What's in a number?

Mathematics has never been my forte. When people start talking numbers at me, my eyes glaze over and I furiously start to scramble for a page-turner in the conversation.

But strangely enough, numbers seem to haunt me, particularly in relation to the family unit.

People astound me that they feel they have the right to tell you how many times you should procreate. If I had a dollar for every time I have heard…’so when is the next one coming along…must be time to have another baby…you can’t just have the one…’

Unless I have sought your professional medical opinion and you are equally qualified to give it – I see little value in these opinions, offered all to readily and unsolicited.

I have heard all the reasons why you should never have an ‘only child’.  Random people feel it is their purpose in life to warn you against your erroneous ways: always spoilt; can’t socialise with others; can’t share; have behavioural issues; selfish…the list goes on.

Well, I have started a list of my own, based on actual research, as opposed to anecdotes, personal experience and old wives’ tales.

Only children:

• are as well adjusted as their peers with siblings
• have higher self-esteem
• have higher IQs
• have good language skills and
• are more likely to be strongly independent.

As Michael Grose declares in his book, “Why First Borns Rule the World and Last Borns Want to Change It”,

If self-esteem and school achievement levels are used as a barometer of a healthy, well-adjusted and desirable childhood then most parents would stop at one.

Nearly one in five children are ‘only children’ and this statistic is likely to increase with the parallel pressures of finances, career, maternal age and care.

I recently came across this…

The English words 'only child' might sound as if there are not enough children. The French words for only child - 'un enfant unique' and the Italian 'un filio unico' mean that the child is special - only one of a kind!

…which I have adopted.  Our precious little one is most definitely an 'un enfant unique.'

Numbers never enter the equation.

Five ways to diffuse the terrible twos!

Firstly, can I say that who ever coined the phrase 'terrible twos' obviously had one that was so terrible that it never made it to three.  After sailing through the twos with minimal backwash, I was rudely awakened by something nearing a head injury by the time three loomed.

Freud would say the short one is in the anal stage; Piaget would consider her preoperational; Erikson would declare a conflict between autonomy versus shame and doubt. Me…well, I would just say she is confused.

The confusion stage appears to be emanating from a lack of clarity around who is actually in charge.  Clearly in my confused state of mind, I am under the misunderstanding that I am in charge. And just as clearly, she is under another misunderstanding that by the time one reaches the ripe old age of three that she is.

I have had to consider some strategies lately to try and survive this battle of wits.

Here are the top 5 toddler diffusers:

1.     Choices – limited to two. Just make sure that you are happy with your short one doing either choice.  Gives them a sense of control, while you are in fact retaining it all.  Gotta love that gig!

2.     Appeal to their ego – being that this age is egocentric you can’t go wrong here.

3.     Humour – someone once said that the precursor of the mirror is the mother’s face so…mirror their behaviour. Make them see how ridiculous they look thrashing around on the ground, screaming ‘I hate you, you’re mean.’ Perhaps not a recommended strategy in the middle of the small goods section in Coles, unless of course you have no shame.

4.     Try reasoning with a literal being – this is always cause for a good laugh and instant diffusion. Explaining potential consequences for one’s actions to a child who is developmentally unable to infer usually results in further confusion; but an entertaining conversation nonetheless.

5.     And if all else fails - become your own mother…hear yourself saying those expressions you swore you would never say…

a.    Just wait until your father gets home  or

b.    Do that again and I’ll (insert own preferred consequence)

The short one said to me just the other day, ‘Mummy, my eyes keep leaking.’ And she’s right. We have probably had our fair share of crying lately attributed to holiday season tiredness, frustration, excitement, disappointment and anticipation.

So the next time you find your face springing a leak, grab that repair kit and give them a big hug.

Happy New Year xx

Show time

There comes a point in most people's lives when they first experience the cinematic surround sound of a movie theatre. From the days of old with the piano player in the pit, to the 'talkies', to the full on sensory assaulting experience that it is today, it has almost become a rite of passage. 

For some weeks now, the short one has been enamoured with the movie poster littered all over town of an oversized Puss in Boots. Being that it is the holiday season, and apparently that is what you do, Team O'Connor thought they might as well check it out. Probably not our first choice of movie, being that we haven't seen inside a movie theatre in three years, but we thought a safe option. 


Whilst the short one has ventured to the movies before with dad, all they have managed to see was the foyer. Bright lights, Dolby surround, darkened rooms all appeared a little too overwhelming. With this firmly in the back of our minds we checked out the cinema's return policy. Ten minutes of the flick, not your cup of tea? Guaranteed money back. Ten minutes grace we had... 

But we need not have worried. Short one sailed through the viewing, peppered with a few tears in the sad bits, smiles in the funny bits, and a bowel motion three quarters of the way through... Got to love toddlers and movies!

A journey is best measured in friends, not miles.

Tim Cahill

Five thousand.  That seems quite a lot.

Apparently it is the largest isogrammic number in the English language. As of today, it is also the number of hits this blog has attracted since its inception.

What started out over 12 months ago as a travel journal has morphed into something resembling a part-time soapbox, a philosopher’s muse, a journey of discovery.

Thanks everyone for being a part of that journey. I hope you have enjoyed the ride.

Complacency is the curse of the underprepared

Oscar Wilde once famously declared that work is the curse of the drinking class. How true that is during the festive season!  A time when overindulgence is par for the course and work interferes in having a good time.

For the first time in my working career, I will be working over Christmas, only pausing for breath on the public holidays. So with this restriction in mind, I thought it a good idea to have 15 people over for a Christmas dinner party, have all the Christmas shopping done by the first week in December, meet incredibly ridiculous timelines at work, and launch the family into another jet-setting holiday.

Yes, that is right.  Twelve months ago, as this blog will attest, we embarked on our European adventure with a travelling toddler in tow.  I once famously declared that I was an experienced single traveller, yet an apprentice baby traveller.  You would have thought that I would have learnt my lesson. This time round though, I am feeling far more confident, perhaps too much so…or is it just a case of I haven’t had time to think about it!

In less than two weeks, our little family will be getting on another plane and heading off into the sunset.  And…I have planned nothing!

Things are a little different for this trip though.  The short one is over that magic age of two years, entitling her to her own seat and ensuring more revenue for strike-plagued QANTAS; we are only flying for 2 ½ hours as opposed to 22 ½ hours; we won’t be encountering language difficulties; we will be using the same currency; and we have built in babysitters at the other end.

So…I think I deserve to be somewhat complacent…now where did I put that child?

The awakening of awareness

When do children first begin to be aware of life as it exists around them? 
When do egocentricities make way for others? 
When do 'others' matter? 
When the motivation is self... Ironic in a sense. 


The short one has really begun to have a deeper understanding of family relationships, friends and story book characters recently. She is beginning to make sense of who's who in the zoo of those that makes up our extended family. 


She is discerning of those with whom she interacts. She can role play characters from favourite tales in great dramatic stances.  She can tell from 40 paces that any hirsute overweight guy dressed in red would in fact be Santa Claus. 


Whilst we haven't focused on this Yuletide  novelty,  she appears to be a  festive phenomena. 


Is it the surreptitious power of advertising and marketing or is it purely driven by the motivation of self? 


I have no idea - but what I do know is the sheer joy and delight in her eyes when she comes across a Christmas display.  Children do make Christmas all that more special. 


Makes you wonder what Piaget and Erikson would have thought!

Cherry blossoms

Some things in life are inevitable…the sun coming up and the sun going down. What happens in between is life. 

Inevitably, with life comes loss.

A sense of helplessness and sorrow; a sense of misery and pain.

A sense of how can I ever be the same again?

The truth is you won’t.

Loss defines us, sculpts us, moulds us.

It makes us what we are today.

But that doesn’t make it any easier…

Family and friends plant a seed in your heart. Over time the seed grows, until such a time as your memories of those lost help it blossom.  Cherish each and every day with loved ones and let your memories flourish after they have gone.

The future belongs to those who believe in the beauty of their dreams

Quote by Eleanor Roosevelt


It seems that one morning I woke up to find myself the parent of a walking, talking, independence-exerting toddler. I don't know what happened between delivery and now but it appears to have passed me by. One day I was in charge of what she was wearing, eating, doing - now she's telling me that she wants to wear that pretty dress and that these shoes match...that she'll have fish and chips for dinner, with a slice of lemon no less and that she would prefer to do some collage and glueing at this point in time. 


I am beginning to feel obsolete in this relationship.

I suppose that is a symptom of a parenting style that promotes independence, curiosity, a love for learning and a strong identity...leading me to the conclusion that I only have myself to blame. I firmly believe that parenting is genetic.  The blue print of my own chromosomes, laid down all those years ago, echo in my conscience. Don't be afraid to have dreams, values and convictions. But more importantly, believe in them.


It did bring a wry smile to my face though, the day I heard Paul mumble under his breathe while shaking his head and walking away,  'I married a bloody independent woman, now I've bred one'...but you know what...he wouldn't have it any other way!

New Pastures

There comes a point in your life, where you come to the realisation that maybe…just maybe, there is something more.

I couldn’t want for anything more; I consider myself blessed with family and friends.  But maybe…just maybe there is something more.

Untapped talent…

Undiscovered genius…

Unheard of fortes…

Untouched ability…

Unbelievable modesty...

Or maybe…just maybe, I am having a lend of myself.

Understandably, with running a household, rearing a toddler, managing a husband, holding down a part time job (translates – full time job), writing part time and reviewing part time, I have ample time to take on more.

In a moment of crystallised idiocy, I actually considered that I could be a writer as well.  Perhaps these musings may actually be of interest to someone else. Clearly that someone else would have little in the way of a life, but happy to afford a little time to these words.

I submitted my first article recently to a magazine for editorial consideration.  I steeled myself for the inevitable writer’s rejection slip.  I am not under any false pretence in this regard.  I already have a plan.  I am going to collect my rejection slips over time and wallpaper my library with them.  A tapestry of knock backs. My ultimate goal – because as a writer I think it is important to have goals – is to get rejected from all of the major publishing houses. Unfortunately my well considered plan has already come undone.  They loved my article and want to publish it.

Mathilda's Magazine

In sickness and in health

When Paul and I got married we wrote our own vows, and from memory I wasn’t big on the ‘in sickness and in health’ notion.  I am more of the suffer-in-silence type. You’re sick? Well, build-a-bridge-and-get-over-it type.

Clearly, I wasn’t thinking of off-spring at that stage.  By their very nature, babies are fairly dependent beings.  You pretty much have to do everything for them.  Don’t get me wrong, I sort of guessed that before ours came along. I had even come to grips with nappy changes that assaulted even the most hardy of olfactory systems.  But what I wasn’t counting on was that other bodily fluid, snot.

What is it with snot? It seems to haunt me. For 14 years I worked in a job that seemed to have an unnatural preoccupation with the stuff. We would sit in clinical meetings for hours discussing the colour, the volume and the consistency of other people’s snot.  At times the discussions even became quite animated, and all the while we ate our lunch.  At one stage of my career, I even wrote a children’s picture book which had a central theme of - you guessed it, snot!

So, as I was saying, what is it with snot?

Despite having moved on from that job, I still seem to be surrounded by the omnipresent fluid.  This week, the short one has taken on the role of patient; while I have been a little less so.  I am guessing that if her nose was a tap and a plumber saw it, he would be madly trying to fit a new washer.  I ask you, how can someone so small produce so much fluid?

Call it what you will – mucus, boogers, phlegm, nasal discharge - snot is all encompassing and unrelenting, regardless of its moniker.  Surely it’s been around since the early stages of homo sapien development, so…why hasn’t anyone come up with a fluid retardant? Surely it can’t be that difficult!