Fitzy does a Nudie Rudie in front of my sketchpad

I hadn't even eaten breakfast when I was faced with a man wearing only a sapphire necklace winking at me. "WTF!" I thought and then I remembered that two short days prior I had actually brought this little, I mean quite large (sorry Fitzy!) situation on myself by sending the tweet below. 

The day started like any other; Crash nearly choked on the apple he snuck out of his kindy bag, Bang didn't quite make it to the potty and I took too long in the bathroom. Then I found myself standing next to Ryan Fitzgerald's wife while her husband de-robed. Despite the indisputable thrill of getting up close and personal (there's a fun euphemism) with my fave radio personalities, Fitzy & Wippa, the real fun was when Fitzy's son Hughie started yelling "Dadda, bum bum...Dadda BUM BUM".

Since becoming a Mum of two boys myself, watching this little man, trying to tell his Dad that he possibly should put some clothes on was priceless. Little people are SO cute and effortlessly hilarious. With Fitzy as your Dad though you may get a bit of a head start in the humour stakes, and showing signs of this Hughie almost stole the show, well for me anyway. Give me a toddler to talk to any day over staring at a 6'5" super cut naked male body! LOL!
(You can see the full hilarious exchange on the video from Nova and also discover that the photo of me was taken surprisingly when Fitzy still had clothes on - see not the dirty p€rve you thought I was). 

Anyway I did manage to get some sketching done despite the utter mayhem that was going on around the easels see below but don't think it does him justice.

"Still Life...my ar5e" a frenetic work of art by Nicole of Fitzy!

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Sleepless in sanity aka Motherhood

I am a bit of a walking zombie at the moment. I felt in good company though when Bang, my two year old, passed out while sitting in a shopping trolley today. If I'd been in there with him we would have both been mouth open, drooling, head awkwardly balanced against metal bars, rocking suddenly forward as we drifted off to la-la-land. Instead I was leaning against the trolley as I dragged myself around occasionally holding Bang's head up so it wouldn't fall off. I was getting some strange looks, but nothing new there!

I must admit though I am a little disappointed with my near exhaustion, I am a mother of toddlers, not babies, toddlers. You know the ones that don't need a breastfeed at 11pm and 3am, the ones that lull you into this false sense of security when they start sleeping through at 8 months. The ones that make you think that now they were 18 months and nearly 3 that you had seen the last of incessant sleep deprivation. 

Right? WRONG! 

There are these things that happen after the baby phase, but not straight away, they give you a 3-6 months to get used to needing 7-8 hours sleep again only to hit you with: 

TOILET TRAINING

Suddenly midnight and 3am are back on the schedule. "Mama, I need to do weeeeeee!" is the most common sound that drags me from sweet dreams, to pull down mini undies, usually with Buzz Lightyear all energetically flying through the air on them, effing Buzz! Or worse still, to change the bed because you were deluded enough to think that after two weeks of not wetting the bed, you had this superstar, genius child who was going to last the night without having a little dream about "weeee!" while lying asleep in his temporarily dry bed. Let me tell you there's a reason why there is a large part of the nappy aisle dedicated to night nappies disguised as "pyjama pants". 

DAYLIGHT KlLLlNG

And just when I thought we may get a full night's sleep plus that extra hour I've been missing for 5 months, back from Daylight saving ending, the sun going down just 1 small hour earlier which unbeknown to me translates in toddler world to rising at 5am. 5AM?!!! WTF?! 

I used to LOOOOVE daylight savings. I used to dream about the warm adventures that were available to me once that sun stayed up until 8pm. That was until I met two little people that you would swear were possessed all because some bright spark decided to muck around with the bloody clocks. It will come as no surprise then when I tell you I hate Daylight Saving with a passion now and have renamed it accordingly. 

All I can conclude is you have three choices:

1. Move to Queensland (I don't need to tell you what is wrong with this decision, do I?)

2. Don't have children until they are 7 or else keep them in nappies until then (joking! my toddlers seriously rock... especially when they are asleep)

3. Have a whinge on your blog and hope other people laugh at your demented state then GO TO BED and DON'T go on Twitter (I think this is probably the best option, not for any apparent reason of course)

How many years until I get a full night's sleep people? 

Ok maybe don't tell me as I'm not currently suicidal and don't want to be any time soon.

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3 Reasons NOT to have children?

Suburban residents look on as a gypsy family move on to their nature strip!

Last night I was videoing singing and dancing blue rabbits (as you do) without a care in the world, today I am sitting on the side of a road somewhere between home and the central coast wiping spew off a distraught toddler.

I'm not sure whether this was in the part of the hand book I chose not to read or maybe we are just "special" but "what the f*^k!!!!!!!!"

Look I don't want to put anyone off having kids and I can't actually imagine my life without my two inexplicably beautiful boys but I really do now understand why some people choose not to have children. I mean really all they are saying is "I like the idea of not being spewed, shat or pissed on".

As I continue another two hours in a car that smells so putrid I'm thinking of adding some of my own bile to the floor mats, I try and laugh. Life is absurd at the best of times but just when you think you've seen it all you glance at a toddler weeing next to a footpath, a husband working his way through a packet of wipes on a car seat, a smelly but surprisingly chipper creature cooing in your lap and a concerned old sticky peak one eye on us the other on the phone book as she looks up the number for DOCS!

The old lady and her beady eyes did it - she made me laugh. Now I just hope I can stop before it turns into blubbering hysteria that signals a need for a stay in a white room that happens to have padded walls... Mmmmnn comfy.

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The true meaning of Easter? ..the bunnies speak out!

If you were wondering about the true meaning of Easter, and whether it had become too commercial, well fear not! Two blue furry creatures that sing have made sense of it all!

(What I'd really like to know is since when did it become ok to give the Easter Bunny uppers? What is the world coming to!)

HAPPY EASTER!

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Here's to the crazy ones that change the world: Digital Parents Conference 2012

"Here's to the crazy ones, the misfits, the rebels the troublemakers. The round pegs in the square holes, the ones who see things differently. They're not fond of rules and they have no respect for the status quo.You can quote them, disagree with them, glorify or vilify them, about the only thing you can't do is ignore them, because they change things, they push the human race forward. And while some may see them as the crazy ones we see genius because the people who are crazy enough to think they can change the world are the ones who do."

Today I spoke on a panel at the Digital Parents Conference in Melbourne on working with brands. I started the session with this ad from Apple in 1997 because it is so inspirational and it still rings true today. The only thing that is a little different is that genius is no longer only found in the ranks of famous people.

It is found in the true story of someone's life, the humour that keeps someone else going, the drive another has for a good cause and the courage they all have to share part of themselves on their blog. Social media is a revolution, it gives nobodies a voice and it moves influence back to many rather than few.

That passion and influence is worth more than a bottle of moisturiser, and I hope from today we will realise that when we choose to collaborate with brands that we love and are passionate about, we'll remember that.

 I dedicate this to any one with an internet connection. You can change the world and if you are not certain well you can be certain that some of you have already changed at least one life today.

I have listed the twitter handles of those who moved me today below, please add your gamechangers too!

Kristie @HesperasGarden

Andrea @FoxinFlats

 Clint @ReservoirDad

Zoey @GoodGoogs

Georgia @Parental_Parody

Kate @Katesaysstuff

Nathalie @EasyPeasyKids

Emma @Realityraver

Dorothy @singular_insane

Lisa @sawhole

Gemma @mybignutshell

Darren @problogger

Shae @freerangeShae

Lucy @diminishingLucy

and of course Maria @mums_word Trae @glowless Kirrily @shortn_tweet and Brenda @mummytime who made it all happen!

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Home is where the hate is...The Slap strikes again.

The Slap even has the NY Times' vote, so it's any wonder that I wrote two articles on it, Aisha's episode airs tonight in the US, here was my take as published on The Punch back in November last year. 

The thousands of words on Twitter reflected my own emotions as I watched ABC TV’s The Slap last week. One tweet said: “it’s totally brutal!”, another: “searing, uncomfortable melancholy” and one more: “did anyone else’s heart sink tonight watching The Slap?”

Fierce, frightening

Mine certainly did and I was not the only one. It was a bit close to the bone for many, as it shone an unceremonious light on characters’ Aisha and Hector’s 16-year marriage.

As I watched Aisha fake anger and hurt at Hector’s admission of his minor infidelity, all the while withholding her own more major dalliance, an image of marriage popped into my head: Marriage is a bonfire stack piling higher and higher with hurts, waiting for a spark to ignite an explosion of desire or destruction.

Unfortunately popular culture would have us believe every argument ends in make-up sex but the reality is closer to Aisha’s lack of emotion.

The pain we cause each other over years seems to numb us and more often than not. Nothing ends in nothing, with one in three marriages unfortunately ending in divorce rather than unquenchable desire.

Having been married for eight years, this statistic doesn’t surprise me. It is amazing that it isn’t higher given how cruel we can be to the one person we are meant to love the most.

We seem to save our empathy and kindness for the stranger we strike up an impromptu conversation with or the little old lady that needs a hand up the stairs. Our partners, however, get full-blown resentment, rudeness, neglect and disdain.

These emotions are often balanced with intimacy, trust and loyalty but why, when things are going wrong, do we turn on the person we thought we could not live without?

It’s probably because marriage is tough. And it’s even harder when children come along.

The cute little blighters turn hairline cracks quickly into structural damage.

But they’re not fully to blame and often just accentuate underlying disappointment, which is the real culprit.

It’s any wonder we are set up to fail when the start of a marriage mimics a red carpet event. The wedding is such a pivotal event in our society, you and your spouse never looked better, you have this huge party with friends and family and then you go on holidays somewhere beautiful for at least two weeks.

This fun series of events never happens again as you settle in to living with someone who has a unique type of annoyingness designed to drive you slowly insane.

You hit the treadmill of working towards a home and a family, money issues come up, time together is minimised by work, looking after kids or rare, but sanity-saving time to yourself.

Next thing you know you are old and living with someone who is your co-parenting housemate and that’s about it.

For me and I think a lot of women, the disappointment is based on my expectation that I would have a deep connection with this person as soon as we said ‘I do’.

I obviously had no clue about blokes, where often the only thing that is deep is their inbuilt ability to hide their emotions.

Everyone’s challenge is slightly different but our own unique disappointment ends up looking a lot like Aisha’s face every time she looks at Hector.

Her bonfire of pain is so large she buries it so as not to feel hurt every second of the day. She blames Hector for it and punishes him so she’s not the only one feeling so bloody awful. It is dysfunctional, unkind and near the opposite of love.

But it is human nature to avoid responsibility for your own unhappiness. It is so much easier to blame your partner for trapping you into a life you didn’t expect than facing your own inner flaws and personal failings that got you there.

And looking for a solution in another human that looks as sparkly with potential as your partner once did, well that’s even easier.

As I watched Aisha consider leaving Hector, I thought of my own marriage and imagined if it was over. My heart broke at the thought.

I wouldn’t remember that my husband didn’t hear human voices if sport was on, or that he made the bathroom look like a great dane had just shaken himself off in there.

But I would desperately miss all the things I take for granted. His patience with the boys, his calmness when I feel like I will lose my mind, his pragmatism that balances my dreaminess. His shy blue eyes looking at us with love and wonder and his stoic confidence and ability to just get on with it when others would fall in a heap.

I’m no expert on happy marriages, but seeing the hate and numbness of Christos Tsiolkas’ characters made me realise where I didn’t want to end up.

So I’m off to slap my hubby - with a big fat kiss and if he’s lucky… with some much-earned kindness too. Okay, a bit of something else may be considered. Just don’t tell him, I’d hate to disappoint…

Nicole is a blogger at MyIdeaLife.com.au, a freelance writer, social media junkie and corporate marketer.

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"Sometimes we wish for far away" man I love Powderfinger

This song was one of those songs I waited for when I listened to Powderfinger's album Odyssey Number Five, which I happened to listen to a lot in 2000 and 2001. I had just ended a 2 year de-facto relationship at 30 and my life was at a turning point. The understated agony in their music resonated with my own confused heart. 

I was reminded of my buried obsession one night driving home when someone with obviously impeccable music taste, I think on Triple M, played 'DEF', my second favourite song of theirs. And then by my mate Purple_Cath who was sharing her love of Powderfinger yesterday on Twitter. We lamented together their decision to disband.

Powderfinger farewelling the crowd at one of their final concerts... :(

So what better way to reignite my passion for men, such as these, that just reach in to my chest and grab my heart but than writing about it here. Enjoy, and I hope it brings back memories of late nights, dancing in muddy fields and stolen kisses. 

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The Problem with Mortality: Jim Stynes gone at 45

On the day of Jim Stynes state funeral an edited version of this post was published in the Tele

"All those moments lost in time...like tears in rain...time to die"

BladeRunner 1982

I’m not in to watching sport, in fact when my husband turns it on, daily that is, I go kind of mental and loudly threaten a 24 hour Jane Austen marathon until he changes the channel. But tonight the not so random Fox Sports channel specifically selected to watch a dedication to AFL legend Jim Stynes sent me a different kind of crazy. Tears streamed down my cheeks as I took in the loss of an obviously great man with a rare mix of humility, drive and amazing character. My heart broke as I imagined his wife and children facing a future without what was obviously the backbone of their reality gone. And as I saw the helplessness we all share when the enemy of our time rears it’s ugly head, to cut short another young life at only 45, it was almost too much.

Last year Sarah Watt died of Cancer, a month before her, Steve Jobs, weeks before that Gavin Larkin, a few months before that my cousin, and the list goes on like a morbid game of Chinese Whispers that leaves only grief and sadness in its wake.

We are surrounded by death, a day does not go by in which we are not confronted by mortality. Whether it be a car accident, a suicide bomb or an illness, the TV beams it to us daily. Not surprising really, given over 150,000 people die each day. What is surprising though is how we manage to ignore it, mainly because it is not our own and for years and hopefully whole life times we carve a path through life without looking death squarely in the eye. We live as if immortal.

Even when my Mother was diagnosed with Breast Cancer I managed to shelve the situation in the “she’ll be right” category of my brain and luckily she was. Today though my delusion is showing cracks and I don’t know whether it is maturity or just that the people threatened and dying now are peers, but my "eternal" existence is being challenged.

Jim, Steve and Sarah had children, so have I, they were happy, so am I, they were in their 40s, so am I, they were needed, so am I. There it is, the unfamiliar face of death taking someone my age, at my stage of life. It is despicable, wrong and absurd. But most of all it is insanely confronting.

It is an understatement to say I am not happy about this happening. The injustice of it is driving me quietly mad. I am sad and angry and desperate at this interruption to such brilliant existences. “It is NOT fair! this is not how it is meant to be” I scream as I try to return death back to its abstract box, miles away from me. But as I spin hopelessly in my new world without infinity, I realise I need a new way to look at this or I would be of no use to anybody.

Then I remembered what I had heard last year. When it became apparent that Steve Jobs was gravely ill, I watched his speech to Stanford graduates. It left me a blubbering mess then and compelled me to write about his life, but his words were like oxygen for those grieving his loss after he died and I so I share them again as we grieve again today for Jim Stynes:

“Remembering that you are going to die is the best way I know to avoid the trap of thinking you have something to lose. You are already naked. There is no reason not to follow your heart…”

Steve Jobs, 2005

And when Jim Stynes was asked whether he thought what was happening to him was incredibly unjust he responded: 

“Life throws up challenges, life is unfair.
When you understand that, you can get on with your life”. 

Jim Stynes, 2010

He also admitted to being too busy to get a sizable lump on his back checked despite his wife urging him to go to the Doctor. Sound familiar? “Living” does gets in the way of life and if on the day we die we want to look back without regret, listening to those that have at last faced their own mortality is key. 

So maybe instead of seeing a seething monster when death reminds us it exists, we need to see a motivator with a light shining through our material and superficial trappings to our soul and heart. A filter that tears away the unimportant and uncovers what it is we want from our very finite life. 

Unfortunately these inspirational and wise words can’t reduce the intense pain of losing someone we love or the thought of our own self ceasing. But maybe if we accepted that one day our spirit will end with one final synapse firing in our brain. Maybe then and only then would we truly learn how to live, grateful for the things that matter, and looking for ways to find inner happiness and share it with those we love.

When life gets in the way and I forget what really matters I am going to stop and remember the great ones that don’t have the chances I have, to cherish their gorgeous family and friends and to stop sometimes and just be.

Ar dheis Dé go raibh a anam Jim Stynes

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Is everyone's hubby a pørnstar?

Recently a very intelligent man was on TV, I stopped faffing about on Twitter to listen as he was asked, “Do kids ruin marriage?” Without a second thought he responded “I can tell you for free, not having kids [myself], you can still not have sex” Hold the phones! I thought we were talking about marriage?

I’m glad Joe Hildebrand jumped automatically from happy marriage to frequency of sex because now I can stop calling my husband a pørnstar. He’s not a pørnstar, he’s just a normal bloke. Like many p€nis-possessors, my husband interprets any word, phrase, action or movement as something to do with s€x.

Consider an innocent hug, in the hands of a male it quickly turns into a crash tackle against the kitchen bench. A bend over to pick up a toy is a screaming invitation for a dry run. Getting changed into your PJs is really you saying “Want to play with these fun bags?” while he øgles unashamedly. And reaching for your drink at dinner is a blatant request to touch one of them.

And if your thought actions spoke louder than words try these phrases out on your special pørnstar, I mean man.

She says: Pass the sauce please
He hears: Blah blah you’re a saucy thing blah blah

She says: Can you put out the garbage?
He hears: Blah blah I put out blah blah

She says: Have you heard about that job?
He hears: Blah Blah blah bløw job blah blah

She says: Isn’t it hot today?
He hears: Blah blah you’re so hot blah blah blah

She says: Can you turn on the hose?
He hears: Blah blah I love getting w€t mmnnn blah blah

She says: You are so rude!
He hears: Blah blah get me nµde blah blah blah

As Billy Crystal once said “Women need a reason to have s€x. Men just need a place.” Basically whatever you do, as it filters through the male brain it usually pops out as an invitation for s€x. You could be swinging a cat at a funeral and you’d hit a bloke ready to shag you in the aisle in front of the coffin.

In the end Joe hit the nail on the head, so to speak, as kids don’t ruin marriage. The rating difference between males and females is actually to blame. Somewhere between his constant R-r@ting and her preferred G-rating falls the growing divorce statistics.

So girls, if you need a hug, want a conversation or have to bend over make sure you’re only in the presence of females. And blokes, another wise man – this time Steve Martin – once said “Don’t have s€x, man. It leads to kissing and pretty soon you have to start talking to them.”

In conclusion there’s a reason most stallions are gelded.....ouch!

This initially appeared on JustB Australia as "Thinking with their little head" on October 5th, 2011

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The Bøøb more lethal than The Slap?

'The Slap' captured my imagination back in October 2011 and last week aired in the US. If you haven't seen it yet it has to be one of the best series I've ever seen! Here is how the first episode got to me back then. 

Like a lot of Australians last night I sat glued to the ABC for the debut of ABCTV’s ‘The Slap’, the TV series immortalising the controversial novel of the same name. So there I sat, patiently waiting for the aforementioned slap to occur.

But then a different scene slapped me far harder than a whack ever could. There was a mother still breastfeeding her four year old at a BBQ. In front of a few six year olds, no less.

At this point a collective “Eeeewwww” echoed through Twitter and presumably loungerooms nationally. Then the defence began. Women tweeted furiously: breastfeeding is a natural and beautiful thing! A woman has a right to breast feed for as long as she likes, where she likes!

As a public breastfeeder myself up until five months ago, I have no issue with other women whipping them out wherever they need to. The choice is either a starving baby in pain, screaming it’s head off or a flash of nipple. I know which I would prefer.

Why I screwed up my nose at the scene and then groaned at those defending her afterwards was because this was not a depiction of a child needing a feed. This was a sad dysfunctional scene of parents failing their child on a number of levels. If a little boy is old enough to hit other children, break their expensive games consoles and wield a cricket bat at their heads, he is old enough to be taught the difference between right and wrong, and ordered off to the naughty corner. Instead his insipid mother offers him the reward of a comforting breastfeed.

This is all types of wrong and has very little to do with the rights of mothers worldwide to breastfeed in a “whateverworksforyou” kind of way.

Have we become so politically correct, so populist that we can’t stand up and say that this woman is turning something beautiful into something revolting and wrong? I hope not, because I was completely grossed out and I will not apologise for recoiling as I watched two people selfishly undermine a healthy foundation for their son.

There is something inherently wrong with abusing the responsibility we as parents have. We possess a huge amount of power over our children’s lives and threatening them physically or emotionally, is jeopardising the very framework of which they will rely upon for the rest of their lives. The bøøb, in this case, is as lethal as the slap.

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OMEGA DELIGHT CHANNELS WILLY WONKA IN THE FIGHT AGAINST STUPIDITY

A few weeks back I was kindly invited by The Mother Media to preview a new product by Nature's Own called Omega Delight. I was a bit excited, and not for the obvious reason, that is, we were having lunch at Flying Fish. I was excited because I was about to be introduced to a product that would eliminate one of the million guilty thoughts I have had every single day since I became a Mum. The one being addressed by this event was: 

"Oh my god I haven't cooked fish for the boys again this week...if I don't give them enough fish they don't get Omega-3 and if they don't get Omega-3 their brain development* is stunted and if their brain development is stunted they will not reach their full potential and then they'll end up unhappy, unfulfilled, sad and probably living in a box by the side of the road eating dirt and it will be all MY fault." 

What is Mrs Woog thinking?

As the R&D guys tinkered around with emulsions and humectants, I wondered if they realised that they weren't just creating a fish oil supplement, they were creating a prevention for both insanity in Mothers and homelessness for the future generation. Probably best not to share that with them though, the pressure would have been so distracting they would have never come up with anything as tasty and unique as their blissful ignorance finally produced. 

The last supper of stupidity, brain superiority here we come! 

And it does taste good. Both my toddler boys love it, with Boom wanting more than his one teaspoon dose per day. I suggest putting a third of the dose in a spoon and then give in twice to the cries for more to get the full teaspoon recommended in or just hide the lot in yoghurt! Yes I know, fish oil and yoghurt - yum...but these particular food scientists seem to be giving Willy Wonka a run for their money. I wonder whether 'Roast Dinner' flavour was considered?

 

Anyway I am off to prevent my children becoming lay about, useless adults with some yummy gooey mangoey stuff. And if you know what's good for you, (fish oil in case you haven't been listening) you'll head out and get this stuff (it's a bit pricey but I saw it on special at my local Woolies for half price). 

On to more important things what do you think Mrs Woog was thinking?

Tell us in the comments!

In case you are still stuck on my insanity and my sons' near misses with homelessness:

*Omega-3 is a type of fatty acid which is found in oily fish such as salmon, mackerel and herring and is required for optimal brain function and is thought to be beneficial for behaviour, cognitive function, memory and attention. As children grow, their requirements for Omega-3 may also increase.

According to a study done for Nature's Own only 1 in 5 children are getting the recommended 2-3 servings of fish per week and therefore enough Omega-3 for optimal brain function and development. 

This post is an honest review and not sponsored except for provision of a lunch and product samples. 

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WOULD YOU SOONER FORGET YOUR WEDDING?

Every year a tradition is remembered by those that chose to walk down the aisle in a white dress, a tradition to celebrate the day you spent way too much money on a very large dinner party and happened to commit your life to another human being. Every year without fail I forget this tradition, I don’t know whether it is pure absent-mindedness, or a deep subconscious reaction to my marriage but I never wake up on our anniversary prepared and usually get reminded about 8am by a less than impressed husband.

I don’t really think there is anything to say about this other than I seem to have had baby brain prior to having babies, and even more so once I did. But if there was a deep-seeded feeling that blocks out the day of our wedding from my memory it would have to be the fact that my fiancé at the time decided that a bucks night the night before the wedding day was a good idea. His brother stlll tells me that if it wasn’t for him dragging him out of whatever establishment they were partying in he wouldn’t have made it to the wedding at all. As it was, when the photographer asked him to spin all 58kg of skin and bone that was me back then, around, he nearly spewed. So as far as I’m concerned he’s lucky I married him at all let alone remember the day it happened all those years ago.

And it wasn’t that the day wasn’t memorable for other reasons than the groom being hung over, it was perfect in every other way. You could say that if you swapped the Groom for someone else who was sober, the day would have been nothing short of a fairy tale. It was at Jones Bay Wharf, I was in a simple but stunning dress, the bridesmaids were in gunmetal silver, we arrived in white Cadillacs to a small stone church that looked as though it belonged in a country town.

If you put aside the psychotic florist from a company that really should be called “Brides be Doomed” rather than it’s more deceptive upbeat name, who had mixed me up with another bride and refused to meet up to correct her obviously failed memory. Or the heartbroken hair stylist who obviously put his sadness into my style, the day had hope and joy written all over it. Especially if you were a groomsman it seemed. As though the enormous celebration of love created a strange love potion and nearly everyone got lucky, either that or people had their own “potions” in their pockets, whatever, the point was if you were single at our wedding and even slightly willing you were in for a night of looove.

The stories were so debauched my now hung over husband was struglling with the decision he’d just made. Talk about bad timing and probably a very logical reason for my annual blank. But despite the obvious trauma associated with my day as a princess, I am not trying to forget I’m married (well except the other day when I was in the park and I wanted to channel Kate Winslet’s character from Little Children), and after a beautiful lunch where Boom and I had a conversation that didn’t go something like “I did the last three poos so it’s your turn.”, “well I stayed up putting them to bed and then got up in the middle of the night so fair’s fair”. It was a lovely anniversary and one that now I’ve remembered I won’t forget…well at least until next year.

Head over to Facebook and share your wedding pics & most importantly the back story!

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