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Important Work Phone Call

I called my friend in another office to ask her a very important grammar question, because you don’t want internal emails to Head Office to go out without proofing them first.  That’s just unprofessional, People!  And I’m all about looking professional.  That’s why I’m the boss.  No really.

“Okay.  Important Question.  You know what a stickler I am for grammar rules.  Do you think prostitutey has an E in it or just a Y?”

“Ummmm… That’s one of those words I have to see written down.  Gimme a sec. <scribes silently>  It definitely has an E in it.”

“Yeah, cause you only drop the E when you add ING, not when you add Y.”

“Yeah.  And IE just looks funny. <starts giggling>  You need to write that down.  Look at Prostitutie with an IE written down.  Are you doing it?”

“Yeah?  It looks wrong.  Its definitely an EY.”

“No but with an IE it looks all cute.  Like it might be a lip gloss flavour.”

“Eewww Noone wants lip gloss that salty and white.”

“Nooooo.  Like Lip Smackers Prostitutie Fruity.  I’d buy that.  It sounds delicious and  fun.”

<disolves into laughter>

And while I’m sure that prostitutes and flavour derivatives thereof are both delicious* and fun, I am not so sure that it is time for them to be on the supermarket shelves.

*in a completely non-cannibalistic way.  Please don’t eat people. Well, do.  But only in the behind-closed-doors kind of way.  But now I think about it, cannibals probably don’t leave the front door open when they are cooking dinner.  No one wants to see you adding paprika to your great Aunt Ruth who ended up in your favourite goulash recipe because she gave you yet another ugly christmas sweater.  I think I’ve put too much thought in to this already.  So in summation:  Eating people is only for sexy times.  Not for dinner times.  This is an explicit disclaimer to absolve myself of any involvement or responsibility in your freaky and completely illegal canabal parties.

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Sloth For Husband Exchange Program. This Should be a Thing.

My devastatingly loud poor, lovely husband has had bronchitis in the last week and although I feel bad for him, the snoring has reached epic proportions; rivaled only by that of wild bears in the dead of winter and a chain saw hooked up to the speaker used by Marty McFly in Back to the Future. I love him dearly but I’m starting to wonder if baby sloths snore. And if they don’t, is there a “Sloth for Husband Exchange Program”? Is this a thing? It should be a thing. I’m going to look into this, maybe set up a charity or commune to make it happen if I can’t find one.

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Classic Literature is Not to be Trusted with your Children

The other day (and in the words of the amazing Ed Byrne “when I say the other day that really means between now and…. ever”) I was having a conversation with my 20 year old son who is currently reading The Divine Comedy by Dante, more specifically, he is reading Dante’s Inferno. And let me tell you, that is some pretty messed up stuff. Human Centipede, Teeth, Saw? Nope, the people that imagined those sick and twisted plots lack the nauseating and warped imagery that Dante sprang forth from his dark and perverse imaginarium. Seriously, there is essentially what is a rape tornado in this book. Did you get that?   A tornado full of raping. Yeah, that happened.

What’s worse is the dentist’s office style waiting that is one circle of hell.

Me: “Your soul is important to us. Your afterlife may be recorded for training purposes.”

Me:“Thank you for waiting. Your deity of choice will be with you as shortly as possible.”

Son: “It doesn’t say how he got to hell.”
Me:“Probably took a wrong turn at Albuquerque.”

Son: “Yeah … can you go to hell for us…….(shrugs) Seems legit.”

Son: “Much fire. Very pain. Such ice. Wow.”

Son: “He got lost… and went to hell!”
Me: “Yeah, that happens. I went to Gosford once too.

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Interns and Insults

Mayne, long suffering husband, good natured tormentor of children and aficionado of ‘dad jokes’ had been off work sick for the a week with bronchitis.

Ash, 14 years old at the time,  future world traveler and girl of many scarves,  had been off school as it is school holidays.

Me, I was in the sucky position where I have to behave like a grown up because people will die of scurvy or neglect if I don’t.  

I came home from work and after stopping at the shops and headed straight into the kitchen to dump the groceries before going out to kiss all my people having between away from them all day.  Ash, however,  beat me to it and came into the kitchen to meet me.

Dressed in Mayne’s remarkably oversized tracky pants (tracksuit pants for those of you who don’t speak fluent Aussie slang)  and a t-shirt she stole off him when we first started dating (Mayne and I, not Ash and I – what the hell is wrong with you!?) she looked innocently up at me and said “Is there anything I can do to help you with dinner? ”

Firstly I’m a little taken aback, this is not the child who offers to do housework. The other two,  yes. This one… not so much. But I recover in fine style and don’t let on how shocked I am.

“That’d be awesome, thanks.  We’re having pasta…

…nice outfit.”

<pleased that I’ve mentioned it, she grins like an idiot> “Thanks! I’m interning as Dad since he’s been sick and can’t do dad stuff”

<laughs with delight>  “You’re amazing. How are those pants even staying up?”

<confused look> “I’m Dad.  D’uh!”

How foolish of me. I should have realised that I was living in The Sisterhood of the Traveling Trackies. She proceeds to spend the rest of the evening being chivalrous, helpful and making really bad puns to continue her internship.

The next morning Mayne, Ash and I were leaving the house to go to the post office to put in Ash’s tax file number application. I called back up the stairs to Bek “Love you, Honey.  We’ll be back soon,  make sure you’ve got your guitar ready to go for your lesson when we get back”

Ash (not dressed in her father’s clothes that morning) leans in past me and calls one of Mayne’s standard lines to the kids up the stairs “Also, you smell!”

“Still interning as Dad?”


“You’re really getting the hang of being Dad. It’s an absolutely flawless likeness. I’ll have to get you to intern as me next so you can take my place if I get sick.”

“Naaah. I don’t think so.  Being Mum looks like too much hard work.”

I couldn’t help it. I burst out laughing so hard and looked at Mayne. “She called you lazy. Did you hear that?”

Much laughter and discussion on the pros and cons of being each of us ensued. Apparently M&M’s are a big pro to being Dad. Exercise is a con to being Mum.

I love my kids so much. They’re hilarious little weirdos.

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Weird Feet

Individual.  Funny. Empathic.

All the things I value highly in a child and my daughter has them all.  I can remember (and it doesn’t feel like very long ago, but in reality it is about 5 years ago) her getting so upset and having me whisper retorts for her to use in the ‘pun wars’ the older kids would have with my husband because she wanted to join in but wasn’t old enough to come up with the jokes.

Its hard to believe now.  She has become the most amazingly funny and quirky individual who has had us in stitches all weekend.

Our fabulous (and quite young compared to us at only 24) friend came to visit last weekend and Ash spent quite a lot of time with her splashing in the ocean on rainy days and failing miserably at navigation and trying on her clothes.  Well, scarves really.  All of them. And mine. All of them. At the same time.


Me (laughing and leaning in to kiss her): “I love you”

Ash: “I love you too”

Me: “You’re so weird”

Ash:  (looks down, looks back up, looks down forlorn) “Its my feet, isn’t it?”

Whole room erupts in laughter.  It couldn’t be the 12 scarves she was wearing at once making her look like a snowman dressed by small children, must definitely be the perfectly normal feet…

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Puppies are Better than Brothers. Here is Flawless Logic to Prove It.

We’ve had a house full of teenagers this weekend and the conversation turned to siblings and one 13 year old looked less than impressed at the idea of having a much younger sibling.  The conversation that follows had me rolling on the floor at the honest love expressed

Me: “Let me ask you this – if your little brother was hit by a bus, would you be sad?”

Visiting child “…….yes.”

Me: “Hmmm……If your puppy was hit by a bus, would you be sad?”

VC: “yes.”

Me: “You hesitated before you answered the first time…”

VC: “Well, my puppy is *adorable*”.

When I say honest love, I meant love for her new puppy, not for a slightly irritating toddler.

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Hitler was right………. Don’t be a superficial asshole. (Please keep reading).

So I while I was looking for work and getting more than a little frustrated that people don’t seem to be looking past my job title to see that I have solid admin skills that would transfer over to a PA or office management role. I was expressing this frustration in a definitely not ranty type of manner to my boy and his response made everything okay.

“Its kind of like your resume is Romeo and Juliet and the title is ‘Hitler was right’. And people just look at the title and go ‘ooooo no’ and throw it in the bin.”

So the lesson here, people, is never try anything new never judge a smurf by its outfit…. or never judge a book by its cover….. or something like that. Actually, the lesson we should all learn here is don’t be a superficial asshole – people can surprise you if you take the time to let them.

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China Tastes Funny

One of the most wonderful things about my husband is what a total and completely adorable nerd he is.  Suffice to say that when I met him, he was working in IT and living with his parents. (I choose not to mention that he had moved back in when them to support his father through his battle with cancer, because it makes it funnier to imagine him sitting in his parent’s darkened basement , bathed in the pale green glow of several computer screens and surrounded by unopened, mint condition Star Wars collectables. AND THEY DON’T EVEN HAVE A BASEMENT.  Weird, huh?)  When my in-laws gave our daughter a clicky clacky bally thing with the strings* he was incredibly jealous and excited.

“No, you don’t understand.  This is what physics looks like.  It’s actually quite impressive.”

So, in my completely supportive way, I looked at him as if he were not only completely insane,  but had to get out of the house soooo much more often.

This goes a long way to getting you to understand just how underwhelmed I was (by his standards) when he brought home a world globe for our girls.  Now don’t get me wrong, it is kinda cool, it has a light inside and bumpy mountains on it.  But it would be completely out of the ordinary for me to let him know that I thought it was cool, and it would have also ruled out any shenanigans. See – priorities, people.

The girls were in bed, so my son and I pretended to be were incredibly interested in being shown the wonders of the globe.  We first started with the basics, sitting there turning the light switch on and off saying “Daytime, night-time, daytime, night-time, daytime…” ad nauseam.  Which in itself was fun, but the most joy was to be found in seeing the look on my husband’s face as we did this.  Suffice to say, he had a look of unimpressed incredulity.

On the up side, the incredulousness and unimpressedishness (they are totally words, take my word for it, don’t look them up) were quickly replaced as his son leaned in to the globe, licked it and stated:

“China tastes funny.”

On the down side it was replaced by a fleeting look of horror and defeat.  I say it was fleeting, but we really only saw a fleeting glance at it before we hit the floor laughing.

And this is the thanks that I get for trying to show my interest in his toys.  You’re Welcome!

*My husband informs me that this is called a Newton’s Cradle and is actually an extremely exciting and highly sought after gift for a child.  I promptly informed him that children prefer candy and flamethrowers, but he stands by his original statement despite evidence to the contrary.  I would be much more impressed if they had given her one of these kind.

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A Deep Hole and a Sandwich Could Fix So Many of the Word’s Ills.



Conversation with my son upon seeing this photo:

Me: “Wanna see something that will make you weep for humanity?”

S: “Yeah, okay…”

*sees photo and holds sharp pencil to his chest*

S: “Do you have a hammer?”

Me: “Yeah, staking yourself through the heart is preferable to living in a society that has made that necessary, isn’t it?  I really don’t want to be in a gene pool that has had people needing pictograms to manage their shopping splashing around in it.”

S: “I don’t really need to take me out of it, do I?  I could just take them out of it.  Have you got a flame thrower?”

Me:  “You wouldn’t need to go to that much effort.  You could manage it with a deep hole and a sandwich.”