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Family Violence is out of control

Angie Pantazi:

Thank you Kate Forster for expressing my grief, frustration and despair about domestic violence.

Originally posted on What Party?:


If one man a week died from a there would be an outcry. Why are women killed by not given the same attention?

I posted this question on Twitter last night and chaos ensued. Countless retweets, messages from men and women agreeing with the question. women sharing their own stories of domestic violence. A few trolls but not many. Most people feeling the same way. Enough is enough.

I wondered why Tony Abbott isn’t saying anything about this growing issue, he certainly was vocal about the Coward Punch issue.

We have a male Prime Minister in Australia. He needs to be a role model. He needs to say that men who murder their partners and or children are cowards. That there are other ways to dissolve anger at marital strife or separation, and that death and violence isn’t one of them.

I have been passionate…

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Become a Blogger in 39 Easy Steps!

Angie Pantazi:

All the secrets to being a blogger revealed! This will make you laugh out loud, and if you don’t recognise yourself in any of these points – you are in denial, my friend!

Originally posted on She's a Maineiac:

Hey kids! Want to become a blogger? It’s easy! Just do the following:
  1. Roll your eyes when blogger friend suggests you start a blog.
  2. Start blog.
  3. Write first post. Make sure it’s short and stupid because you’re certain no one will ever read it.
  4. Get two followers. Ego instantly inflates while at the same time you’re baffled someone willingly wants to read your writing.
  5. Write second post and this time make it way too long but still very stupid.
  6. No new followers. Tell yourself you don’t care. You’re writing for you, not them.
  7. Write third post, mention the Kardashians and add fun colorful images.
  8. Get first comment.
  9. Become obsessed with blogging.
  10. Write posts every other day.
  11. On the days you don’t write posts, think about brilliant ideas for posts.
  12. Think about dumb ideas for posts.
  13. Realize you have no way of differentiating what will be considered dumb or brilliant.
  14. Keep at least…

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Is Easter over yet?

eastereggsWarning: this post is about Easter and chocolate eggs, and does not really touch on the real meaning of Easter at all – not one little bit, actually.

I’m going to come right out and say it: I am over Easter.

Well, to be more specific, I am over chocolate. And that goes hand in hand with Easter.

And for those of you who know me, will realise this is a big statement because I am a bona fide chocoholic.

Don’t you agree that something weird has happened to Easter this year?

It seems to have been here since the start of April. In fact, I think I recall seeing hot cross buns and Easter eggs in the shops in February.

I hold school holidays to blame.

They started a few weeks before Easter, so of course I had to race out and buy Easter eggs to hand out to my childrens’ friends; teachers; after school care leaders; and school crossing supervisors on the last day of school (4 April). And it all went downhill from there!

We have already had two Easter egg hunts and have seen the Easter bunny loitering around shopping centres and other outdoor events. So now we have bags of chocolate Easter eggs and it is not even Easter Sunday yet!

Tomorrow at 4.30am I am going to have to wake up, creep outside and hide eggs so my kids can wake up at 6am, race outside and then probably stop short and bemoan “Oh noooo. Not MORE Easter eggs!” Because the surprise and build up has gone. They have been eating eggs for weeks now, so what’s the big deal?

I remember the Easters of my youth when it would be so exciting to wake up on Easter Sunday, knowing that I could finally get my hands on some chocolate Easter eggs. There was no way that  I would have had any chocolate eggs before then. Oh no.

And for those of you that say ‘Well, you should have hidden or put away all the gets they collected at those Easter eggs hunts so they wouldn’t eat any chocolate eggs until Sunday,” I say: ‘You’re probably right.”

My struggles have just begun. We had my family Easter get together yesterday for Good Friday and we all exchanged eggs. Now as I type I can see THREE bags full of chocolate Easter eggs that are calling my name like Sirens.

And they won’t suddenly go away on Sunday. Judging by the ridiculous amount of chocolate we have in the house, they will be here for the rest of the year!

It’s all too much. It’s like being a junkie and having someone lay out drugs in front you and then saying “Don’t touch.”

Because of course I am going to touch! And unwrap! And eat! And eat!

Maybe this is a good thing? Maybe it is the catalyst for me to stare my sugar/chocolate addiction in the eye and say enough is enough!

Now wouldn’t that be sweet?

Happy Easter everyone!

My ideal Sunday, from sunrise to sunset

Just another Sunday brekkie
Just another Sunday brekkie

I love the Sunday newspaper magazines. They are full of froth and bubble and are so easy to read while I enjoy my muesli and coffee.

One of my favourite sections is the My ideal Sunday, from sunrise to sunset section where beautiful celebrities remind us that they live in a different universe than the rest of us.

Today was Rebecca Judd’s turn.

And it got me thinking what my typical Sunday involves and how different it would be to hers.

Rebecca Judd’s ideal Sunday involves:

8am: Head to Balmain’s in Brighton (Melbourne) with my husband Chris, son Oscar (2) and newborn daughter Billie, before coming home for a play.

10am: I lock myself away to work on the week’s ideas, materials and curated design for Melbourne property developer R. Corp.

12pm: Time to stock up on fresh produce at Prahran Market (if it’s footy season, you’ll find us at the ‘G watching my husband play!).

3pm: My kids wake from their nap, then we head to the St Kilda Sea Baths for a splash. The hot spa is the best!

6pm: We go to the early session at Fazio’s or La Svolta in Hampton Street for yummy pizza done the Italian way.

My typical Sunday (today) in comparison:

7am: Get out of bed to give my son his morning carrot (don’t ask) and my daughter her oats.

7.15am: Go back to bed

8am: Head to the fridge in Warranwood, with my husband, six-year-old son and seven-year-old daughter. Go to 9am Body Combat class while husband looks after the kids.

9am to 10am: Try to avoid looking in the wall to wall mirror during my Body Combat class so I am not a witness to how unfit I have let myself become.

10.15am: Time to stock up on fresh produce at Coles. Look like I’ve been dragged through a bush backwards and then drenched with a hose (if it’s footy season, you’ll find me at the exact same place).

10.35am: Arrive home. Husband heads off for a swim. I think we say hello and goodbye to each other.

11.15am: After shower, take kids for a quick walk in the sunshine.

12:30pm: Head into the kitchen for some yummy leftover pizza lunch done the Dominos’ way

3pm: My kids come in to the house after eating an ice cream outside, then we head to the bathroom for a splash, but not before they wipe their faces on their clothes. The hot water on the facewasher is the best!

4pm: I make cookies for the kids’ play lunches. Then I make some minestrone soup for later in the week.

6pm: We go the early session at the dining table for a meal the kids won’t eat. So they get some of the minestrone soup.

6.30pm to 7.45pm: We all watch The Block.

7.45pm: Struggle to get the kids to bed.

See? Rebecca Judd and me: like two peas in a pod!



Better than McDonald’s!

I am a shadow of my former self. I am exhausted and have had to have a nana nap today to try to take the edge off.

partyNo, I haven’t done just returned from an overseas trip; nor am I recovering from a night out on the town.

I am actually recovering from my six-year-old son’s mini birthday party!

I wasn’t brave enough to have a full Prep class party, so we kept the invite list to two friends. Three little boys seemed like a manageable number. And it was – until the sugar high hit.

My goodness. I knew sugar affected children, but this little group began buzzing about like three little flies that had just been sprayed with Mortein.

Luckily, we were at a local park, so they could run, run, run; and run some more in the large open spaces.

We tried to have a soccer match, but the pitch became wider and longer with each kick. There were tears when someone stopped the ball, and tears when someone kicked the ball. And tears when two of the little boys were so intent on getting the ball that they crunched heads with a sickening thud.

We tried to have a sack race, but for some reason the concept of jumping in a straight line from the start to finish was a bit hard to comprehend, so it degenerated into utter chaos.

We had a treasure hunt that almost turned into the Hunger Games; so intent were they being the last one standing with ALL the treasure.

After two hours, I was spent and had run out of ideas. Luckily that was the precise moment when the party ended.

I wasn’t sure if it had been a success until I heard one partygoer exclaim to their parents “This party was better than McDonald’s!”

Phew. My work here is done.

Not funny

I don’t like my body’s sense of humour.

It’s doing stuff that, quite frankly, I don’t find funny.

For example, it thinks it’s hilarious that as I get older, it is hiding fat in different parts of my body. Like a sick game of hide and seek.

I always had a slight muffin top when overweight, but now it’s more of a inflatable ring around my waist – not just confined to a bit of overflow at the sides; but an overflow all around.

And my body is absolutely laughing itself silly every time I put on a slightly fitted top and turn around to see not just bra fat, but a roll of fat between the bra fat and the muffin top!

ImageAnd I can hear it smirking when I notice some bumpy cellulite on my upper arms, despite doing lot and lots of push up and dips and bicep curls.

“Ha, Ha, Ha,” it says ” You can try to lose weight and exercise, but I have other plans. Mou-hah-hah (evil laugh).”

And it thinks the way it wobbles around like jelly on a plate when I am doing exercises is a real rib tickler!

How am I dealing with all this?

I am stamping my little feet (feeling everything wobble) and yelling out:




International Women’s Day and how some people don’t care

Angie Pantazi:

Let’s all look after one another and stop the horrific cycle of domestic violence. A wonderful blog by Kate Forster.

Originally posted on What Party?:


I live in a nice area of Melbourne. Nice in the way I mean that ugly things don’t happen here in out in public. It’s a million dollar suburb, and a million dollars buys your privacy and silence. That was until last Thursday night.

The shouting started before I went to bed. I was tired. I ignored it. The shouting between a man and a woman. They sounded young. Just a couple fighting, I thought. Then the shouting became louder, and more intense. It was hard to make out the words as they passed our fence. We have a big fence. Most of the houses here have the same fences. It’s that old privacy thing again. The yelling continued down the road until it was out of earshot, so I rolled over in bed and slept.

I was awoken an hour later by the same yelling. The venom in his…

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Blog envy

I haven’t posted for weeks.

I wish I had a great excuse like:

“I’ve been working on my latest novel.”

“I’ve been building homes for the homeless.”

“I’ve been cleaning the house from top to bottom.”

“I’ve been crocheting and knitting a new winter wardrobe for my children.”

But the truth is, I have been reading so many great blog posts lately that I’ve been struck down by blog envy.

I’ve caught myself thinking, “Why are you even bothering? You could never write as well as [insert name].”

So if you could all please stop being so prolific and writing so eloquently, I would really appreciate it.


Thank goodness that’s over!

anti-valentinesAfter a not-so-great Valentine’s Day, I’ve got some suggestions for a new range of realistic Valentine’s Day cards:

  • Happy Valentine’s Day. Let’s try not to annoy each other.
  • You’ll do for now. Happy Valentine’s Day!
  • Here’s a rose, bah, blah, blah. Happy Valentine’s Day!
  • I’m right. You’re wrong. We both know it. Happy Valentine’s Day!

As you can tell, I’m not the biggest fan of Valentine’s Day. All that forced niceness and romance makes me queasy.

I remember how wrapped up I was in Valentine’s Day when I was in high school.

All that anxious anticipation of whether you had a secret admirer; or better yet, sharing the day with an actual boyfriend! Love poems (awful ones), white teddy bears holding hearts that say ‘I Wuv You’, and declarations of undying devotion. Ah, young love.

Fast forward to 2014.

My husband and I argued on 13 February which made writing the Valentine’s Day card a bit tricky.

You can imagine how hard it is to write something mushy and lovey dovey when you are still seething (about something very trivial in hindsight).

And on the day itself – 14 February – we only had time for a quick “Happy Valentines Day” before we raced off to work and took the kids to school.

Then that night we celebrated the day of love by going out to a noisy, crowded family restaurant with our kids for pizza.

Our kids were tired after a long week of school; our 5-year-old son was grizzly and restless; and the service was not great. Our son then decided to end the night was a loud, screaming tantrum as we dragged him out of the restaurant to the car.

Happy Valentine’s Day to us! Ugh.

Hope you all had a Hallmark-worthy Valentine’s Day!

Rock 'Em Sock 'Em Toddlers

What My Kids Do During the 30 Seconds It Takes Me to Leave the Room and Pee: A Non-Exhaustive List

Angie Pantazi:

I think we can all relate to this! I remember having to time going to the toilet to coincide with the time it took my baby to crawl to the bathroom to find me! And leaving the room for one second, only to return to find my little boy balancing precariously on the top of the couch, almost falling into the glass window behind him. Ah, the joys!

Originally posted on Twinfamy:

Rock 'Em Sock 'Em Toddlers

1. Get into a fistfight over a Lego

2. Get into a fistfight over a sticker

3. Get into a fistfight over a toy we’ve bought two of so they won’t fistfight over it

4. Steal Daddy’s phone

5. Get into a fistfight over Daddy’s phone

6. Reply to emails from Daddy’s dissertation chair with gibberish

7. Break something, causing a fistfight

8. Break something, during a fistfight

9. Climb onto the kitchen table

10. Go streaking

11. Dump out the dog’s water dish and claim to be ice-skating

12. Empty the toybox I just spent a half hour filling while they sat on their asses singing “Clean up, clean up, everybody everywhere” and contributed a single toy between the two of them

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