A Tiny Recap

 One day not long ago I said to Matt that I was looking forward to Tiny starting school. For the simple reason that we would no longer have a tussle over what she will wear that morning. Nevermind the fact I'll be a sobbing mess, rueing the day my baby went off to school.

The truth is, I am not looking forward to Tiny starting school. Everyone knows that as soon as small children start school, it fast tracks them to growing up even quicker.

I need to have another baby.

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Tiny lay in bed with me the other morning, curled up in my arms. I was sleep drunk and just wanted to snooze, despite the incessant shrill of my alarm telling me otherwise. Tiny rolled over and told me my breath was stinky.

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On Thursday Tiny and I went to see the Doctor at his school as part of Education Week. Tiny sat on my lap throughout the very long concert, then told me she wanted to whisper in my ear. I leant forward, "Mum, your breath smells."

It's love. And halitosis.

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Friday is the day Tiny goes to the new daycare/preschool thing. I have been in strong denial that she even goes there. This morning she cried and cried because she didn't want to go. I held my wee one in my arms and told her it was just for a short time, and that she'd have fun.

During the day I thought of her, me at work, her at a new place full of new faces. I tried to call to check on her but no one answered.

Matt texted me later that afternoon to say he had picked Tiny up. She'd even told him she'd had a fun day.

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This makes me think I have bad breath. I hate bad breath. Moving forward I will not breath on anyone.

Guilty. As Charged.

Firstly, I want you to read this. Then come back over here and rejoin me. OK? Yes. Very good. 


With a very heavy heart, I must say, I do do some of those things. 


I hate that I do those things. I am mortified that I do those things. It's terrible I do those things. 


So today I am starting a new life. A fresh new page of my life. And I've sort of sampled this life previously - I've got a taste for it. I've voluntarily left technology turned off. Let my phone run out of batteries. And it feels SO good to not be switched on and available to the world all the time. 


It feels so refreshing to not be a slave to the ping of my phone.
To turn off - and not feel this creeping sense of - sheesh, I can not be in this moment. 
And it's good for my family. 
It's good for my family to have sacred time with me. Sacred family time. 


Do you do that? Or do you suffer FOMO? Because if you suffer FOMO, then just wean yourself off. Because really, all you're missing out on is finding out what someone's having for lunch, what they just bought (yawn), or how fabulous they are. 


And while you're at it, check out this thoughtful post from one of my favourite bloggers, Checks and Spots. 




image via this Etsy shop - phone is available for sale. And you can totes interact with your kids with this phone.

Tonight I Banned Talking About Poo

Living with a six (almost seven) year old and a four year old, I hear a lot of poo talk. 


All. Flipping. Day. Long.


And you know, it can really wear a girl out. 


I am sick of poo talk.


Poo jokes? I am sick of them too.

Tiny thinks anything with a punchline of poo poo is going to elicit giggles. It might from her, but I'm not laughing. 


Tonight they were reading a book together, and every second word was poo. And you know, I just put a blanket ban on poo talk. 


I do not want to discuss poo. With you, or without you. Poo is poo is poo. It's what we do. I do not need to talk about it, thank you.


If you have a poo frenzy on your hands (well not literally I hope), you should get this book. We have the pop-up poo version. It is very funny. Well it was until Tiny tore out all the pop-up bits. 

PottyMouthMama: Reporting For Domestic Duty

This weekend was going to be all about me being a domestic goddess and surpassing my motherly duties. Ticking every box and getting a gold star. 


And do you think that happened?


Er. A little.


I had plans to tidy the whole house. To ditch all the junk hovering around our house. It's mounting. In piles. In bags. In boxes. And I can't seem to get on top of it. Well wait - I can get on top of it, I can lie on top of it, I just can't control it. 


I was going to get wildly domestic in the kitchen. I had grand aspirations.


Instead Saturday I had a wee hangover, and shuffled around the house like a hermit crab. What kind of young player am I? 


I did sort out some clothes. I did bake choc chip cookies. 


And tonight, Matt went out to do some painting, while I stayed at home - and thought - yes! I will make pasta. Then it all went to poo. I was rolling pasta, I had the water bubbling away - the pasta was rolling, rolling, too long to hold in both my hands - I felt like Big Anthony out of Strega Nona. Pasta everywhere. I finally got it into the pot and kept rolling out extra pasta - and then the pasta went bloaty and gluggy. Poor pasta.


So the smalls wound up with toast and baked beans for dinner. 


And then I hurried them through dinner, tucked them into bed and felt irate with myself for being such a grump. 

Over at JustB - Curse of the Yummy Mummy

Please join me over on JustB today - I'm talking about the curse of the yummy mummy.

Come over and play. Please.


image of an original yummy mummy via The Seattle Times

Home Is A Salve

Going home this weekend was exactly the tonic I needed.


To hit that open road and get the hell out of Sydney.


The world knows I needed it. I felt lighter getting out of this city. To escape the traffic, the crowds, the noise. I could list endlessly why I needed to get out of Sydney. I'm no longer in love with this city. I feel like it's over between us.


It's not you Sydney. It's me. Actually Sydney - it is you. You've changed. And I don't think I like you anymore.


Going home, feeling my way through familiar spaces, slowing down, feeling the grass underfoot. I got to spend quality time with my babies. Although it's a bittersweet thing, this slowing down. Because when you slow down, you get to know what you miss out on. Everything must be photographed, documented, because who knows when you'll get to do it again? And then by documenting everything, you miss out on being in that very moment.  It's almost a paradox. 


It's most definitely bittersweet - and the only cure is to book in more holidays to look forward to. I'm looking forward to the June school holidays. Busting out of the city again to enjoy more time with my parents and my wee babes, and more time for living. 


Tiny clung on to me this morning as I was about to walk out the door to work. She didn't want me to go. I didn't want to go.


That wasn't bittersweet. It was just bitter. 

Guest Post: With Nat Kringoudis

Today on PottyMouthMama I have a guest post - which is not something I ordinarily do. But during the four years I have been blogging, I have had the great fortune of meeting some truly inspiring women. Women that I wanted to share with the rest of the world. To shout about from the rooftops. 

Well this is my rooftop, and today Nat Kringoudis is guest posting. Nat is the brains and the beauty behind The Pagoda Tree and Fertile Body, Heart & Soul. 

I've known Nat for over two years. She's the type of woman who very politely takes life by the scruff of its neck - and makes it better. That means it's positive and bright. I can't say enough good things about Nat - she's like a bright nurturing beacon of light.  

Nat juggles her incredibly busy work life with life as the mum of two gloriously beautiful babes. The below post has been written by Nat. 

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This time last year, I fell pregnant. Something many women find themselves doing at some point in their life, but equally it's no mean feat.   As a natural fertility specialist, I know that some women’s journeys to pregnancy can be more difficult than other women's. Another thing I know is babies.  I know how to make them, I know how to keep them in until they are well baked and then I know how to get them out when my patients are ready to have their babies. I practice this everyday in my clinic.

However nine months later, I was in for a shock when I experienced nothing short of a horrendous 18 hour labour, drug free (just saying), which ended in an emergency c-section.  Again, something I know many women have been through, but certainly not something I would have chosen if I had been given an option.  This birth didn't go to my plan. I couldn't control it. This took some coming to terms with. It was a good lesson for me as a health professional, not one I wanted to have to learn but I took it on board. 

Just as the dust was settling and I was finally getting my life back into gear post cesarean and I was coming out of the haze of new mum-hood, I got a phone call that would change our family's life. My son was diagnosed with Cystic Fibrosis (CF).  I can’t remember much from that day. This was not how I'd envisaged this working out for us.

As a health educator and blogger, I’m yet to share my story on the world wide web.  Now a few months have passed, I've got more of our story to tell. Initially I was wary to share.  I wanted others to see my son Geordie for who he is rather than 'Geordie with CF'. You see, we very quickly learnt that people don’t know anything good in regards to CF. They know that people with CF suffer, they are sick and in the past they very often died at a young age. I also wanted the chance to prove to people (and perhaps even to myself) that that would not be my son's experience.  I needed time to show others (and again, prove to myself) that I could hopefully keep him well.  Not to be delusional about the reality of CF, I realised the challenges that the future would hold for us, but I would use all my might to scurry through every crevice of my brain and use all the tools I had.  The 11 years I devoted to studying health care was for a cause.  It seems, thisis what I had studied for.

I’m no stranger to CF. My best friend of 20 years has a son with CF. Two best friends, two boys with CF – what are the chances?  This question I have asked myself a thousand times.  What arethe chances?  With 3000 people living in Australia with CF, how is it that my high school bestie and I could both find ourselves here?  Most people's reaction is – ‘you’re so lucky you have each other.’  I agree, whilst I am so lucky to have her - this reality has been the hardest thing to come to terms with because the biggest risk to a child with CF, is actually being around another child with CF.   It means that our two sons shouldn’t really play together.   How do we do play dates?  How do I cope with limited time together?  I’m still learning to come to terms with it and it’s hard.  Really hard.  What about our dreams of taking them on a flight together to Disney land?   

 The first few weeks left my heart dark and heavy, like somebody had dropped a blanket over it.  Every time I felt like I had my head around it, I’d be punched in the face again as if somebody was saying “oh no you don’t – get back to feeling sorry for yourself.”  Thing is – that ain’t me.  Soon after, I couldn’t face it any longer.  I took charge and I took it real good.  We had to move on and get going with the job of making sure Geordie is a healthy boy.  

See, Geordie picked the right family or should I say, he was given to us as a gift.  Whatever way you look at it, I had lessons to learn and still do.  I learnt I’m a control freak – yup!  Who knew, right?  Granted, he has a bloody determined mother with a head harder than rodeo bull and a really level headed easy-going daddy.  He’s way lucky.  He also has a sister with a love for him that is larger than life itself.

Prior to having children, I would wonder what they were going to look and be like.  Every parent dreams of their ‘perfect’ child, or rather, they want their child to be perfect.  When I received the CF news there was a moment where all of this ‘what about...’ flashed in front of me like a broken neon sign that is shorting out.  I thought to myself  ‘this isn’t what I imagined, somebody let me out of this silly dream.’   When Geordie was diagnosed, so many messages streamed through saying “I’m so sorry to hear about Geordie” like he was gone and we were in mourning – and this broke my heart to say the least.  Reality was, there was nothing to be ‘sorry’ about (and I know these messages were sent with the best intentions), he was still Geordie and frankly nothing about him had changed.  I took it upon myself to make sure people understood the positives, that there was hope and that my Geordie had a big, bright future.  I understood that people didn’t quite know what to say to us, and that sometimes, silence is ok.  That’s a big deal coming from this chatterbox.  We didn’t need words, we just needed to know that we had support – thankfully, we had plenty of that. 

We’ve been lucky.  Geordie is going great guns.  He’s gaining weight at a rapid rate, and he is well, and this alone lifts the weight off my shoulders (not literally!).   Research in CF has come along in leaps and bounds and the future looks so bright for kids with CF. The big thing with CF is that you don’t know what you’ve been dealt.  Nobody can tell you how ‘well’ or ‘sick’ your child will be, and there are so many factors that go in the mix – genetics, environment, lifestyle and luck I’m sure.  The things I can’t control – I’m letting go of, but those that I can I’m going all the way.  I’m blessed with knowledge and I’m blessed with my perfect son.  I truly feel lucky.

Someday we will all go to Disney land – it might be on separate flights, but we will get there and we will have the time of our lives, together.  Geordie has already taught me that life is for the living – we will be making every day count for the rest of our long, long lives.
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Nat is currently finishing work on her upcoming e-book on priming your body for fertility, with tips and tricks for a wellness overhaul, including over 25 recipes for building a fertile body. I'll keep you posted when it comes out.

image: the beautiful image of Nat with baby Geordie is courtesy of Nat

Dangerous Kids VS Bubble Wrapped Cloistered Kids

Do you let your kids do dangerous things? Me? Nope. Not really. Which is a shame really. It is. They live this cloistered life where they don't get to experience life's heady ups and it's way down downs. 


While my kids don't live a dangerous life, I do try and invest in them a sense of independence. I think independence in children is an absolutely positive thing. It's what you want. Well it's what I want anyhow. 


I lived a childhood where we tore up the streets riding our bikes 'round and 'round, through church yards, up and down gravel roads. We walked to the local BP station for mixed lollies. We walked bare foot through grass. We got sunburnt. I jumped into the pool. Mum had to fish me out. We lit fire crackers. We made bonfires. We made teepees out of sticks. I jumped into the pool. Mum had to fish a blue-faced me out. We drove through my grandparent's paddocks, me sitting on Gramps' knee steering. I got rose thorns in my fingers. I trod on bindis. I trod on prickles. I trod on bees. I trod on a nail. Yes. I trod on a lot. That's what happens when you have big feet like me. 


We had cats, dogs, rabbits, lambs, birds, fish and chickens for pets. Life was good. Life was full. And Mum and Dad cast out a net for us to catch our own experiences. 


And then I look at my children's experiences. They don't really play out on the street with the other kids. Society has in a way wrapped them up in bubble-wrap and cloistered our kids. We're raising a generation of kids that are bubble-wrapped. Heck, all the playgrounds these days are safety-conscious they've removed the fun from it. Where's the sense of adventure? 


One of my friends posted this TED Talk on their Facebook page (thanks to whoever that was) and I became inspired. 


I'm inspired to let my children experience more. I want them to play with fire - but with boundaries. I want them to pull things apart. I'm going to let my kids use knives. I'm going to give my kids tools to experience life to a fuller capacity. They can throw spears too - just not sure where we're going to do that. 


If for one thing alone, watching this has added a new dimension to my parenting. I want my kids to live a colourful and rich childhood. A pocket-knife is now on my shopping list for the Doctor's birthday.

Working. And What Does This Mean?

I've been giving it much consideration lately - I was formerly a stay at home mum (SAHM) - and found it immensely tiring, but in the same breath - immensely satisfying. You got to see the outcome of what you put in, and, for me, that was my proudest achievement. Daily you reaped rewards in the form of sticky cuddles, sloppy, wet kisses, and the pinnacle of parenting - high-fiving after mastering potty training. It was full of daily simple pleasures, and sometimes it was mundane, but mostly it was full to the brim of a gentle kind of happiness.

When Matt and I decided to switch things around so he could finish his studies, I returned to the paid workforce. I had been freelancing for five years, which was getting more and more tricky with two small kids, but it had its rewards too. But it was inconsistent, so I started looking around.

I went back to the coalface, working 4 days a week, and have been there now for 18 months. It's not been an easy transition either. I am riddled by mother's guilt. I always feel like I am missing out. I always feel like my kids are missing out on their mama.

Work is satisfying and exciting, and of course there's the thrill of hitting targets and weekly wins, I get to utilise my years of experience, but it's definitely not the same as parenting.

Sure there are tantrums. Arguments. Petty office politics. But on the flipside, I do get to go to the toilet cubicle solo.

I race hither and thither so I can be doing my job to the best of my abilities, and race home so I can spend as much time as possible with my smalls.

And recently, it made me think:

What do other mums think?

Is it more important to work in a job that stretches your brain (in a good way), and let's you blossom professionally?

or

Is it more important to have a flexible job?

And

Is it possible to have both? Or is brain-stretching distinctly separate to flexibility?

I'm undecided.

PS - I don't know why I felt the need to post a picture of Tootsie. I just did. I love Tootsie. I just can't even rationalise why I put that picture there.

Oh Yes.

Who can't relate to this? Raise your hand if you dare.

found via Pinterest and first seen via the totally rad MamaBake

Naked? In Front Of Your Kids? *GASP*

A couple of years ago I heard of a couple who never got naked in front of their kids. This isn't an urban legend. The children had never seen their dad naked, and according to the parents - they weren't ever going to either.

I was a little shocked  because - well nudity is a feature in our house. We're not nude all of the time, but we're not not nude all of the time.

But what I found most shocking was the organisation that this would entail.

I re-enacted it in my head. I would have to take all my clothes to the bathroom when I showered. I would have to close doors. I don't usually close doors. But above all, I wouldn't be able to stand at my wardrobe, in a definite state of undress, deciding what to wear for the day. This startled me. I usually walk around the house in the morning in various states of dress before finally getting my stuff together and getting it on. I thought about how small our house (smaller than a shoebox) and how difficult life would be if they never saw me naked.

I think it's good to be nude in front of my kids!

And this is part of the naked upside down breastfeeder talk. People, generally men, didn't like the idea that she was nude! And she was breastfeeding.

But for me, being nude is good. It's a positive! Being nude shows children real bodies. Bumps, lumps, hips and dips. Everything. I have thought about all those perfect images of women and men being presented perfectly in the media - airbrushed, over-styled, and after sitting in a make-up chair for a couple of hours. 

While my body isn't perfect it is pretty awesome. It's grown babies. It's birthed babies. It's fed babies. It can run up and down stairs. It does so much cool stuff. And my brain drives it. Pretty rad when you think about it.


image of Chilli Peppers via

This Is Me. Just Another Mother Blogger.

This is me.
Lexi.
PottyMouthMama.
Worker bee by day.
Mama and wife by night.

I was thinking about mummy bloggers and thinking how that tag does not fit me. Well I don't think so anyway. That tag makes me really uncomfortable. I get kind of itchy. I am no expert parent. And sometimes - a lot lately - I am sad how little time I have to spend with my children, that is quality time. I get home, I am tired. Sometimes snappy. I hate that. I feel so distant sometimes. There's a disconnect between work life and family life. I struggle with it. Battle with it daily. I don't find the work-family juggle very easy and it can sometimes make me feel immensely sad. Right to my bones. 

But we gots to live.

And someone once went to town on me in the comments section, saying that I chose this and that it's my own fault. Well. I guess she didn't read my blog very carefully. I work four days, and when I am home, Matt works. We have that one day together, and Sydney sucks you dry. To your very marrow.

But back to my blog. Life is this imperfect thing, and so is my parenting. But, I am a mama, but I am also so much more. And my blog is more than parenting and sometimes not so much about parenting. And since I've returned to the paid workforce, I feel distant from the mummy blogger tag. Actually I think I've always been distant from the mummy blogger tag (EEK!). I could go 'round and 'round in circles with this discussion by myself. I won't. But I could.

I think Anna sums it up well here.

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This is me wearing a necklace my friend Pip gave me, a few years ago. I love wearing it. It makes me think of her and all the awesome sauce she spreads throughout the world.

I have other things that have been gifted to me that remind me of special people in my life. My Mum gave me one of her vintage kaftans. I wore it throughout my first pregnancy, with the Doctor in my belly. I love that kaftan, though it's getting a bit threadbare, it's so loved and makes me think of my Mum.

I love wearing things that remind me of people. It puts me in a good mood and makes me think they're kind of looking after me that day. In a weird way. That might sound kooky. Apologies. I might be a little kooky.

End of rambling post.
At ease soldiers.

A Bog Post

Let's cast our minds back to how I actually came up with the name for my blog: PottyMouthMama. I was in the thick of toilet training. All I could think of was potties. Bribes. Star charts. And cleaning the potty. It was all consuming for me as a young mama.

PottyMouthMama really has nothing to do with the fact that I *accidentally* swear, and therefore Tiny could be found in the back of our car cussing with the best of them. She's a small wharfie in the making. And even when I asked her to stop saying: "Oh F-bomb", she continued. Ouch.

Anyway, back to the reason there is a really special toilet seat posted on my blog. And let me tell you, this place I like to keep kind of immaculate, and you're wondering why there's a toilet on my blog? Why PottyMouthMama, why? And why the crass title? Well for good reason.

This toilet seat may just be the key to getting a reluctant toilet trainer on the toot. It's not your usual white loo seat. It has fishes! It has star fishes! It has sand! Shells! Blue faux water!

Or it could really freak them out. Which could be good if you have a child that likes to sit on the toilet for long periods of time. Let them know a shark may bite their little bot-bot if they straggle.

Actually, don't do that. It won't do anything for their toileting.

Bribery & Parenting 101

I've taken to bribing the smalls to do mundane everyday things that they're just not that into.

1. Like brushing teeth. A couple of weeks ago I introduced "The Toothbrushing Time Trials" in preparation for "The Toothbrushing Olympics". The smalls don't know that they are the only competitors - and quite frankly, they don't need to know. But heck. This idea works a charm. I get Matt's iPhone, prep the stopwatch and BOOM! Two minutes of teeth brushing bliss for both of them. No wrangling with Tiny. No whinging. No lightweight brushing.

Gold star to mama.

2. In the interests of keeping the peace, Matt has decided to keep the smalls bathing separately. But I can't be bothered waiting for two rounds of bath-times, so I've been bribing them to get into the bath with a squirt each of this Imperial Leather Foamburst. Have you seen this? It's lush! Like washing myself with rich shaving cream, well that's the consistency. And the smalls - it gets them every time! Boom! Straight into the bath.

Gold star to mama.

3. When the smalls aren't asking for food, I feed them. A snack bowl full of celery, grape tomatoes, carrot sticks, whatever's on hand. Those smalls don't see me coming. Sneaking vegetables into them. Making them less fractious before dinner time. I swoop in there like a secret vegetable avenger.

Gold star to mama.

4. The Doctor came home from school upset. He needed some coaxing, but finally told me that someone had punched him in the tummy. Again. And that because I had drawn a love heart on his yoghurt, half the class laughed at him and made fun of him - and the poor little dude, he cried. The worst thing? I've always put hearts on his lunchbox - because I LOVE him - and that morning, I had thought, hmm, maybe I shouldn't. Then I thought - shucks, he's in Kindergarten. He's six. It's ok! It's love! Wrong mama. Wrong. So I wrote a little note to his teacher to let her know. He came home triumphant. Everyone in the class HAD to come to school with hearts and love notes from their parents in their lunchboxes. How cute is that? And the puncher. He got reprimanded very swiftly. School is the HARD YARDS!

Gold stars all 'round.

And here ends my bribery & parenting and ranting 101.

Image is Tiny looking scary.

Wah! Wah! The Non-Newborns

I've just had a few days of annual leave. I've relished being back at home. Picking the kids up. Spending more time with the kids. I miss being at home with them. Today I went back to work. It hurt. I missed them like a crazy lady.

Tonight when I finally got home after sitting in the car for what felt like forever, I wrapped them up like newborns.

I love those little kittens.

Another Exciting Episode

I've got the blues and I'm wondering if it's because I haven't found any roadside treasure in such a long, long time.

But that's not why. No friends, it's not.

I have the blues because life can be so damn complicated sometimes. Just when you think you're back on top of that beautiful palamino, and ready to take a jump, the palamino sniffs an apple, and off it runs, tossing you into a big muddle (which is Tiny's version of puddle).

I'm dreaming of a holiday. It's a fantasy holiday. I'm somewhere hanging out with my smalls, and Matt. Meandering through warm days together, burying our feet in the sand. Making big lazy breakfasts together. Playing games and puzzles. Simple things.

What are you dreaming about?

Three Is

Three is a difficult age. Tiny is really asserting her independence. And her authority. Weeing on everything when she's literally pee'd off with us. I wish I was kidding.

She's Tantytown Superstar. She's over tired. She loves getting her own way, and she loves letting us know about it.

Tonight I was moving the living room around a little, and Matt and I discussed moving some furniture to make some space. I said, ok I think I am ready to get rid of the wardrobe (that is currently in our living room - yeah go figure - but it has a story). So get rid of the wardrobe, or Tiny. Matt's very quick reply: "We can store things in the wardrobe."

We're fatigued with this little assertive three year old.

At the best of times, she is a joyful little being. So full of wonder. Skipping ahead - learning so much, a delight to be with.

At the worst of times she has me screeching at the buckets of water on the bathroom floor that takes me countless rounds of mopping, letting her know I'm not happy about the yoghurt being massaged into the carpet, the drawings on the wall.

And then soon she will be four, and I will miss the mischievous, crazy-fun of a three year old. Yearn for her to be smaller again. I already do that now.

I feel like the grumpiest mother ever to walk this earth. I'll try to screech a little less this week.