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!

Holier than thou...

Annually, Easter and Christmas are celebrated universally around the world, yet they are Christian feasts.  A couple of times a year, people come together, regardless of race, religion or conviction to celebrate the holy public holiday.


Being raised a Christian, I feel I should know about these things, but through various lifestyle choices, I have long let my Catholic membership lapse.  It is times like these though, that I do consider the bigger picture... and come up with a whole lot of nothing.


What does chocolate have to do with Easter?
Why do we exchange gifts on Easter Sunday?
What do rabbits have to do with Easter?  And since when do they lay eggs?
Why do we eat fish on Good Friday?  And what's 'Good' about it anyway?


All very valid questions - and ones that I will no doubt be hearing from the short one in time to come.


All in good time though, and hopefully by then I will have some semblance of a reasonable response.  Until such time, I am all for promulgating the Easter Bunny and partaking in the excesses of Easter.  And while I'm at it, I won't say no to a couple of public holidays!

Short One's Easter Tree

Snooze button

There comes a point in every child’s life when they progress from a cot to a bed.  Some would see it as a rite of passage, others a form of nocturnal torture. Me, I’m leaning towards the latter.

We have arrived at that point in the road with the short one, probably at greater speed than initially anticipated, but who ever said children were predictable, clearly didn’t have them.

The short one is now enjoying her evening reclines in a side-free toddler bed.  This decision was made hastily following the short one’s curiosity leading her to impersonate a contortioning projectile from the cot confines.  A decision, she may argue, she is all good with, but one that I must admit I am not ready for, and perhaps won’t be until she reaches teenage years. 

I long for the days when pre-dawn awakenings are not an attractive prospect.  

I long for the days when upon awakening and quietly tiptoeing down to our bedside that she realises that it is best for everyone’s wellbeing to leave a sleeping parent lie.

Whilst the bed concept is a safer option at this stage of her career, it may inadvertently lead to unsafe options. Having your face massaged with all the gentleness of a sledge hammer before the sun has even shown up could lead to involuntary actions not perceived as overly encouraging. 

We are now considering our options for enclosing said toddler bed.  Our best option so far is turning it into a hot house; whilst the perfect answer to prevent escape, it will also assist with the acceleration of growth and development towards teenage years when sleep problems are quite the reverse.

Now where is that snooze button?

April Fools' Day

...a day dedicated to people with too much time on their hands.  April 1 each year seems to bring out all of those closet stand up comedians – the ones who wouldn’t last a beer in Edinburgh.

One of these said funny people thought it was a blast to tweet today that the well-loved and much treasured ABC Play School program was ending production, after 45 years.

One could argue that tweeting such slanderous comments was bordering on complete irresponsibility.  It is outrageous. Where is the accountability, I ask you? Thousands of under 5 year olds and their stay at home parents suffered a raft of conditions today including severe depression, anxiety attacks, nausea, apoplexy, inconsolable crying, anger…all to be told at midday that it was all a bit of a hoot!

Hoot?  Hoot?

This person needs to seriously research what is the definition of funny. Traumatising young children does not fall into the category of funny.

The Short One does not take kindly to being the brunt of some cruel and vexatious rumour involving her nearest and dearest Big Ted, Jemima, Humpty and Little Ted.  

Look, I wouldn’t take her on – so why this jumped up journo thinks she can I have no idea!

The Tooth Fairy

When one starts writing about the joys of mothering definite themes begin to emerge.  Looking back over various posts I encounter repeated references to things such as sleep (or lack thereof), toilets (Freud, perhaps, would have something to say about this one), nappies (please refer to previous reference), routine (and trying to stick to one) and sleep (or lack thereof) – or did I mention that one?

Another one can now be added to the list…teeth. 

Why is it that these little eruptions cause so much pain for the grown ups – forget the kids!  I mean, they give pain on arrival, mostly due to having to put up with cranky, overtired, snotty short ones – and then follows the financial pain on their removal.  I have heard from some quarters that some parents are forking out near on a mortgage repayment when masquerading as the ‘tooth fairy’.

After having successfully subsidised my dentist’s extended family through private schools, property portfolio development and annual overseas holidays, I know all too well the pecuniary pain one can endure due to teeth. I can tell you right now, that this generosity will not be extended to my own flesh and blood.

In my day, you were lucky to get 20 cents and I think that was inversely proportionate to the years of pain that my parents suffered – all due to teeth!

Don't cry because it's over. Smile because it happened.

I woke this morning to grey skies, gentle rain and a sense of sadness.  Today a dear friend was saying her final farewell to her father.  After enduring a long hard-fought battle, a loving family was saying their last goodbyes.

Love is all encompassing and with love comes strength; the strength to get back up again when you are down.  You want to reach out, you want to help, you want to make things better.  That sense of helplessness at times of sorrow is all pervading.

Sadly, loss is part of life.  With any life inevitably comes a sense of loss.

Remember the good, recall the laughs, reminisce the love…

Don’t cry because it is over…smile because it happened.

New Zealand earthquake

Our southern cousins have yet again stared utter devastation in the face. Christchurch has suffered immeasurable damage and destruction with another earthquake this week.  Incredible scenes fill our TV screens as we come to comprehend that yet again Mother Nature has been scorned. 

It seems that no one has been left untouched.  Everyone you speak with knows someone who has been affected. Once a beautiful city, now lying in ruins.  But phoenix-like, they are determined to rise from the ashes and rebuild in memory of those who have lost their lives.

Once again, please find it in your heart and deep in your pockets to reach out and give a helping hand.  Donations can be made through Red Cross.

As time goes by...

Time is an abstract concept…one that ironically takes time to come to grips with…yet, when we do, it seems to speed up and slip us by.

Recently, we have been working with the short one teaching her how to answer simple questions about herself.  Questions like: What is your name? How old are you? Where do you live?

We can proudly say that she has it all over questions 1 and 3.  Question 2 still needs a little work though.  Being that it was the-slightly-less height-challenged one’s birthday recently we appropriately made a fuss over turning 2.  She seems to have that notion, it is just the qualifier that we seem to be struggling with…you see, she insists on being 2 minutes! And there is no telling her otherwise.

So for now, 2 minutes she is – not unlike a packet of noodles, slightly less time then it took for Madonna to save the world and slightly more time then it takes to become a manager.