Monthly Archives: March 2014

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!

 

 

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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:

It’s.

Not.

Funny!

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

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

What Party?

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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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