Candy sent me {snort laugh} … bless Candy!

Candy sent Kennith a link to “My Imaginary Well-Dressed Toddler Daughter” by Tiffany Beveridge via


I looked at it, and I thought okay, little bit amusing but I don’t get it.

I did sort of glance at it.

Pinterest used to be an obsession now I think if I see one more person pin the shit out of their wedding or their upcoming kids party I might seriously start to question the reason to continue living.

Or, just unfollow them.

Kennith: “Did you get the link I sent you? Candy said you would find it really funny.”

Me: “Huh – huh… {with a slightly disinterested tone}”

Kennith: “Did you read the comments?”

Me: “No…”

Kennith: “That’s the really funny part – it is all about her “imaginary” daughter Quinoa….”

Me: “You had me at imaginary.  Quinoa you reeled me in.  Comments, there were comments??”

I sat and read it this evening.  Shit-balls it is funny.

Pinterest I am sorry I decided to hate you for so long. It wasn’t you, it was just the shit I was following.

Thank you Candy, you get the award for “Making Reluctant Mom Smile” – unfortunately there is no cash prize, and fk-all glory, but there we go, you win.  Yay for you.  Even better for me.

*wild hand-clapping before I lean over to get another sip of my wine*

I am so jealous I did not create an imaginary daughter first.  I am beyond myself jealous that someone took the name Quinoa which means I might have to settle for Browne Rhys (I know, now I want a 4th child so I can call him or her Browne Rhys …. I wonder if I could convince Priv it is a good idea of a baby….. thinking thinking).

Okay, so click along and check it out on Pinterest – these are a few of my favourites on Q.








{winner 1}


{winner 2}


You can happily follow this board on Pinterest, best two hours of your life!

Party Planning step one ….. decide on a party theme …..

I know that “rite of passage” to mommy-hood is being able to pinterest the crap out of your child’s upcoming/planned/anticipated birthday party.

I think I have commented before that I am a bit less excited about my own children’s birthday parties, because they overwhelm me so much.

I get stressed right at the planning stage.  By the time we move to the RSVP’s and the parents who do not respond by the indicated date, I am about ready to throw back 10 Zolofts and wonder about the sanity of it all!!

Birthday parties are not happy occasions for me.  They are stressful and I usually just want to count 1-Mississippi, 2-Mississippi, 3-Mississipp until it is all over.

I have no idea how moms who throw parties manage to look so composed and that they are enjoying it all.  Eleven years in, and countless parties, and I still find a pap smear more enjoyable.

Connor has his birthday in December, so he is almost guaranteed hot and sunny weather.  Except on the dates where we plan an outdoor party that is weather dependent  then sure as nuts are sweaty, it will rain or be windy, as it has for the last three years – except the movie party, because on that day it was sunny and 36 degrees.

I have passed the torch of  “Connor’s birthday parties” to Kennith and he has been organising these for the last three years.  Though granted he forgot to get a cake last year, but let’s not hold that against him.

June is the birthday month for the girls. Sadly Isabelle has never actually had a birthday party – she is overshadowed totally by her sister every year without fail.  This year will be no exception.

I was planning on using an indoor venue for Georgia’s party this year, but she is turning 8, and she is at that age where indoor venues are a bit young for her.

I then thought I would look at a Pamper Party for her, but nothing I have seen fills me with much hope.  To be honest two of the potential party places never got back to me, so I am not exactly filled with hope and exaltation when we can barely get out of the starting gates.

Third plan was to have her birthday party at the Aquarium, and do a mermaid party.  But if you have 15 kids, it might just be cheaper to buy a live shark and put him in your pool and then the kids can throw fish at him.

Right now we are back at the idea of having a home party.

Georgia is at the age where the kids are drop off and go.   It is great on so many levels.  I do not have to cater for the parents, and  to this also means a reduction in awkward small talk. Right now I just need to prepare to say “hi there, lovely, wonderful, see you at about 16h00 okay?”

The rest of the time at least the only social awkwardness is me and a room full of eight year olds.  But if it is a late afternoon party, then at least I can drink wine, and that sometimes helps.

I had to first explain to Georgia that we were no longer doing the mermaid party.  I had hyped it up a bit to sell her on the idea. That was a bit of a challenge and an exercise in disappointing a seven-year old, but now she seems to be on board with my new idea.  More or less.

My new party plan (for this week, check in at the end of March for a revised new plan) is that we will throw a “Born to be an Artist” party.

Kids will do canvases and painting and stuff ….. I have no idea yet, but that is the rough overall picture at the moment, and that is pretty much all I have got.

I am thinking of painting a portion of the floor in the garage with chalk paint and the kids can draw on it.  I am thinking we can “frame” one wall in the garage and the kids can paint that too.  The options are endless, as long as it stays in the garage!

I am off to pinterest as soon as I finish this post.

Looking For A New Creative Director ….

Nothing to do with anythng, but I saw this and thought it was really clever …. it’s a job advert for a Creative Director – London-based digital agency Work Club are looking for a new CD.

The company has put together a creative job listing on Pinterest.   Clever people over there.

You need to …

Pinterest has the ability to make me smile … almost every time I stop by … today was no exception.

Must remember this comeback …


Pinterest …. why are thou … I don’t know, but I truly love you ….

I like to stare at stuff.

I do.

I love sitting, drinking tea and just staring at people.

Sometimes I stare into space.

Who am I kidding?  I stare into space a great deal.

It is not totally zombie-staring.  My brain is in full function and is busy concocting plans, trying to find the quickest way to get from point A and point B, and I sort of like that-just-sitting-state.  Well that is the way I like to excuse it at any rate.

I am not sure how or why came into being.  I am not clear who sits in the background and hosts this lot.

<<yes I could google the background.  but I prefer not to as I like the magic it is>>

I am so in loved with pinterest it is frightening.  Basically Facebook can bugger off in to the sunset for all I care, I am quite happy to sit and stare at pininterest.

There is something about the site that makes me feel a bit happier.  It makes me feel inspired.  It makes me feel that I too can crochet a fabulous outfit, and do my hair with panaché.  I get an injection of creativity each day.

Granted I have done nothing on my “stuff I would like to do” but I like that I smile at all this random stuff.

I have not figured out how to actually pin stuff.  I have people “following” me who must be filled with a sense of disappointment, as I have yet to pin anything.

But I know how to stare and drool a bit and have been doing that quite successfully for about 8 days now.

This without a doubt has been my favourite thing I saw on

I have no idea whether it is true or not.  But I know I do love chickens.  And this is just the kind of thing that would happen in houise (I snort laughed at this one):

Laughing so hard Im crying….

“This morning I had a fight with Victor about towels. I can’t tell you the details because it wasn’t interesting enough to document at the time, but it was basically me telling Victor I needed to buy new bath towels, and Victor insisting that I NOT buy towels because I “just bought new towels“.

Then I pointed out that the last towels I’d bought were hot pink beach towels, and he was all “EXACTLY” and then I hit my head against the wall for an hour.

Then Laura came to pick me up so we could go to the discount outlet together, and as Victor gave me a kiss goodbye he lovingly whispered, “You are not allowed to bring any more goddam towels in this house or I will strangle you“.

And that was exactly what I was still echoing through my head an hour later, when Laura and I stopped our shopping carts and stared up in confused, silent awe at a display of enormous metal chickens, made from rusted oil drums.

Laura:  I think you need one of those.

me:  You’re joking, but they’re kind of horrifically awesome.

Laura: I’m not joking. We need to buy you one.

me:  The 5-foot tall one was $300, marked down to $100.  That’s like, $200 worth of chicken for free.

Laura:  You’d be crazy not to buy that.  I mean, look at it. IT’S FULL OF WHIMSY.    me:  Victor’d be pissed.

Laura:  Yup.

me:  But on the plus side?  It’s not towels.

Laura:  Yup.

me:  We will name him Henry.  Or Charlie.  Or O’Shannesy.

Laura:  Or Beyoncé.

me:  Or Beyoncé. Yes.  And when our friends are sad we can leave him at their front door to cheer them up.

Laura:  Exactly. It’ll be like, “You thought *yesterday* was bad?  Well, now you have a enormous metal chicken to deal with.  Perspective.  Now you have it.”

Then we flagged down a salesman, and we were all “What can you tell us about these chickens?”, as if we were in an art gallery, and not in a store that specializes in last years’ bathmats.

He didn’t know anything about them, but he said that they’d only only sold one and it was to a really drunk lady, and then Laura and I were all “SOLD.  All this chicken belongs to us now.”    Insert-inappropriate-cock-joke-here.

So he loaded it onto a trolley, but Beyoncé was surprisingly unstable, and the giant 5 foot metal chicken crashed over onto the floor.

And Laura and I were all “CHICKEN DOWN!  CLEAN-UP IN AISLE 3″ but he didn’t laugh.

Then the manager came to see what was causing all the commotion, and that’s when he found the very-conservative salesman unhappily struggling to right an enthusiastically pointy chicken which was almost as tall as he was.

The salesman was having a hard time, and he told everyone to stand back “because this chicken will cut you“, and at first I thought he meant it as a threat, like “That chicken has a shiv”, but turns out he just meant that all the chickens’ ends were sharp and rusty.

It was awesome, and Laura and I agreed that even if we got tetanus, this chicken had already paid for himself even before we got it in her truck.

Then we got to my house and quietly snuck the chicken up to my front door, rang the doorbell, and hid around the corner.

Knock-knock, motherfucker.

Victor opened the door and looked at the chicken in stunned silence for about 3 seconds.  Then he sighed, closed the door and walked away.

Laura:  What the fuck?  That’s it?  That’s the only reaction we get?

me:  That’s it. He’s a hard man to rattle.

Victor was surprisingly pissed that I’d “wasted money” on an enormous chicken, because apparently he couldn’t appreciate the hysterical value of a 5 foot chicken ringing the doorbell.

Then I said, “Well, at least it’s not towels” and apparently that was the wrong thing to say because that’s when Victor screamed and stormed off, but I knew he was locked in his office because I could hear him punching things in there.

Then I yelled through his door, “It’s an anniversary gift for you, asshole.

Two whole weeks early.


Then he yelled that he wanted it gone, but I couldn’t move it myself, so instead I said okay and went to watch tv.

Then when the UPS guy came I hid, but he was all “Dude.  Nice chicken” and Victor yelled, “IT IS NOT A NICE CHICKEN”.

Which was probably very confusing to the UPS guy, who was just trying to be polite, Victor.

Victor seemed more disgruntled than usual, so I finally dragged the chicken into the backyard and wedged it into a clump of trees so that it could scare the snakes away.

Then I came in and Victor angrily pulled me into his office so that I could see that I’d stationed Beyoncé directly in front of his only window.

And I was all “Exactly. YOU’RE WELCOME.”  I told him that he could move Beyoncé if he wanted to, but he totally hasn’t.

Probably because of all of the giant rocks I piled on Beyonce’s feet to dissuade burglars.

Or possibly because Beyoncé is growing on him.

Still, I can’t help but think that we wouldn’t even be having this argument if Beyoncé was towels.

Honestly, this whole chicken is really a lesson in picking your battles more carefully.

Plus, he’s awesome and I can’t stop giggling every time I look at him.  Beyoncé, that is.

Best. 15th anniversary. ever.