Stuff Happens

Remember the other week when I wrote about what was happening for our little family? About the childcare woes, the distinct lack of village, and the big changes?

A few people commented on here and over on Facebook, imploring me to ask some mums. After all, what was the worst thing that could happen? They could say no.

I sat on it for a few days feeling really, absolutely awkward.

Then I bit the bullet and contacted a few mums that I vaguely knew from dropping the kids off to their houses. I asked them if they could look after our smalls one afternoon a week, for the next two terms. I told them they had no obligation.

And then I waited for them to respond. The three all responded saying they'd love to help, but of the three, one logistically couldn't do it. But the other two said YES! And one asked if we could look after their daughter before school. Of course we said YES!

Things have worked out well. Well, so far so good. We won't know until we're in the thick of it. But for now, I feel so much happier with this place we are at.

Thank you for empowering me to ask. Thank you. Thank you.

images - because I love them - by Spanish artist Lola Guerrera via Design for Mankind

Tides Are Changing

Last time I wrote about the juggle of life - of working, of parenting, of wife-ing, I received a comment from a helpful anonymous commenter that "you chose this and you should suck it up". Clearly that wasn't verbatim - but it might as well have been.

Needless to say, I shut up about talking about family life - and since then I've shied away from sharing family life.

But the thing is, I think that's what most people can relate to.

This term brings another new change for our little family. A new and fresh load of guilt for me to either drown in, or choose to swim to the surface, flap about and save our souls. I'm choosing the latter.

Recently Matt was announced a semi-finalist in the Moran Portrait Prize (bravo Matt!), and within the same week he scored a really, really great job. It had been a long distance between good things for us. It's been a tough year, despite all the hilarity I can muster, it's stretched us to our limits trying to make ends meet, and trying to juggle the mundane.

The flip side was this.

Tiny goes to preschool Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday.
Matt's job is going to be Wednesday, Thursday, Friday. 
I work Tuesday - Friday.
The Doctor goes to school five days a week.
Can you see the gap there? The gaping big hole in our week?

Luckily I could switch my day off. So I did. I'll be hanging with Tiny on Thursdays now, and joining the hordes battling Monday-itis.

By design we both work part-time so someone is home with the kids. That is our choice. We chose to have less of an income because family life is the priority for us. And now things are shifting, and we've got to shift with them, and move, like sands through the hourglass.

We've got Tiny going to a different preschool on Fridays - which weighs heavy on my heart. Her current preschool couldn't take her for another day, so I see this as a test. If it doesn't work - we will have to shift again. We'll change things around, switch things up. And I still need to find a solution for an afternoon school pick ups.

I wish I could ask someone at school to pick up my kids one day a week. But since I work - I haven't really struck up any relationships with other mothers to go out on a limb and ask. And it's a big ask, isn't it? To ask someone to take my children home once a week. Is it? Isn't it? I don't know. I've lost perspective now because this change feels so immense for us. I feel the distance even more acutely I think because I am at work. I leave early and don't get home 'til late. The distance and disconnection between work life and family life can be spectacularly damning.

The whole idea that it takes a village to raise a family is an awfully romantic notion. But Matt and I are playing dual-triple-quadruple roles of Mayor, Town Crier (that's me), counsellor, worker bee - we are the village people.

I wish things could have stayed as they were. They were hard, but we had our routine. The smalls had one of us. But I guess this is an evolution of our family life.

This is not a pity party. This is me grappling with what to do next. What's our next move?

the image is Tiny and her cousin P's culinary adventure in the garden this morning. They were cooking. Boy, those little girls, they love to cook.

Fashion Friday:: Short Skirts Are Back

I'm a massive fan of hand-me-downs. Being the youngest child, I was always found afloat amidst my sister's hand-me-downs.

One of my friends gifted me this frock, I was worried it was going to be way too small for me, but gave it a go nevertheless. It fit! High fives all 'round.

Over the last few years I've ditched black (I know - sacre bleu) and gone with navy. It's much kinder on my very fair skin. More flattering, more me. Less emo. Where I shy away from burgundy/maroon (too schoolyard for me) I embrace navy. Go figure.

Here I am, another day in paradise (read: work).

Fashion Friday: Double Denim Delights

Sometimes at work we have 'themes'. Well I come up with a theme and then insist that everyone complies. Yesterday afternoon after tossing and turning between 'get flirty with skirty' - or 'double denim' we decided that denim was the way to go.

Here I am, in my husband's chambray shirt, dark denim jeans - who could ever deny the delight that comes from double denim?!

I walk into work, round the corner to my desk, and lo and behold no one else is wearing double denim. They went for a single shot of denim. I'm double-shot, piccolo-mocha-frappuccino whole-heartedly embraced it.

Well hmph!

I feel just like Alex P. Keaton today.

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. 

How Do You Cheer Yourself Up?

How to brighten up a mamas day when she has to hit the office on an otherwise ordinary work day?

Amp up the lipstick, pop on some sequins and a super cool mani to rock the keyboard.

What do you do to cheer yourself up?

Last Days of Disco

The last few months have been a real struggle for me. Juggling almost full-time work with parenting, with housework, with wife-ing, and then toss blogging on top of that - I'm not going to lie. I am 100 % completely exhaustipated*. 


Something's got to give because everything in my life seems to be suffering from the knock on effect of everything else. Every night I race home from work, help with the kids going to bed, and collapse onto the sofa so darn beat down, I can barely muster any energy to open my laptop, let alone use my brain to come up with some content. I've tried. Trust me. I really have, but I feel like I am drowning in over-commitment - it's not a good feeling. 


It's with heavy heart that I've decided to put PottyMouthMama into retirement. At least for the next few months. 


If you feel a bit jipped, might I suggest you start at the very start of PottyMouthMama? There's four years worth of content, with highlights being Tiny smearing poo everywhere, the Doctor being delicious, and me rummaging through someone else's bin. For. Weeks. On. End. 


Bon appetit baby.


By the way, I'll still come back tomorrow and announce the LEGO winner. Last chance to enter that competition chicitas. 


image source here


*exhaustipated was a word a girl that I used to work with always used. I never had the heart to tell her it wasn't a real word. So I always thought of it as a combination of being immensely tired - and constipated - all at once.

The Poles Between PR and Blogging: 7 Tips

In the last few weeks I have been gazumped by PR requests. Email after email vying for space on my blog.

I often find myself in a quandary.

As a blogger, sometimes the information is totally irrelevant. I don't want to know about it. And I fathom a safe guess that my readers don't either. So I politely decline. Or lately, I just ignore (which seems terribly rude, but I have time-VS-email issues people - as I am sure you do too).

I've worked on my blog for over four years. I'm not just going to toss it away to be one big merry commercial. I must maintain its integrity. For my readers - and most of all, for myself.

And on the flip side, I've worked in PR for almost 13 years (my oh my, old old old).

I know what it's like working in-house and agency side. Clients want results. They don't want to hear excuses. They want their brand in bright lights, they want column inches, they want pixels. They want the world.

So I really want to help those who are pitching to me. I do. I want to help them.

But if PR pitches to bloggers continue the way they are now - things are going to roll backwards. Or implode.

The blogger in me questions every pitch sent my way. And I use the word "pitch" incredibly loosely here, because most of the time, all I am receiving is a generic:

"Dear Blogger"

or

"Dear Lexi, [insert gushing paragraph here about how much I love your blog]"

or

"hi PottyMouthMama"

or worse to me still - an embedded email that I can't even view half the time. Or just crap. I mean come now - seriously. Read my blog. I don't want to try your doggone baby purees because - I do not have a baby. And you could lazily scroll through my top posts to discover this for yourself. I'm not asking you to do my family tree and trawl through reams of geneaology. Nope.

Even worse. Inaccurate emails. Emails with titles: Interview Opportunity. And then I scroll through to look for who the interview is with - and there's nothing. Or some dubious subject matter. I could rattle off a heck of a lot. But for everyone's benefit - I won't.

I've just asked to be removed from their mailing list instead.

I know working in PR is busy. You have to measure your success. You must be accountable. And you have clients barking at your heels.  But respect the blogger.

So this is to those working in PR who want to learn about pitching to bloggers. Who really value quality content. Who really value an engaged audience. And who really want to do the right thing by their client.

1. READ READ READ:  Read the blogs you want to pitch to. Would you pitch blindly to someone in 'ye olde media'? If you answered yes, then you need to step away from your emails, and take a good hard look at yourself. I don't mean read four years of PottyMouthMama - but really, just become familiar with what I talk about, who I am, and if you truly think your brand is something that's going to fit in this space. And then you can start to build a relationship. KEY POINT!

2. WHO'S THAT CHICK? Find out my name. It's not rocket science. There's a reason why direct marketing companies pay thousands of dollars to access databases so they can tailor their communications to recipients. My name is not 'Blogger' - thank you Mum and Dad. It's not even PottyMouthMama. It's Lexi.

3. STOP SENDING GENERIC EMAILS: Please. For everyone's sake. You're wasting a lot of emails, as well as your time, my time, and everyone else's time. If you send out generic pitches - look at your ROI. Bet you're not getting much bang for your buck.

Don't do blanket mail outs. Tailor absolutely everything.

In my role as PR Manager, I've chosen to work with a handful of bloggers who I respect, trust and admire. Unfortunately, I don't currently have a budget to pay them. However, I offer them unique angles, I offer them exclusives, sometimes I might send them a gift. But I never ever expect anything in return.

Your client is not a charity - and the blogger owes you nothing.

4. EMAIL BOMBING:  I get a lot of emails every week. I'm not being cocky. A lot of them are spam. *Shudder* And some of them are from PR professionals, forwarding their original email because they haven't heard from me, and they want to check I received their email. And they've done a search and I haven't written anything about their client/product. Why not?

Why not?

Because I don't want to. Because it doesn't fit with my blog.

There should be no sense of entitlement.

Unless I want to. Unless I think my readers want to hear from you. Otherwise, I won't write about it.

5. SPONSORED POSTS: I started writing sponsored posts for shoe money. Clearly I don't buy a lot of shoes because I don't do a lot of sponsored posts. And I will only ever do a sponsored post if I truly believe it's cohesive with my blog.

The struggle with keeping my blog pure - and the need - and sometimes want - to make a little extra pocket money - it's a fine line. But when I do a sponsored post - I try to maintain my voice. I try to keep it relevant.

6. PRODUCT REVIEWS:  If you want me to review your product, well then it's a pretty good idea if you send me a sample. I am on the mailing list of one PR practitioner - and at the end it always says: "if you want samples, let me know". Not once, not twice, but at least four times I have replied saying "yes please send me a sample so I can try it for myself and legitimately write about it". And each time she replies "Sorry all the samples are gone." Well then BOOM! I'll make your emails be gone from my inbox. Simple really.

7. TIMING! Inviting me to an event is nice. It is. And thank you. But give me a bit of notice. Four days notice to drop everything for lunch? Yep. Not coming. I've got a busy life and I can't shuffle things at that late notice either. Same applies for sending me media releases. Don't send them to me on the day whatever you're spruiking happens. I'm a busy woman - as are all bloggers. I'm not usually struggling for content. And I won't drop everything to bang out some paras on your product on the day. Nope.

**BONUS TIP: If you are inviting me to an event, please make sure I live in the city the event is taking place in. Unless you're willing to cover my travel and accommodation costs.

For more on this topic head over to Edenland.


 image - me with Allen's Retro Party Mix teeth. Because I can. It's me in PR mode.

Life As A Funeral Director

Back when I was 15 - at school we had to do 'Careers' as a subject. We had a teacher who had the world's biggest combover, wore short sleeve shirts and wreaked of BO. Not terribly inspirational.


As part of this course we had to answer a questionnaire on the computer, which would then tally up your likes, dislikes, favourite colour, favourite food and personal disposition, and spit out what it thought you should be.


Sounds exciting, doesn't it?


So that computer spat out my results. What it thought I should be when I grew up.


A funeral director.


My 15 year old brain imploded.

And then I left it there.

I continued school, studying anything I could that would move me away from becoming a funeral director. Visual arts. Drama. Modern history. English. No biology.

So it must have been three years later, towards the end of year twelve, when school leavers are preparing to hit the real world, and I was working out which degree I wanted to apply for. 

We had a different careers advisor by this time (phew) - and I shared my dream to tread the boards, and become an actress.

Her response: "You'll never make any money."

My 18 year old brain imploded.

Way to take my dreams, hold them up to the light, then throw them to the ground and stomp on them. Repeatedly. Way to go.

So I ditched the idea of going to NIDA.

I completely ditched it. Those dreams were dashed, and I've never really reconsidered it. Those poorly chosen words just kept ringing in my ears.
Instead the careers advisor told me I should pursue something like public relations.

And I did. I went to uni, attended one class of public relations theory, left that class and thought "I can't sit through that" - and enrolled in Writing instead. But worked in PR the whole way through my degree. I got the best of both worlds.

But lately I've been thinking of being a funeral director and how life would have been so different. It takes a gentle art to be a funeral director I think.

Have you ever had a mid-life crisis/career change?

image via: Daily Mail

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.

Last Christmas I Gave You My Heart

The very next day I got an inflatable Santa suit and wore it to work.

And now friends, all my colleagues have until mid-January to recover from me being dressed as Santa for the afternoon. I am on holly-days.

PS - If you are staying in the Hunter Valley, or just driving through, be sure to check out the Hunter Valley Gardens Christmas Lights. Amazeballs.

Office Politics

I found this somewhere, can't remember where, because my friends I have CHRISTMAS FOG BRAIN.

But I had to share it with you. Your office Christmas party may well be a distant and fuzzy memory, but just in case, here it is, your guide for your work party.

My Own Private Letter to Santa

Dear Santa,

About a month or so ago, Ford kindly lent me their brand new Ford Focus Titanium.

Did you know, I've never owned my own car? When Matt and I met, he had a car, and as we fell more and more madly and deeply in love, it became apparent that his car was a gift with purchase. I got the benefits of a car together with a new boyfriend. Win: Win.

Since returning to working in an office, we tend to borrow my MIL's car during the week, so that I can drive, instead of spend 1.5 hours x 2 travelling 24kms. It's a blessing that we are able to borrow her car, but you know Santa, I can't help but feel life would be so much simpler if we had a second car.

When Ford contacted me and asked if I'd like to drive their new car for a week - I very promptly responded that I'd be a fool to turn this opportunity down.

Santa, I'd be pretty chuffed if you popped the zippy new Ford Focus down my chimney. Though we don't have a chimney, so I'm happy for it to be just parked in our driveway. 

Santa, this car is the shiz.

You see, it parks itself, which is an additional gift when you're trying to slip into tiny spaces in say - Surry Hills or Paddington - and you can say: "Look ma, no hands" quite literally as it reverses into that spot.

It has voice recognition. Heated seats (which when I was driving, I put on so Matt felt like he'd wet his pants all of a sudden - naughty Lexi!), a sun roof, which Tiny sampled (above) and a roomy boot. Just look at that boot full of groceries. What a sweet ride! OH! Not to mention the fact that it has a keyless ignition. So you walk up to the car with your keys in your handbag, it senses you're in the vicinity et voila - it opens the doors. And you hop in, you can start your engine. No more rummaging through your handbag - which is BRILLIANT when you have smalls in a busy carpark. Straight in, no stuffing around.

I even boasted to Matt that, for the first time in my life, while driving this car, I felt sporty. Me? Feeling sporty? Holy cow.

I zipped around in that car all week long. Manufacturing reasons why I needed to drive it. Truly. I loved that car so much. I'm still pining for it Santa. In fact, I whizzed and whizzed around in that car, and even after a full week of whizzing, I still had a quarter of a tank of petrol. That baby corners like it's on rails.

Excuse me Santa, but does your sleigh offer that kind of fuel economy? Didn't think so. 

So Santa, what I'm thinking about is the Ford Focus for Christmas. Red Candy.  

Love, 
Lexi

FYI: this is not a sponsored post. Ford lent me the car. I drove it. I loved it. I wrote about it. I'm still pining about it. Santa, bring back my sporty wheels! 

PSSSST! How Can We Be Lovers If We Can't Be Friends?

Yesterday I spent the afternoon - between working - taking on the huge role of educating the younger members of our team on Michael Bolton and his hefty back catalog.

Between you and I - I once had a wee crush on Michael Bolton + his golden mane of hair. I even bought his Christmas album. Now that is devoted people. DE.VOTED.

So I am well-versed to educate the younger civilians in my life about Michael Bolton. Did you know, for instance, that he dated Ashley Judd? Yep.

However, in the last few years, I'd let my Michael Bolton knowledge slip. Thankfully after straying from the Michael Bolton path, my friend led me to the fountain of Bolton again. Have you seen this treat?

Oh Man!

Thanks to my friend Deb who shared this clip on Facebook - and now I just have to listen to it because it puts me in such a sunny mood. It sounds like a big band. I like that. Yep. I really do.



I'm heading to Auckland in a couple of weeks - for work - if you've got the heads up on Auckland - let me know. Apparently I need a North Face jacket because it's so blinking freezing, and I'm not prepared!



In other ground breaking news, I've not had an alcoholic beverage pass my lips since July. This is my 17th day of no-alcohol. Go me! (And go Matt too, because we're doing it together).



Have you found any new music lately?

Help Me Help You

So in a couple of weeks I'm doing a little talk at a conference. It's about PR. And PR agencies/consultants and the world of blogging and bloggers.



Secretly I am hoping no one turns up, because every time I think about it, I feel really, really queasy.



Nevertheless, I am doing a little research beforehand. Whether you read blogs, blog, or are new to blogs, I'd value your feedback. But I'm not doing some hardcore survey, because:

a) I just don't have the time

and

b) neither do you



Let me cut to the chase. I'd love it if you had a spare five minutes, if you can tell me:

- If PR agencies contact you: what works? what doesn't?

- What do you love?

- What do you loathe?

- How many companies contact you per week?

- Do you ever get any really random requests?

- And does anyone ever nail it - like really hit the nail on the head, and get you and your blog, and how to work with you?

- As a reader: what works for you? And what are you sick of?



Or if you're more comfortable emailing me, that's ace: lexipmm (at) gmail (dot) com



I'd appreciate any insights you can share with me - and if you comment on here, please don't name any agencies or companies.



Help me out peeps!

So. I'm Back.

I'm back from my brief hiatus, back into the thick of Winter. What a drag! I'm over Winter - move on please.

I think I owe you an explanation as to why blogging has been so sporadic, and poor.

Work is super duper busy at the moment, and couple that with family life, I'm not coping very well! The juggle - it ain't juggling. Everything's up in the air and coming down and landing in my face.

But I'm ok. I've just become a bit of a hermit.

So I haven't properly started Back In The Habit - but I've not forgotten about it. It's coming, promise.

I've also got to tell you that despite the fact I was working while I was in Hamilton Island, it was so, so good for me! Do you know how much I enjoyed sleeping in a bed: all to myself?! Luxury! And no one walked in on me in the bathroom, or asked for me to do something when I was in the middle of a shower? Amazeballs.

I was excited to come home to my little peeps (and big man-child) - while being super tired. Life is beautiful.

Aloha!

I could so easily get used to island life. Surely I can get a job driving golf buggies around by day, hula dancing by night.

Someone - give a girl a break.

Have bikini. Will travel.

(PS - I'm here working. Yes. Hard life, I know.)

A Weird (& Wet) Week

I've had one of those uber weeks when everything's larger than life, and more than you can bear. But it's over! It's Friday night! Halleluljah! I made it to the weekend in tact! I still have bruises on my knees, but who cares, because it's Winter and it's raining, and it's raining cats, dogs, squirrels and frogs, and if I'm not wearing jeans, I'm definitely wearing tights and boots.

Tiny had to come into my work today. Just for a wee while. She loved it. She drew on the whiteboard. She played with Cara's hair and stroked Cara's face. Cara, are you ok with that?

She hid in a little castle that some of the girls constructed for her. She coloured in.

And when we left, she exclaimed about a rather large rock in the carpark and told me it was "where the dinosauruses live" and then said she wanted to come back to Mama's work.

If only all work days were like this.

Mondays Are...

Sometimes running around doing odd jobs and paying bills and running chores.

Today is tidying the house for the week ahead, because by the time I get home from work on all the other nights, I am too plum shickered to even lift a broomstick. This afternoon I make meatballs and some biscuits to throw into the pantry.

And before you think, but PottyMouth, life from the outside looks glamorous. Or maybe you don't. But these shots here are testament to the fact that life ain't one inch of glamorous. Unless you count the one inch of lipstick I have left that Tiny hasn't smeared all over her face and hands.

Raking.

Tossing clean clothes onto my bed to be folded.

Washing.

Vacuuming up the dust bunnies. Dust. Dust. Where does all the dust come from? Please - no one reply with - dead skin cells. EEP!

I hate the work/homelife juggle. I know you know where I'd rather be.