For f*k sake, why do PR companies get it so wrong?

{I have been wanting to post this for some time, but I keep thinking that one of the rules of media is not to alienate all the potential advertisers and PR companies.  Surely.  I have however come to the conclusion that I really am not dependent on advertisers, and PR companies .. .. or their products. So, with that in mind, here is me throwing caution to the wind ……}



I am not exactly the darling of the media industry.

I really do not care much for free give-aways.  I don’t really want to punt your product on my blog, and I automatically delete press releases that have been spammed on to me.

I have very little interest in trying to make a living through my blog.

I like to blog.  I like to blog when I want.  About what I want.  When I want.

Nothing makes me less likely to blog than feeling forced to blog about something or someone.

I do not really want to watch my P’s and Q’s when it comes to whether I am going to have a bit of a shit fit at a later stage that may or may not involve your product or your client’s company.

I really just could not be arsed.

The last Blog Meetup I went to – there was quite a bit of talk about Bloggers and PR Companies and how we can work together.

I have had very limited experience with PR companies other than the odd SPAM.  I get really frustrated when I get press release, after press release, after fucking press release.  {though I do ask to be removed from the mailing list …. politely}

I have not posted a press release on my blog.  Ever.  I am not likely to start now.

I do try to be as courteous as I can – if you think Reluctant Mom and your client can do something together, then contact me directly with something that sort of interests me, and will appeal to my readers.

The problem is I get invited to events.  In Johannesburg.  I AM IN CAPE TOWN.

I get notified about products that have ABSOLUTELY no relevance to my life.

In get sent the same thing that almost ever blogger is sent.  So even though I MIGHT be vaguely interested in your product, when I see the same thing pop up on 5 other bloggers pages, then I am not going to be posting it on mine.

I get press releases.  I DO NOT POST PRESS RELEASES.

I get asked by PR companies about my visits/hits/pap smear results.  NO, YOU CANNOT HAVE MY NUMBERS, NOW GO AWAY!

I am sure there are lovely, bright, clever and some very talented PR people out there.

I am almost sure of it, though the evidence that I am presented with leads me to believe otherwise.

Why do PR people not work harder at forging relationships with specific bloggers, rather than spamming all of them?

Or is this a numbers game and you send 100 mail shots in the hope of getting 2 that will stick?

If so, that even makes me feel more special.  In theory I am a motorist and you are just handing out brochures at a street corner, and hoping one of us is going to read it and then go and buy your pizza {insert product} or tell a friend about it.

I can honestly say my soul dies a little every time my mail box opens and there is something from a PR company.

I want to be excited about your PR company.

I want to be wowed by the product you are trying to punt.

I want to think “wow, you are so clever you have really got my attention ……”

I love a good advertising campaign — I do.  Make me think, make me go “hey I am intrigued” and I am yours for the taking.

The problem is that your email is generic.  And so annoying that you irritate me.

I just want to delete you. With a hard delete, not the soft one where I can change my mind and go and get you out of my deleted folder later.


I also accept that I might be the only blogger who thinks this way, and there are PR folks who are getting it right.  Or not.

Mommy Bloggers hear us roar …..

What are you working on right now?

I am really struggling with an army of financial shit.  I am trying to juggle finding R260.00 for a full body wax versus finding R15 000.00 for a French Bulldog.   I have cancelled the butt wax to save for the French Bulldog.

Where did the idea for The Reluctant Mom’s Blog come from?

I had just expelled Isabelle via a c-section. I was pretty convinced I had this parenting thing waxed, what with having two already and being well read on the subject.

When I started to wonder how hard I had to throw Isabelle against the wall so I could have 30 seconds of silence, I realised I had failed this parenting malarkey – and badly.

I needed a place to shit myself in public, and to try and work through some of my thoughts.  I was pretty convinced at the time that I was the only mom feeling so helpless and distressed by having a baby.  Blogging helped, and I also realised I needed a good dose of medication and a guy who knows what CBT means.

What does your typical day look like?

I wake up and am barely awake.

I throw on an assortment of clothing, brush my teeth and scream “ AM LEAVING EVERYONE BETTER GET IN THE CAR NOW!”  On occasion I do this on a Saturday morning and then the result is me sitting in the car honking the horn like a mad person and thinking “FUCK, CAN I GET THESE KIDS INTO A BOARDING SCHOOL AT PRE-PRIMARY LEVEL?”

How do you bring ideas to life?


What’s one trend that really excites you?


What was the worst job you ever had and what did you learn from it?


At a restaurant that we had to come in on a Saturday at 10h00 to set up the restaurant for a shift that started at 17h00.  We had to pay the kitchen staff to wash the cutlery and crockery so we could set the tables.

I stuck it out for nearly a year – whilst I had an full time day job during the day – and then left it for another waitressing position with 0nly slightly less restrictive work conditions.  I think it showed me that people in the service industry, are often exposed to less than ideal working conditions, and I try to be courteous to “service” people.

If you were to start again, what would you do differently?

I would like to have David Beckham sperm in my DNA so that I would be born pretty, rich and really thin.

If you could change one thing in the world, what would it be and how would you go about it?

  1.  There has got to be a way to stop people from posting stupid Facebook status updates that require people to ask “so what’s up honey..” until they confess later in the thread that their cat died ……
  2. Friday Public Hangings for Child Abusers and Child Rapists.

Tell us a secret.

I am going to sell my soul to buy that French Bulldog.

What are your three favorite online tools or resources and what do you love about them?

Pinterest – because it makes me spend hours wondering how I can plait my hair, and make a cupboard out of toilet rolls.  None of which I will ever do.

Linkedin – like Facebook for adults.

Twitter – still quite a recent discovery for me.  Have  I told you how much I love @XplodingUnicorn

What is the one book that you recommend people should read and why?

I read a great deal, so this is a tricky question.  I know it is probably not deep and meaningful, but one of the books that have stuck with me over the last few years in how simply it was written but so profoundly moving was The Book Thief by Markus Zusak.

Three people we should follow on Twitter and why?

I am really a newbie to Twitter but my favourite things that pop up on my twitter feed belong to:

@XplodingUnicorn –  I have no idea who this person is, but I am hoping to camp out in his garden pretty soon, with my Cape Union Mart tent.

@Parentpains Because of this post – Apparently, women only enjoy a nice romantic breakfast in bed when they know how you got in their house.

Yes, I know that is only two.

 When was the last time you laughed out loud? What caused it?

I am experiencing a spate of depression at the moment, so laughing is pretty far down my list of survival skills.  Trying to smile is already and exercise in super powers.

Who is your hero?

School teachers everywhere!!!  After 5 days of school holidays I have an entire new respect for them, and feel embarrassed that I did not volunteer to donate a kidney or a liver to any of them who may need it.

Bloggers who you would like to take part?

Countess over at

Sharon over at


Charlotte over at

No there are no rules to this, but here is a blog graphic to use just in case you would like to use it and pass it on to three other Bloggers who you would like to recognise and hear their background story – and give some props to Bloggers who you thing are doing it well.

1312_Blog Award


Please vote for The Reluctant Mom as Mommy Blogger 2013 – please pop along and VOTE today.

Click – click, capture a few personal things, and then it is all over.

Voting closes on 15 December 2013 at midnight.



Then they made pink Lego …. and the world ended.


Before I had kids I had very clear ideas about my kids playing with non-gender specific toys.

What I actually meant was I did not want Connor playing with guns.

I grew up in a home where we had a wall of rifles mounted on our lounge – we were fancy like that.

Guns were around and we had free access.

I don’t mean they were in a safe and we knew where the key was.  I mean that there was a sawn-off double barreled shotgun that lay on my father’s side table, and it was there pretty much any time you felt an overriding urge to pick it up and go on the rampage at the local post office.

The bullets/shot gun casings were cleverly hidden in the top drawer.

My point is we did not play with toy guns – because we had the real shit right there.

As an adult I just did not wanted my kids to play with guns.  I just didn’t and don’t.  I am not sure of the reason. I do not buy my kids toy guns, and when ever we were given one, it would make its way out of the house.

I also do not allow my kids to watch wrestling.

I also hate boys wearing vests (not the boys, just the vests).  I am not sure what it is that makes me recoil in horror when I see a boy/man in a vest.

I did dress my girls in pink when they came along.  I realised that somewhere a feminist was burning her suffragettes’ card in horror – but none the less I bought pink with abandon.

Vests I had a problem with, girls in pink were no issue for me.

Then I saw the girls’ toy aisle at most toy stores, crammed with plastic irons, ironing boards, microwaves and cleaning kits.

I shat myself a bit, pulled my hair in distress, and thought about forming a one woman picket line outside Toys ‘r Us with a crudely made sign from a 5 litre wine box.

Then my girls started asking for the cleaning kits, and wanting the little plastic iron, and being envious they did not have the cleaning apron as well.

Years ago, I took great umbrage to what was stocked at toy stores – I  wanted my girls to aspire to something more than wanting to get their toilet bowl smelling lemony clean and shiny.

When all is said and done, I have tried to just calm the fk down and if the girls want to purchase Lego because it is pink, then let them, if Connor wants to make a “toy gun” from macaroni and a  pencil, then let him.

I  had ideals.  And then I  had kids.

I have realised that the fact that the toy stores stock “cleaning and household” products in the girls’ toy aisle is less important than the fact that my girls do not know what twerking is.

I had ideals about parenting.  Then I realised that I  am going to be driving to the same primary school for fourteen years.

Many many other things started to fade away into obscurity at that point.

I had ideals about how I wanted to parent my children.  Then life got in the way, and some days it is just easier to give your girl child a Barbie and sort of keep quiet about Barbie and everything she represents.

People are losing their minds about Lego releasing “pink and purple” bricks and figurines aimed at catching girl children’s interest. Then I say people are going off pop,  I am not even hinting at the shit storm that I saw all over social media platforms.



I am not seeing the issue.  {yes I have read the various opinions and the horror and apocalypse that appears to be happening due to the release of pink Lego}

Shall we argue around in circles that Lego was already unisex?  Yes let’s.

Of course boys and girls played with Lego.

I  doubt (and I have not conducted an intricate scientific study) that girls are less excited about Lego than boys are.   I wish they were, but the reality is that girls aren’t.

Girls just do not get all excited by traditional Lego.

If adding some pink and purple blocks and a few female/girly looking figures gets girls more interested in playing with Lego – well, then I am actually pro the new idea.

If you wish to protest it based on your map of the world, and that you feel that boys and girls should be equally drawn to the “non-gender specific blocks” on the market, then goody for you.  Pop along and buy a few Star Wars ones and present it at the next party as a gift to the girl in question, see how that goes.

Short story.   I had ideals about parenting.  Reality unfortunately crept in.  I adjust my parenting map of the world accordingly.

Pink Lego = non issue in my universe.

I still do not let my boy child wear a vest.


Please vote for The Reluctant Mom as Mommy Blogger 2013 – please pop along and VOTE today.

Click – click, capture a few personal things, and then it is all over.

Voting closes on 15 December 2013 at midnight.



I squeezed this blog out of my loins …. well almost

Yesterday was my blogs birthday.  My first blog post ran on the 21 August 2009 – so Reluctant Mom is four years old today.

For those who don’t know me, it’s okay, I often wake up at night wondering if I know myself.  I do often wonder how I managed to get myself into this position – the position of being mom to three children.  When the number one issue is that I don’t actually like children (sure I like my own now, but I never played with dolls, and really tend to cringe back in terror when a young snotty happy faced short person runs towards me), and more importantly number two, I was very sure that I never wanted children.

My partner – Kennith – wanted children from the get go, I was very very reluctant and every time we had the conversation would wrap it up by saying “next year” knowing full well that next year was not going to be coming.  Six years into our relationship we had reached a cross-roads/an impasse and I fell pregnant with our first child when I was 28.  It was a totally planned endeavour.  This did not stop me sitting in the bath and crying like a knocked up 15 year old.  Read the rest of the post here …….

In blog years four is ancient.

Not the oldest, but definitely in the zimmer frame and spittle on the bottom lip when you talk category.

I have seen blogs that have come and gone.  Blogs that I have enjoyed and then started to peter out.

I have watched new blogs blossom, grow and then look like they were going to take over the world.

Then there is this one, that putters along at it’s own pace.  Some days willing itself to die, other days rising above it all to find true love in Tokai Forest.

I read through some of my earlier posts and I wonder how I could be so worried and so worked up about something then, that now would barely get a snort out of me.

I change, I learn, I make mistakes, I have the occasional emotional vomit.  I have tried to be disciplined about what I say here I would say to your face over dinner …. usually after two bottles of wine.

I never go back and delete a post, because when I think or say something at the time, that is how I feel.  I realise that as time shifts so does my perception of events and also my emotional reaction to something usually lessens, and with 20/20 hindsight it did look like I was really getting my panties into a bit of a knot.

This blog has helped me to process shit.  This blog has helped me to think out loud and have somewhere to put it.  This blog has connected me to so many people and their lives that I would never have encountered any other way.

Many of those people have move out of the “imaginary friends in cyber space” kind to the ones I sit and have dinner and wine with.

Thank you to the nearly 500 000 views that my blog has received.

Thank you to the 6 908 comments that have been left.  I hope both these numbers double!

Thanks to all the funny comments, the really clever comments, the comments that have made me examine my thinking in a constructive manner, the snubs, the rebukes, the odd stalker and heavy breather who came along and left his/her little bit of sticky on this blog.

I was thrilled to have spent a few cyber seconds with every one of you.

Thank you for sharing my love of books, and supporting some of my hair-brained schemes and ideas.

I can’t promise I will be here in 4 years.

I can however promise that future posts will be peppered with questionable grammar and too frequent use of fuck/fek/fkc/friggn/freakn and anything that rhymes with tomatoe.

Happy Birthday Reluctant Mom Blog – you are sort of awesome in all sorts of ways!!




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” ……


Remembering what blogging is about ….

Yesterday I had a comment from Vanessa who reads my blog – she directed me to the blog she had started for her daughter –

I did not know about Kendra, so I took the time to read the blog.  I also do not Vanessa who reads my blog.

I started with the last dozen blog posts.  But I got so immersed that I went to read from the beginning.  I found myself drinking tea, sniffing snot and sobbing all at the same time.

Kendra’s Mom has done what I think makes blogs so powerful.

She has shared a personal story, her personal experiences, for no other reason that to write about her stuff.  And she allows people like me who happen upon it to read her story.

Maybe it was for record keeping purposes for family that could not be with her.  Maybe it was a way to document who Kendra was and the impact her short life had on Kendra’s Mom and those around her.

I am not sure of the reason.  But when you read it, it is a mother’s story about her daughter and what she did each day, and when she was gone, how Vanessa tried to cope as a mother.  A mother of a child who was no longer there.  But always there.

Vanessa is not trying to make a statement, not trying to lure prospective advertisers, not trying to make herself the most successful blogger with a book deal of all time.  She is just sharing her story with honesty and without an agenda.

I really really love blogging.  There are blogs which I really love reading.  I love them because of how their honesty resonates with me and how they tell me a story, or open my mind to something or a way of thinking that I had not considered before.

I get that it would be great to blog, to make money and retire in the style one has grown accustomed, but I do think that something unfortunate has started to creep in to blogging.

Bloggers have started to write in the hope that they will be published, or be courted by the big names in advertising.  Or maybe they haven’t and their style of blogging has changed, and maybe I am not as big a fan of the new style as I was of the old.

I am not in any way holding anything against bloggers who have grown in publicity, who have managed to align themselves with some powerful advertisers – I really really do wish them all the best, and of course I am pleased that they have taken their blog to the next level.

I do appreciate that blogging is hard work.  And if you are good, work hard, and clever enough to market your blog well, then why should you not go on to bigger and better things and make money through your blog?  No reason what so ever, off you go and do that and do it well I say.

As a blog reader I have started to feel something is being lost.

A raw honesty – often the reason bloggers start to blog – is being eroded in the quest to remain the most popular and the most attractive to advertisers.

I understand that not everyone’s life can read like a daily car accident  — but I do think bloggers write differently when they do not have a hidden motive or agenda.

There is something in their honesty, their “just being present” that is often difficult to hold on to once there is someone else who can direct a blogger, or dictate how a blog should appear, or who the blogger feels they need to start blogging towards.

Anyway, today I read about Kendra, and I got to be part of her life, even if it was for just an hour or two – and I got to know her through her mother’s eyes even if it was for a brief few moments.

Today I am off to Durbanville Memorial Park and to see if I can spend a few quiet minutes with Kendra Meiring.


Should you become a blogger?

1303_Blogging Article

I get asked this question reasonably often — and I am still not quite sure of the right answer.

Blogging works for me as a sort of therapy – well to be honest, I use it at the moment instead of therapy.

People often gain sustenance from praying or talking to their ‘higher power.’

Unfortunately I don’t have that, but I do get something from blogging.  I am not suggesting that blogging is akin to religion, but it gives me a place to “be calm” and “to think” and sometimes to think through my thoughts.

I don’t blog because I need you to read my blog, unfortunately I am too selfish for that. I blog for me, because it makes me feel good and gives me an outlet for the stuff that runs around inside my head.

Cobbling words together and trying to get my thoughts into a loose line helps me.  Writing my thoughts down also helps me process some of my thinking.  My head is a really noisy place to live — and I have found that getting what is running inside my head out, helps me a great deal.

Why not keep a paper and ink diary I hear you tut-tut under your breath.

Unfortunately I get so caught up in the feel of the right paper grammage, and the right pen, and whether my pen strokes are all the same, that I don’t get to writing anything down.

I have a desk drawer full of very nice looking diaries which I have never started or broken the plastic on – I do however use the ink pens with reckless abandon.

Blogging regularly is harder than it looks.  I often struggle to find the right way to say something.  I have about 115 ‘draft posts” which I just can’t put in to the right words so they float there unposted unpublished.

The internet is strewn with blogs that started with a bit of a gust of wind, then died out like a frog being squashed by a clown car.

10 things I like about blogging:-

1.  I get an outlet to write what I like, and not have to run it past a copywriter or an editor.

2.  I sometimes need someone to go “rah rah rah I like what you think” and I sometimes get that here.  {I also get my fair share of people telling me what a total idiot I am, so that balances my ego out quite nicely}

3.  I like having one place to put all my stuff.

4.  I just can’t work with twitter and its 144 characters ….. I struggle to facebook status update as well, and do it rarely.

5.  I meet (though usually they remain in the cyber space) some interesting people who often challenge my thinking, and often teach me to view or look at something differently.

6. I like that I am part of a community – mommy bloggers, or bloggers. I like the fact that I am part of something that I can’t quite define —

7.  I like that I get to hear about other bloggers and their lives – and I feel part of what makes them happy and what makes them sad.  There are a lot of people with interesting stories to tell.

8.  I like that I do not need to say something, because if I do or don’t I will offend someone who pays me or who has a vested interest in what I say.  I think and say what I am comfortable with.

9.  I like to look back over my blogs and see how much I have changed, or grown as a person.

10.  I like love reading comments.  There is nothing better to do with my morning cup of tea than to read comments and know that even though I still think it is only me, a guy named Schalk who lives in Parow with his dog, who reads my blog, there are actually a few other people out there who stop by.

And, no I don’t make money from blogging.

Throwing the baby out with the bathwater – repost {because I can}

We are having retro day  — I went to scrounge through some old posts, and repost one I had posted back in October 2010 – posted under the title – Throwing the baby out with the bath water …

I read it again, and realised I am not sure I could comment on the same subject any better – so with that in mind, if you have started reading this blog recently then you get to read this for the first time.

Been around a bit longer?  Well then, this might still make you smile a bit, or will bore you senseless.


I’ve often wondered why we do not tell new moms about the hell that follows once they arrive home with their new baby.

There seems to be this unwritten law that we should not scare them too much.  Or possibly it is that they will not believe it until it starts to happen to them.  Of late I have started to believe the latter.

The hell I am referring to is the emotional trauma and the screaming that you and your partner/husband/supplier of sperm/supporter of pregnancy/nearest and dearest will go through around week six to eight of your new baby being home.

It might start on day one, it might not start for several weeks, but it will start (insert Dr Evil’s laugh here).

Pregnancy is much like your honeymoon. The two of you are aglow with the wonders of what your loins have done. You have affirmed your lineage will continue. Your partner is elated that his sperm has proved to be virile, you are a bask in the glow of pregnancy.

You feel that you have single-handedly saved the entire human race.  Here in your uterus sits the off-spring that could find a cure of cancer or at the very least a system for not losing the remote control on the couch.

Ah it is glorious heady stuff.  You are invincible, you are pregnant.

Your energies are focused on the birth of the baby.  Where partner will stand, who will hold the camera, whether you will ask for some homeopathic meds or sell you soul for one prick of the anesthetist’s epidural needle.   From about month five every waking (and sleeping moment) is  consumed with all this planning.

You have various scenarios in your mind, but the one that stands out for you, is that picture of you, the picture of the perfect you.  You, still wearing mascara, and a touch of lip-gloss, cuddling your bundle, while your partner stares at you longing as if you are the original mother mary.

Intoxicating  days these.

You survive child-birth.  You survive the medical staff and you make it home.  You are smiling and coo’ing and everyone has agreed that this is the sweetest baby ever to bless the earth.

You and your partner are so pleased with yourselves right now.  You might even cure leprosy later on in the afternoon, nothing is beyond you right now.

The visitors go home, the medication and euphoria starts to wear off.  You are starting to ache.

You really love your baby, but have decided that you no longer love your baby between 2 and 6am.  You are sleep deprived, your nipples feel like you have been cast in a low-budget porn movie, you are not feeling your best as you have been in your bathrobe since last Monday.

Brushing your teeth has become the highlight of your day – you do not even try to floss, as really there is not enough time and this often requires two hands, which you seldom have the luxury of right now.

Partner kisses you on the forehead and skips off to work.  At some point you stand there – usually in the middle of the kitchen, still in your grubby bathrobe, and ask yourself  “What exactly happened here … this is not how I pictured it…and why is that shmuck not with me in this?”

You can’t say it out loud as the baby has finally fallen asleep and you need to sort of rock him to-and-fro, to-and-fro or he is going to start screaming again, but you think it.  Yes, you think it, and think it and think it.

You now glance over at the kitchen clock and start counting the hours down for husband (you have dropped the dear part) to come home.  By the time he arrives home, you pretty much shove the baby into his arms, scream at him about being late.

Then scream at him about something unrelated and stomp off in a furore.  You are waiting for baby to start crying, because now husband can get an earful of what you have had to put up with all day …

But nothing … you listen … and there is nothing.  So you sneak quietly down to the lounge … and there he is … baby propped on his shoulder … not a care in the world … he has a beer in the other hand and he is watching Super Sport … and looks at you like: “ This isn’t hard, what are you complaining about!”

This is where the cracks start.

Late at night as you wake to go and feed the baby you look over at your partner who is fast asleep and you wonder if you can stab him the shoulder with a fork!  You know you can, but you wonder if you can do deep tissue damage with just one fork stab, or whether you will need to do it numerous times.

Partner does not move while you feed, burp, and quiet baby.  You schlep down the passage, put baby down and return to bed.  Right now the warm-even breathing of your partner is making you so angry you want to smother him.  Instead you roll over, being sure to jab him with your elbow in his back and then you eventually doze off.  Only to be awoken 5 minutes later by baby who needs to feed…..

You repeat the cycle, each time hating your partner for the fact that he has undisturbed sleep.

Next morning you wake up and he is getting ready for work.  He smiles at you, all happy, as if he has let you sleep in – never mind that in total since 1am, you have had about 45 minutes sleep.  He gets his clean clothes on, kisses you on the forehead (because you have not brushed your teeth) and goes off to work.

And now your mild dislike has turned to hate.

It is actually his fault that this has all happened, and now he gets to go to work, talk to adults, surf Facebook and drink hot cups of coffee all day.  You hate him for every hour he is away.  The problem is when he drags his sorry arse in the door after work, you hate him for every hour he is home as well.

He has no idea what you go through, he does not realise that you have been crying for 6 hour straight.  He has no idea that you are so exhausted right now, you would swap places with a vagrant to get some sleep.

He has no idea that what is happening to you now does not gel with the picture you had in your head of this entire process. You love your baby – but right now, you really do not love being with him.

The right thing to say is that “this is the best thing in the world…” but maybe it isn’t.  Maybe it is really hard and maybe you are really struggling.  The thing you can’t understand is that no one has really told you how difficult it is going to be, and now you are really struggling.

Your partner does not understand, actually he has no clue what is going on. You are angry and upset and the person who is going to take the brunt of it is the poor sap who comes whistling through the front door at about 17h30 each day.

You start fighting with him because he goes to work.  You fight with him because he is at work.  You fight with him because he is at home.  You fight with him because he can’t change the baby the way you want him to do it.   You fight with him because he does not know which babygrower to use … well basically you fight with him because he exists (don’t even start with me about the fact that he has to breath so damn loud!).

Husband is starting to wonder if this having a baby was such a good idea, and at some point will make a statement of the sort.

This will be a bit like throwing gasoline on a fire, and you will unfortunately start saying some things you wish you had not said.  He is so annoyed as he does not know his wife anymore, and instead has this hormone soaked creature to deal with, so he will retaliate with something else, and you will have a come back which is akin to kicking him in the gonads.

And from there the situation will turn ugly.

But believe it or not  ….  you eventually start to get saner and realise that you (and him) are living through what feels like the apocalypse.  It does take a while before you realise that you and your partner are actually in this together.  You need to rely and lean on each other to get through this, rather than taking pot shots at each other as you run across the minefield.

You also start to wonder “why do couples who are in distress think having a baby is going to bring them closer?” when good sense tells us that a baby is the most strain you can subject on a relationship.

Don’t worry I wonder the same thing.

When my friends, who are young and in-love, have baby-showers I really want to give them vouchers for sessions of couple counseling.  Unfortunately decorum gets the better of me, and I buy them bibs and baby shoes like everyone else, and try not make them feel less invincible than they do right then.

Pole dancing and other pursuits ….

I’ve been running around with this thought in my head for a few weeks, and am struggling to put it in to words so that it make sense.

I saw this link recently which was a post about Toddlers and Tiara’s {excellent post} and it made me splutter in anger/frustration.

Not because it said anything that was not true, but because the video reminded me of how much I hate /abhor this show.

And how angry it makes me.

It brought up severe feelings.  It is not just this show – though the show is enough to push a mom over the edge, but it is because this culture is a symptom of something so much bigger.

I am not the best mom in the world.  I realise I often make some stupid parenting decisions, which I hope I learn from them as I go ahead.

Even with my rather limited IQ and parenting issues, I can see that spray tanning my child, and pimping them in a two piece on a stage might be questionable behaviour for any parent, even one with limited IQ.

Having my young daughter parade on stage in what is really a downsized version of an adult outfit, and mimic’ing adult behaviour is a not really a sign of a good parenting decision, no matter how big the trophy or how ridiculous the title

I have caught Toddlers and Tiara’s a few times and sit there and wonder what the hell these parents are thinking!  Seriously, what the freaking hell!

That being said, I look at the parents – even if you exclude their toddler who is clenching false teeth to give her the perfect smile, has hair poofed to an inch of it’s life, wearing more spray tan than “The Only way is Essex” and a wardrobe that would make the Jersey Shore single figure IQ cast jealous – and really seldom think they are stellar parents making fabulous parenting decisions.

I do tend to sit there and go “what the fuck?” and that is before I have seen the child.

I get how the mom will often think this is a great idea – moms get to do stupid things, often, that is  our right.   Surely a sane dad would think “there must be something wrong with my 4 year old daughter being waxed, primped, and posing on stage in a bikini and then sashaying about like she is a 20 year old?” and maybe put up his little fist and go “Hey, I prefer my daughter not to look like someone who appears on Hollywood Boulevard.”

The parents explain why they parade their children on a stage and promote these girls whose only “good attribute” is their external beauty or perceived beauty.  The most common reason is always about how good it is for the child/baby.

No one mentions how much discomfort/pain this child goes through to be plucked, pulled and painted to look like a doll.

No one comments on the behaviour which many of these girls exhibit which is rampant self-absorption and a skewed perception of reality.  Also they are encouraged to be DIVA’s demanding and rude, and of course the stuffing in of food high in sugar and caffeine to keep their energy going.

The entire show is hideous.  It reminds me of that audition on Bruno where they are trying to show how far a parent will go to get their child into an advertisement.

Auditioning for a children’s fashion shoot in Los Angeles, Bruno asks a group of showbusiness mothers a series of questions about what they would allow their child to do for the shoot.

“How would your daughter handle being dropped four-storeys?” he asks one, to which she replies: “I think she’d be a little scared at first, but she can do it.”

Bruno then reveals that the fashion shoot will involve one child dressed up as a Nazi officer pushing a wheelbarrow holding another young girl dressed as a Jew into a furnace.

One of the mothers auditioning her child says: “It sounds theatrical… as long as she gets the gig.”

I think as parents we all make, well, dodgy decision with our kids.  Then when given time to reflect realise we have been a bit dick-orientated and try our best to correct the behaviour moving forward, say, rather than entering them into the NEXT competition.

I did the photo competitions with Connor, and dragged him to a few hideous commercials.

The days were long, the work tedious and at the end of it all it had nothing to do with Connor.  It was all about me and my need for outside affirmation that my child was truly a beautiful child – because if he was pretty, then surely that made me a good parent (or a better parent)!

Eventually I realised that my need to win had nothing to do with Connor.  But all to do about me feeling that “he was the best looking child” and decided to not take him for further castings – he really hated them, and I was having to bribe and coax him to do them.

I cannot stand child based beauty competitions.

I blanch when I get a request to go and “LIKE” the link because someone’s child is on a list of 400 kids where clearly the competition is about how many “LIKES” they get which does not make them the best/most beautiful child, but who ever has the mom who can campaign the hardest.

The issue that I wish to raise at the moment – though not in the most eloquent manner – is girls – and how we are projecting them in public, and the stereotypes we are buying in to.

Not just small girls, teenage girls, and adult girls.

I cannot watch VH1 or MTV because besides the inane repetition of the most ridiculous lyrics to date, every girl is presented as either a p0le/lap dancing freak or a bikini clad, large sunglasss, and gloss lipped woman who drapes herself over a rather imbecile looking rap star/singer/recording who is lounging in a house/on a yacht that clearly is not theirs, saying something along the lines of “yoh-yoh-yoh.”

Fucker, please!!!

Every show I watch which features a girl/woman in any way has her dancing.  But she is dancing like a stripper or a lap dancer. For small denominations.

The girls all appear the same.  All aspire to be the same thing – part time prostitutes/full time strippers who sole purpose for being on earth is to be drooled on by boys.

That being said, what message are we, as moms, as grown women, sending to our daughters by attending pole dancing classes or by installing a pole at home?  When did learning to be a stripper and imitate moves found at Mavericks become a household mainstream activity?   I think there can be a convincing argument for great exercise, and wow, how it tones your thighs, but still what is it exactly you are learning to do?  And is it okay for your daughter of 5 to watch and learn to do with you?

Have you watched a 12 year old girl dance lately?

Have you watched a 16 year old girl dance?

It is enough to make you throw a bag over their head and run off and put them on an island somewhere so you can desensitize them to this media flooding in of a how a girl is meant to look and act.

Toddlers and Tiara’s is just another symptom of how f’ked up society has got and how children/girls are turned into sexual objects before they can spell Dr Seuss!

When did boys win?  When girls started doing pole dancing classes and called it exercise.

{this post is a bit of spluttering …. I still have not quite found a way to convert it into good english, but there we go}

Imitation is The Sincerest Form of Flattery ….. and so is straight {cut and paste}

I saw Diaries of a White Mother Raising a Black Child’s post …. I snorted all sorts of funny.  This is the type of post I wish I had written, and me trying to rewrite it would not do it justice in the least – I wish I had written it exactly as Melinda has …..

Here is the uber funny and sensationally gifted Melinda ….

What men never ever say…but would…I think!

We know kids say strange things every now and then and as a parent I find myself saying some crazy stuff too.

But every now and then I think how crazy it would be if a man ACTUALLY said:

Honey I love what you’re doing with the hair on your legs. I love running my fingers through it

Angel you look exhausted. Why not go lie down and I’ll cook, bath, feed and entertain the kiddies. Without calling you. At all

Hey there’s sports on all night but here’s the remote. I’ll watch reruns of Friends with you for as long as you want

When last did you go out and buy a few nice things with shoes to match? Go! Go! Get outta here you crazy goose. I don’t want to see you come home with less than 10 shopping bags

Use my car. I love the lived-in look your car has. Maybe you can do something similar with mine

Angel I really don’t feel like sex tonight. Can I just cuddle in your arms while you read a book

I know I snore. And it irritates me too

There is no way that that 20 year old is cuter than you. You’re my little love monkey

See you in about four hours. I’m taking the kids out to give you some peace and quiet!

There is NO way I’m letting you get up for the baby tonight. I’ll do it

Let me give you a massage. Shut the front door! No I don’t want sex as payback

Ugh! That blonde with those enormous boobs are so 1980s. Of course I prefer your grunge look. It’s so retro it’s cool!

You manage money so well. Here’s all of mine. Go and do with it what you will

Laugh out loud! I love that none of my socks match. Makes me look like an artiste

You really don’t have enough male friends. Why don’t you go to TeaseHers and find a few. We can have them over for a braai on the weekend

Oh! No electricity! Yes the most important football match of the century is on tonight but that doesn’t matter. Let’s sit on the couch and chat about our feelings. No, of course I don’t want to meet my pals at the Baron & Beaver

OMG! I need to get working on the kid’s party. I’ll call the venue, the party planner, get hold of a photographer, plan the food, the games and entertainment. All you need to do is arrive on the day

Love, you don’t have enough face creams or hair products in the bathroom. There’s loads of space for more

Of course you can use my razor

I love your bedtime outfit. No one else can rock stretched out holey sweat pants and socks like you do.

Please pop along and stalk her over at her blog!  Fabulous baubles come tumbling out of her lips — too funny to miss.

Why boys should not be allowed on Mommy Forums …..

I read an extract from a Mommalicious’ Mom’s Blog post this week.

To cut a very long story short, a journalist, Kevin Lancaster, had some less than generous things to say about Moms and their use of forums to assist them with baby health support.

{I personally quite like Kevin’s writing, but right now that might go down like a lead balloon on the Mommy community, so I best keep that comment to myself. Here is a recently written articles and I do tend to agree with his outlook on things parenthood related …. to a degree.}

I do not know Kevin Lancaster {Sunday Tribune Article} personally, so I am not going to comment on him, and what his short comings or strengths are in terms of parenting skills.

I am a registered user of Mommalicious’ Forum, but to be honest it never resonated with me.  I found it (at the time) less user-friendly than the Moomie Forum, so I forgot my user name and password and did not use the forum.

I have not been there in a very long time, and glancing at it now it is clear it has undergone several revamps and looks like a very funky place to be.  It enjoys a large, active and clearly enthusiastic community of moms who blog there, participate in the forums, and guest writers.

Again, I am not commenting on how good {or bad} Mommalicious is.

If you have never had a young baby, I do not think I can explain to you what a lonely time of your life it is.

It is probably the loneliest and bleakest time in your life.  Of course you cannot actually tell people that it is a bit crap.  You will need to tell everyone how wonderful motherhood/parenting is, unless you want to risk being voted off the island.

You think you are prepared for a baby – you have 9 months and change to get used to the idea.

You have people cheering you on – people throwing you baby showers, people wishing you well on Facebook, and books that show your baby’s size in relation to fruit.

You have friends offering to help where ever they can.  You have your husband/boyfriend/sperm donor talking about how “we” are pregnant.

It is possible to get drunk on the headiness of it all.

Having a baby (furnished from your loins or via alternate methods) is one of the loneliest (and most terrifying) experiences you will ever be lucky enough to enjoy.

You are suddenly responsible for this little being.  No matter how many books you have read {and I read a ton}, and how many children you have had {I have three} it is still an alarming/scary/frightening and intensely lonely experience.  You are constantly wondering what the hell to do and whether Medi Clinic has a returns policy.

Everyone appears so helpful and offering {usually useless} advise, but no one really seems to understand you or be listening to you.

Enter, from Stage Right, Forums.

You get to meet dozens/hundreds of moms who are going through almost exactly what you are.  They are scared, they may know more, some may know less, some are just total nutters.  But you get to speak to these women and they commiserate with you, and when needed cheer you on and they are there to lean on, and ask for advise.

You can talk about poo, about sex, about outings to the zoo, anything goes.  Somewhere in this new scary landscape you will find a few souls who you just click with.  Your days spent child rearing and nights crying in the bathroom will suddenly appear less scary.

You have found forum friends who you can talk to.

But ….. forums are not reality.  The information you are being given is advise that though given with the best intention is not gospel, or should be taken as medical advise.  I think that any user of a forum knows this — or I hope they do.  We all ask stupid questions, and we all need a wise mom to tell us what to do.  We also get imbeciles imparting old wives’ tales and questionable suggestions.

Forums have replaced villages to raise children.

If a mom ran to a doctor for every niggle that worried her, she would be there 8 times a day at a minimum.  Often a mom is over-reacting, and needs a sound board of sanity.  She can either pick up her phone and contact 6 of her friends or she can take the issue to a forum.  Same result.

I do think that Mr. Lancaster was being a bit flippant with his comment, but I also understood the point he was making.

Forums are where you raise an issue, test the waters with the responses, and once everyone has had their 10 cents worth you make a final decision as to what is best for you, your baby and your family.  Is there anywhere else in polite society where you can talk about the colour of your child’s faeces with such reckless abandon?

No.  Bless Forums and all those moms who give of their time, sanity and broadband to assist other moms.

I felt it was unfair for Mr Lancaster to “attack” Mommalicious, but again my guess is the colour or quantity of a child’s shit is not high on his list of things to worry about in his day.  And all the luckier he is for it.

If any of the moms on Mommalicious or Pampers or Moomie or all the other forums out there, tried to explain to the men in their lives why they feel so passionate about the forums, most men would not understand.  They would not get the allure and how you cannot understand the support and real friendship that develops in these forums.

And you know, they don’t have to.

Men sit and watch sport games together and then listen to two hours running discussion about the game, after the game.  This to them seems like a legitimate way to spend a Saturday afternoon.  Woman?  Not so much.

Mommalicious, take it on the chin and move on.  And thank goodness, again for Mommy Forums!

Bad Mommy Moments …. my comments

I am going to weigh in on this post that went up by Jess over at “From There to Hear”…

This is one of those posts where comments should have been closed a long time ago, but one often does not realise how big this snowball is going to be until it gains so much momentum that it crushes you, as you stand innocently sipping on your gin and tonic with a slice of lemon looking out at the scenery.

Clearly Anonymous really had a beef to settle, but let me leave their stuff over there in their land.

Jess listed some of her “deep and dark” mommy secrets, and I think it would not be so “catch your breath” unless it was so damn true.

There really was only one where I raised my eyebrow and went: “okay, that is not ideal …..yikes!” but overall I totally understood where she was coming from, and more importantly the tone, the essence of the blog post.

I think we all like to think we are perfect mothers, the reality is that we all cut corners for sanity/time constraints/the lure of lying down for just a minute, and some times well, just because we just do not feel like doing something.

I fake sleep often whilst my kids are screaming like they have lost a limb. I try to fake sleep more than Kennith as I figure if I lie there long enough he will get up.

Unfortunately he is faking the same thing, so we lie there both faking, until something happens when heavy breathing and limp limbs no longer cut the mustard.

I am well-known for my idea of a balance meal being a McDonalds Happy Meal with an Orange cooldrink.  I don’t know what is in the orange cooldrink, but I figure it looks healthier than the green one.

When my children were small, I would leave them in the shower for an hour.  So they get tired, are clean, can’t drown and then hopefully can go straight to bed.  On occasion I would also hand a yoghurt to them with a spoon and call it dinner.  No Mommy of the Year prizes being handed out there I can tell you.

The only reason my children get bathed and fed each day, is because I find it suits my sticking to a schedule.  The sooner they eat, the sooner they bath, the more likely I am able to get them in to bed, and then I can take a breath and congratulate myself on surviving another day.

I bath and feed them out of self-interest more than because I think it is good for them.

I love my children, and even like them most days.  But there is so much about being a mother that is so damn tedious.

But in this “HEY FKRS LOOK AT ME, LOOK AT ME!” time we live in, people are constantly crowing about what a fabulous time we are having as mothers.  Then you feel a bit shamed that clearly you are doing something wrong as you are not having as much fun as the other Facebook moms!  Shit must work on my Facebook Status updates.

I am hard-pressed to look excited when I am standing arguing with my kids over food they must eat.  Or trying to get Isabelle to unclench her mouth so I can get a teaspoon of noodles in.

Parenting often is about as much fun as douching yourself by accident with VIM.  Yes we love our kids, and we are so damn lucky and and and anchovies!

The idea of motherhood is often much nicer than the realities, the tedium, the pull-my-eyes-out boredom of the entire thing.  I mean seriously once you have done “where you, where you, where you?” for 15 minutes really, it is about time to well kill yourself.

The realities often require you digging out poo from under your nails, wondering at dinner with friends whether they can smell the milk vomit in your hair, and wishing wishing that maybe you could be involved in a minor car accident to get you just one night in hospital where you could sleep and pee alone!

Society dictates that Motherhood must appear fun.  Sublime.  That you are having the time of your freakn life.

We must make it seem so, else we risk appearing like bad or at the very least indifferent mothers.  It is very hard keeping your head up when you really want to hide in the bathroom so you can just get 15 minutes to yourself.

Jess listed a few things that she had, shall we say, let slide.  Please read her post, and I have added the main gist of each point and then my thoughts on each.  None are worth flogging her in the town centre about ….

Sterilising Items :  I stopped sterilising at under 6 weeks … before you go all dirty-nasty-environment on me, please be aware that Isabelle who might have had sterilised bottles until she was 5 weeks, is the least sick of my three children.  No paed, seldom sees our GP.

Nappy Changing :  I do think changing your child every 15 minutes is a waste of nappies, bum cream and patience.  If your child is uncomfortable in their nappy, they will tell you in no uncertain terms.  So what if you “forgot” “overlooked” a nappy change.  Big freaking hairy deal.

Purity instead of a 5 course meal : Oh heavens, who of us hasn’t pulled this one.  I still will throw a cut up apple and a container of yoghurt at my kids and call it dinner if I can get away with it.

Bathing : There was a time not too long ago when the idea of bathing once a week, even for a baby was not that ludicrous.  Based on how clean our general living environments are, I think a child could safely go unbathed for two weeks, and probably be a damn side cleaner than most babies live – quite healthily – in most 3rd world countries.

Nappy Changing : See above, I think though realistically I would be a bit shame faced to arrive at a nursery school with my child’s nappies weighing more than their school bag, but hey that is me – and maybe Jess had a bad night and a suicidal morning.

Hiding in the Bathroom : A girl after my own heart!  I still do this.

Administering medication : I do not think a TRUTHFUL mother exists who has not slipped their child some off the shelf medication when she feels one of them needs some sleep.  I think MANY mothers will crow about who they NEVER do this, but then there is reality.

Visiting people who lighten your load : This has got to be the best trick ever!!  I need to find friends like that.

I will confess there were a few of Jess’ points that I raised my eyebrow on and did not smile about as much as the others, but I took it in the tone of the post and the tone of your blog.

Stepping back and seeing it in the context it was presented.

Bloggers are not true-life documentary writers, and I think sometimes readers forget this.  Correction.  Usually readers do get this, but Trolls will always exist and lie there quietly until the day you say something mildly controversial and then they will have Child Line on speed dial.

Bloggers often write in a particular manner.

If you read my blog your perception might be that I am coked up on antidepressants all day and drinking wine from the bottle with a straw by 11h00 …. it is not far from the truth, but it is not the WHOLE truth.  Some where in this I do manage to be a fairly effective mother, and pull unicorns and rabbits out my arse on demand, and do a bit of work as well.

Bloggers write, we expose ourselves publically – and the downside to this, other than the very cool “hey you are so cool, high-five chick” is that there are people who disagree.

If you are going to write for the public, expect a public bitch slap from time to time – it happens.  If everyone loved what we wrote, I don’t think it would be as interesting.

I think Jess was brave to put up the post she did, but if you are going to fire off fireworks, you must expect the odd dog to bark and someone to complain to the SPCA.

But that is my take on it at any rate!

Harrassed Mom launches {Mommy Blogger Awards}

Laura over at Harrassed Mom has got tired of this sitting around crap  and waiting for someone to kick start a 2012 Mommy Blog Awards, she stood up and created her own.  Er, can you say ROCK STAR!?  Like a freakn SUPER STAR ….

Cripes, when I grow up I want to be like Harrassed Mom.  But between now and then I will just fall down in her shadow and wonder how the hell she does it, because right now I could not organised a box of doughnuts without getting myself worked up into a lather.

How it will work (RM > cut and pasted from Harrassed Mom):-

  • You, as the reader, nominate a Mom Blogger by sending me an email on why you feel she deserves to win.  I don’t really want an essay – just a few lines on why you enjoy her blog, what makes her special to you etc.
  • We will then narrow it down to 5 finalists – our decision will not be based on who got the most nominations but rather what was said about them (RM > do you NOT ADORE THAT IDEA??)
  • Once we have 5 finalists we will then put it to a vote and a winner will be chosen.
  • We will take nominations until the 10 August.
  • The finalists will be announced on the 13 August when voting opens and it will stay open until Friday the 17th August.
  • There will be a winner plus 2 “runners up”

The Prizes

There are some amazing ladies on board who have donated prizes.

The winner will receive,

The 2 runners up will each receive

Pretty awesome don’t you think? (RM >Yike a doodle, I do so think!)

The rules are simple.

  • The nominated blogger must be a mom.
  • She must blog at least twice a week.
  • She must be South African.
  • The blog must be a personal blog.

You can send all your nominations to

My mom reminded me ….

I was up in visiting my mom, stepfather and Sandbaai last week.

My mom reminded me of something I had completely forgotten about.

Years ago, I was in Standard 5, and I entered a writing competition.  I was 11 in Standard 5 – I turned 5 in Sub A, talk about having delayed puberty against my peers. Geez.

I think the competition was run  in a local newspaper, or The Argus, but I don’t really remember the details.

Basically I wrote about the fact that I did chores, and I loved my mom or something of that ilk.  I was 11, what did I know to write about?

The important detail is I won.  The sponsor was Dairybelle.  I received R300.00 or R500.00 in milk coupons – those plastic round disks that you used to exchange for Orange Juice or a Milk bottle.

Does anyone remember those plastic disks?  When I was younger milk or orange juice was delivered to your house in the morning in a glass bottle.  When you finished the juice/milk, you would put the bottle outside your front door, with a plastic disk in the bottle.

If the disk was white, the milk/juice man would leave a new bottle of milk, and if the disk was orange, he would leave an orange juice.  Fresh pulpy orange juice.  And you would reach out and pick up your bottles, outside your front door, and have them fresh for breakfast (or the milk was off if you got there late and it had stood in the morning sun).

Can you imagine fresh orange juice or milk outside your door – NOW – that no one steals?!  What an idea.

So there I was with a shit load of coupons, and I did not drink orange juice or milk – what is a girl to do?

My mom knew a guy, and that guy did drink orange juice and milk.  He was kind enough to take the disks off my hands, and give me the cash.  Back then R300.00 or R500.00 was a shit load of money.

I used the money (because now I was rolling in it) and I bought contact lenses!

I wore glasses than were as thick as the base of a 1.5 litre coke bottle.  I am like a minus 8 in one eye and a minus 8.4 in the other.  How blind is that you ask?  Get a labrador and a white stick blind – I am pretty blind.

I had been extremely self conscious about my glasses, and the opportunity to get contact lenses before I went to Standard Six was such a godsend.

Of course with contact lenses, one must get a cool hair cut which included short hair, a kuif (fringe) and a perm!!   All so bad, so very bad.  What ever my lenses redeemed, my near hair do shot out of the park.

Rocked 1985 like a rock star!!!!

The entire point of this post was to reminisce on my winning a writing competition as a child, which I had totally forgotten about and my mom had reminded me about this last weekend. Also on milk/orange juice disks.

I really hate stick figure families

Do you drive around and see cars with the stupid little “family” stickers on the back window?

A saw a comment on a website recently and thought it was apt: “I see those little white family stickers everywhere…nothing like letting the robbers/kidnappers/child molesters know exactly how many little boys and girls are at your home and whether or not you have a dog for protection or not…how stupid is that! Why not just send them an engraved invitation..”

I really find them quite naff.  I am not suggesting you get a butter knife and go outside and scrape them off your back window, you did not put them on for me, you put them on because you thought they were cool.

I think if I saw one or two of them then they would be novel, but the moment they are selling at every stationery store within a 10km radius is when you realise they are about as original as fuzzy dice.

I am so over the “dad” braaing and the “mom” shopping … I really do not like them.  I don’t hate them, but I think they are a bit naff.  Like mullets are very naff, and home perms are very naff — so that gives you a loose scale of comparison.

Other things I find make me throw up in my mouth a little bit are:

  1. Women who call their husbands “hubbie” – is this so the husband can call them “wifie?”  The phrase that usually tips me over the edge is “Let me just check with my Hubby…” For goodness sake get a vocabulary, or speak like an adult.
  2. When a pregnant person refers to themselves as being preggies or preggers …. really does it take too long to say “pregnant” ?
  3. LOL – I do think that LOL is sort of over.  It has been done, enough – I am at the point where I see a LOL and a cringe a little.  I perceive it a bit like farting in public.  Okay by accident, but if you start doing it to punctuate sentences then your social skills need some serious attention.  Let’s try and use all our consonants and vowels next time.
  4. Personalised baby on board stickers – please shoot me now.  I seriously want to run up to people who think that their baby is the “one true ruler of the universe” and smack them.  Hard.  With my Pick ‘n Pay grocery bag.
  5. We all know how I feel about smiley face icons – or sad faced icons ….. stop, stop, stop using them for the love of gd!!
  6. People who use the phrase “breast is best” and stand there and sing about how wonderful a bonding experience breast feeding is.  Usually oblivious to another mom who is  standing nearby who has been through hell and back trying to breast feed, and it did not turn out to be “best”.  Breast is great, but it is not the only viable option, and lauding your stupid tag line over mothers who have struggled makes them feel pretty shit.  Do you think tweaking the “breast feeding is best” mom’s nipples until they bleed would be too kind a gesture?
  7. People who stop their entire lives when they have a baby.  Everything is about “their angel” sleep time, or nap time, or bath time or what ever the fk time. Get a life.  People have children on the way to the field that they plough, and then continue to plough the field.  Get a grip, get a life, the world he does not stop because you have ejected a human being from your vagina.
  8. Moms who are constantly crooning about how wonderful thier child is, and special and just needs us to coo along.  Most times these kids are dead average, and in a sweet way, but the mom feels she must gloat when her child brings home an attendance certificate.  When did we become so enamoured by mediocrity – by telling our kids they are so fkn wonderful all the time, for every little thing, does not only build thier self esteem, it also starts to give them an unreal perception of reality.

Okay that is my rant – it really was just aimed at those stupid stick people stickers, but then got it’s own momentum.

You know how it is.

{Like Reluctant Mom, even just a little, vote over at Kidz World Blogger Awards – Voting closes on the 30th June 2012, then it is all over as the Fat Lady is known to say….}

Is your husband cheating on you?

Oh Gwen …….I am not sure exactly where to start.  But that being said one must High Five “Yer Bay” for that response.

{Like Reluctant Mom, even just a little, please pop along and vote over at Kidz World Blogger Awards – Vote every day, as many times as you can click …. easy peasy}