Everest at Lunch Time….


We had lunch with ‘Boy Wonder’, my sons father, this week. We were served by a beautiful Nepalese lady that works at the café and she is from Kathmandu.

My conversation with ‘Boy Wonder’ went as follows:

Me, ‘that lady is from Kathmandu’.
Boy Wonder with blank expression, ‘why is she working here?’.
Me, ‘because this is her job’
Boy Wonder (still looking gormless), ‘but why is she not working in Kathmandu?’
Me (taking a deep breath), ‘because she works here and that’s a long way to travel each day to work in a cafe’.
Boy Wonder (even more confused), ‘but isn’t Kathmandu a shop?’
Me, ‘Are you kidding me? Yes it is a shop but it is also a place in Nepal too’.
Boy Wonder, ‘really?’
Me, (big sigh), ‘yes, there’s also a great big bloody mountain near it too’……………….

His answer?

BoyWonder ‘really?’

I don’t know what I am more mortified about, the fact that I had sex with this man or the reality that my son could inherit his brain.


It’s a Pillow, it’s a Pet, it’s a Pillow Pet!

My three year old daughter has been leaping around the house all evening. I’m exhausted!

‘Mummy can we get some prawn crackers, I’ve got my $2.’

She then delves into her secret stash of coins that I wasn’t aware of while I stood there in awe of this treasure chest.

‘Please don’t touch my money mum’, she said, ‘I am saving it up for a donkey Pillow Pet’.

Now this isn’t money stolen from me, she apparently saves coins that I give her to play with. She saves the coins she finds in the street. She also saves up odd low value coins I throw about and picks out the ones she finds down the back of seats and under the armchairs.

It’s all in her hidden stash for a Pillow Pet! More specifically it’s the Donkey Pillow she is saving for.$T2eC16JHJHoE9n3Kd75CBRR3Z9Mbdg~~60_35

It’s a Pillow, it’s a pet. It’s a Pillow Pet. (I refuse to be the only one spending tonight with that song rattling round my head!).

My Daughter is Starting PreSchool….

My daughter officially starts ‘pre-school’ Feb 2014. My local public preschool, a wild and woolly school in inner city Sydney with a large aboriginal, housing commission and Ibis population (the bird not the hotel group).


Apparently the kids frequently start school at 9.00am having to shuffle by a couple of tramps asleep in their playground.


But this is my life. This is where I live and I love it!

From the Google searches I have done I believe the school itself doesn’t even have a NSW school rating. It also seems that being a ‘single mum’, I am also classed as a ‘disadvantaged’ person living in a disadvantaged area so my daughter gets to go to this totally nutty ‘off your head’ pre-school for $10 a day where she can learn how to steal cars, make bongs, pick locks and tell me to f*ck off.

And….I even have to make her a packed lunch for that honour!

In my head, this is what the packed lunch will look like. A beautiful lunch filled with notes of ‘love’ from mummy:


The reality is that it’s more likely to look like this:


Anyway, on a more serious note, the school is actually a gem of a find and a really lovely place hidden behind the big wire fences and warnings. It’s just has the bad reputation that’s stuck with it from 20 years back. I suppose twenty years ago the kids all went to an out of town for a school sports day and full of tartrazine kicked the bejesus out of the other school kids. Anyway, the Head Mistress is a lovely lady and her sister was the Head Mistress at one of my local schools in the UK. Small world. So stuff all that private school bollocks (not that I could afford it anyway) and having to join the ‘mummy-run’ and drive everyday to drop my kids off to school. It’s a minute down the road, we can walk there. I think it’s a great small school, it will provide a great start for my daughters education and we will be part of the community.

So I’m quite proud of myself that I have ignored all those idiotic ‘scaremongering’ mummies,

‘Oh THAT school, yuck, what a shame that it’s your catchment area school, ha ha, we are sending ‘insert stupid kids name here’ to the private school 50 kms away’.

The way I see it, at least my daughter will learn how to look after herself. She already gets the morals and discipline at home, by going to this school she’ll also be street smart.

She’ll be beating the pansy ‘Yummy Mummy’ kids up, without the tartrazine, in no time!


My First Night Out in Three Years….

I don’t get to go out very often, the demands of my children and attempting to keep a roof over our heads is very time consuming. My sons father has an hour a week to ‘slot’ his son into his busy schedule of playing video games and surfing. I thought I would push for a bit more father/son time by asking him to babysit my two children. It would be OK I thought, not only will this save me a bit of money, but it will be good for ‘Boy Wonder’ to have a bit more bonding time with his son…………hmmmmmmmm. I’ll have to give you a character assessment of ‘Boy Wonder’ and the circumstances on why we are not together later on. Suffice for now is to think Disney Dad, Peter Pan, the boy that never grew up and you’ll get the picture. He’s a good guy, doesn’t mean any harm, just a bit ‘slow’ on the uptake and socially awkward and, as he is a computer programmer, the brightest and dumbest person you could ever meet. I think you get the picture, (I’ll elaborate later) and, yes, we obviously had sex because we have a son.

He even finished that off with computer jargon, ‘transfer completed’ he would pant.


Now you can understand why we are no longer together.

Anyway, I digress and that’s another story.

So, I trusted ‘Boy Wonder’ to look after my kids for the first time last night so I could go out to the local theatre with friends. The odds of him arriving with the Star Wars trilogy in his back pack and light saber were high.

I have such a rock and roll lifestyle.

I left home at 7.00pm

I got a phone call at 10.00pm:

Boy Wonder; ‘(cough), can you come home, I’m sick’. I can hear my son screaming like a banshee and my daughter sounds distressed.

On arrival Boy Wonder is lying prostrate on my floor groaning. He proceeds to try and show me pictures of his puke, but looking at the state of my kitchen (puke) and toilet (poo), I’m guessing he isn’t lying. Boy Wonder has always had a weak constitution. Bless. Little violin playing on my shoulder.

Unimpressed with the mess I ask him if he needs me to drive him home. He declines, jumps up off the floor, says he is feeling better (it’s a miracle!) and goes into said ‘messy pooey bathroom’ to change into his bike gear to cycle the 10kms home. There is no effort to clean up the mess he has made, but he does remember to roll up his right trouser leg so it doesn’t get dirty on the bike chain.

Guessing that I have ‘rumbled him’ he then then ‘fakes’ another puking session and, I quote;

Boy Wonder; ‘I am so weak, can you please call me a taxi, I don’t know where I am’.

Me (opening a bottle of wine, edging around the puke, while sighing); ‘Haven’t you got a bloody girlfriend that you can call, I’m not your girlfriend or your mum and, seriously, if you are that sick let me call you an ambulance’.

Boy Wonder; ‘No, I just need to get home, I wish I did have a girlfriend, I really do NEED a girlfriend’

There is actually a man drought here in Sydney, so if there are any single girls out there looking for a boyfriend there is my second hand pansy boyfriend up for grabs.

This morning my daughter woke up and said, ‘Mummy I had a horrible time last night. He is a stupid man’.

From the mouth of a three year old….

Have to run, I have a toilet to clean up.

More to follow………………..