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!

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?