Kidspot Ford Territory Top 50: Feel the difference

I've been wracking my brain for a couple of weeks, punishing myself, what the Hector am I going to write about for this post? My golden ticket for a chance to win a trip to NYC to attend BlogHer and a Ford Territory for a year. 


Here it is, I offer it up like a grown-up and female version of Oliver Twist, except my bowl's full of words - and I want you to have more. So not like Twist at all - but it was a good literary reference, yes?


Gather around. This is what I've come up with with a little help from my friends. 


My journey into blogging began back in '89. When I went to Talent Camp at Lake Keepit for creative writing. And then I went again the next year and Jim Pattinson had a crush on me, and I physically felt repulsed. I was 10, he was probably 11, and he got a little too close for my liking. I have not forgotten you Jim Pattinson - or you're unwanted feelings for me. 


Blogging was not yet invented - not to my knowledge anyway. But I tapped away on my Mum's electric typewriter in my spare time, short stories, poems, moving on to my grandfather's memoirs when I was 12.


But let us fast forward through my awkward years (and let's forget that I am actually still in the thick of my totes awkes years), we'll travel through time together and pop out of the time continuum right here. 


To 2007.


My true blogging journey began when I started reading Dooce daily. I love Heather Armstrong. Her truth. Her honesty. Her wittiness. It made me want to get back into writing again. This was a time when I was just about to pop out baby number two. I felt like I was in parenting exile. Two years earlier I'd quit my job, moved to the other side of the city away from my friends - and into the home of my in-laws. AWESOME! This was a time when my MIL walked in to our dark kitchen to find me crying in the pantry. When my FIL told me I needed to talk to Matt after we'd had a massive barney. When parenting and self-esteem was at an all time low. And so was privacy. 


I began banging out posts like it wasn't anyone's business. 


And that's the beauty of blogging. It becomes everyone's business. And from here, like the fountain of youth - or in my case, a community of awesome, like-minded women (and the occasional male reader, hi Dad!) sprung PottyMouthMama. 


A blogger was born. (And so was Tiny - but that's another story.)


If we take PottyMouthMama under the magnifying glass (and preferably not in full sunlight people, I've got fair skin) it comes down to this: 


"If you prick us, do we not bleed"*


It's true. We all do. The truth is, I am just like any other mother blogger. You, me, we.


And that's the beauty of us. 


I'm happy not to hide behind any facade. I don't need to amp up my life to seem like it's more glamorous, more exciting, more awesome than yours. Because it isn't. Trust me.


PottyMouthMama's point of difference is that life is ker-azy. Life is messy. Life can be sad, glad, mad, and rad - and all in one day. 


I can talk about that with great verve. It's my very own story to tell. You love reading about Tiny's mischief. My bin diving escapades. About my struggle with work-home-life balance. I love curating stuff and things I love, or sharing stories about my banal life. Because it's my blog and I can blog if I want to. 


So if you feel so compelled, please vote for me! I'd love to visit the Big Apple, so I can stop hanging out with these little apples and looking like William Tell and Snow White's love child. 

* Totally stolen from Shakespeare. Someone that could have written a really prolific ye olde playe stylie blogge. 

This Is Where I Ask You To Vote For Me

I'm not going to beat around the bush. And I'm not going to bang on about it. Let's just talk about this for one post. Ok? 


Please vote for me in the Kidspot Top 50 Bloggers. 


I feel incredibly chuffed that this is my third year of being nominated - amidst forty-n reputable and inspiring lady writers. Could it be third time lucky? Who the heck knows - but you hold the power in your fingertips to make PottyMouthMama's dream come true. 


And for your efforts, you could be in with a chance of winning $5,000. 


Apologies for the super crummy photo above. It's the best I can muster under these working conditions. Daylight savings ending and I'm all outta whack. I shake my fist at my woeful sleeping habits right now! 


Back to business, please vote for PottyMouthMama. Your country needs you. And me too. I need you too. Because if you weren't reading this - PottyMouthMama would just be another blog lamenting on the interwebz. 

I Just Got In Trouble From My Dad

He was like that middle guy up there, his jaw dropped and he was not impressed by his youngest daughter.


Like not just a little bit of trouble - but fo' realz trouble. My Dad is outraged! You want to know why? For April Fooling you. My Dad was not impressed. My parents rang me and asked what the heck I was doing tossing blogging to the curve. 


Did everyone forget - it's APRIL FOOL'S DAY! Oh crumbs. I totally thought you would have known that had Prank Patrol all over it. 


It's true friends. And even more honestly, I have been wracked with guilt for pranking you. I mean Ashton Kutcher could be proud of me. But I feel woefully naughty.

I now have one of those giant knots in my stomach feeling so, so guilty. I am sorry. Terribly sorry for being so naughty and mischievous. 


Will you forgive me for being so naughty?


On the flip side, I was completely heartened by your comments. And to be even more completely honest, I feel like I've been struggling a bit on my blog - so those buoyant words you shared with me, well they've boosted me. Because for a long time I've not felt I've been hitting it out of the ball park, I've just been playing T-Ball on my blog and it's been left wanting. But I have plenty to blog about. 


So perhaps we can say this was a mini-break?


After all, I need some votes to send me to NYC and score me a Ford for the year so I can stop borrowing my MIL's car during the week. A girl can dream, right??

Oh Hai.

Last night I went out on the town to kick up my heels with a bunch of bloggers. I met Wee Birdy there and together we giggled and guffawed the night away.


Big ups to Wee Birdy for giving me this banging picture of me being a ham hock. I mean, who doesn't star their Darling mani when posing mercilessly? The truth is, the reason I was dressed like a Tequila Sunrise (see recipe here) was for the Kidspot Top 50 Bloggers. Aha. 


Woogs held me in her bosom. I got to meet Eden. Was astounded by Hair Romance's beautiful hair. And I reunited with Chantelle. There were many more and it was like a whirlwind tour. I felt a bit like a fraud. 


Anyway, you readers, you are all quiet as mice. What's happening on your homefronts? Do tell. I am waiting to hear. And when someone wants to hack into my mainframe and let me know how I can reply directly to comments, well I am all freaking ears. I can not work it out myself and I want to punch my blog in the head. 


Right now I am listening to Gossling because I just love her. I've eaten a burger for dinner and had two to three wines. Who's counting? (Because it's not like I have to drive to bed.) I got told I was very quiet at work today. I love listening to the Hack on Triple J driving home. Do you? What are you doing? Come on, spill. Fill me in on what's on the haps in your neighbourhood. 


Oh and as a Friday bonus, how great is this Bluejuice cover of Video Games. I went off Lana del Rey quicker than Lite White goes off in a luke warm fridge. But this. This I can get with.


And finally, come join me on Facey. We can like totes chat. And stuff. 


PS - this is a link heavy post. I apologise. But perhaps you'll thank me later for sending you around the world in just one quick read of PottyMouthMama?

Help Me Win a New Ford Territory For A Year and $5000

Drive. I've given this word much thought over this weekend. Drive. Tossed it around in my head, it echoed a little and then it plummeted down to where I played with it for a while. I kept going back to it.

You see, this weekend was the weekend when we were celebrating the Doctor's 6th birthday with a little party with some of his new Kindy pals.

He wanted a birthday party. I wanted to give him a party. I love the idea of 'making memories', and this weekend, I've made memories. In my freaking muscles from standing up for 12 hours straight baking. I love baking. But not for 12 hours. By myself. While looking after two smalls.

The tension crept up ever so slowly. I started the morning pretty pleased with myself. I made cookie dough. Wrapped it. Refrigerated it. Moved on to the next gig. Cupcakes. Made them. Baked them. Moved on. Birthday cake. Made the first of three. And on it goes. We rushed out to the shops to grab some bits and pieces, came back, and the tension had crept up a little higher, until it finally rested in my shoulders. Aching.

I took stock of myself on more than one occasion. What was driving me to be so batty about this birthday party? Millions of women have successfully held birthday parties. And then it hit me. It hit me just like the sifter did this morning, as it fell out of the pantry. Straight in the back of my head as I was bending down to pick something up. BOOM!

I was worried about what the other mums would think of me. The driving force behind me being more Nigella, was what would the other mums think when they drop their wee darlings off, and I feed them with all manner of sugary goodness.

The telltale sign was the guilt of the packet cake mix. I for one hate packet mixes. But the Women's Weekly told me it was 3 x Buttercake packet mixes, and this time, I was loathe to stuff up my son's birthday cake (unlike his first birthday cake - but that's another story). I dutifully baked the packet mixes. In the back of my head - besides the egg where the sifter whacked me - is someone going to eat this cake and think - my goodness, THIS WOMAN USED PACKET MIX? Outrageous.

And then it got me to thinking about these cakes. These birthday cakes that are like show dogs. Look what my mama made for me! But then again, I remember the cakes that were made lovingly for me, they act as landmarks in my life - and I like to look back and remember those heady days.

The Doctor weighed in on my prowess early in the day with: "Your leaves look good Mum, but not as good as the ones in the book." Yowsers.

I had to slap myself out of it. No one else was around to do it (although I'm sure Tiny would jump at the chance to slap me). I kept thinking of the Doctor instead of the mums. I kept trying to think of 12 eager little children, and how excited they would be! That their drive is completely different to ours. How that innocence is so pure, and trusting, and proud as punch.

Maybe you'd say I reversed out of competing in the Mummy Olympics, and accelerated into trying to create some magical memories. Driven into the happiness, the chaos, the angst, the excitement of parenting. That's what drive is. I have the drive to make memories for my small fry, but sometimes I feel like I don't have enough petrol in the tank.

I can't even remember what I ate at birthday parties when I was small. It was all about that giddy excitement. Seeing your friends, playing games, balloons, and being picked up too early (it's always too early to leave a good party), and driving home with butterflies in your tummy, replaying all the action.

A Shameless Plug

This is where I hide behind a tree, peek out and say something, then go back behind the tree. Or I mumble something to you, and you can't quite make it what it is. Or when you're fast asleep, I whisper to you, repeatedly, until you wake up and it's gone into your big, enormous brain, and you've got no other option. But that would be pretty creepy. But if you're ok with it, I can come over and do that. And stroke your hair. Cough.

Please, won't you vote for a PottyMouthMama in the Kidspot Top Fiddy Bloggers?

It's really simple.

It's not like I'm Obama, but click through and hit VOTE FOR ME.

There, I said it. Now we can continue on with our days.

image via