I love thee …

Gumtree is no e-bay – on occasion it really does come up with some winners, which really are only a click away if you do wish to purchase them.

Joyce Kriel sent me this one – and I am deeply appreciative of being made aware of the Giraffe Diorama ….


Well played Facebook … well played …

I seldom click on the suggested “links” “pages” that Facebook keeps adding to my time line.

Seldom might be an over exaggeration – I am not sure exactly how Facebook comes up with these suggested pages.

Today’s one clearly was of very little interest to me.

Then I looked at the picture.

What the hell is that?

Is that what I think it is?

I am sure it isn’t?

Is it a a close up of a nut?

A coconut?

No, really what hell is that?

{clicking on the link is less satisfying that you would imagine …..}


How we are perceived with CAPS LOCK ….


Please check out more from THE OATMEAL …..

Meeting at two ….


Is there anything I can do for you?

I was really having a rough day yesterday.

There is just too much going on – I am trying to be all things to everyone, and I am working myself into a bit of a lather.  I have some financial commitments which are a bit challenging and I am starting to really feel “jittery” and wound up.

I have always been averse to the hour in the car driving the kids home.

Maybe because by that point, I have had a long day – and being trapped inside a car with three kids who are all vying for my attention, is usually the tipping point.

Last week and this week have been especially challenging to get Georgia to take her medication each day.  Even though it is crushed and placed inside chocolate spread and neatly placed between two Salticrax biscuits.

Georgia is the same child who can eat a half portions of ribs so fast she bites her finger.

Georgia is the same child who will mow through an adult plate of spaghetti bolognaise.

This child can eat.

But present her with a biscuit and tell her she HAS TO EAT IT is an exercise in frustration and humility if ever there was one.

On Monday it took more than 30 minutes to bribe/threaten/cajole/force her to eat the biscuit – and towards the end I had totally lost my rag.  Screaming at your child in the morning, is a less than ideal start to neither the child, nor your day.

Add a few other things – and by the time I had to fetch the kids – I was feeling edgy at best.  The usual fights ensued as we drove home – and when I got into the driveway, I just could not face walking into the house.  With them.

I thought about running away from home.  But where would I go?

I thought that a little stay at a Clinic might not be a bad option.  But that requires pre-booking, a letter from the medical aid and an emergency visit to my psyciatrist – and he wasn’t answering his cell when I called him.  I do think he is filtering his calls.

I decided instead to just sit in the car.  And stare into my lap.

Connor eventually came through and opened the door.

Connor:  “Mom are you okay?”

Me:  “No, not so much my boy – just having a really rough day…”

Connor: “Is there anything I can do for you?”

There always has to be one child who can see you inside your madness.

Niki Daly 2013 winner of the IBBY SA Award with The Herd Boy ….

I realised that I do not go to Media Events.

I get invitations, but usually decline or drop them into my “things to reply to as soon as I have 35 sane seconds” and quietly sit there and “sweat” at the thought of a roomful of strangers.  And me.

The reason I avoid media events can usually be attributed to the following reasons

1.  I have little interest in going – and the only reason I appear to be invited was so that I can add it to my blog post and tell you about it.

2.  I have a serious overload of things to do, and the amount of hours in a day that remain.

3.  I really hate walking into a room full of people I do not know – can you say Social Phobia?

4.  I am bound to say something inappropriate, or will wander off and stand in the kitchen, stroke the cat, nurse my drink and avoid mingling.

I was invited to the IBBY SA Awards Lunch where they were announcing the winner for the best South African children’s book writers and illustrators.

The Exclusive Books IBBY SA Award recognises the best South African children’s book writers and illustrators and highlights Exclusive Books’ objective of bringing books and children together. IBBY SA is the South African National Section of the International Board on Books for Young People (IBBY).

IBBY SA nominates writers and illustrators for the IBBY Hans Christian Andersen Award. It also makes nominations for the Honour List of books that are presented and promoted every second year at the IBBY World Congress, in the following categories:

  • Authors in a variety of South African languages
  • Translators between various South African languages
  • Illustrators

These nominations are for writers and illustrators who have made a significant current contribution to the country’s literature for children and young people.

I made an exception for several reasons and went along to this event held on Thursday 10 October at 220 Princes in Cape Town, hosted by Exclusive Books. {yes I do realise that I am being a bit tardy with this blog post}

I was able to bring my wing-girl, Judith Cross along – she of Oxford University Press Senior Designer fame, and it seemed like a pleasant afternoon out.  I am glad to brush my teeth, and hair, change my underwear if there are books involved.

I thought it would be an awkward award event, but we all sat around a lovely table, and there were snacks – and the speeches were short, and funny and then the winner was announced.

Niki Daly said his thanks, waved his award around in a good natured manner, then we all sat down, congratulated each other and continued to eat the divine food.  More award events should you like this.


All the food at 220 Princes Lounge as particularly nom-nom ….. great space for functions ….. .



The winner Niki Daly as the 2013 winner of the IBBY SA Award with The Herd Boy, published by Jacana Media.  All present were lucky enough to receive a copy, which Niki Daly kindly autographed.





 The members of the IBBY SA jury would like to make honourable mention of Ben and the Whales by Ingrid Mennen and Irene Berg (NB Publishers). According to the IBBY SA process, the winning illustrator receives R5 000.00 and the author R5 000.00, but since Niki Daly is both, he will receive a R10 000.00 cash prize!


Long table, people eating – top hats for chandeliers.


From left to right: Carole Broomhalll Publisher Jacana Media and Niki Daly


From left to right: Talita van Green Events Coordinator Exclusive Books and Niki Daly


From left to right:  Lona Gericke – Chair of the EB IBBYSA Award Jury;  Robin Malan IBBY SA; Niki Daly, writer and illustrator – Winner of IBBY SA Award 2013; Rene Brophy Marketing Manager Exclusive Books and Nonikiwe Mashologu Chair of IBBY SA.

Niki Daly has a great blog and you can see more examples of his work, and stalk him if the need arises.


Niki Daly wearing bookends as ears … yep, seemed all quite normal at the time.

If you are wondering what to give your child’s teacher for an end of year gift, may I suggest a copy of this book?  it will be loved, read and enjoyed long after the box of chocolates you were going to buy is eaten and the wrappers tossed aside.

It was a nice relaxing lunch – but then everyone stood up and left.  Judith and I decided to go and sit in the window seat, order more wine and relax in the afternoon sun.  Nice day out.  Well done Niki Daly, and thanks Exclusive Books.


It’s a hum-dinger …. that hummingbird is …..

Yesterday I was sent a link on Facebook where I was tagged on the post published regarding the designer’s feeling and how Woolworths might have acted in a less than “noble” manner and stolen a creative’s artwork.

I was intrigued.

I read the original post.

I read the comments, and it looked very clear the public support was in favour of burning Woolworths at the stake.

I am not normally a reasonable person.

I do however know who supplies me with my Chuckles and the occasional Rotisserie Chicken.  I do want to possibly step with caution before I go to the wendy house and find my pick, and set my torch alight and go out and burn every Woolworths to the ground.

My impression has been that Joe Public does tend to get itself in a bit of a state – rather quickly.

No one shares posts as quickly as ignorant fuckers on Facebook.  {refer every stupid hoax status update that has ever come by way…}

I am not sure exactly how “mob mentality” works, but I am pretty sure that in the world of “Facebook” if you throw a stone, at least 250 people will toss a stone in unison.  Even if they have fuck all idea of what the issue is, nor could they be bothered to look up the counter arguments to the issue.

Then again that is sort of why we like Facebook.  It is like “rent a crowd” – where most of the crowd are happy to type what ever “comment” is going this week and share and share and share without actually asking any more questions.

Being me – of infinite resources and limited time, I did the “right” thing and started searching around to get a feel for maybe what the people were saying who were looking at this humming bird and maybe asking “okay what are the other things going on here?”

I had a poke around, and though I did not come out in Woolworths’ corner, I also was not convinced of Euodia Roets and all things being as she represented them.

I am all for the understanding that corporates can tread on the little guy – and most Buyers/Product Finder People have slightly less than questionable morals.

I am all for the understanding that the little guy/gal may not be as legally savvy as the guys in big suits, who can afford large buildings and a real snazzy tag line.

Corporates do not always play nicely with others, and as a small business person I do understand how much energy, timeour own money we can expend into a project that in some cases never comes to fruition, and then you sort of stand there holding the bag, whilst your Bank Manager is trying to call you about why you have a serious dent in your bank account.

People get fucked over each day – but to get fucked (for this euphemism) you must agree to take your clothes off and hop into bed, and only when the rogering does not go your way “cry fowl…” (I make myself laugh ….. yes I do)

I do think that if you are going to throw a stone, then best to check:

a) that your hummingbird is yours and so unique that there would be no question of it’s origin

b) that before you scream ‘”SOMEONE STOLE MY SHIT” you quickly check that you have not stolen any one’s shit —– and not add a credit to the photograph you actually copied ….. after you throw your shit outside the playpen …. google can be a very unforgiving mistress in that regard

c) that people remember that when Chicken Little screamed “the sky is falling” no one stopped to call the right people and verify that the sky is actually falling …..before they pass that piece of information around and all the natives lose their minds

d) take a deep breath – and weigh up your accusations, and what the probable fall out is going to be

Facebook will continue to have a field day with this, and as Kennith says, why spoil a good story with the facts?

Woolworths will come off as the villain – when possibly they were less than ideal, but were not the “corrupt idea stealer” they are being painted as being.

People will say they will no longer support Woolworths.   Good luck to them – it will mean I can park closer to the store, the queues will not be so long, and the rest of the village can go and buy lettuce with worms on it, and fruit that looks like it was rejected from Woolworths.

Euodia Roets will have her 15 minutes of fame, her blog hit rate will go off the charts — and then it will boil down to a mild simmer.

I think she is a very talented illustrator –  and I really do wish her all the best.  But I can’t support her on this one – not totally, though I do empathise with her frustration.

Here is Woolworths side of the story ….. clearly drafted by a very bored PR person …..

Woolworths, I shall continue to grace you with my presence, until you decide to change the recipe or discontinue Chuckles, then it is probably going to be “gloves off…” and I may well start a picket line of my own.


This morning was probably a good example of why hitting children should be banned ….

Georgia is on Ritalin.

Georgia is not able to swallow pills or capsules.

I have spent a considerable about of time, money and tears to find something to hide drugs in, and then feed it to my child.

In some cases unknowingly – I knew, she didn’t = never worked.

I open the capsure, and crush the tablet, then put all the pieces onto a spoon – does my morning sound too much like a meth lab?

I then carefully hide the granules in:  a strawberry, a inside a slice of bread with peanut butter or chocolate spread on it, a strawberry milkshake, a salticrax biscuit with chocolate spread, inside a slice of a tomato — pretty much anything that I think she might actually eat.

{these are all things she eats with relish on any other day}

I have tried nearly everything and still cannot get it down her throat without a huge fight ensuing.

The present tactic is we make a Salticrax biscuit with chocolate spread on it, put the crushed granules onto the spread, put another Salticrax biscuit on the top.

Put the little biscuit chocolate sandwich into a plastic container.  I give it to her in the car whilst we are driving to school, so I can watch that she eats it, and because she takes so long I have the entire drive to school for her to get through the biscuit, which under normal circumstances would take her 8.4 seconds to eat.

This week I have arrived at school and she still has not finished eating the biscuit.  So I sit in the car until she finishes the biscuit, then she is late as this might take another 15 minutes (which means this is more than a half an hour to finish a biscuit) – usually by this point I am so angry that I want to scream/insert am already screaming.

I am so frustrated and the morning drive is filled with moaning, begging, screaming, crying, pleading, threatening and exasperation – all me.

Whilst Georgia looks at me with her liquid hazel eyes and says “But I don’t want to eat it ……”

Yesterday I totally lost my shit in the school parking lot – and at some point I threw the biscuit out and sent her to school with that “YOU HAVE REALLY UPSET MOMMY” tone that only a mother who has seriously lost her shit can do.

Of course then I had to drive back and hunt the stupid salticrax down and throw it away properly.  The school has lots of squirrels and all I needed was to find out some hyper, coked out ritalin squirrel had gone shit-faced on the school playground – and I would be responsible for what ever gangsta style damage a squirrel could do.

Crawling around picking up Salticrax in the school parking lot is probably not the highest point of parenting that one could reach.  It really trumps all the soft-lighting Living and Loving photographs of you wish your newborn, mesmerised by her beauty and fantasizing about all the wonderful mommy-and-daughter things you would do.

This morning I went with plan G67U-D and put the ground up granules into  a strawberry milkshake.

Just when I thought I had outfoxed her, she finished the milk, and saw all the gunk at the bottom and thought “bugger that, no way I am eating that…” — she did pose it better, but that was the gist of it.

Fortunately I just hid in the bedroom.

Kennith decided to try his deft hand at aggressive parenting.  Georgia just kept repeating “But I don’t want to eat that …” and no matter what he did,that was her responses in this small voice.

Kennith worked through all his parenting resources, then tried screaming, threatening, promising she will never leave her room, that we will home school her, that she will never see Sponge Bob alive again …. nothing worked.

Georgia was in tears.

Kennith was angry – and we still did not have the medication anywhere near her digestive tract.

By the time I came through, I saw the offending piece of chocolate spread bread on the counter – Georgia with big tears on her eyelashes, and I just could not face this fight again.

I called the kids to get ready and I am not sure what I said to Georgia – I knew she had already had a hard morning and I knew that there was no way I could do anything to get this bread down her throat.

Just as I was about to sigh and just move on she goes “Mom, why don’t you put in a plastic lunchbox we can take in the car and I will promise to eat in on the way to school?”

I did put it in a plastic lunch box and I gave it to her in the car, expecting the same result as every day so far, but lo-and-behold I look in my rear view mirror and there she is happily eating her bread.

I said “thank you Georgia….” and then when we get to the school she says to me “why don’t I promise each day that I will eat the bread, and I can’t break a promise….”

Parenting skills = 0 points

Outstanding, unique, beautiful from the tips of her toes to the top of head, daughter – who some times we parent the entirely wrong way, because we forget that her brain just works totally differently to ours ……. = All the points



Face Slimmer is a simple solution ….. more of my investigative journalism ….

We all know I am pretty cutting edge when it comes to sourcing and sharing the latest glamour or beauty products.


Any the way …

To get and maintain the perfect visage, you don’t need the cosmetic surgeon’s knife.

All you need is a mouthpiece.

Yes, the Face Slimmer is a simple solution to the timeless problem of how to give sagging facial skin and muscles that much-needed daily lift. Just three minutes per day is all you need; pop in the mold and then make mouth movements.

The makers recommend you say vowel sounds out loud over and over again, producing regular and methodical exercises that will strength the twelve facial expression muscles in a comprehensive way.


Fight wrinkles around your eyes and help shape the overall look of your face, whether in front of the mirror, in the bath or at any other convenient time every day.

The movements are given extra load by the mold, forcing everything to work a bit harder and resulting in more youthful, vibrant faces.


The Face Slimmer Mouth Exercise Mouthpiece features

  • Recommend for use for three minutes per day, with vowel exercises
  • Materials: silicone rubber
  • Size: around 7 x 7.2 x 4.75cm (2.8 x 2.8 x 1.9″)
  • Color: red (color may vary slightly from that shown in images)


I am almost sure that Donatella Versace has been using one of these — that is pretty much the only explanation I can find for her present look.


Meanwhile in Russia …


Its a dog show … an actual dog show with dogs …

First let me apologise for posting what appears to be a pinterest board of things I find funny in the last few days.

I have so many things to tell you about, and I just need to find a few moments.

Before we get there  – if you are in the Cape Town area, on the 19 October 2013, have a dog, or can steal a dog, or at the very least can bring a cardboard cut out of a dog … provided here, just enlarge print out, and cut on the dotted line ….and go along to Willowbridge Shopping Centre.


Willowbridge Shopping Centre is hosting a SUPER DOG DAY ……


19th October 2013 – 22nd October 2013

Empowering Dogs 

5km Family Fun Walk
7:30 – 9:00
Entry fee, donations/dog food/blankets, enter at About Cats & Dogs

Dog Box Project
9:00 – 11:00
Kennels for less fortunate communities

Dog Show
10:00 – 11:00
Entry Fee: Donations
Dog Food/Blankets

Enter your dog on the Willowbridge Shopping Centre Facebook Page and stand a chance to WIN!

Registrations can be made at About Cats & Dogs

Up until 18 October or you can enter at the race on the 19th from 06:30 – 7am

Want to download the entry form for the above events?  Please take a look over here ——–>>

Want to find out more about the centre, and what they have going on there?  Take a look over here ———–>>

The curious incident of the dog on Saturday …..

I have written about our dog Annabelle.

She is a Staffordshire Bull Terrier and was born on the 1 January 2001.  The amazing thing about her is that she went missing for nearly two years – and then showed up at a Vet on the other side of the peninsula.

She was fitted with a pet ID tag, and she had appeared at the Bergvliet Vet and they had called me to tell me they had my dog. As I had just left my home, and my “new” dog Dexter, I was a bit perplexed to understand how it was possible he had turned up in Bergvliet.

The vet receptionist then used a tone of voice that one often uses when speaking to a very young child, or a person with diminished mental capacity and explained that my dog Annabelle was at the vet and I should collect her.

I tried to explain that Annabelle was dead and went missing nearly two years before in Parow — and that the dog could not possibly be Annabelle.

Speaking in single syllable words the receptionist told me to get my shit together, and my red and white Staffordshire Bull Terrier was standing in her reception, and that I needed to fetch her.

I dutifully drove through and cripes there she was.  Fatter, older, greyer – the both of us.

I put her in the car and she came home, and sauntered in like she had never been gone.

Dexter who was the new dog, was a bit confused.

It was very much like a scene from The Bold and the Beautiful where the woman has just remarried, and on the first day of her honeymoon, her dead husband, who had died in a plane crash in Sierra Leone, shows up at the door, and there is that awkward moment when you are not quite sure what to serve for dinner – or who will sit at the head of the table.

The last few months Annabelle has got really old.  Her joints are swollen and she struggles to get up and down our stairs.  She has also lost all bowel control, and messes in the house – which for her is very unusual, she has always been a very well trained dog.

Even for short periods in the house she would wee or poo – and it became a bit of a challenge to have her inside.

Eventually we kept her outside and that was also not fair. Crappy to have one dog allowed in, and the other not.

I thought maybe it was because the weather was colder, but even as it got warmer, she looked like she was in permanent discomfort.  Her joints were swollen, and we also could not have her inside without her weeing or pooing within the first 5 minutes.

At the end of the last week I decided it was time to “let her go” – I did not want her as outside dog.

I was concerned that she was getting so crouchy and snapping at Dexter, and my concern was that because she was becoming moody and erratic it was a matter of time before she snapped at the kids.

The final thing that tipped the scale, was that if she could not be in the house with us, then what was her quality of life?

I asked Kennith to take her to the vet on Saturday morning at 09h00.

I did not want to be there – I know she would not have been in pain, or scared, and she would have just gone to sleep.  I knew it was more an emotional issue than thinking she would be traumatised.

The house is a little bit emptier without her, and when the back door is open, I still expect her to come sauntering in …. ‘night ‘night Annabelle …..








Fridays with Ritalin. Like with Morrie but just takes less time.

Dr Google is never the answer.

If you are googling symptoms for anything, then I suggest you give Clientele a call as they have a Funeral Plan for you.

I am sitting on my couch feeling fine, sipping a very nice glass of wine, if I started to google any of the “feelings” I have – then odds are I will have something that is a cross between the Ebola Virus and Anal Leakage.

With that in mind, I am always amazed that people take their advice from Dr Google, granted it could be worse, but Dr Bing pretty much never gets asked anything.

Ritalin is the swear words of mothers everywhere.

I am almost sure when I say the word “Ritalin” to you, you are thinking “cocaine for kids….”  – well you might be, most people do.  I did.

If you are ever at a mommy and baby group, and mention you are thinking about putting your child on Ritalin – there will be a fair amount of lecturing going on, and more than likely you will be lynched and not be invited back to the mommy and baby group.

We have been through a very long and very thorough process with Georgia and she is presently on Ritalin.

The idea of putting her on Ritalin was on my list way after home schooling and changing her diet to include more lentils.

It was pretty far down.  It was clear to me that I did not want my child taking medication and more importantly there were so many scary and horrific stories on Dr Google, that clearly I wanted to be a better mom than that.

Short story is that Ritalin was the solution to the problem.  Maybe I am being a bit flippant.  It may or may not be the solution, but it is an option right now.

In the process of sitting in the evaluations, the feedback sessions, the testing, the re-testing, the having her see various specialists – it became clear to me, that as my depression and general anxiety disorder can be treated by taking the “right” medication, so could Georgia’s issue.

Giving her tofu twice a week, and organic strawberries on a Tuesday was not going to have much in the way of results.  No matter how much I wanted to sing  Kum ba yah My Lord.

We are on a four month trial, and will re-evaluate in January 2014, and may decide to make an entirely different decision then.

As I sat through all the questions, monkey puzzles and evaluation, I started to realise that much of Georgia’s “characteristics” are similiar to mine.  I have worked out a different set of coping mechanisms, and time and experience has taught me to mask it under a variety of guises.

Clever me.

The last doctor we met with – who was really going to be the guy who wrote the script – looked at me at one stage and asked whether I realised that I had the same “symptoms” as Georgia.

I smiled and explained I was medicated enough for the both of us.  Once I left his somewhat erratic office – I had an overwhelming need to pack his books so they lined up, and just tidy his desk up a bit – I gave it some thought, and I realised he was not as delusion as I had initially thought.

I have specifically avoided Dr Google on the subject of Ritalin.

The last appointment with Dr Psychiatrist (I have been with him for several years, and I trust him implicitly)  – I have a check in every 3 – 6 months – I asked what the risks were to him prescribing Ritalin for me.

I mentioned a few of the things we had realised with Georgia, and how  many of those things had resonated with me.

To cut a long blog post short, I requested we add Ritalin to my script and I see how it goes.

It took four or five weeks to find the right dosage.

I don’t want to lie to you, two weeks ago I thought I was having a fkn heart attack.

I think we have the dosage about sorted or I am on a placebo dose.  Feeling much better.  Heart rate well within the “normal” range now.

I am not sure what Ritalin does.  I know it is a stimulant, and it is usually prescribed for ADHD (attention deficit hyperactivity disorder).

I do not have ADHD.  And I will keep telling myself that.

I used to have to mentally keep telling myself to “listen to what this person is saying” – and I would concentrate on their lips moving, or focus on a freckle just to the right of their nose as my theory was, if I kept a firm eye on them, then they would not realise that the “voices” in my head were screaming or my eye really wanted to focus on the tiny little bird I can see in the distance.

Light.  Sound.  Huge distractions.  If I saw a spelling error on something then I struggled to “hear” what someone was saying as I could not get over the “thing” that I saw or heard.

I had to will myself to stay on point when someone was talking .  Not because I was disinterested, but because my brain was usually a bit enamored by the way the light hit the glass.

Or I realised I could hear the sound of a grass mower about 300 meters down the road.

Ritalin.  For me.  Has been like a light going on.  Suddenly I can hear what people are saying without (as much) mental distraction.

My brain runs smoother and I can accomplish much more in a day.

I can read with a focus that I have lacked for several years.

I have not read the warnings on Ritalin.  I am not sure if involuntary quivering, muscle fatigue or an overwhelming need to really understand Miley Cyrus is in anyway mentioned.

But.  So far so good.

Do I think Ritalin is the answer?  Not sure.


How to deal with awkward situations ….

Have a plan for distraction … confetti is a reasonably simple, and low cost method — but surprisingly effective.


Apologise:  Cannot credit image source, it appears to have been pinned, repinned, reposted so many times without a reference to the artist.  

How to tell your contact lenses are in the wrong way ….


Veet Product Review ….. do not put on your knob and bullocks … sage advise really

I ran this post more than a year ago —– when I really need a laugh, I often scroll back to this post and have a re-read.

I usually do not get past the first half a dozen reviews, because I need to go and have a pee.

My pee muscles aren’t as strong as they used to be.

For old time sake, and because we all need a bit of a smile here’s a dug up oldey ……….here’s why men need to read instructions before they use a product, and find ways to set their bullocks alight.



Joanne Chemaly is probably one of the funniest people alive.  I really need this girl to get her own show.

Earlier this week she sent me an email with the “Veet for Men Hair Removal Gel Creme 200 ml review.”

Holy Crapiolla.

I thought I was going to laugh, but I ended up snorting and guffawing, which is far better than polite laughter.

It is one of those classics which is really too funny not to share.

Reading through it adds a bit of warmth and a eventually a wet spot to your underwear that only a really good TESA adult sanitary towel can help with.

Funny man – like stupid funny.  If you haven’t read this, enjoy, enjoy — and buy a tube of Veet for your man!


Most Helpful Customer Reviews

22,833 of 22,984 people found the following review helpful

5.0 out of 5 stars DO NOT PUT ON KNOB AND BOLLOCKS 24 Jan 2012

By Andrew

Being a loose cannon who does not play by the rules the first thing I did was ignore the warning and smear this all over my knob and bollocks. The bollocks I knew and loved are gone now. In their place is a maroon coloured bag of agony which sends stabs of pain up my body every time it grazes against my thigh or an article of clothing. I am suffering so that you don’t have to. Heed my lesson. DO NOT PUT ON KNOB AND BOLLOCKS.

(I am giving this product a 5 because despite the fact that I think my bollocks might fall off, they are now completely hairless.)


3,270 of 3,324 people found the following review helpful

3.0 out of 5 stars LOCATION LOCATION LOCATION 17 April 2012

By The Cantankerous Tiger

I like the clean shaven look down in my gentleman’s log cabin, so for the past few years I’ve used a shaver. However the hair keeps growing back which means every 6 months I have to spend 20 minutes trimming again. As I’m sure you’ve realise this is valuable time I cannot waste. So I decided to get to the root of the problem and purchased this product.

Probably the first thing you will notice after using this product is the pain. Although as a man I lack the required experience, I’m going to estimate that using this product is at least eleven times more painful than childbirth.

Imagine sticking a rusty razor blade into your favourite eye, before tying your hands behind your back. Then imagine that you use the entrenched razor blade to slice open a raw onion. All the while being butt naked. This product is slightly more painful than that.

However if we ignore the blinding, crippling and debilitating pain I should point out that this product is remarkably effective. Before, all manner of organisms great and small lived down there, now nothing can grow; not even on a cellular level. Sadly this includes my genitalia; I’ve spent the last four hours staring fixedly at Carol Vorderman’s arse, all to no avail.

My tinkywinkleton hasn’t even so much as perked up, so if my review seems a bit harsh, it’s only because I wanted children.

All in all an effective and reasonably priced product – 3 Stars.


1,844 of 1,877 people found the following review helpful

5.0 out of 5 stars Increased Sports Performance Bonus 24 April 2012

By Tagnutt Mandeville

As a highly competitive amateur athlete, I have long been aware of the benefits of a highly polished scrotum pole and hair-free saddle-bags, especially when going for the `longer look’ as displayed by Linford in his famous lunchbox.

Previously I had used the old-school method of a cutthroat razor, but as you can imagine, this was a tricky and delicate operation, and to make matters worse, it was difficult to get into a comfortable position in the chair at my local Barbers. Anyway, I am quite hairy down there and my snippet valve looks like Brian May’s plughole so eventually the Barber said he could no longer perform the task for me. He also said that looking up my whizzer every Saturday at 11:30 put him off his lunch, as he usually has toad-in-the-hole followed by chocolate-coated donuts as a Saturday treat.

He did not want to leave me in the lurch and said that he had read some excellent reviews on Amazon about Veet for men and suggested I give it try.

Like many other reviewers, I made the mistake of not reading the bumph properly; I used the whole tube and completely coated my cock eggs, barse and nipsy with the stuff. Anyway, I lost track of time, and it was the foul stench of dissolving clinkers and melting hair that brought me to my senses.

As I looked at my watch through the putrid fog that had formed around me, I could see that it had been applied for exactly 5 minutes 59 seconds.

This presented me with a problem, as when the searing pain began, I was outside my flat, sat in the communal gardens, in a deck chair precisely 100 meters and 3 flights of stairs away from my bathroom.

It was as if I had lowered my under-carriage through a volcano and into Hades, whereupon Beelzebub, annoyed by the uninvited intrusion, jabbed me in the rectum with his fork.

I took off from the deckchair like Usain Bolt out of the TV adverts. Within 12 seconds, the bathroom was filled with steamy fetid barse broth, and I had the clock weights, biffin’s-bridge and Sherriff’s badge under ice-cold running water at the tap end of the bath. This did not please the missus, as she was relaxing in there at the time surrounded by floating petals and candles, although she did say that the sight of my ringpiece flashing like a brake light was impressive, and she was pleased to see that my arse barnacles had all but disappeared.

When I looked at my watch again, I realised how quickly I had made it up the stairs and the idea dawned on me that I had discovered a 100% legal sports performance enhancer. Now when I compete in a competition I dab a small amount around my Samantha Janus and taint exactly 6 minutes before the race is due to start. If I am doing the hurdles, I change the ratio and put more on my barse to make me jump higher. This proved to be particularly effective a couple of weeks ago, as after crossing the hurdles finish line, I accidentally won the high jump and steeple chase too, looking for the water jump to wash the stuff off.

Now I can hear you all thinking that none of this is particularly extraordinary, especially given the reviews that you have already read. However, when I tell you that I am 45 years old, 5′ 4″ tall and weigh 15 stone, and I used to do the shot-put that should put things into context.

As this is an Olympic year I think Tagnutt and Mandeville or whatever their names are, should be redesigned with hairless nether-regions and the British squad should use my technique and be sponsored by Veet, although I don’t recommend it for the beach volley ball team.

5 Stars from me.


6 of 7 people found the following review helpful

5.0 out of 5 stars Chicken., 29 Aug 2012

By deaks –

This review is from: Veet for Men Hair Removal Gel Creme 200 ml (Personal Care)

I decided to buy some of this for my husband who was looking untidy in the trouser dept. I left him to it while i went to the supermarket, fully expecting to arrive back home to see him laid out on the bed with 2 hardboiled, shelled eggs and a big smile. Wrong!!

Instead i arrived home to him shouting ‘ oh yeah, thats good…ooooh so good. Bursting into the lounge, i was confronted by the sight of my naked husband with his todger in the arse end of a frozen chicken, that i was intending to use for sunday lunch the following weekend! By the time i had recovered from my horror at this sight and coaxed the cowering alsation out from behind the chair, he had crawled from the sofa, which had a large burn all the way through the cushion, springs and wood flooring beneath it, towards the bathroom, still with the chicken attached to his manhood but with the rest of the bird wedged between his legs and plumes of smoke coming from his plums.

Confused, i followed him as he crawled up the stairs ( by now the chicken was defrosted and beginning to cook )He was screaming something about firemen, ambulances and divorce, but i was more concerned with wondering why the scotchguarding on the stair carpet wasn’t stopping it from melting.

Eventually, he managed to get to the bathroom, where he slid into the bath ( with the chicken still attached to his knob ) and assumed birthing position with one leg over either side before turning the cold water tap directly onto his sizzling and spitting garden. Imagine the snap, crackle and pop sound of Rice Krispies, but magnify it by several decibels. Three weeks later, he was still there!!

Once the burns healed and all the scabs fell off, I can honestly say that this stuff worked.

Plus points…

It will strip oil and grease from driveways in less than 5 seconds.

It will defrost and cook a chicken faster than your microwave will.

It’s a great contraceptive.

Minus points.

It will melt or set fire to anything coming into contact with it.

If you’re planning on having a family, forget it!


5 of 7 people found the following review helpful

5.0 out of 5 stars Grab life by the bollocks, 17 Aug 2012

By Josh C – review is from: Veet for Men Hair Removal Gel Creme 200 ml (Personal Care)

Jesus christ, for the love of God, please, please read the warning signs. I didn’t and covered my Meat and two veg and can honestly say it was the most horrific experience in my life, and this is coming from a man whose been on The Oblivion. The burning sensation was absolutely awful. It was like pressing an iron on your thigh and I screamed like a school girl in Gary Glitters bedroom. It hurt to urinate for three weeks and I never want to go through such a traumatic experience like that ever again.

In the words of Erasure & Wheatus, ‘give a little respect’ to this product and read the warning signs. Peace.


55 of 59 people found the following review helpful

5.0 out of 5 stars Veet — the Men Hair Removal Gel Creme (from hell) . . ., 30 July 2012

By John W. Osborne Jr. “Josbo7” (St. Petersburg, FL) – See all my reviews

(REAL NAME)    This review is from: Veet for Men Hair Removal Gel Creme 200 ml (Personal Care)

After having been told my danglies (American: “dingle-berries”) looked like an elderly rastafarian I decided to take the plunge and buy some of this as previous shaving attempts had only been mildly succesful and I nearly put my back out trying to reach the more difficult bits.

Being a bit of a romantic I thought I would do the deed on the missus’s birthday as a bit of a treat.I ordered it well in advance and working in the North sea I considerd myself a bit above some of the characters writing the previous reviews and wrote them off as soft office types…oh my fellow sufferers how wrong I was.

I waited until the other half was tucked up in bed and after giving some vague hints about a special surprise I went down to the bathroom. Initially all went well and I applied the gel and stood waiting for something to happen. I didn’t have long to wait.

At first there was a gentle warmth which in a matter of seconds was replaced by an intense burning and a feeling I can only describe as like being given a barbed wire wedgie by two people intent on hitting the ceiling with my head.

Religion hadn’t featured much in my life until that night but I suddenly became willing to convert to any religion to stop the violent burning around the turd tunnel and what seemed like the destruction of the meat and two veg.

Stuggling to not bite through my bottom lip I tried to wash the gel of in the sink and only succeeded in blocking the plughole with a mat of hair.Through the haze of tears I struggled out of the bathroom across the hall into the kitchen by this time walking was not really possible and I crawled the final yard to the fridge in the hope of some form of cold relief.

I yanked the freezer drawer out and found a tub of ice cream, tore the lid of and positioned it under me. The relief was fantastic but only temporary as it melted fairly quickly and the fiery stabbing soon returned.

Due to the shape of the ice cream tub I hadn’t managed to give the starfish any treatment and I groped around in the draw for something else as I was sure my vision was going to fail fairly soon.

I grabbed a bag of what I later found out was frozen sprouts and tore it open trying to be quiet as I did so. I took a handful of them and tried in vain to clench some between the cheeks of my arse.

This was not doing the trick as some of the gel had found it’s way up the chutney channel and it felt like the space shuttle was running it’s engines behind me.This was probably and hopefully the only time in my life I was going to wish there was a gay snowman in the kitchen which should give you some idea of the depths I was willing to sink to in order to ease the pain.

The only solution my pain crazed mind could come up with was to gently ease one of the sprouts where no veg had gone before.

Unfortunately, alerted by the strange grunts coming from the kitchen the other half chose that moment to come and investigate and was greeted by the sight of me, arse in the air, strawberry ice cream dripping from my bell end pushing a sprout up my arse while muttering…” Ooooh that feels good ”

Understandingly this was a shock to her and she let out a scream and as I hadn’t heard her come in it caused an involuntary spasm of shock in myself which resulted in the sprout being ejected at quite some speed in her direction.

I can understand that having a sprout farted against your leg at 11 at night in the kitchen probably wasn’t the special surprise she was expecting and having to explain to the kids the next day what the strange hollow in the ice cream was didn’t improve my status…So to sum it up Veet removes hair, dignity and self respect……. :-


8 of 11 people found the following review helpful

5.0 out of 5 stars OK so they were right, 18 July 2012

By TodggerBurns – This review is from: Veet for Men Hair Removal Gel Creme 200 ml (Personal Care)

I think they are making it up I thought. I am sure that it may tingle a bit and that the reaction was the equivalent of man flue.

Mistake 1

So when I got the pack home and while the girl was in the shower I stripped down and gave the meat and veg a good going over and having some left gave the exit shute a good smearing to.

I did pay attention to the instructions so i set the girl’s egg timer going

Mistakes 2 & 3 (this will come to light later)

I decided while waiting to go down stairs and watch the news. As I sat down the phone rang, it was a mate who was asking if I was going down the pub later. So there I am sitting on the sofa with a tea cloth over the lap chatting and did not see the cat come to investigate the smell. This where mistake 2 comes in, helps if you check the timer actually works.

So when the burning started I leapt up, yes another mistake, as cat was still exploring. The afore mentioned cat being startled dug its claws in. I can’t say I felt this as someone was applying a thermic lance to my nether region so was overruling all other nerve feedback. I hurtled up the stairs in style that only the flash could mimic only to discover mistake 3, she was still in the shower with the radio full blast and therefore could not hear my pitiful mewling.

Being a resourceful chap I broke the speed of light in my decent to the garage and turned on the pressure washer and applied (yep another mistake compounded because being a man I had not read it’s instructions either).

Apparently I was bouncing off walls drooling and wailing still with a cat clinging on when the door burst in as the Police entered (my friend on the phone thought I had had a home invasion and had called them). It was around this time my body said enough is enough.

When I came home from A & E I was left with the last sausage on the BBQ, two pan roasted peppers and a rear passage that had reduced to 1 mm. Though I must say I now do not have a strand of hair left in that region and the cleanest colon going. Bad news is the RSPCA took our cat away and say with time it may regrow it’s fur.


16 of 19 people found the following review helpful

5.0 out of 5 stars …must…type…..quickly………, 17 July 2012

By M. Page “Matthew” (Chesham England) – This review is from: Veet for Men Hair Removal Gel Creme 200 ml (Personal Care)

As a gay man, excessive body hair in the party zone can be troublesome. I have been plagued by a particularly hairy `valley of fun’ which causes not only embarrassment, but impinges upon the practicalities of being intimate with my partner.

He quite often has to resort to using a comb, and has said many times that finding my point of entry is so difficult he would one day do a DIY hair removal with some packing tape. I thought I had found salvation with Veet hair removal gel, but little did I know.

I assumed the position a slapped a good handful downstairs, smearing it liberally round the old bike stand whilst paying particular attention to my balloon-knot. The heat which began to build was somewhat troublesome, but the searing pain which quickly built in and around the vicinity of my starfish was so intense I found myself praying for the first time in my life.

I became instantly aware of how Edward the second must have felt during his execution (google it), but with no sweet caress of deaths icy fingers to ease my pain.

Once I had managed to stop screaming, I hobbled to the bathroom where I spent the next six hours with a steady stream of cold water straight onto my sheriffs star while my partner fed me pain killers. He returned from work to find me in the bath, sobbing uncontrollably. But his initial concern at my predicament soon turned to hilarity as I described the preceding events.

I eventually managed some fitful rest, but when I awoke the true horror of the damage done became apparent.

My anus now resembled a pink iced krispy kreme doughnut, only bigger. It brought to mind those round rubber rings people sit on when suffering a particularly bad case of hemorrhoids.

But there was worse to come. I became aware of a need to `drop the kids off at the pool’ and recalled the extremely spicy chick pea curry I had eaten the previous evening. With seconds. As my motion began all the pain experienced previously seemed mild by comparison. So much so I passed out halfway through and was revived by my partner who was in the process of delivering CPR.

It has been three days since that event, and I have not eaten a thing, so great is the fear of a repeat performance. I am beginning to feel dizzy performing the simplest of tasks, my vision is blurred, and just the effort of typing this is causing me to black out periodically.

My crack however, whilst still swollen, is completely hair free. Five out of five.


16 of 19 people found the following review helpful

5.0 out of 5 stars Bring on Sigourney Weaver, 3 July 2012

By Conrad Bevan “Renegade” (Gloucester, UK) – This review is from: Veet for Men Hair Removal Gel Creme 200 ml (Personal Care)

I’ll keep it short and sweet, this is what the Alien has for blood, molecular acid in a tube. Slap this on your gentlemen bits, and trust me, they will be able to hear you scream in space.


7 of 10 people found the following review helpful

3.0 out of 5 stars It is worth the pain, 2 July 2012

By georgestark – This review is from: Veet for Men Hair Removal Gel Creme 200 ml (Personal Care)

OK, I tend to shave my winter coat in the summer, but thought I would give this a try instead, let me just say I have not been in so much pain since I accidentally mistook “Fiery Jacks Volcanic Vapour rub” for my hemorrhoid cream. All i can say that i no longer need to switch the bathroom light on at night to pee, as the red glow lights the bowl perfectly.


If you still feel you need a bit of a laugh, or are trying to kill your family member with a weak heart, then pop along to Amazon and read some more reviews.

It’s Monday, let’s talk about wigs for cats ….

This is actually a thing.

People make and sell these.  People buy enough of these to be a product.  That sells.

I believe if you put shit on a spoon and tried to sell it, you might have one or two buyers.

If you start selling enough to set up a retail site — and then you have several streams of competition, then you know you MUST have a product that sells like hot cakes ….

Wigs for cats …. again,this is really a thing. I am sort of amazed at how much one has to drink, and how much of a buzz one must have to think of putting a “mini” wig on a cat.

Then waking up the next morning, looking at the photographs and going “this is crazy shit …. don’t remember any of this” and then as you scroll through your images, you decide to do it again whilst you are sober.










Interested in getting one — I mean, of course you are … this quote from the site (granted I had to spell correct a few words…. but I am sure that is not an indicator of the quality of their offering):

Wondering how you’ll justify this purchase to your significant other, or director of finances?

Well first off, your life is incomplete without a pet wig. And secondly, your cat’s life is incomplete without a cat wig.

But a cat wig now ————– here’s where.

If you do, please for the love of gonads send me a photograph!!!

Yeah, pretty ridiculous!!


Now wigs for dogs … that is way cool!!

wigs for dogs

wigs for dogs01


wigs for dogs02

The outing to the bottle store …..


So I am at the bottle store this afternoon, trying to buy two bottles of wine with three children in tow.

As you do.

Standing in the queue to pay.  Not a very long queue.  No problems here.

True as nuts, a man who who clearly is height-challenged joins the queue behind me. I am not sure what the correct term is – but clearly he was shorter “than normal” and his body was slightly out of proportion.

No problem.

It’s a bottle store, who am I to judge.

Isabelle points – not subtly – but points, and then hoots with laughter.  I have no idea what she is saying, but she is hooting and pointing, like you do at a circus – and she starts jumping from foot to foot and HOO-FUCKING-TING.

I cling a bit closer to my two wine bottles, and start to prey to the gods of bottle-store-queues that I can pay and get the hell out of there.

I turn to him and smile and say “Sorry …..”

Georgia who never wants to be left behind, also starts speaking in a high pitched voice, pointing, squeeling and hiding behind me — and also speaking in a REALLY LOUD VOICE FOR A BOTTLE STORE.

I actually have no idea what she is saying, because I am trying to put a bottle in each ear and sign LA-LA-LA-LA-LA really really loudly.

Again I turn around, smile and say: “I really am sorry, I have tried to lose them in retail outlets, but they keep finding me….”

Isabelle picks up the slack, and is laughing, holding her tummy and sort of bending over double …

Again, I turn around and apologise profusely.

I did promise that as soon as we get home I would have a conversation with my kids about inappropriate pointing and speaking in really loud voices.

Eventually it was over. I could leave. This guy could pay for his purchase and I could herd my kids into the car.

I am off to the library to look for a book titled: “We are all different and we definitely should not scream and point whilst in a bottle store queue!!”

Every time I think I have this parenting thing right, then one visit to the bottle store and I realise it might be to give Jo Frost a call.

and meanwhile someone drops their baby … but doesn’t drop the call ….



Have a happy weekend, where ever you might be!!

Brushing hair … oh the fun we have ….

Georgia and Isabelle both have long hair.

Georgia is of the “ridiculously long” end of the scale.  She used to like her hair tied up, but in the last year she likes to wear her hair loose.

That is great for the first 15 minutes, but then sticky lollipops get stuck in it, her hair starts to develop dreadlocks, and by the end of the day it is a bit of a state.

Brushing or combing her hair is not a joy.  She screams, I get annoyed and so it goes on.

I have asked her if she wants to trim her hair – but she feels strongly that she does not want to cut it at all.  Rapunzel delusions.

I was combing Georgia’s hair recently and someone commented on how their daughter’s scalp is so sensitive and how hair brushing is such an issue and and and ….

Then I remembered that Georgia did not arrive happily sitting on her changing mat letting me comb her hair.

Georgia was born with a fair bit of hair, and by age one we were able to fashion basic ponytails – which would remain in for a 46 seconds.

I remember getting Georgia ready in the mornings for school and trying to “do”her hair.

She used to go absolutely bezerk!

I realised if I gave in to the hair and she gets her own way, then what is the next thing? Does she get to choose whether she wears her seat belt in the car, or do we start negotiating bed time?

The answer is a firm “no” on all of the above.

After a bit of begging, pleading, crying and threatening to get her to sit still to do her hair, I realised that only option was to move her changing mat to the floor.

Once she was dressed, I would get her to lie down, then I would put my one leg over her shoulders and my other leg over her legs so she could not kick me.

And this is the way I would do Georgia’s hair.

It was not pretty, it was no fun.  It would have me effing and blinding, her screaming blue murder.

I knew it would be easier to just let her have her own way and send her to school without her hair being brushed.

But I persisted – it took about 5 days for her to stop fighting me so hard.  I still pinned her down until she stopped fighting against me.  When she stopped, I let her sit up, and I still kept my one leg over her legs, but she had her arms free.

As time went by, she eventually just sat on the mat and I could do her hair.

Her soul did not die, I did not break her wings – she is not mentally scarred from the interaction.

She learnt that she was not going to get her own way and if she was going to go ape shit on me, then I was going to need to bring in the big guns. It took about two weeks of wrestling and pinning her down, to get to the point where she would just sit and let me comb her hair.

I usually smile when someone says “Oh I could never comb my daughter’s hair if it was that long…..” and inside I say “yes you can if you aren’t against winning a bit of WWF!”